[
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1940, "culture": " English\n", "content": "OF PLANTS ***\n                Kling L. Anderson and Clenton E. Owensby\n                    =AGRICULTURAL EXPERIMENT STATION\n                        Kansas State University\n                   of Agriculture and Applied Science\n     Sedges, rushes, and related genera                        27\n     Common species names and their English meanings           60\n             =Common Names of a Selected List of Plants=[1]\n              Kling L. Anderson and Clenton E. Owensby[2]\nCommon names of plants often vary widely from place to place, even\nwithin rather limited areas. Frequently-occurring and widely-known\nspecies may have local names, or the same name may be used for several\nspecies. Common names, therefore, often fail to identify plants\naccurately. That makes it difficult to communicate about plants; the\nconfusion may even discontinue attempts to convey ideas about the\nsubject. Conversations may shift to a subject with an adequate common\nnomenclature.\nScientific names are essential in formal writing. When common names are\nto be used, as in less formal publications, scientific names must also\nbe given either at the place where the common ones first appear in the\npaper, in a footnote, or in an appended list. Only scientific names\nidentify the species for all readers. In completely informal writing\nfor a broad area, scientific names may be omitted.\nSince common names are so widely used, they should be used as uniformly\nas possible. The following common names are considered \u201cstandardized\u201d\nfor all writing in the Kansas Agricultural Experiment Station and may\nalso be used as a guide in teaching. A single common name is given to\neach plant listed if it has such a name.\nThis list grew from an earlier Kansas list of grasses and legumes that\nemphasized chiefly range and pasture plants. It is extended here to\ninclude most plant families and genera that occur in Kansas and many\nspecies that do not necessarily occur in Kansas but may be important or\nclosely related to those listed. Obviously, not all Kansas plants could\nbe included, and therefore many minor plants have been omitted. Species\nnot obviously important had to be somewhat arbitrary. Perhaps certain\nspecies listed could have been omitted and others not included might\nhave been added. The list can, therefore, grow or be altered as need\nfor change is shown. If further information on common names is needed,\nthe Kelsey and Dayton 1942 edition of Standardized Plant Names[3]\nshould be consulted.\nIn preparing this list, we attempted to give a single common name to\neach genus and to use it in connection with common names for each\nof the species listed under that genus. For example, brome for the\ngenus, _Bromus_, and various species such as smooth brome and hairy\nbrome. Thus, there are two words for species names. However, common\nnames of some species are single words and may not bear the generic\nname at all; for example, switchgrass, curlymesquite, catchflygrass,\ndarnel, needleandthread, berseem, and horsebean. Some genera have\nmore than one common name, but in that case the genus is subdivided\ninto different types, each with its own common name. For example,\nmost species of the genus _Panicum_ are called panicum, but certain\nothers are witchgrass; _Melica_ is melic, but bulbous species of that\ngenus are called oniongrass; and _Setaria_ is bristlegrass, but the\nname millet is applied to certain ones. Some poisonous species of\n_Astragalus_ are called loco, but nonpoisonous ones are milkvetch and\nthe selenium-gathering ones, poisonvetch. In a few cases the same\ncommon name is applied to two genera, but that generally occurs only\nwhen the genera involved are closely related. They may formerly have\nbeen considered a single genus.\nThe words tree, grass, bean, seed, etc. are combined with key words\nto make common names of many genera and species. Examples of the\nformer are dropseed, cupgrass, tanglehead, peavine, wildindigo,\ncoffeetree, and sensitivebriar; and of the latter, breadroot scurfpea,\nsplitbeard bluestem, shortawn foxtail, and smoothseed wildbean.\nHyphens are avoided except in a few cases where they are used to make\nspelling, meaning, or pronunciation more clearly understood. Some\nexamples are s-curve threeawn, blue-eyedgrass, climbing-buckwheat,\ndutchmans-breeches, snow-on-the-mountain, fat-hen saltbrush,\nfalse-alyssum.\nThe common name for an individual species is a contraction of the\ngenus common name and, in most cases, a descriptive adjective for a\nparticular species. An example is the common name for _Bromus inermis_\nThe common name for the genus is brome and the descriptive adjective\nassociated with the species name _inermis_ is smooth, hence smooth\nbrome is the common name for that species.\nIn many cases a satisfactory common name did not exist for a particular\nspecies, yet the species name\u2019s English meaning described the plant\nwell. Such plants were given common names based on the meaning of\ntheir species name. An example is _Lygodesmia rostrata_. It has no\nsatisfactory common name. In this publication it is called beaked\nskeletonplant, based on the English meaning of _rostrata_ and the\naccepted common name for the genus, skeletonplant.\nIn general, capitals are avoided for common plant names. They are not\nused where proper nouns are combined with such words as grass, tree,\nbean, etc., for example, bermudagrass, indiangrass, johnsongrass, but\nare used when the name is that of a country, state, or other place\nand is a separate word as in Virginia wildrye, Texas bean, California\nburclover, and Missouri milkvetch. They are not used, however, when\nthe name is derived from a man\u2019s name; for example, lambert crazyweed,\ndillen tickclover, chewings fescue, and lehmann lovegrass. Capitals\nare, of course, used for proper names of strains or varieties, but such\nusage is beyond the scope of this list. The few exceptions to all of\nthese \u201crules\u201d are dictated by firmly established usage.\nTo identify each species as definitely as possible, authorities are\ngiven for scientific names. Authorities for grass names are from\nHitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.[4] The others were compiled from various\nsources by Dr. L. C. Hulbert, Department of Botany, Kansas State\nUniversity, chiefly from these sources: Gray\u2019s Manual, 8th ed.,[5]\nThe New Illustrated Britton and Brown,[6] and Harrington\u2019s Manual.[7]\nOccasionally other sources were used for a few or for single species.\nSince authorities were taken directly from the various sources\nwithout change, some differences in abbreviation occur. For example,\nHitchcock\u2019s manual abbreviates Humboldt, Bonpland, and Kunth as H.B.K.,\nwhile most other manuals consulted use HBK. Certain other names may be\nspelled fully in one manual and abbreviated in others.\nSeveral workers helped with selecting plants to be included and common\nnames for them. For the most part, the common names are those used in\nKelsey and Dayton, Standardized Plant Names (SPN).[8] However, common\nnames of some species are so different and are so firmly entrenched\nin common usage that the names given in SPN could not be used in this\nlist. An example is \u201cbroomsedge\u201d for _Andropogon virginicus_. In SPN\nit is \u201cyellowsedge bluestem,\u201d a name never heard in the area this list\nserves.\nAppreciation is expressed to those who aided in selecting both plants\nand their common names:\nThe late F. W. Albertson, Biology Department, Fort Hays Kansas State\nCollege\nL. E. Anderson, Agronomy Department, Kansas State University, now at\nUniversity of Missouri, Columbia\nM. D. Atkins, S.C.S., Lincoln, Nebraska\nJ. K. Greig, Jr., Department of Horticulture and Forestry, Kansas State\nUniversity\nC. V. Hall, Department of Horticulture and Forestry, Kansas State\nUniversity\nL. C. Hulbert, Division of Biology, Kansas State University\nR. A. Keen, Department of Horticulture and Forestry, Kansas State\nUniversity\nJ. L. Launchbaugh, Kansas Branch Agricultural Experiment Station, Hays,\nKansas\nE. L. Mader, Agronomy Department, Kansas State University\nC. M. Schumacher, S.C.S., Lincoln, Nebraska\nG. W. Tomanek, Biology Department, Fort Hays Kansas State College\nH. D. Wilkins, Agronomy Department, Kansas State University\nSpecial thanks go to Dr. John L. Launchbaugh for carefully editing the\nfinal draft.\n     FOOTNOTES:\n     [1] Contribution No. 692, Department of Agronomy, Kansas\n          Agricultural Experiment Station, Manhattan.\n     [2] Professor Emeritus and Agronomist, Kansas Agricultural\n          Experiment Station: and Instructor in Range and\n          Pasture Management.\n     [3] Kelsey, H. P. and W. A. Dayton. 1942. Standardized\n          Plant Names. J. Horace McFarland Co., Harrisburg, Pa.\n     [4] Hitchcock, A. S. 1951. Manual of Grasses of the U.S.\n          USDA Misc. Publication 200 (Revised).\n     [5] Fernald, M. L. 1950. Gray\u2019s Manual of Botany, 8th ed.\n          American Book Co., New York.\n     [6] Gleason, H. A. 1952. The New Britton and Brown\n          Illustrated Flora. New York Botanical Garden (3\n     [7] Harrington, H. D. 1954. Manual of the Plants of\n          Colorado. Sage Books, Denver.\nGenera only are listed in this index except where the common species\nname differs from the common name of its genus and does not include the\nlatter. Scientific names are also shown.\n =Common Name              Scientific Name                       Page=\n  Agoseris, wavyleaf       _Microseris cuspidata_                  47\n  Barnyardgrass            _Echinochloa crusgalli_                 21\n  Basketflower             _Centaurea americana_                   38\n  Berseem                  _Trifolium alexandrinum_                34\n  Birdwoodgrass            _Cenchrus setigerus_                    20\n  Blackeyedsusan           _Rudbeckia hirta_                       51\n  Bluestem                 _Andropogon_; _Bothriochloa_            18\n  Boneset                  _Eupatorium perfoliatum_                42\n  Bouncingbet              _Saponaria officinalis_                 52\n  Broomcorn                _Sorghum bicolor_ var. _technicum_      25\n  Broomsedge               _Andropogon virginicus_                 18\n  Broomweed                _Gutierrezia dracunculoides_            43\n  Browneyedsusan           _Rudbeckia triloba_                     51\n  Browntopmillet           _Panicum ramosum_                       23\n  Buckbrush                _Symphoricarpos orbiculatus_            59\n  Buffalogourd             _Cucurbita foetidissima_                40\n  Buffelgrass              _Pennisetum ciliare_                    24\n  Burragweed               _Franseria tomentosa_                   42\n  Cardinalflower           _Lobelia cardinalis_                    47\n  Cardinalflower, western  _Lobelia splendens_                     47\n  Catchfly, sleepy         _Silene antirrhina_                     52\n  Catchflygrass            _Leersia lenticularis_                  22\n  Chickencorn              _Sorghum bicolor_ var. _drummondii_     25\n  Chineselantern           _Physalis lobata_                       50\n  Christmasfern            _Polystichum acrostichoides_            29\n  Climbing-buckwheat       _Polygonum convolvulus_                 50\n  Climbingmilkweed         _Ampelamus albidus_                     35\n  Compassplant             _Silphium laciniatum_                   53\n  Corkwing, mountain       _Cymopterus montanus_                   40\n  Culversphysic            _Veronicastrum virginicum_              55\n  Curlymesquite            _Hilaria belangeri_                     22\n  Dallisgrass              _Paspalum dilatatum_                    24\n  Dutchmans-breeches       _Dicentra cucullaria_                   41\n  Falseboneset             _Kuhnia eupatorioides_                  45\n  Falsenightshade          _Chamaesaracha_                         39\n  Feathergrass, New Mexico _Stipa neomexicana_                     26\n  Feathertop               _Pennisetum villosum_                   24\n  Fenugreek                _Trigonella foenum-graecum_             34\n  Fireweed                 _Epilobium angustifolium_               41\n  Flowerofanhour           _Hibiscus trionum_                      44\n  Fogfruit, wedgeleaf      _Lippia lanceolata_                     46\n  Fountaingrass            _Pennisetum ruppelii_                   24\n  Hairsedge bulbstyle      _Bulbostylis cappillaris_               27\n  Hardinggrass             _Phalaris tuberosa_ var. _stenoptera_   24\n  Hedgemustard             _Sisymbrium officinale_                 53\n  Horsenettle              _Solanum carolinense_                   53\n  Horseradish              _Armoracia lapathifolia_                36\n  Ironplant                _Haplopappus spinulosus_                44\n  Japanesemillet           _Echinochloa crusgalli_\n  Jerusalemartichoke       _Helianthus tuberosus_                  44\n  Johnnyjumpup             _Viola kitaibeliana_\n  Johnsongrass             _Sorghum halepense_                     25\n  Kale                     _Brassica oleracea_ var. _acephala_     38\n  Kikuyugrass              _Pennisetum clandestinum_               24\n  Knapweed, Russian        _Centaurea repens_                      38\n  Lacegrass                _Eragrostis capillaris_                 21\n  Lambsquarters            _Chenopodium album_                     39\n  Lawngrass, Japanese      _Zoysia japonica_                       26\n  Marshfern                _Dryopteris thelypteris_                28\n  Mascarenegrass           _Zoysia tenuifolia_                     26\n  Matrimonyvine            _Lycium halimifolium_                   57\n  Moneywort                _Lysimachia nummularia_                 47\n  Napiergrass              _Pennisetum purpureum_                  24\n  Natalgrass               _Rhynchelytrum roseum_                  25\n  Nimblewill               _Muhlenbergia schreberi_                23\n  Oregongrape              _Mahonia aquifolium_                    57\n  Oxeyedaisy               _Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_            39\n  Pangolagrass             _Digitaria decumbens_                   20\n  Paragrass                _Panicum purpurascens_                  23\n  Pearlmillet              _Pennisetum glaucum_                    24\n  Peppergrass              _Lenidium densiflorum_                  46\n  Pinegrass                _Calamagrostis rubescens_               20\n  Poisonhemlock            _Conium maculatum_                      40\n  Ravennagrass             _Erianthus ravennae_                    21\n  Ricegrass, Mandan        X _Striporyzopsis caduca_               26\n  Smutgrass, rattail       _Sporobolus poiretii_                   26\n  Snakeroot, white         _Eupatorium rugosum_                    42\n  Snow-on-the-mountain     _Euphorbia marginata_                   42\n  Spanishneedles           _Bidens bipinnata_                      37\n  St. augustinegrass       _Stenotaphrum_                          26\n  Stargrass                _Cynodon plectostachyum_                20\n  Stinkgrass               _Eragrostis cilianensis_                21\n  Sudangrass               _Sorghum bicolor_ var. _sudanense_      25\n  Tangierpea               _Lathyrus tingitanus_                   32\n  Thimbleberry, fragrant   _Rubus odoratus_                        58\n  Tumblemustard            _Sisymbrium altissimum_                 53\n  Tumbleweed               _Amaranthus graecizans_                 35\n  Velvetleaf               _Abutilon theophrasti_                  35\n  Virginsbower             _Clematis virginiana_                   39\n  Wahoo, eastern           _Euonymus atropurpureus_                56\n  Waterhyssop, disk        _Bacopa rotundifolia_                   37\n  Windmillgrass            _Chloris verticillata_                  20\n  Wingstem                 _Verbesina alternifolia_                55\n  _Aegilops cylindrica_ Host                  goatgrass\n  _Agropyron_ Gaertn.                         wheatgrass\n    _cristatum_[9] (L.) Gaertn.                 fairway w.\n    _dasystachyum_ (Hook.) Scribn.              thickspike w.\n    _desertorum_[9] (Fisch.) Schult.            crested w.\n    _elongatum_[10] (Host) Beauv.               tall w.\n    _inerme_ (Scribn. & Smith) Rydb.            beardless w.\n    _intermedium_[11] (Host) Beauv.             intermediate w.\n    _riparium_ Scribn. & Smith                  streambank w.\n    _semicostatum_ (Steud.) Nees ex Boiss.      drooping w.\n    _sibiricum_ (Willd.) Beauv.                 Siberian w.\n    _spicatum_ (Pursh) Scribn. & Smith          bluebunch w.\n    _subsecundum_ (Link) Hitchc.                bearded w.\n    _trachycaulum_ (Link) Malte                 slender w.\n    _trichophorum_[11] (Link) Richt.            pubescent w.\n      var. _aristata_ (Parnell) Druce           awned c. b.\n  _Aira caryophyllea_ L.                      silver hairgrass\n    _arundinaceus_ Poir.                        creeping f.\n    _carolinianus_ Walt.                        Carolina f.\n  _Ammophila_ Host                            beachgrass\n    _breviligulata_ Fernald                     American b.\n    _glomeratus_ (Walt.) B.S.P.                 bushy b.\n    _intermedius_ R. Brown[12]                  caucasian b.\n    _nodosus_ (Willem.) Nash                    angleton b.\n    _perforatus_ Trin. ex Fourn.                pinhole b.\n    _saccharoides_ Swartz                       silver b.\n    _ternarius_ Michx.                          splitbeard b.\n  _Anthoxanthum odoratum_ L.                  sweet vernalgrass\n    _basiramea_ Engelm. ex Vasey                forktip t.\n    _curtissii_ (A. Gray) Nash                  curtiss t.\n    _desmantha_ Trin. & Rupr.                   curly t.\n    _dichotoma_ Michx.                          churchmouse t.\n    _divaricata_ Humb. & Bonpl. ex Willd.       poverty t.\n    _fendleriana_ Steud.                        fendler t.\n    _intermedia_ Scribn. & Ball                 kearney t.\n    _longespica_ Poir.                          slimspike t.\n    _purpurascens_ Poir.                        arrowfeather t.\n    _ramosissima_ Engelm. ex A. Gray            s-curve t.\n  _Arrhenatherum_ Beauv.                      oatgrass\n      var. _bulbosum_ (Willd.) Spenner          tuber o.\n  _Arundinaria_ Michx.                        cane\n  _Astrebla pectinata_ F.v.M.[14]             mitchellgrass\n  _Axonopus affinis_ Chase                    carpetgrass\n  _Beckmannia syzigachne_ (Steud.) Fernald    American sloughgrass\n  _Blepharoneuron tricholepis_ (Torr.) Nash   pinedropseed\n    _chondrosioides_ (H.B.K.) Benth.\n    _curtipendula_ (Michx.) Torr.               sideoats g.\n    _filiformis_ (Fourn.) Griffiths             slender g.\n    _gracilis_ (H.B.K.) Lag. ex Steud.          blue g.\n    _rothrockii_ Vasey                          rothrock g.\n    _arenarius_ Labill.                         Australian b.\n    _brizaeformis_ Fisch. & Mey.                rattle b.\n    _carinatus_[15] Hook. & Arn.                mountain b.\n    _frondosus_ (Shear) Woot. & Standl.         weeping b.\n    _tomentellus_[18] Boiss.                    Russian b.\n    _vulgaris_ (Hook.) Shear                    Columbia b.\n  _Buchlo\u00eb dactyloides_ (Nutt.) Engelm.       buffalograss\n  _Calamagrostis_ Adans.                      reedgrass\n    _canadensis_ (Michx.) Beauv.                bluejoint r.\n    _rubescens_ Buckl.                          pinegrass\n  _Calamovilfa_ Hack.                         sandreed\n    _gigantea_ (Nutt.) Scribn. & Merr.          big s.\n    _longifolia_ (Hook.) Scribn.                prairie s.\n    _pauciflorus_ Benth.                        sandbur\n    _setigerus_[19] Vahl                        birdwoodgrass\n  _Chloris_ Swartz                            chloris; windmillgrass[20]\n    _distichophylla_ Lag.                       weeping c.\n    _verticillata_ Nutt.                        windmillgrass\n  _Cinna arundinacea_ L.                      stout woodreed\n  _Coix lacryma-jobi_ L.                      jobstears\n  _Cortaderia selloana_ (Schult.)\n        Aschers. & Graebn.                    pampasgrass\n  _Cynodon_ L. Rich.                          bermudagrass\n    _dactylon_ (L.) Pers.                       bermudagrass\n    _plectostachyum_[19] (Schum.) Pilger        stargrass\n    _transvaalensis_ Burtt-Davy                 African b.\n  _Cynosurus cristatus_ L.                    crested dogtail\n  _Dactylis glomerata_ L.                     orchardgrass\n  _Danthonia_ Lam. & DC.                      danthonia\n    _californica_ Boland.                       California d.\n    _spicata_ (L.) Beauv. ex Roem. & Schult.    poverty d.\n  _Deschampsia caespitosa_ (L.) Beauv.        tufted hairgrass\n  _Diarrhena americana_ Beauv.                American beakgrain\n  _Digitaria_ Heister                         crabgrass; fingergrass[21]\n    _decumbens_ Stent                           pangolagrass\n    _ischaemum_ (Schreb.) Schreb. ex Muhl.      smooth c.\n    _sanguinalis_ (L.) Scop.                    crabgrass\n  _Distichlis_ Raf.                           saltgrass\n  _Echinochloa_ Beauv.                        cockspur\n    _crusgalli_ (L.) Beauv.                     barnyardgrass\n      var. _frumentacea_ (Roxb.) W. F. Wight    japanesemillet\n  _Eleusine indica_ (L.) Gaertn.              goosegrass\n    _chinensis_ (Trin.) Keng\n         [_A. pseudo-agropyron_\n    _cinereus_ Scribn. & Merr.                  basin w.\n    _triticoides_ Buckl.                        beardless w.\n  _Eragrostis_ Beauv.                         lovegrass\n    _barrelieri_ Daveau                         Mediterranean l.\n    _capillaris_ (L.) Nees                      lacegrass\n    _cilianensis_ (All.) Lutati                 stinkgrass\n    _curtipedicellata_ Buckl.                   gummy l.\n    _curvula_ (Schrad.) Nees                    weeping l.\n    _frankii_ C. A. Meyer ex Steud.             sandbar l.\n    _intermedia_ Hitchc.                        plains l.\n    _oxylepis_ (Torr.) Torr.\n         (not _E. secundiflora_ Presl as\n          shown in older manuals)               red l.\n    _pectinacea_ (Michx.) Nees                  Carolina l.\n    _poaeoides_ Beauv. ex Roem. & Schult.       little l.\n    _secundiflora_ Presl (see _E. oxylepis_)\n    _sessilispica_ Buckl.                       tumble l.\n    _spectabilis_ (Pursh) Steud.                purple l.\n    _tef_ (Zuccagni) Trotter                    teff\n    _trichodes_ (Nutt.) Wood                    sand l.\n  _Eremochloa ophiuroides_ (Munro) Hack.      centipedegrass\n  _Erianthus_ Michx.                          plumegrass\n    _ravennae_ (L.) Beauv.                      ravennagrass\n  _Eriochloa contracta_ Hitchc.               prairie cupgrass\n  _Euchlaena mexicana_ Schrad.                teosinte\n    _arundinacea_ Schreb.                       tall f.\n      var. _duriuscula_ (L.) Koch               hard f.\n      var. _commutata_ Gaud.                    chewings f.\n  _Gastridium ventricosum_ (Gouan)\n  _Glyceria striata_ (Lam.) Hitchc.           fowl mannagrass\n  _Gymnopogon ambiguus_ (Michx.) B.S.P.       bearded skeletongrass\n  _Heteropogon_ Pers.                         tanglehead\n    _contortus_ (L.) Beauv. ex Roem. & Schult.  tanglehead\n    _melanocarpus_ (Ell.) Benth.                sweet t.\n    _belangeri_ (Steud.) Nash                   curlymesquite\n    _jamesii_ (Torr.) Benth.                    galleta\n    _mutica_ (Buckl.) Benth.                    tobosa\n    _rigida_ (Thurb.) Benth.                    big galleta\n  _Holcus lanatus_ L.                         velvetgrass\n    _brachyantherum_ Nevski                     northern-meadow b.\n      var. _caespitosum_ (Scribn.) Hitchc.      bobtail b.\n  _Hyparrhenia_ Anderss. ex Stapf             hyparrhenia\n  _Hystrix patula_ Moench                     bottlebrushgrass\n  _Imperata cylindrica_ (L.) Beauv.           cogongrass\n  _Koeleria cristata_ (L.) Pers.              prairie junegrass\n    _lenticularis_ Michx.                       catchflygrass\n    _virginica_ Willd.                          whitegrass\n  _Leptochloa_ Beauv.                         sprangletop\n    _fascicularis_ (Lam.) A. Gray               bearded s.\n    _filiformis_ (Lam.) Beauv.                  red s.\n  _Leptoloma cognatum_ (Schult.) Chase        fall witchgrass\n  _Lycurus phleoides_ H.B.K.                  wolftail\n    _cylindrica_ (Michx.) Kuntze                Carolina j.\n    _bulbosa_ Geyer ex Port. & Coult.           oniongrass\n    _imperfecta_ Trin.                          coastrange m.\n    _nitens_ (Scribn.) Nutt. ex Piper           threeflower m.\n  _Melinis minutiflora_ Beauv.                molassesgrass\n  _Miscanthus sinensis_ Anderss.              Chinese silvergrass\n  _Muhlenbergia_ Schreb.                      muhly\n    _andina_ (Nutt.) Hitchc.                    foxtail m.\n    _asperifolia_ (Nees & Mey.) Parodi          alkali m.\n    _brachyphylla_ Bush                         nodding m.\n    _capillaris_ (Lam.) Trin.                   hairawn m.\n    _cuspidata_ (Torr.) Rydb.                   plains m.\n    _filiformis_ (Thurb.) Rydb.                 pullup m.\n    _foliosa_ (Roem. & Schult.) Trin.[25]       leafy m.\n    _frondosa_ (Poir.) Fernald                  wirestem m.\n         var. _mexicana_ (L.) Trin. forma\n         _commutata_ (Scribn.) Fernald\n         (based on _M. mexicana_ subsp.\n    _montana_ (Nutt.) Hitchc.                   mountain m.\n    _sobolifera_ (Muhl.) Trin.                  rock m.\n    _sylvatica_ (Torr.) Torr.                   forest m.\n    _torreyi_ (Kunth) Hitchc. ex Bush           ring m.\n  _Munroa squarrosa_ (Nutt.) Torr.            falsebuffalograss\n  _Nardus stricta_ L.                         matgrass\n  _Oryzopsis_ Michx.                          ricegrass\n    _hymenoides_ (Roem. & Schult.) Ricker       Indian r.\n    _miliacea_ (L.) Benth. & Hook. ex\n          Aschers. & Schweinf.                  smilograss\n    _agrostoides_ Spreng.                       redtop p.\n      var. _occidentale_ Rydb.                  cushion w.\n    _depauperatum_ Muhl.                        stunted p.\n    _dichotomiflorum_ Michx.                    fall p.\n    _gatttingeri_ Nash                          gattinger w.\n    _leibergii_ (Vasey) Scribn.                 leiberg p.\n    _lindheimeri_ Nash                          lindheimer p.\n    _linearifolium_ Scribn.                     slimleaf p.\n    _malacophyllum_ Nash                        softleaf p.\n    _praecocius_ Hitchc. & Chase                early p.\n    _purpurascens_ Raddi                        paragrass\n    _scribnerianum_ Nash                        scribner p.\n    _sphaerocarpon_ Ell.                        roundseed p.\n    _tennesseense_ Ashe                         Tennessee p.\n    _villosissimum_ Nash                        hairy p.\n    _wilcoxianum_ Vasey                         wilcox p.\n  _Pappophorum mucronulatum_ Nees             pappusgrass\n    _ciliatifolium_ Michx.                      fringeleaf p.\n    _dilatatum_ Poir.                           dallisgrass\n      var. _glabratum_ Engelm. ex Vasey         smooth F. p.\n    _fluitans_ (Ell.) Kunth                     horsetail p.\n    _malacophyllum_ Trin.                       ribbed p.\n    _plicatulum_ Michx.                         brownseed p.\n    _pubiflorum_ Rupr. ex Fourn.                hairyseed p.\n  _Pennisetum_ L. Rich.                       pennisetum\n    _alopecuroides_ (L.) Spreng.                Chinese p.\n    _clandestinum_ Hochst. ex Chiov.            kikuyugrass\n    _purpureum_ Schumach                        napiergrass\n    _ruppelii_ Steud.[29]                       fountaingrass\n    _caroliniana_ Walt.                         Carolina c.\n      var. _stenoptera_ (Hack.) Hitchc.         hardinggrass\n  _Phragmites communis_ Trin.                 common reed\n    _canbyi_ (Scribn.) Piper                    canby b.\n    _chapmaniana_ Scribn.                       chapman b.\n    _fendleriana_ (Steud.) Vasey                mutton b.\n    _nevadensis_ Vasey ex Scribn.               Nevada b.\n    _scabrella_ (Thurb.) Benth. ex Vasey        pine b.\n    _sylvestris_ A. Gray                        woodland b.\n  _Polypogon monspeliensis_ (L.) Desf.        rabbitfoot polypogon\n  _Puccinellia airoides_ (Nutt.)\n       Wats. & Coult.                         nuttall alkaligrass\n  _Redfieldia flexuosa_ (Thurb) Vasey         blowoutgrass\n  _Rhynchelytrum roseum_[30] (Nees) Stapf\n       and Hubb. ex Bews                      natalgrass\n  _Saccharum officinarum_ L.                  sugarcane\n  _Schedonnardus paniculatus_ (Nutt.) Trel.   tumblegrass\n  _Scleropogon brevifolius_ Phil.             burrograss\n  _Setaria_ Beauv.                            bristlegrass; millet[31]\n    _geniculata_ (Lam.) Beauv.                  knotroot b.\n    _lutescens_ (Weigel) Hubb.[33]              yellow b.[32]\n    _verticillata_ (L.) Beauv.                  hooked b.\n  _Sitanion hystrix_ (Nutt.) J. G. Smith      bottlebrush squirreltail\n  _Sorghastrum nutans_ (L.) Nash              indiangrass\n    _halepense_ ( L.) Pers.                     johnsongrass\n      var. _almum_ Parodi[35]                   sorghum almum\n      var. _drummondii_ (Nees) Hack. ex Chiov.  chickencorn\n      var. _sudanense_ Hitchc.                  sudangrass\n      var. _technicum_ (Koern.) Jav.            broomcorn\n  _Spartina_ Schreb.                          cordgrass\n    _alterniflora_ Loisel.                      smooth c.\n  _Sphenopholis_ Scribn.                      wedgescale\n    _intermedia_ (Rydb.) Rydb.                  slender w.\n    _obtusata_ (Michx.) Scribn.                 prairie w.\n  _Sporobolus_ R. Br.                         dropseed; sacaton\n    _airoides_ (Torr.) Torr.                    alkali s.\n      var. _hookeri_ (Trin.) Vasey              meadow t.d.\n      var. _pilosus_ (Vasey) Hitchc.            hairy t.d.\n    _clandestinus_ (Bieler) Hitchc.             hidden d.\n    _cryptandrus_ (Torr.) A. Gray               sand d.\n    _flexuosus_ (Thurb.) Rydb.                  mesa d.\n    _heterolepis_ (A. Gray) A. Gray             prairie d.\n  _poiretii_ (Roem. & Schult.) Hitchc.          rattail smutgrass\n    _pyramidatus_ (Lam.) Hitchc.                whorled d.\n    _vaginiflorus_ (Torr.) Wood                 poverty d.\n    _wrightii_ Munro ex Scribn.                 sacaton\n  _Stenotaphrum secundatum_ (Walt.) Kuntze    St. augustinegrass\n    _cernua_ Stebbins & Love                    nodding n.\n    _columbiana_ Macoun                         subalpine n.\n    _comata_ Trin. & Rupr.                      needleandthread\n    _leucotricha_ Trin. & Rupr.                 Texas n.\n    _neomexicana_ (Thurb.) Scribn.              New Mexico feathergrass\n    _occidentalis_ Thurb.                       western n.\n    _robusta_ (Vasey) Scribn.                   sleepygrass\n    _spartea_ Trin.                             porcupinegrass\n  X _Stiporyzopsis caduca_ (Beal) B. L.\n        Johnson & Rogler (_Oryzopsis\n        hymenoides_ X _Stipa viridula_)       Mandan ricegrass\n  _Themeda triandra_ Forsk.                   themeda\n  _Trichachne_ Nees                           cottontop\n    _californica_ (Benth.) Chase                Arizona c.\n  _Trichloris_ Fourn.                         trichloris\n    _mendocina_ (Phil.) Kurtz[36]               twoflower t.\n    _pluriflora_ Fourn.                         fourflower t.\n  _Tridens_ Roem. & Schult.                   tridens\n    _albescens_ (Vasey) Woot. & Standl.         white t.\n    _elongatus_ (Buckl.) Nash                   rough t.\n    _pilosus_ (Buckl.) Hitchc.                  hairy t.\n    _pulchellus_ (H.B.K.) Hitchc.               fluffgrass\n    _strictus_ (Nutt.) Nash                     longspike t.\n  _Triplasis purpurea_ (Walt.) Chapm.         purple sandgrass\n  _Tripsacum dactyloides_ (L.) L.             eastern gamagrass\n    _flavescens_ (L.) Beauv.                    yellow t.\n    _latifolia_ Michx.                          broadleaf u.\n    _sessiliflora_ Poir.                        longleaf u.\n  _Zizania aquatica_ L.                       wildrice\n  _Zizaniopsis miliacea_ (Michx.)\n        Doell & Aschers.                      southern wildrice\n    _japonica_ Steud.                           Japanese lawngrass\n    _matrella_ (L.) Merr.[37]                   manillagrass\n    _tenuifolia_ Willd. ex. Trin.               mascarenegrass\n     FOOTNOTES:\n     [9] _Agropyron cristatum_ and _A. desertorum_ are part of\n          a complex that includes several other species.\n     [10] Not listed in Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [11] A complex.\n     [12] _Bothriochloa intermedia_ (R. Brown) A. Camus (a\n          complex) of Harlan & Celerier, Okla. Tech. Bul. T-72.\n     [13] _Bothriochloa ischaemum_ (L.) Keng. var. _ischaemum_\n          of Harlan & Celerier, Okla. Tech. Bul. T-72.\n     [14] Not listed in Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [15] A complex, including _B. californicus_ Nutt. ex\n          Buckl., _B. marginatus_ Nees, _B. maritimus_ (Piper)\n          Hitchc., and _B. polyanthus_ Scribn.\n     [16] Includes _B. richardsoni_ Link.\n     [17] In written material in which _B. inermis_ is the only\n          _Bromus_ species discussed, its common name may be\n          shortened to brome.\n     [18] Not listed in Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [19] Not listed in Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [20] Spp. with stiff spreading spikes are called\n          windmillgrass.\n     [21] The name \u201cfingergrass\u201d applied to erect spp.\n     [22] Not listed in Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [23] The name _H. nodosum_ has generally been misapplied to\n          _H. brachyantherum_ in this country.\n     [24] The name \u201coniongrass\u201d applied to those spp. with\n          bulblike stem bases.\n     [25] _M. foliosa_ is a name formerly applied to _M.\n          mexicana_. _M. mexicana_ was then misapplied to the\n          recently recognized _M. frondosa_ (Poir.) Fernald,\n          which it resembles.\n     [26] Considered to be a form of _M. richardsonis_ (Trin.)\n          Rydb., see 1951 ed. of Hitchcock\u2019s manual, p. 382.\n     [27] Listed as _P. fluitans_ (Ell.) Kunth on p. 602 of\n          Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [28] Listed as _P. typhoides_, Stapf and Hubbard, page 74\n          USDA Handbook 170, \u201cGrass varieties in the U.S.,\u201d\n     [29] Older name, now listed as _P. setaceum_, p. 729 in\n          Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual.\n     [30] Included in _Tricholaena_ in some manuals.\n     [31] In some areas certain _Setaria_ spp. have been called\n          foxtail, but to avoid confusion, that common name\n          should be reserved to the genus _Alopecurus_.\n     [32] These three species are sometimes called foxtail.\n     [33] Listed as _S. glauca_ (L.) Beauv. in Gray\u2019s Manual,\n     [34] Listed as _Sorgum_ Adans. in Gray\u2019s Manual, 8th Ed.\n          p. 234, and on p. 244 in Vol. I of the New Britton &\n     [35] _Sorghum almum_ is not listed in Hitchcock\u2019s 1951\n          manual. Parodi, in his 1943 paper, concluded that\n          it must have originated as a hybrid between _S.\n          halepense_ and some other sorghum.\n     [36] Listed on p. 530 of Hitchcock\u2019s 1951 manual as _T.\n          crinita_ (Lag.) Parodi.\n     [37] _Z. pungens_ Willd. in some manuals.\n                  =SEDGES, RUSHES, AND RELATED GENERA=\n  _Bulbostylis capillaris_ (L.) C. B. Clarke  hairsedge bulbstyle\n    _aggregata_ Mackenz.                        glomerate s.\n    _amphibola_ Steud. var. _turgida_ Fern.     narrowleaf s.\n    _annectens_ Bickn.                          yellowfruit s.\n    _austrina_ (Small) Mackenz.                 southern s.\n    _bicknellii_ Britt.                         bicknell s.\n    _brevior_ (Dew.) Mackenz.                   straw s.\n    _cephalophora_ Muhl.                        woodbank s.\n    _davisii_ Schwein. & Torr.                  davis s.\n    _hyalinolepis_ Steud.                       thin scale s.\n    _hystricina_ Muhl.                          bottlebrush s.\n    _laeviconica_ Dew.                          smoothcone s.\n    _leavenworthii_ Dew.                        leavenworth s.\n    _microdonta_ Torr. & Hook.                  littletooth s.\n    _pensylvanica_ Lam. var. _digyna_ Boeckl.\n           (_C. heliophila_ Mackenz.)           pennsylvania s.\n    _praegracilis_ W. Boott                     clusteredfield s.\n    _acuminatus_ Torr. & Hook.                  tapeleaf f.\n    _erythrorhizos_ Muhl.                       redroot f.\n    _ferruginescens_ Boeckl.                    slender f.\n    _ovularis_ (Michx.) Torr.                   globe f.\n    _schweinitzii_ Torr.                        schweinitz f.\n    _virens_ Michx.\n          (C. _pseudovegetus_ Steud.)           green f.\n  _Eleocharis_ R. Br.                         spikesedge\n    _compressa_ Sulliv.                         flatstem s.\n    _engelmanni_ Steud.                         engelmann s.\n    _macrostachya_ Britt.                       longstem s.\n    _obtusa_ (Willd.) Schultes                  blunt s.\n  _Fimbristylis_ Vahl                         fimbristylis\n    _autumnalis_ (L.) R. & S. var.\n      _mucronulata_ (Michx.) Fern.\n    _caroliniana_ (Lam.) Fern. [_F. puberula_\n      (Michx.) Vahl; _F. castanea_ (Michx.)\n      Vahl var. _puberula_ (Michx.) Britt.;\n  _Fuirena simplex_ Vahl                      fuirena\n  _Hemicarpha_ Nees                           hemicarpha\n    _micrantha_ (Vahl) Pax                    common h.\n    _biflorus_ Ell. (_J. aristulatus_ of\n          Gray\u2019s 7th ed., not Michx.)           twoflower r.\n    _diffusissimus_ Buckl.                      slimpod r.\n    _marginatus_ Rostk.                         grassleaf r.\n    _tenuis_ Willd. (_J. macer_ S. F. Gray)     soft r.\n  _Killinga_ (see _Cyperus_)\n    _fluviatilis_ (Torr.) Gray                  river b.\n    _pallidus_ (Britt.) Fern.                   pale b.\n  _Seleria_ Bergius                           razorsedge\n    _pauciflora_ Muhl.                          fewflower r.\n    _triglomerata_ Michx.                       whip r.\n                       =FERNS AND RELATED GENERA=\n  _Adiantum pedatum_ L.                       American maidenhairfern\n    _platyneuron_ (L.) Oakes                    ebony s.\n    _resiliens_ Kunze                           blackstem s.\n  _Botrychium virginianum_ (L.) Sw.           rattlesnakefern\n  _Camptosorus rhizophyllus_ (L.) Link        walkingfern\n  _Cheilanthes feei_ Moore                    fee lipfern\n  _Cystopteris fragilis_ (L.) Bernh.          brittle bladderfern\n  _Dryopteris_ Adans.                         woodfern\n    _thelypteris_ (L.) Gray                     marshfern\n  _Equisetum_ L.                              horsetail; scouringrush\n    _hyemale_ L. (including _E. prelatum_ Raf.) scouringrush\n    _laevigatum_ A. Br. (including _E.\n  _Iso\u00ebtes butleri_ Engelm.                   quillwort\n  _Marsilea mucronata_ A. Br. (_M. vestita_ of\n      Gray\u2019s 7th ed., not Hook. & Grev.)      pepperwort\n  _Notholaena dealbata_ (Pursh) Kunze         cloakfern\n  _Onoclea sensibilis_ L.                     sensitivefern\n  _Ophioglossum vulgatum_ L.                  adderstongue\n  _Pellaea atropurpurea_ (L.) Link            purple cliffbrake\n  _Polystichum_ Roth                          hollyfern\n    _acrostichoides_ (Michx.) Schott            christmasfern\n  _Pteridium_ Gleditsch                       bracken\n    _aquilinum_ (L.) Kuhn\n      var. _pubescens_ Underw.                  western b.\n      var. _latiusculum_ (Desv.) Underw.        eastern b.\n  _Woodsia obtusa_ (Spreng.) Torr.            common woodsia\n  _Acorus calamus_ L.                         drug sweetflag\n  _Alisma subcordatum_ Raf.                   subcordate waterplantain\n    various native spp.                         wild o.; wild g.\n  _Anacharis_ (see _Elodea_)\n  _Androstephium coerculeum_\n        (Scheele) Greene                      blue funnellily\n  _Arisaema_ Mart.                            jackinthepulpit\n    _dracontium_ (L.) Schott                    dragonroot j.\n    _triphyllum_ (L.) Schott                    indian j.\n  _Asparagus officinalis_ L.                  asparagus\n  _Belamcanda chinensis_ (L.) DC.             blackberrylily\n  _Camassia scilloides_[38] (Raf.) Cory       Atlantic camas\n    _diffusa_ Burm. f. (_C. longicaulis_\n    _erecta_ L. (including _C. virginica_\n  _Cooperia drummondii_ Herb.                 eveningstar rainlily\n  _Cypripedium calceolus_ L. var. _parviflorum_\n      (Salisb.) Fern. (_C. parviflorum_\n       Salisb.)                               small yellow ladyslipper\n  _Dioscorea villosa_ L.                      Atlantic yam\n  _Echinodorus_ Richard                       burhead\n    _cordifolius_ (L.) Griseb.\n         [_E. radicans_ (Nutt.) Engelm.]\n    _rostratus_ (Nutt.) Engelm.\n         [_E. cordifolius_ of manuals, not\n  _Elodea nuttallii_ (Planch.) St. John\n         [_Anacharis occidentalis_ (Pursh)\n  _Erythronium albidum_ Nutt.                 white fawnlily\n  _Habenaria leucophaea_ (Nutt.) Gray         prairie fringeorchid\n  _Heteranthera_ R. & P.                      mudplantain\n  _Hypoxis hirsuta_ (L.) Coville              goldstargrass\n    _brevicaulis_ Raf. (_I. foliosa_\n  _Lilium michiganense_ Farw.                 Michigan lily\n  _Lophotocarpus calycinus_ (Engelm.)\n  _Melanthium virginicum_ L.                  bunchflower\n  _Najas quadalupensis_ (Spreng.) Magnus\n      [_Naias g._ (Spreng.) Morong]           southern naiad\n  _Nemastylis geminiflora_ Nutt.\n  _Nothoscordum bivalve_ (L.) Britt.          yellow falsegarlic\n  _Polygonatum canaliculatum_ (Muhl.) Pursh   solomonseal\n    _diversifolius_ Raf.                        waterthread p.\n    _illinoensis_ Morong (_P. lucens_ of\n    _nodosus_ Poir. (_P. americanus_ C. & S.)   longleaf p.\n    _obtusifolius_ Mert. & Koch                 bluntleaf p.\n  _Ruppia maritima_ L.                        widgeongrass\n    _brevirostra_ Mackenz. & Bush               shortbeak a.\n    _cuneata_ Sheldon                           duckpotato a.\n    _latifolia_ Willd. (including _S.\n    _longiloba_ Engelm.                         longbarb a.\n  _Sisyrinchium_ L.                           blue-eyedgrass\n    _angustifolium_ Mill. (including _S.\n          graminoides_ Bickn.)                  common b.\n  _Smilacina_ Desf.                           solomonplume\n    _lasioneura_ Hook. (included in _S.\n          herbacea_ L. in some manuals)\n    _tamnoides._ L. var. _hispida_ (Muhl.)\n      Fern. (_S. hispida_ Muhl.)                bristly g.\n  _Sparganium eurycarpum_ Engelm.             giant burreed\n  _Spiranthes_ Richard                        ladiestresses\n    _vernalis_ Engelm. & Gray                   upland l.\n  _Spirodela polyrhiza_ (L.) Schleid.         common ducksmeat\n  _Tradescantia_ L.                           spiderwort\n    _occidentalis_ (Britt.) Smyth               prairie s.\n    _ohiensis_ Raf. (_T. canaliculata_ Raf.)\n    _tharpii_ Anders. & Woodson                 tharp s.\n  _Wolffia columbiana_ Karst.                 wolffia\n  _Yucca glauca_ Nutt.                        small soapweed\n  _Zannichellia palustris_ L.                 common poolmat\n  _Zygadenus nuttallii_ Gray (also\n        spelled _Zigadenus_)                  nuttall deathcamas\n     FOOTNOTES:\n     [38] _C. scilloides_ in Gray\u2019s 8th Ed.: _C. scillioides_ in\n          some manuals.\n                  =LEGUMES (including woody species)=\n  _Acacia augustissima_ (Mill.) Ktze.         prairie acacia\n  _Alysicarpus vaginalis_ DC.                 alyceclover\n    _canescens_ Pursh                           leadplant\n  _Amphicarpa bracteata_ (L.) Fern.           southern hogpeanut\n  _Anthyllis vulnerania_ L.                   kidneyvetch\n  _Apios americana_ Medic.                    American potatobean\n  _Arachis hypogaea_ L.                       peanut\n  _Astragalus_ L.                             milkvetch: species not\n    _caryocarpus_ Ker (_A.\n          crassicarpus_ Nutt.)                  groundplum m.\n    _missouriensis_ Nutt.                       Missouri m.\n    _pectinatus_ (Hook.) Dougl.                 narrowleaf p.\n    _rubyi_ Greene & Morris                     ruby m.\n    _spatulatus_ Sheld. (_A. caespitosus_\n          Gray; _Homalobus caespitosus_ Nutt.)  tufted m.\n  _Cajanus cajan_ Millsp.\n        (_C. indicus_ Spreng.)                pigeonpea\n  _Caragana arborescens_ Lam.                 Siberian peashrub\n    _fasciculata_ Michx. (_Chamaecrista f._\n          B. & B., including _C. rostrata_\n  _Cercis canadensis_ L.                      eastern redbud\n  _Cicer arientinum_ L.                       chickpea\n  _Coronilla varia_ L.                        crownvetch\n    _alopecuroides_ Willd. [_D. leporina_\n          (Alt.) Kearney & Peebles]             foxtail d.\n  _Desmanthus_ Willd.                         bundleflower\n    _illinoensis_ (Michx.) MacM.                Illinois b.\n  _Desmodium_ Desv.                           tickclover\n    _cuspidatum_ (Muhl.) Loud.\n          [_D. bracteosum_ (Michx.) DC.]        longleaf t.\n    _glutinosum_ (Muhl.) Wood\n          [_D. acuminatum_ (Michx.) DC.]        largeflower t.\n    _sessilifolium_ (Torr.) T. & G.             sessile t.\n    _tortuosum_ DC. (_D. purpureum_\n  _Dolichos lablab_ L.                        hyacinthbean\n  _Gleditsia triacanthos_ L.                  honeylocust\n  _Glottidium vesicarium_ (Jacq.) Harper      bagpod\n  _Glycine max_ (L.) Merr.                    soybean\n  _Glycyrrhiza lepidota_ (Nutt.) Pursh        American licorice\n  _Gymnocladus dioica_ (L.) K. Koch           Kentucky coffeetree\n  _Hedysarum coronarium_ L.                   sulla\n  _Hoffmanseggia jamesii_ T. & G.             rushpea\n  _Homalobus_ (see _Astragalus_)\n    _polymorphous_ Nutt. [including\n          _L. incanus_ (Sm. & Rydb.) Rydb.\n          and _L. stipulaceous_ (Pursh)\n  _Lens culinaris_ Medic.\n        (_L. esculenta_ Moench)               lentil\n  _Lespedeza_ Michx.                          lespedeza\n    _cuneata_ (Dumont) G. Don                   sericea l.\n    _daurica_ (Laxm.) Schindl.\n          var. _schimadae_ (Masam.)\n          Masam. & Hosok                        prostrate-daurican l.\n    _hedysaroides_ (Pall.) Kitagawa             rush l.\n    _intermedia_ (S. Wats.) Britt.              wand l.\n    _latissima_ Nakai                           decumbent l.\n    _manniana_ Mackenz. & Bush                  mann l.\n    _procumbens_ Michx.                         trailing l.\n    _violacea_ (L.) Pers. (_L. prairea_ Britt.) violet l.\n  _Lotus_ L.                                  deervetch (native American\n    _americanus_ (Nutt.) Bisch.                 American d.\n    _tenuis_ Waldst. & Dit. ex. Willd.          narrowleaf b.t.\n    _uliginosus_ Schkuhr (_L. major_ Sm.;\n    _plattensis_ S. Wats.                       Nebraska l.\n  _Medicago_ L.                               medic; burclover; alfalfa\n    _ciliaris_ Bald. ex DC.                     fringed m.\n    _tuberculata_ Willd.                        tuberculous m.\n  _Melilotus_ Mill.                           sweetclover\n    _suaveolens_ Ledeb.                         daghestan s.\n  _Onobrychis viciaefolia_ Scop.              common sainfoin\n  _Ornithopus sativus_ Brot.                  serradella\n  _Oxytropis lambertii_ Pursh                 lambert crazyweed[41]\n  _Petalostemum_[42] Michx.                   prairieclover\n    _candidum_ (Willd.) Michx.                  white p.\n    _compactum_ (Spreng.) Swezey                compact p.\n    _multiflorum_ Nutt.                         roundheaded p.\n    _occidentale_ (Gray) Fern.                  western p.\n    _porterianum_ Small                         porter p.\n    _purpureum_ (Vent.) Rydb.                   purple p.\n    _tenuifolium_ Gray                          slimleaf p.\n    _aconitifolius_ Jacq.                       moth b.\n    _coccineus_ L. (_P. multiflorus_ Lam.)      runner b.\n    _lunatus_ L. (including var.\n  _Prosopis juliflora_ (Swartz) DC.\n       (_P. chilensis_ of manuals; including\n       _P. glandulosa_ Torr. and _P.\n    _argophylla_ Pursh                          silverleaf s.\n    _cuspidata_ Pursh                           tallbread s.\n    _osculenta_ Pursh                           common breadroot s.\n    _hypogaea_ Nutt.                            little breadroot s.\n    _psoralioides_ (Walt.) Cory                 bobsroot s.\n    _tenuiflora_ Pursh                          slimflower s.\n      var. _floribunda_ (Nutt.) Rydb.           manyflower s.\n    _lobata_ (Willd.) Ohwi [_P. thunbergiana_\n    _phaseoloides_ Benth.                       tropical k.\n  _Schrankia nuttallii_ (DC.) Standl. (_S.\n        uncinata_ of manuals, not Willd.)     catclaw sensitivebriar\n  _Sesbania exaltata_ (Raf.) Cory             sesbania\n  _Sophora sericea_ Nutt.                     silky sophora\n  _Stizolobium deeringianum_ Bort.            velvetbean\n  _Strophostyles_ Ell.                        wildbean\n    _leiosperma_ (T. & G.) Piper                smoothseed w.\n  _Stylosanthes biflora_ (L.) BSP.            pencilflower\n  _Tephrosia virginiana_ (L.) Pers.\n        [including _T. leucosericea_ (Rydb.)\n  _Thermopsis rhombifolia_ Nutt. ex Rich.     prairie thermopsis\n    _carolinianum_ Michx.                       Carolina c.\n    _stoloniferum_ Eat.                         stoloniferous c.\n    _subterraneum_ L.                           subterranean c.\n    _foenum-graecum_ L.                         fenugreek\n    _angustifolia_ Reichard                     narrowleaf v.\n    _articulata_ Hornem.                        oneflower v.\n    _benghalensis_ L. (_V. atropurpurea_ Desf.) purple v.\n    _caroliniana_ Walt.                         Carolina v.\n      var. _equina_ Pers. (_V. faba_\n          L. subsp. _major_ Alef.)              horsebean\n    _grandiflora_ Scop.                         bigflower v.\n    _ludoviciana_ Nutt.                         Louisiana v.\n    _pannonica_ Crantz.                         Hungarian v.\n    _sparsifolia_ Nutt.                         stiffleaf v.\n    _sesquipedalis_ Fruwirth                    yardlong c.\n  _Wisteria macrostachya_ Nutt.               wisteria\n     FOOTNOTES:\n     [39] Listed as shack c. in 1948 USDA Yearbook of\n          Agriculture.\n     [40] The genus _Dalea_ includes _Petalostemum_ in some\n     [41] Often termed stemless loco in older literature but\n          the name loco should be reserved for the genus\n          _Astragalus_.\n     [42] The genus _Petalostemum_ is included in _Dalea_ in\n          some manuals.\n  _Abronia fragrans_ Nutt. ex Hook.           sweet sandverbena\n  _Abutilon theophrasti_ Medic.               velvetleaf\n    _ostryaefolia_ Riddell                      hophornbeam c.\n  _Acerates_ (see _Asclepias_)\n    _millefolium_ L. subsp. _millefolium_       common y.\n    _millefolium_ L. subsp. _lanulosa_\n  _Acnida tamariscina_ (Nutt.) Wood           waterhemp\n  _Actinea_ (see _Hymenoxys_)\n  _Actinomeris_ (see _Verbesina_)\n  _Agastache_ Clayt.                          gianthyssop\n    _scrophulariaefolia_ (Willd.) Ktze.         purple g.\n  _Agoseris cuspidata_ (see _Microseris_)\n    _rostellata_ Wallr.                         woodland a.\n  _Agrostemma githago_ L.                     common corncockle\n  _Alliaria officinalis_ Andrz.               garlicmustard\n  _Allionia_ (included in _Mirabilis_)\n  _Amaranthus_ L.                             pigweed (amaranth of SPN)\n    _graecizans_ L. (_A. blitoides_ S. Wats.)   tumbleweed\n    _torreyi_ (Gray) Benth.                     torrey p.\n    _artemisiifolia_ L. (_A. elatior_ L.)       common r.\n    _bidentata_ Michx.                          lanceleaf r.\n    _psilostachya_ DC.\n        (_A. coronopifolia_ T. & G.)            western r.\n  _Ampelamus albidus_ (Nutt.) Britt.\n        (_Gonolobus laevis_ of manuals,\n  _Amsonia tabernaemontana_ Walt.             willow amsonia\n  _Anagallis arvensis_ L.                     scarlet pimpernel\n  _Androsace occidentalis_ Pursh              western rockjasmine\n    _caroliniana_ Walt.                         Carolina a.\n  _Antennaria_ Gaertn.                        pussytoes\n    _neglecta_ Greene (including A.\n        _campestris_ Rydb. & _A.\n    _plantaginifolia_ (L.) Richards\n        (including _A. fallax_ Greene)          plantainleaf p.\n  _Anychia_ (see _Paronychia_)\n  _Aplopappus_ (see _Haplopappus_)\n    _hirsuta_ (L.) Scop. var. _pycnocarpa_\n    _laevigata_ (Muhl.) Poir.                   smooth r.\n  _Arctium minus_ (Hill) Bernh.               smaller burdock\n    _serpyllifolia_ L.                          thymeleaf s.\n    _stricta_ Michx. var. _texana_ Robins.      Texas s.\n    _polyanthemos_ (Fedde) G. Ownbey\n    _squarrosa_ Greene (including _A.\n  _Aristolochia tomentosa_ Sims                 dutchmanspipe\n  _Armoracia lapathifolia_ Gilib.\n        [_Rorippa armoracia_ (L.) Hitchc.]    common horseradish\n  _Artemisia_ L.                              sagewort; sagebrush\n    _biennis_ Willd.                            biennial sagewort\n    _campestris_ L. (_A. canadensis_ Michx.)    prairie sagewort\n    _dracunculus_ L.                            falsetarragan sagewort\n    _filifolia_ Torr.                           sand sagebrush\n    _ludoviciana_ Nutt. [including\n        var. _gnaphalodes_ (Nutt.) T. & G.]     Louisiana sagewort\n  _Asarum canadense_ L.                       wildginger\n  _Asclepias_ L. (including _Acerates_ Ell.)  milkweed\n    _amplexicaulis_ Sm.                         bluntleaf m.\n    _auriculata_ (Engelm.) Holz.\n    _hirtella_ (Pennell) Woodson\n        (_Acerates h._ Pennell)                 prairie m.\n    _lanuginosa_ Nutt. [_Acerates l._\n    _latifolia_ (Torr.) Raf.                    broadleaf m.\n    _stenophylla_ Gray (_Acerates\n        angustifolia_ Dene.)                    narrowleaf m.\n    _subverticillata_ (Gray) Vail\n    _sullivantii_ Engelm.                       sullivant m.\n    _syriaca_ L. var. _kansana_ (Vail)\n    _syriaca_ L. var. _syriaca_                 common m.\n    _viridiflora_ Raf. [_Acerates v._\n  _Asclepiodora_[43] Gray                     antelopehorn\n    _decumbens_ (Nutt.) Gray (_Asclepias\n        capricornu_ Woodson)                    spider a.\n    _viridis_ (Walt.) Gray\n    _arenosus_ Blake [_Leucelene ericoides_\n    _drummondii_ Lindl.                         drummond a.\n    _laevis_ L. var. _laevis_                   smooth a.\n    _oblongifolius_ Nutt.                       aromatic a.\n    _ontarionis_ Wieg. (_A. missouriensis_\n        Britt., & _A. pantotrichus_ Blake)      Missouri a.\n    _paludosus_ Ait.                            singlestem bog a.\n    _sagittifolius_ Wedemeyer                   arrow a.\n    _simplex_ Willd. (_A. paniculatus_\n    _tanacetifolius_ HBK. [_Machaeranthera\n  _Astranthium integrifolium_ (Michx.) Nutt.  entireleaved westerndaisy\n    _canescens_ (Pursh) Nutt.                   fourwing s.\n  _Aureolaria_ (see _Gerardia_)\n  _Bacopa rotundifolia_ (Michx.) Wettst.\n        (_Macuillamia r._ Michx.)             disk waterhyssop\n  _Bahia oppositifolia_ (Nutt.) DC.\n        [_Picradeniopsis o._ (Nutt.) Rydb.]   plains bahia\n  _Barbarea vulgaris_ R. Br.                  bitter wintercress\n  _Bergia texana_ (Hook.) Seubert             Texas bergia\n  _Berlandiera_ DC.                           berlandiera\n  _Berteroa incana_ (L.) DC.                  hoary false-alyssum\n  _Berula erecta_ (Huds.) Coville             stalky berula\n    _cernua_ L. [including _B. glaucescens_\n        Greene, & _B. elliptica_ (Wieg.)\n    _polylepis_ Blake [_B. involucrata_\n    _tripartita_ L. [_B. comosa_ (Gray)\n  _Boehmeria cylindrica_ (L.) Sw.             smallspike falsenettle\n    _asteroides_ (L.) L\u2019Her. var.\n        _recognita_ (Fern. & Griscom) Cron.\n        (_B. latisquama_ Gray var.\n        _recognita_ Fern. & Griscom)            white b.\n    _asteroides_ (L.) L\u2019Her. var.\n        _latisquama_ (Gray) Cron.\n    _kaber_ (DC.) L. C. Wheeler                 charlock\n    _napus_ L. (_B. rapa_ of authors, not L.)   turnip\n    _rapa_ L. (_B. campestris_ L.)              rape & rutabaga\n  _Brickellia grandiflora_ (Hook.) Nutt.\n        [_B. umbellata_ (Greene) Rydb.]       brickellia\n  _Buchnera americana_ L.                     American bluehearts\n  _Calceolaria_ (see _Hybanthus_)\n  _Callirho\u00eb_ Nutt.                           poppymallow\n    _alcaeoides_ (Michx.) Gray                  pale p.\n    _involucrata_ (T. & G.) Gray                purple p.\n  _Callitriche heterophylla_ Pursh            waterstarwort\n  _Camelina microcarpa_ Andrz.                littlepod falseflax\n  _Campanula americana_ L.                    American bellflower\n  _Capsella bursa-pastoris_ (L.) Medic.       shepherdspurse\n    _pensylvanica_ Muhl.                        Pennsylvania b.\n  _Cardaria draba_ (L.) Desv.\n        (_Lepidium draba_ L.)                 hoary cress\n  _Carduus nutans_ L.                         muskthistle\n  _Carthamus tinctorius_ L.                   safflower\n  _Castilleja_ Mutis                          paintbrush\n    _sessiliflora_ Pursh                        downy p.\n    _americana_ Nutt.                           basketflower\n    _repens_ L. (_C. picris_ Pall.)              Russian knapweed\n    _brachypodum_ (Engelm.) Robins.              shortstalk c.\n  _Ceratophyllum demersum_ L.                  hornwort\n    _procumbens_ (L.) Crantz                     spreading c.\n  _Chamaesaracha_ Gray                        falsenightshade\n    _conioides_ (Moric.) Britt.\n    _coronopus_ (Dunal) Gray                    green f.\n  _Chamaesyce_ (included in _Euphorbia_)\n    _hybridum_ L. var. _gigantospermum_\n    _incanum_ (S. Wats.) Heller\n    _leptophyllum_ Nutt.                        slimleaf g.\n    _petiolare_ HBK.\n  _Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_ L.             oxeyedaisy\n  _Chrysopsis_ Ell.                           goldaster\n    _villosa_ (Pursh) Nutt. var.\n        _angustifolia_ (Rydb.) Cron.\n        [_C. angustifolia_ Rydb.,\n        _C. stenophylla_ (Gray) Greene]\n    _villosa_ (Pursh) Nutt. var.\n        _canescens_ Gray (_C.\n         berlandieri_ Greene)\n    _villosa_ (Pursh) Nutt. var. _foliosa_\n    _villosa_ (Pursh) Nutt. var.\n        _hispida_ (Hook.) Gray\n        [_C. viscida_ (Gray) Greene]            rough g.\n    _villosa_ (Pursh) Nutt. var. _villosa_\n        (including _C. bakeri_ Greene,\n        _C. ballardi_ Rydb., _C.\n        hirsutissima_ Greene,\n  _Cichorium intybus_ L.                     common chicory\n  _Cicuta maculata_ L.                       waterhemlock\n  _Circaea latifolia_ Hill                   broadleaf circaea\n    _altissimum_ (L.) Spreng.                  tall t.\n    _ochrocentrum_ Gray                        yellowspine t.\n    _undulatum_ (Nutt.) Spreng.                 wavyleaf t.\n    _vulgare_ (Savi) Airy-Shaw\n        (_C. lanceolatum_ of manuals)           bull t.\n  _Claytonia virginica_ L.                    Virginia springbeauty\n    _ligusticifolia_ Nutt.                      western c.\n  _Cleomella angustifolia_ Torr.              cleomella\n  _Cocculus carolinus_ (L.) DC.               Carolina snailseed\n  _Collinsia violacea_ Nutt.                  collinsia\n    _richardsiana_ Fern.                        richards c.\n  _Conium maculatum_ L.                       poisonhemlock\n  _Conobea multifida_ (Michx.) Benth.\n        [_Leucospora m._ (Michx.) Nutt.]      paleseed\n  _Conringia orientalis_ (L.) Dumort.         treacle haresear\n    _sepium_ L. (including _C. interior_\n    _canadensis_ (L.) Cron. [_Erigeron\n        c._ L., _Leptilon c._ (L.) Britt.]      horseweed\n    _ramosissima_ Cron. (_Erigeron\n        divaricatus_ Michx.)\n    _grandiflora_ Hogg                          bigflower c.\n    _hyssopifolium_ L.                          hyssopleaf t.\n  _Corydalis_ Medic.                          corydalis\n    _campestris_ (Britt.) Buchholz & Palmer     plains c.\n    _crystallina_ Engelm.                       mealy c.\n    _micrantha_ (Engelm.) Gray                  smallflower c.\n  _Cristatella jamesii_ T. & G.               cristatella\n    _glandulosus_ L. var. _septentrionalis_\n    _lindheimerianus_ Scheele                   threeseed c.\n    _monanthogynus_ Michx.                      oneseed c.\n    _texensis_ (Klotzsch) Muell. Arg.           Texas c.\n  _Crotonopsis elliptica_ Willd.              crotonopsis\n  _Cryptantha_ Lehm. (including _Oreocarya_\n    _crassisepala_ (T. & G.) Greene             thicksepal c.\n    _jamesii_ (Torr.) Payson [_O.\n        suffruticosa_ (Torr.) Greene]           james c.\n  _Cucurbita foetidissima_ HBK.               buffalogourd\n  _Cuphea petiolata_ (L.) Koehne              clammy cuphea\n    _cephalanthi_ Engelm.                       buttonbush d.\n    _polygonorum_ Engelm.                       smartweed d.\n  _Cyclanthera dissecta_ (T. & G.) Arn.       cyclanthera\n  _Cycloloma atriplicifolium_\n        (Spreng.) Coult.                      tumble ringwing\n  _Cymopterus_ Raf.                           cymopterus\n    _acaulis_ (Pursh) Raf.                      stemless c.\n    _montanus_ (Nutt.) T. & G.\n        (_Phellopterus m._ Nutt.)               mountain corkwing\n  _Cynoglossum_ L.                            houndstongue\n  _Dasistoma macrophylla_ (Nutt.) Raf.        oakleech\n    _innoxia_ Mill. (_D. meteloides_ DC.,\n        _D. metel_ of manuals, not L.)          sacred d.\n    _pusillus_ Michx.                           southwestern c.\n  _Dentaria laciniata_ Muhl.                  cutleaf toothwort\n  _Descurainia_ Webb & Berthelot              tansymustard\n    _pinnata_ (Walt.) Britt. [including\n        _D. intermedia_ (Rydb.) Daniels,\n  _Dianthera_ (see _Justicia_)\n  _Diaperia prolifera_ Nutt.                  diaperia\n  _Dicentra cucullaria_ (L.) Bernh.           dutchmans-breeches\n  _Dicliptera brachiata_ (Pursh) Spreng.      dicliptera\n  _Diodia teres_ Walt.                        rough buttonweed\n    _humilis_ (Engelm. & Gray) Pax              low d.\n    _mercurialina_ (Nutt.) Coult.               tall d.\n  _Dodecatheon meadia_ L.                     common shootingstar\n    _brachycarpa_ Nutt.                         shortpod d.\n    _cuneifolia_ Nutt.                          wedgeleaf d.\n    _reptans_ (Lam.) Fern.\n        (_D. caroliniana_ Walt.)                carolina d.\n  _Dracopis amplexicaulis_ (Vahl) Cass.\n        (_Rudbeckia a._ Vahl)                 clasping coneflower\n  _Dyssodia papposa_ (Vent.) Hitchc.          prairie dogweed\n  _Echinacea_ Moench                          echinacea\n    _angustifolia_ DC.                          blacksamson e.\n    _atrorubens_ Nutt. [including\n        _E. paradoxa_ (Norton) Britt.]          yellow e.\n  _Echinocereus_ Engelm.                      echinocereus\n    _reichenbachii_ (Terscheck) Haage jr.\n        (_E. caespitosus_ Engelm.)              lace e.\n    _viridiflorus_ Engelm.                      greenpitaya e.\n  _Echinocystis lobata_ (Michx.) T. & G.      wild mockcucumber\n  _Echium vulgare_ L.                         blueweed\n  _Eclipta alba_ (L.) Hassk.                  yerbadetajo\n  _Elephantopus carolinianus_ Willd.          elephantsfoot\n  _Ellisia nyctelea_ L.                       ellisia\n  _Engelmannia pinnatifida_ T. & G.           engelmanndaisy\n    _coloratum_ Biehler                         purpleleaf w.\n    _leptophyllum_ Raf. (_E. lineare_ of\n        manuals, not Muhl.)                     narrowleaf w.\n  _Erechtites hieracifolia_ (L.) Raf.         American burnweed\n  _Erigeron_ L. (see also _Conyza_)           fleabane\n    _bellidiastrum_ Nutt.                       western f.\n    _flagellaris_ Gray                          trailing f.\n    _philadelphicus_ L.                         Philadelphia f.\n    _strigosus_ Muhl. [_E. ramosus_\n  _Eriogonum_ Michx.                          eriogonum\n    _longifolium_ Nutt.                         longleaf e.\n  _Erodium cicutarium_ (L.) L\u2019Her.            filaree\n  _Eruca sativa_ Mill.                        rocketsalad\n    _leavenworthii_ T. & G.                     leavenworth e.\n    _yuccifolium_ Michx.                        buttonsnakeroot e.\n    _inconspicuum_ (S. Wats.) MacM.             smallflower e.\n  _Eulophus_ (see _Perideridia_)\n  _Eupatorium_ L.                             eupatorium; joepyeweed\n    _purpureum_ L. (_E. falcatum_ Michx.)       bluestem j.\n    _rugosum_ Houtt. (_E. urticaefolium_\n  _Euphorbia_ L. [including _Tithymalus_\n        (Tourn.) Adans., & _Chamaesyce_\n    _dentata_ Michx. [including _E.\n        cuphosperma_ (Engelm.) Boiss.]          toothed e.\n    _dictyosperma_ Fisch. & Mey.                warty e.\n    _fendleri_ T. & G. (_E. greenei_ in\n    _glyptosperma_ Engelm.                      ridgeseed e.\n    _humistrata_ Engelm.                        spreading e.\n    _maculata_ L. (variously known as _E.\n        hypericifolia_ L., _E. hyssopifolia_\n        L., _E. nutans_ Lag., & _E. preslii_\n    _marginata_ Pursh                           snow-on-the-mountain\n    _missurica_ Raf. [including _E. nuttallii_\n        (Engelm.) Small, & _E. petaloidea_\n    _serpyllifolia_ Pers.                       thymeleaf e.\n    _stictospora_ Engelm.                       slimseed e.\n    _supina_ Raf. (called _E. maculata_ L.\n  _Eustoma russellianum_ (Hook.) Griseb.      russell prairiegentian\n  _Evolvulus nuttallianus_ R. & S.            nuttall evolvulus\n  _Fagopyrum sagittatum_ Gilib. (_F.\n        esculentum_ Moench)                   common buckwheat\n  _Flaveria campestris_ J. R. Johnston        flaveria\n  _Fragaria virginiana_ Duchesne              wild strawberry\n    _acanthicarpa_ (Hook.) Coville              variable b.\n    _confertiflora_ (DC.) Rydb. (_F.\n        tenuifolia_ Harv. & Gray)               slimleaf b.\n  _Froelichia_ Moench                         snakecotton\n    _floridana_ (Nutt.) Moq. var.\n        _campestris_ (Small) Fern.\n  _Gaillardia_ Foug.                          gaillardia\n    _aristata_ Pursh                            common perennial g.\n    _drummondii_ (Hook.) DC.                    drummond g.\n    _fastigiata_ Greene                         prairie g.\n    _pulchella_ Foug. (_G. aristosa_\n  _Galinsoga ciliata_ (Raf.) Blake\n        (_G. aristulata_ Bickn.)              fringed quickweed\n    _circaezans_ Michx. var.\n    _parviflora_ Dougl.                         smallflower g.\n  _Gentiana puberula_ Michx.                  downy gentian\n    _auriculata_ Michx. [_Tomanthera a._\n    _densiflora_ Benth. [_Tomanthera d._\n    _grandiflora_ Benth. [_Aureolaria g._\n    _laxiflora_ (Coult.) Osterh.                irion g.\n    _longiflora_ (Torr.) G. Don                 whiteflower g.\n  _Glechoma hederacea_ L. [_Nepeta h._\n  _Gonolobus_ (see _Ampelamus_)\n  _Gossypium hirsutum_ L.                     upland cotton\n    _aurea_ Muhl. (_G. lutea_ Raf. in part)     golden h.\n    _lanceolata_ Nutt.                          spinytooth g.\n    _squarrosa_ (Pursh) Dunal                   curlycup g.\n  _Gutierrezia_ Lag.                          snakeweed\n    _dracunculoides_ (DC.) Blake\n        [_Amphiachyris d._ (DC.) Nutt.]         broomweed\n    _sarothrae_ (Pursh) Britt. & Rusby\n        (including _G. diversifolia_ Greene,\n  _Hackelia virginiana_ (L.) I. M. Johnston\n        [_Lappula v._ (L.) Greene]            Virginia stickseed\n  _Haplopappus_ Endl. (including _Aplopappus_\n        Cass., _Sideranthus_ Sweet, &\n        _Oonopsis_ Greene)                    goldenweed\n    _ciliatus_ (Nutt.) DC. (_Prionopsis\n    _divaricatus_ (Nutt.) Gray\n        [_Isopappus d._ (Nutt.) T. & G.]        slender g.\n    _englemannii_ Z. (Gray) Hall\n        [_Oonopsis e._ (Gray) Greene]           englemann g.\n    _phyllocephalus_ DC.\n        (_Sideranthus annuus_ Rydb.)            annual g.\n    _spinulosus_ (Pursh) DC. [_Sideranthus\n  _Hedeoma_ Pers.                             falsepennyroyal\n    _drummondii_ Benth.                         drummond f.\n    _pulegioides_ (L.) Pers.                    American f.\n    _nudiflorum_ Nutt.                          purplehead s.\n  _Helianthemum bicknellii_ Fern.             sunrose\n    _annuus_ L. (including\n        _H. lenticularis_ Dougl.)               common s.\n    _grosseserratus_ Martens                    sawtooth s.\n    _hirsutus_ Raf. [_H. leptocaulis_\n        (Wats.) Blake (including _H.\n    _laetiflorus_ Pers. [including _H.\n        rigidus_ (Cass.) Desf., &\n    _maximiliani_ Schrad.                       maximilian s.\n    _salicifolius_ A. Dietr.                    willowleaf s.\n    _tuberosus_ L. (including\n        _H. mollissimus_ E. E. Wats.)           jerusalemartichoke\n  _Heliopsis helianthoides_ (L.) Sweet\n        var. _scabra_ (Dunal) Fern.           rough heliopsis\n  _Heliotropium_ L.                           heliotrope\n    _convolvulaceum_ (Nutt.) Gray               bindweed h.\n    _tenellum_ (Nutt.) Torr.                    pasture h.\n  _Hesperis matronalis_ L.                    dames rocket\n  _Heterotheca subaxillaris_ (Lam.)\n  _Heuchera richardsonii_ R. Br. var.\n        _grayana_ Rosend., Butt., & Lak.      alumroot\n  _Hibiscus_ L.                               hibiscus; rosemallow\n  _Hieracium longipilum_ Torr.                longbeard hawkweed\n    _nigricans_ (Lam.) Fern.\n        (_H. angustifolia_ Michx.)              narrowleaf b.\n  _Hybanthus verticillatus_ (Ortega) Baill.\n        [_Calceolaria verticillata_\n        (Ortega) Ktze.]                       Northamerican calceolaria\n  _Hydrophyllum_ L.                           waterleaf\n    _appendiculatum_ Michx.                      notchbract w.\n  _Hymenopappus_ L\u2019Her.                        hymenopappus\n    _scabiosaeus_ L\u2019Her.                         whitebract h.\n    _tenuifolius_ Pursh                          slimleaf h.\n  _Hymenoxys_ Cass. (_Actinea_ Juss.,\n        _Tetraneuris_ Greene,\n        _Actinella_ Pers.)                    hymenoxys\n    _acaulis_ (Pursh) Parker [_Tetraneuris\n    _odorata_ DC. [_Actinea o._ (DC.) Ktze.,\n        & _Actinella o._ (DC.) Gray]            bitterweed\n    _scaposa_ (DC.) Parker var. _linearis_\n        (Nutt.) Parker (_Tetraneuris\n        fastigiata_ Greene)                     plains h.\n    _drummondii_ (Grev. & Hook.) T. & G.        drummond S.\n    _sphaerocarpum_ Michx.                      roundfruit S.\n  _Iodanthus pinnatifidus_ (Michx.) Steud.    purplerocket\n    _pandurata_ (L.) G. F. W. Mey.              bigroot m.\n  _Isanthus brachiatus_ (L.) BSP.             fluxweed\n  _Isopyrum biternatum_ (Raf.) T. & G.        Atlantic isopyrum\n  _Jussiaea repens_ L. var. _glabrescens_\n        Ktze. (_J. diffusa_ of manuals,\n        not Forsk.)                           floating waterprimrose\n  _Justicia americana_ (L.) Vahl\n        (_Dianthera a._ L.)                   American dianthera\n  _Kallstroemia_ Scop.                        caltrop\n    _intermedia_ Rydb.                          intermediate c.\n  _Krameria lanceolata_ Torr.\n        (_K. secundiflora_ of manuals,\n  _Krigia_ Schreb.                            dwarfdandelion\n    _dandelion_ (L.) Nutt.\n    _occidentalis_ Nutt.\n        [_Cymbia o._ (Nutt.) Standl.]           western d.\n    _oppositifolia_ Raf. [_Serinia\n    _eupatorioides_ L. (_K. suaveolens_\n          Fresen.; _K. hitchcockii_ A. Nels.)   falseboneset\n    _floridana_ (L.) Gaertn.                    Florida l.\n    _ludoviciana_ (Nutt.) DC.                   Louisiana l.\n    _pulchella_ (Pursh) DC.                     chicory l.\n    _scariola_ L. (_L. serriola_ L.;\n        _L. virosa_ of manuals, not L.)         prickly l.\n  _Lamium amplexicaule_ L.                    henbit\n  _Laportea canadensis_ (L.) Gaud.            woodnettle\n  _Lappula_ Moench                            stickseed\n    _redowskii_ (Hornem.) Greene [_L.\n        occidentalis_ (S. Wats.) Greene]        flatspine s.\n    _texana_ (Scheele) Britt.\n        (_L. heterosperma_ Greene)              cupseed s.\n  _Lechea tenuifolia_ Michx.                  pinweed\n  _Leonurus cardiaca_ L.                      common motherwort\n    _densiflorum_ Schrad.                       peppergrass\n    _ramosissimum_ Nels.                        manybranch p.\n  _Lesquerella_ S. Wats.                      bladderpod\n    _gracilis_ (Hook.) S. Wats. [including\n        _L. repanda_ (Nutt.) S. Wats.]          spreading b.\n    _ludoviciana_ (Nutt.) S. Wats.              Louisiana b.\n  _Leucelene ericoides_ (see _Aster arenosus_)\n  _Liatris_ Schreb.                           gayfeather\n    _angustifolia_ (Bush) Gaiser                narrowleaf g.\n    _kansana_ (Britt.) Rydb.                    Kansas g.\n    _pycnostachya_ Michx.                       thickspike g.\n    _canadensis_ (L.) Dum. var. _canadensis_    oldfield t.\n    _canadensis_ var. _texana_\n  _Lindernia_ All.                            falsepimpernel\n    _anagallidea_ (Michx.) Pennell              clasping f.\n    _compactum_ A. Nels.\n    _lewisii_ Pursh [_L. pratense_\n    _cuneifolia_ (Torr.) Steud.                 wedgeleaf fogfruit\n    _lanceolata_ Michx. var. _recognita_\n    _canescens_ (Michx.) Lehm.                  hoary g.\n    _incisum_ Lehm. (_L. angustifolium_\n        Michx., & _L. linearifolium_ Goldie)    narrowleaf g.\n    _latifolium_ Michx.                         American g.\n    _cardinalis_ L.                             cardinalflower\n    _splendens_ Willd.                          western cardinalflower\n    _foeniculaceum_ (Nutt.) C. & R.\n        [including _L. daucifolium_ (Nutt.)\n        C. & R., & _L. villosum_ Raf.]          carrotleaf l.\n    _palustris_ (L.) Ell. var. _americana_\n    _polycarpa_ Short & Peter                   manyseed s.\n  _Lychnis alba_ Mill.                        white cockle\n  _Lycopersicum esculentum_ Mill.             tomato\n    _asper_ Greene (_L. lucidus_ Turcz.)        rough b.\n  _Lygodesmia_ D. Don                         skeletonplant\n  _Lysimachia_ L. (including _Steironema_\n  _Lythrum alatum_ Pursh                      winged lythrum\n  _Machaeranthera_ Nees (see _Aster_)\n  _Macuillamia_ (see _Bacopa_)\n  _Malacothrix sonchoides_ (Nutt.) T. & G.    sowthistle malacothrix\n  _Mamillaria_ Haw. (_Neomamillaria_ Britt.)    mamillaria\n    _missouriensis_ Sweet (including\n    _vivipara_ (Nutt.) Haw. [including\n        _Neomamillaria radiosa_ (Engelm.)\n  _Marrubium vulgare_ L.                      common hoarhound\n  _Martynia_ (see _Proboscidea_)\n  _Melampodium cinereum_ DC.\n        (_M. leucanthum_ T. & G.)             plains blackfoot\n  _Menispermum canadense_ L.                  common moonseed\n  _Mentha arvensis_ L.                        field mint\n    _decapetala_ (Pursh) Urban & Gilg           tenpetal m.\n    _nuda_ (Pursh) T. & G. var. _stricta_\n        (Osterh.) Harrington [_M. stricta_\n        (Osterh.) Stevens ex Jeff. & Little]    bractless m.\n    _oligosperma_ Nutt.                         stickleaf m.\n  _Microseris cuspidata_ (Pursh) Schultz-Bip.\n        [_Agoseris c._ (Pursh) Raf.]          wavyleaf agoseris\n  _Mirabilis_ L. (including _Oxybaphus_\n        L\u2019Her., & _Allionia_ Loefl.)          four-o\u2019clock\n    _albida_ (Walt.) Heimerl                    white f.\n    _carletoni_ (Standl.) Standl.               carleton f.\n    _linearis_ (Pursh) Heimerl                  narrowleaf f.\n    _nyctaginea_ (Michx.) MacM.                 prairie f.\n  _Mollugo verticillata_ L.                   carpetweed\n    _clinopodioides_ Gray                       basil b.\n    _fistulosa_ L. var. _menthaefolia_\n        (Graham) Fern. (_M.\n        menthaefolia_ Graham)                   mintleaf b.\n    _fistulosa_ L. var. _mollis_ (L.) Benth.\n    _punctata_ L. subsp. _occidentalis_ Epl.\n  _Monolepis nuttalliana_ (R. & S.) Greene    nuttall monolepis\n  _Myosotis verna._ Nutt. (_M. virginica_\n        of manuals)                           Virginia forgetmenot\n  _Myosurus minimus_ L.                       tiny mousetail\n  _Myriophyllum_ L.                           parrotfeather\n    _heterophyllum_ Michx.                      changeleaf p.\n  _Nasturtium officinale_ R. Br.              nasturtium\n  _Nelumbo lutea_ (Willd.) Pers.\n        [?_N. pentapetala_ (Walt.) Fern.]     American lotus\n  _Nepeta_ L. (see also _Glechoma_)           nepeta\n  _Nuphar advena_ (Ait.) Ait. f.              spatterdock cowlily\n  _Nymphaea odorata_ Ait.                     American waterlily\n  _O\u00ebnothera_ L.                              eveningprimrose\n    _biennis_ L. var. _hirsutissima_ Gray\n        [_O. strigosa_ (Rydb.) Mackenz. & Bush] bristly-common e.\n    _canescens_ Torr. & Frem.                   beakpod e.\n    _coronopifolia_ T. & G.                     combleaf e.\n    _hartwegii_ Benth. var. _fendleri_ Gray     fendler e.\n    _lavandulaefolia_ T. & G.                   lavenderleaf e.\n    _missouriensis_ Sims                        Missouri e.\n    _rhombipetala_ Nutt.                        fourpoint e.\n    _serrulata_ Nutt.                           serrateleaf e.\n    _tetragona_ Roth var. _latifolia_ (Rydb.)\n        Fern. (_Kneiffia latifolia_ Rydb.)      broadleaf e.\n  _Onosmodium_ Michx.                         marbleseed\n    _hispidissimum_ Mackenz.                    rough m.\n    _occidentale_ Mackenz.                      western m.\n  _Oonopsis engelmannii_ (see _Haplapappus_)\n  _Opuntia_ Mill.                             pricklypear; cholla\n    _arborescens_ Engelm. [_O. imbricata_\n    _macrorhiza_ Engelm.                        bigroot p.\n    _tortispina_ Engelm.                        twistspine p.\n  _Oreocarya_ (see _Cryptantha_)\n    _ludoviciana_ Nutt.                         Louisiana b.\n  _Osmorhiza longistylis_ (Torr.) DC.         longstyle sweetroot\n  _Othake_ (see _Palafoxia_)\n    _europaea_ Jord.                            European yellow o.\n  _Oxybaphus_ (included in _Mirabilis_)\n  _Palafoxia spacelata_ (Nutt.) Cory\n        [_Othake s._ (Nutt.) Rydb.]           othake\n  _Parietaria pensylvanica_ Muhl.             pellitory\n  _Paronychia_ Mill.                          nailwort\n    _canadensis_ (L.) Wood\n    _fastigiata_ (Raf.) Fern. (_Anychia\n  _Parthenium integrifolium_ L.               parthenium\n  _Pastinaca sativa_ L.                       parsnip\n  _Pectis angustifolia_ Torr.                 pectis\n  _Pedicularis canadensis_ L.                 pedicularis\n  _Penstemon_ Mitchell                        penstemon\n    _angustifolius_ Nutt. ex Pursh, subsp.\n        _caudatus_ (Heller) Keck                narrowleaf p.\n    _grandiflorus_ Nutt.                        shell-leaf p.\n  _Penthorum sedoides_ L.                     penthorum\n  _Perideridia americana_ (Nutt.) Reichenb.\n  _Perilla frutescens_ (L.) Britt.            common perilla\n    _gilioides_ A. Brand (_P. hirsuta_ of\n        many SW botanists, not Nutt.)           hairy p.\n  _Phellopterus_ (see _Cymopterus_)\n  _Phryma leptostachya_ L.                    lopseed\n    _heterophylla_ Nees [including _P.\n    _ixocarpa_ Brotero                          tomatillo g.\n    _lanceolata_ Michx.                         lanceleaf g.\n    _lobata_ Torr. [_Quincula_ l. (Torr.) Raf.] chineselantern\n    _longifolia_ Nutt.                          spearleaf g.\n    _missouriensis_ Mackenz. & Bush             Missouri g.\n    _subglabrata_ Mackenz. & Bush               taperleaf g.\n  _Physostegia_ Benth.                        lionsheart\n    _intermedia_ (Nutt.) Engelm. & Gray         intermediate l.\n    _virginiana_ (L.) Benth.                    Virginia l.\n  _Phytolacca americana_ L.\n        (_P. decandra_ L.)                    common pokeberry\n  _Picradeniopsis_ (see _Bahia_)\n  _Pilea pumila_ (L.) A. Gray                 clearweed\n    _aristata_ Michx.                           bottlebrush p.\n    _pusilla_ Nutt. (_P. elongata_\n        of manuals, not Pursh)                  slender p.\n    _spinulosa_ Dcne.                           brittlebract p.\n  _Podophyllum peltatum_ L.                   common mayapple\n  _Polanisia trachysperma_ T. & G.            roughseed clammyweed\n  _Polemonium reptans_ L.                     creeping polemonium\n    _incarnata_ L.\n    _sanguinea_ L. (including\n  _Polygonum_ L. (see also _Tovara_)          knotweed; smartweed\n    _aviculare_ L. (including\n        _P. buxiforme_ Small)                   prostrate k.\n    _convolvulus_ L.                            climbing-buckwheat\n    _hydropiperoides_ Michx.                    swamp s.\n    _lapathifolium_ L. (including\n        _P. tomentosum_ of manuals)             curltop s.\n    _longistylum_ Small                         longstyle s.\n    _pensylvanicum_ L. (including\n        _P. omissum_ Greene)                    Pennsylvania s.\n    _persicarioides_ HBK.                       southwest s.\n    _ramosissimum_ Michx.                       bushy k.\n  _Polytaenia nuttalii_ DC.                   polytaenia\n  _Portulaca_ L.                              portulaca; purslane\n    _parvula_ Gray                              slenderleaf purslane\n    _simplex_ Michx. (_P. canadensis_\n    _sulfurea_ Lam.\n  _Prenanthes aspera_ Michx.                  rough rattlesnakeroot\n  _Prionopsis ciliata_ (see\n        _Haplopappus ciliatus_)\n  _Proboscidea louisianica_ (Mill.) Thell.\n        (_Martynia l._ Mill.)                 common devilsclaw\n  _Prunella vulgaris_ L. var. _lanceolata_\n  _Psilostrophe villosa_ Rydb.                paperflower\n  _Ptilimnium nuttallii_ (DC.) Brit.          mockbishopweed\n  _Ptiloria_ (see _Stephanomeria_)\n  _Pycnanthemum_ Michx.                       mountainmint\n    _flexuosum_ (Walt.) BSP.                    slender m.\n  _Pyrrhopappus_ DC.                          falsedandelion\n    _carolinianus_ (Walt.) DC.                  Carolina f.\n    _scaposus_ DC. (_P. grandiflorus_ Nutt.)    tuber f.\n  _Quincula_ (see _Physalis_)\n  _Ranunculus_ L.                             buttercup; crowfoot\n    _fascicularis_ Muhl.                        tufted b.\n    _flabellaris_ Raf.                          threadleaf b.\n    _longirostris_ Godr.                        longbeak b.\n  _Ratibida_ Raf.                             prairieconeflower\n    _columnifera_ (Nutt.) Woot. & Standl.       upright p.\n    _pinnata_ (Vent.) Barnh.                    grayhead p.\n    _tagetes_ (James) Barnh.                    shortray p.\n  _Ricinus communis_ L.                       castorbean\n  _Rorippa Scop._ (see also _Armoracia_)      yellowcress; marshcress\n    _islandica_ (Oeder) Borbas [including\n        _R. hispida_ (DC.) Britt. &\n    _sessiliflora_ (Nutt.) Hitchc.              stalkless y.\n    _sinuata_ (Nutt.) Hitchc.                   spreading y.\n  _Rotala ramosior_ (L.) Koehne var.\n        _interior_ Fern. & Grisc.             rotala\n  _Rudbeckia_ L. (see also _Dracopis_)        coneflower\n    _grandiflora_ (D. Don) Gmel.                rough c.\n    _subtomentosa_ Pursh                        sweet c.\n    _humilis_ Nutt. (_R. ciliosa_ of manuals,\n        in part; _R. caroliniensis_ of\n    _hastatulus_ Baldw.                         heartwing s.\n    _maritimus_ L. var. _fueginus_ (Phil.)\n        Dusen (_R. persicarioides_ of manuals,\n  _Sabatia_[46] _campestris_ Nutt.            prairie rosegentian\n  _Sagina decumbens_ (Ell.) T. & G.           trailing pearlwort\n  _Salsola kali_ L. (_S. pestifer_ Nels.)     russianthistle\n    _azurea_ Lam. var. _grandiflora_ Benth.\n    _reflexa_ Hornem. (including _S.\n        lanceolata_ Willd., & _S. lanceafolia_\n        of authors, not Poir.)                  lanceleaf s.\n  _Samolus parviflorus_ Raf.                  samolus\n  _Sanguinaria canadensis_ L.                 bloodroot\n    _vaccaria_ L. (_Vaccaria vulgaris_ Host)    cow s.\n    _lanceolata_ Pursh                          lanceleaf f.\n    _lateriflora_ L.                            sideflowering s.\n    _parvula_ Michx. var. _australis_ Fassett\n        [_S. australis_ (Fassett) Epling]       southern-small s.\n    _parvula_ Michx. var. _leonardi_ (Epling)\n        Fern. (_S. leonardi_ Epling)            leonard-small s.\n    _parvula_ Michx. var. _parvula_             small s.\n  _Selenia aurea_ Nutt.                       golden selenia\n    _integerrimus_ Nutt.                        lambstongue g.\n    _tridenticulatus_ Rydb.\n  _Sesamum indicum_ L.                        sesame\n  _Sicyos angulatus_ L.                       burcucumber\n  _Sideranthus_ (see _Haplopappus_)\n    _cucubalus_ Wibel [_S. latifolia_ (Mill.)\n        Britten & Rendle, _S. vulgaris_ (Moench)\n        Garcke, & _S. inflata_ Sm.]             cowbell s.\n    _noctiflora_ L.                             nightflowering s.\n    _integrifolium_ Michx. (including\n        _S. speciosum_ Nutt.)                   wholeleaf r.\n    _officinale_ (L.) Scop.                     hedgemustard\n    _elaeagnifolium_ Cav.                       silverleaf n.\n    _rostratum_ Dunal                           buffalobur n.\n    _altissima_ L. (including some Kansas\n          specimens called _S. dumetorum_\n    _angusta_ T. & G.\n          (_S. lindheimeriana_ Scheele)\n    _gigantea_ Ait. (including\n    _graminifolia_ (L.) Salisb. [_Euthamia g._\n    _gymnospermoides_ (Greene) Fern.\n    _missouriensis_ Nutt. (including _S.\n        glaberrima_ Martens &\n        _S. moritura_ Steele)                   Missouri g.\n    _pruinosa_ Greene (including some Kansas\n      specimens called _S. dumetorum_ Lunell)\n    _sparsiflora_ Gray (_S. trinervata_ Greene) threenerve g.\n    _speciosa_ Nutt. var. _rigidiuscula_ T. & G.\n      [_S. rigidiuscula_ (T. & G.) Porter]      showywand g.\n    _speciosa_ Nutt. var. _speciosa_            noble g.\n  _Specularia_ Fabricius                      venuslookingglass\n    _biflora_ (R. & P.) Fisch. & Mey.           small v.\n    _leptocarpa_ (Nutt.) Gray                   slimpod v.\n  _Spermolepis_ Raf.                          spermolepis\n    _divaricata_ (Walt) Britt.                  forked s.\n    _inermis_ (Nutt.) Math. & Const.\n        [_S. patens_ (Nutt.) Robins.]           spreading s.\n  _Sphaeralcea_ St. Hil.                      globemallow\n    _angusta_ (Gray) Fern.\n    _angustifolia_ (Cav.) Don var.\n        _cuspidata_ Gray (_S. cuspidata_\n    _coccinea_ (Pursh) Rydb.                    scarlet g.\n  _Stachys tenuifolia_ Willd.                 slenderleaf betony\n  _Stanleya pinnata_ (Pursh) Britt.           desert princesplume\n  _Steironema_ (included in _Lysimachia_)\n  _Stellaria media_ (L.) Cyrillo              chickweed\n  _Stenosiphon linifolius_ (Nutt.) Britt.     stenosiphon\n  _Stephanomeria pauciflora_ (Torr.) A. Nels.\n        [_Ptiloria_ p. (Torr.) Raf.]          wirelettuce\n  _Stillingia sylvatica_ L. var. _salicifolia_\n        Torr. [_S. salicifolia_ (Torr.) Raf.] stillingia\n  _Striga lutea_ Lour.                        witchweed\n  _Suaeda depressa_ (Pursh) S. Wats. [including\n        _S. erecta_ (Wats.) A. Nels.]         pursh seepweed (seablite)\n  _Taenidia integerrima_ (L.) Drude           yellow taenidia\n    _calycinum_ Engelm.                         rockpink f.\n  _Tanacetum vulgare_ L.                      common tansy\n  _Taraxacum_ Zinn                            dandelion\n    _laevigatum_ (Willd.) DC.\n        (_T. erythrospermum_ Andrz.)            smooth d.\n    _officinale_ Weber (_T. vulgare_ Lam.)      common d.\n    _canadense_ L. var. _virginicum_ (L.) Eat.  American g.\n  _Thalictrum dasycarpum_ Fisch. & Lall.      purple meadowrue\n    _barbinode_ (Michx.) Nutt.                  hairyjoint t.\n    _trifoliatum_ (L.) Gray                     threeleaf t.\n  _Thelesperma_ Less.                           greenthread\n    _trifidum_ (Poir.) Britt.                   threecleft g.\n  _Thlaspi arvense_ L.                        pennycress\n  _Tidestromia lanuginosa_ (Nutt.) Standl.    woolly tidestromia\n  _Tithymalus_ (see _Euphorbia_)\n  _Tomanthera_ (see _Gerardia_)\n  _Tovara virginiana_ (L.) Raf.\n        (_Polygonum v._ L.)                   Virginia tovara\n  _Townsendia sericea_ Hook. [_T. exscapa_\n        (Rich.) Porter]                       stemless townsendia\n  _Tragia urticifolia_ Michx.\n        (_T. nepetaefolia_ of manuals, not\n        Cav., including _T. ramosa_ of\n        manuals, not Torr.)                   nettleleaf noseburn\n    _dubius_ Scop. (_T. major_ Jacq.)           western s.\n    _porrifolius_ L.                            vegetable-oyster s.\n  _Tribulus terrestris_ L.                    puncturevine\n    _aurantiacum_ Bickn.                        orange h.\n  _Urtica procera_ Muhl.                      tall nettle\n  _Utricularia vulgaris_ L.                   common bladderwort\n  _Vaccaria_ (see _Saponaria_)\n  _Valerianella radiata_ (L.) Dufr.           cornsalad\n    _bipinnatifida_ Nutt.                       Dakota v.\n    _bracteata_ Lag. & Rodr.                    bigbract v.\n    _alternifolia_ (L.) Britt.\n        [_Actinomeris a._ (L.) DC.]             wingstem\n    _encelioides_ (Cav.) B. & H.\n  _Vernonia_ Schreb.                         ironweed\n    _baldwini_ Torr. var. _baldwini_            baldwin i.\n    _baldwini_ Torr. var. _interior_\n    _marginata_ (Torr.) Raf.                    plains i.\n    _polita_ Fries (_V. didyma_ Ten.)           wayside s.\n    _salina_ Schur. (_V. connata_ of manuals)   cupleaf s.\n    _serpyllifolia_ L.                          thymeleaf s.\n  _Veronicastrum virginicum_ (L.) Farw.       culversphysic\n    _kitaibeliana_ R. & S.\n        var. _rafinesquii_ (Greene) Fern.\n        (_V. rafinesquii_ Greene)               johnnyjumpup\n    _missouriensis_ Greene                      Missouri v.\n    _papilionacea_ Pursh                        butterfly v.\n  _Xanthium strumarium_ L. (including\n        _X. chinense_ Mill., _X. globosum_\n        Shull, _X. italicum_ Moretti,\n        _X. pensylvanicum_ Wallr., and\n        _X. speciosum_ Kearney)               cocklebur\n  _Ximenesia_ (see _Verbesina_)\n  _Zinnia grandiflora_ Nutt.                  Rocky Mountain zinnia\n  _Zizia aurea_ (L.) W. D. J. Koch            golden zizia\n     FOOTNOTES:\n     [43] _Asclepiodora_ is included in _Asclepias_ in some\n     [44] From Gray: spelled _syphilitica_ in some manuals.\n     [45] The word \u201cplantain\u201d may be omitted from the common\n          name of this species, calling it simply \u201cbuckhorn.\u201d\n     [46] From Gray: spelled _Sabbatia_ in some manuals.\n    _glabra_ Willd. var. _glabra_               Ohio b.\n    _glabra_ Willd. var. _sargentii_ Rehd.      western b.\n  _Ailanthus altissima_ (Mill.) Swingle       treeofheaven\n  _Amelanchier arborea_ (Michx. f.) Fern.\n        (_A. canadensis_ sensu Wieg.,\n    _canescens_ Pursh                           leadplant\n  _Ampelopsis cordata_ Michx.                 heartleaf falsegrape\n  _Artemisia filifolia_ Torr.                 sand sagebrush\n  _Asimina triloba_ (L.) Dunal                pawpaw\n    _canescens_ (Pursh) Nutt.                   fourwing s.\n  _Bumelia lanuginosa_ (Michx.) Pers.         woollybucket bumelia\n  _Campsis_ Lour.                             trumpetcreeper\n    _grandiflora_ (Thunb.) Laisel               Chinese t.\n  _Caragana arborescens_ Lam.                 Siberian peashrub\n    _cordiformis_ (Wang.) K. Koch               bitternut h.\n    _illinoensis_ (Wang.) K. Koch [_C. pecan_\n    _laciniosa_ (Michx. f.) Loud.               shellbark h.\n    _ovalis_ var. _obovalis_ (Marsh.) Sarg.     pignut h.\n  _Celastrus scandens_ L.                     American bittersweet\n    _occidentalis_ L. [_C. occidentalis_ L.\n        var. _crassifolia_ (Lam.) Gray]         common h.\n    _reticulata_ Torr. (including _C.\n    _tenuifolia_ Nutt. (_C. pumila_ of most\n        Amer. authors, not Pursh)               small h.\n  _Cephalanthus occidentalis_ L.              common buttonbush\n  _Cercis canadensis_ L.                      eastern redbud\n  _Chrysothamnus pulchellus_ (Gray) Greene    southwest rabbitbrush\n    _drummondi_ Meyer (_C. asperifolia_ of\n        authors, not Michx.)                    roughleaf d.\n    _calpodendron_ (Ehrh.) Medic.               pear h.\n  _Diospyros virginiana_ L.                   common persimmon\n  _Elaeagnus angustifolia_ L.                 russianolive\n    _atropurpureus_ Jacq.                       eastern wahoo\n  _Eurotia lanata_ (Pursh) Moq.               winterfat\n    _pennsylvanica_ Marsh var. _pennsylvanica_  red a.\n    _pennsylvanica_ Marsh var. _subintegerrima_\n        (Vahl) Fern. [var. _lanceolata_\n    _quadrangulata_ Michx.                      blue a.\n  _Gleditsia triacanthos_ L.                  common honeylocust\n  _Gutierrezia sarothrae_ (Pursh) Britt. &\n        Rusby (including _G. diversifolia_\n        Greene, & _G. linearis_ Rydb.)        broom snakeweed\n  _Gymnocladus dioica_ (L.) K. Koch           Kentucky coffeetree\n  _Juniperus virginiana_ L.                   redcedar; juniper\n  _Lespedeza bicolor_ Turcz.                  shrub lespedeza\n  _Lonicera dioica_ L. var. _glaucescens_\n        (Rydb.) Butters (_L. glaucescens_\n  _Lycium halimifolium_ Mill.                 matrimonyvine\n  _Maclura pomifera_ (Rat) Schneid.           osageorange\n  _Mahonia aquifolium_ (Pursh) Nutt.\n        (_Berberis a._ Pursh, _Odostemon\n  _Malus_ (see _Pyrus_)\n  _Odostemon_ (see _Mahonia_)\n  _Ostrya virginiana_ (Mill.) K. Koch         American hophornbeam\n  _Parthenocissus_ Planch.                    creeper\n    _quinquefolia_ (L.) Planch.                 Virginia c.\n    _vitacea_ (Knerr) Hitchc.                   thicket c.\n  _Platanus occidentalis_ L.                  sycamore\n  _Prosopis juliflora_ (Swartz) DC.\n        (_P. chilensis_ of manuals, including\n        _P. glandulosa_ Torr. & _P. velutina_\n    _americana_ Marsh. var. _americana_         American p.\n    _americana_ Marsh. var. _lanata_ Sudw.\n        (_P. lanata_ Mackenz. & Bush)           inch p.\n    _angustifolia_ Marsh.                       chickasaw p.\n    _gracilis_ Engelm. & Gray                   Oklahoma p.\n    _hortulana_ Bailey                          hortulan p.\n    _munsoniana_ Wight & Hedr.                  wildgoose p.\n    _virginiana_ L.                             common chokecherry\n  _Ptelea trifoliata_ L.                      common hoptree\n  _Pyrus_ L. (including _Malus_ Mill.)        apple; crabapple\n    _angustifolia_ Ait.                         southern c.\n    _ioensis_ (Wood) Bailey                     prairie c.\n    _malus_ L. (_Malus pumila_ Mill.)           common a.\n    _marilandica_ Muenchh.                      blackjack o.\n    _muchlenbergii_ Engelm. [_Q. prinoides_\n        Willd. var. _acuminata_ (Michx.) Gl.]   chinquapin o.\n    _prinoides_ Willd.                          dwarf chinquapin o.\n    _rubra_ L. var. _rubra_ (_Q. borealis_\n        Michx. f. var. _maxima_ Ashe)           eastern red o.\n    _rubra_ L. var. _borealis_ (Michx. f.)\n        Farw. (_Q. borealis_ Michx. f.)         northern red o.\n    _shumardii_ Buckl. var. _shumardii_         shumard o.\n    _shumardii_ Buckl. var. _schneckii_\n    _X hillii_ Trel. (_Q. bicolor_ Willd. _X\n  _Rhamnus lanceolata_ Pursh                  lanceleaf buckthorn\n    _aromatica_ Ait. (including _R.\n    _radicans_ L. (_R. toxicodendron_ of\n        manuals, in part, not L.)[48]           poisonivy\n    _missouriense_ Nutt.                        Missouri g.\n    _odoratum_ Wendland f.                      flowering c.\n    _arkansana_ Porter var. _suffulta_ (Greene)\n        Cockerell (_R. suffulta_ Greene)        Arkansas r.\n    _multiflora_ Thunb.                         multiflora r.\n    _flagellaris_ Willd.                        northern d.\n    _odoratus_ L.                               fragrant thimbleberry\n    _ostryifolius_ Rydb.                        highbrush b.\n    _amygdaloides_ Anderss.                     almondleaf w.\n    _caroliniana_ Michx. (_S. longipes_\n        Shuttlew.,_S. wardi_ Bebb)              coastalplain w.\n    _eriocephala_ Michx. (_S. missouriensis_\n    _humilis_ Marsh. var. _microphylla_,\n        (Anderss.) Fern. (_S. tristis_ Ait.)    dwarf pussy w.\n    _humilis_ Marsh. var. _humilis_, & var.\n      _hyporhysa_ Fern. [These two include var.]\n      _rigidiuscula_ (Anderss.) Robins. & Fern. prairie w.\n    _rigida_ Muhl. (_S. cordata_ Muhl.,\n  _Sambucus canadensis_ L.                    American elderberry\n  _Sapindas drummondi_ H. & A.                western soapberry\n  _Sarcobatus vermiculatus_ (Hook.) Torr.     greasewood\n  _Sassafras albidum_ (Nutt.) Nees            common sassafras\n  _Sorbus aucuparia_ L.                       European mountainash\n  _Staphylea trifolia_ L.                     American bladdernut\n  _Symphoricarpos_ Duham.                     snowberry\n    _occidentalis_ Hook.                        western s.\n    _orbiculatus_ Moench                        buckbrush\n  _Syringa vulgaris_ L.                       common lilac\n    _americana_ L. (including _T. palmeri_\n    _platyphyllos_ Scop.                        bigleaf l.\n    _carpinifolia_ Gleditsch.                   smoothleaf e.\n    _rubra_ Muhl. (_U. fulva_ Michx.)           slippery e.\n    _rufidulum_ Raf.                            rusty blackhaw v.\n  _Wisteria macrostachya_ Nutt.               wisteria\n  _Xanthoxylum americanum_ Mill.              common pricklyash\n  _Yucca glauca_ Nutt.                        small soapweed\n     FOOTNOTES:\n     [47] Hazel in many texts.\n     [48] _R. radicans_ is an extremely variable species.\n     [49] Basswood, a lumber trade name.\n                  LIST OF SPECIES NAMES IN COMMON USE\n                       AND THEIR ENGLISH MEANING\n  acaulis             stemless\n  acicularis          needle-like\n  acuminatus          long-pointed, tapering\n  aestivalis          summer\n  affinis             related to\n  agrostoides         similar to agrostis\n  airoides            sky-blue\n  alatus              winged\n  albidus, albus      white\n  alopecuroides       foxtail\n  alternifolius       alternate-leaved\n  altissimus          very tall\n  amabilis            lovely\n  amplexicaulis       clasping the stem\n  anceps              two-headed or edged\n  angustifolius       narrow-leaved\n  apiculatus          tipped with a point\n  arachnifera         spiderwebby\n  arborescens         tree-like\n  arenarius           of sandy places\n  arenicola           sand inhabitant\n  argenteus           silvery\n  argillaceus         of clay or clay-colored\n  argutus             sharp-toothed\n  aristatus           bearded\n  arundinacea         reed-bearing\n  arundinaceous       reed-like\n  arvensis            of cultivated fields\n  asperifolia         rough leaves\n  atropurpureus       dark-purple\n  atrovirens          dark-green\n  aureus              golden\n  australis           southern\n  azureus             sky-blue\n  baccatus            berried\n  barbatus            barbed, bearded\n  barbinodis          barbed at nodes\n  barbulatum          bearded\n  basirmea            branches low; toward bottom\n  bicolor             two-colored\n  bidentata           two-toothed\n  bifidum             two-forked\n  bifidus             twice-cut\n  biflorus            two-flowered\n  borealis            northern\n  brachystachy        short-spiked\n  bulbifera           bulb-bearing\n  caeruleus           sky-blue, dark-blue\n  campanularia        bell-flowered\n  campestris          of the fields or plains\n  candidus            white, shining\n  canescens           gray-hairy\n  capillaris          hair-like\n  capitatus           headed\n  carinatus           keeled\n  catharticus         cathartic\n  caudatus            tailed\n  cernuus             drooping\n  chloranthus         green-flowered\n  ciliatifolium       hairy leaves\n  cilianensis         hairy\n  ciliaris, ciliatus  fringed\n  cinereus            ash-colored\n  circulare           round\n  clandestinus        concealed\n  coccineus           scarled\n  colonum             cultivated\n  comatus             with hair\n  communis            gregarious\n  commutatus          changing\n  comosus             long-haired\n  compressa           compressed\n  compressus          compressed\n  confertus           crowded\n  confusus            confused, uncertain\n  contortus           contorted\n  contracta           narrowed\n  cordatus            heart-shaped\n  corniculatus        horned\n  crassifolius        thick-leaved\n  cristatus           crested\n  crus-galli          cockspur\n  cryptandrus         hidden stamens\n  cucullata           hooded pedicel\n  cuneatus            wedge-shaped\n  curtipedicellata    short pedicel\n  curtipendula        short pendula\n  cuspidata           sharp, pointed\n  dactyloides         finger-shaped\n  dactylon            finger\n  debilis             weak\n  decumbens           reclining\n  deflexus            bent downward\n  deltoides           triangular\n  depauperatum        stunted\n  dichotoma           forked in pairs\n  dichotomiflorum     flowering in twos\n  diffusa             loosely branching\n  dilatatum           dilated, expanded\n  discolor            different colors\n  distichum           2-rank; leaves or flowers in rank on opposites\n  divaricata          spreading, widely divergent\n  donax               reed or cane\n  dubia               doubtful\n  dulcis              sweet\n  dumosus             bushy\n  echinatus           prickly\n  edulis              edible\n  elatior             taller\n  elongata            lengthened\n  erectum             upright\n  eriopoda            having hairs at base\n  esculentus          edible\n  everta              expelled, turned out\n  extensa             spread out or stretched out\n  falcatus            sickle-shaped\n  fasciculatus        fascicled\n  filiformis          long, very slender, thread-like\n  fistulosis          hollow, cylindrical\n  flabellatus         fan-like parts\n  flavescens          yellowish\n  flavus              yellow\n  flexilis            pliant\n  flexuosa            alternately bent in different directions\n  floridanum          flowering or from Florida\n  fragilis            brittle, fragile\n  fragrans            fragrant, odorous\n  frondosus           leafy\n  frutescens          shrubby, bushy\n  furcatus            forked\n  geminatum           double\n  geniculata          bent more or less like a knee\n  geniculatus         jointed\n  glaber              smooth\n  glabriflorus        smooth flower\n  glomerata           dense or compact cluster or clusters\n  gracilis            slender\n  gramineus           grassy\n  hastatus            spear-shaped\n  heterolepsis        heterogeneous scales\n  heterophyllus       various-leaved; with leaves of more than one shape\n  hiomalis            pertaining to winter\n  hians               spread out\n  hirsuta             bristly or prickly\n  hispidus            bristly\n  hortensis           of or belonging to a garden\n  humilis             dwarf\n  hyemalis            of winter\n  hystrix             bristly\n  incanus             hoary\n  indentata           toothed, indented\n  indurata            hardened\n  inermis             unarmed\n  intermedium         intermediate\n  interruptis         not continuous, irregular\n  jubatum             crested, with a mane\n  junceus             rush-like\n  labiatus            lipped\n  laeve               left hand\n  laevigatus          smooth\n  laevis              smooth\n  lanatus             wooly\n  lanosa              wooly\n  lanuginosum         wooly, downy\n  lanuginosus         wooly\n  lasiocarpus         rough- or wooly-fruited\n  latifolia           broad leaf\n  latiglumis          wide glumes\n  leucanthus          white-flowered\n  leucotricha         white hairs\n  linearifolum        long, slender leaves\n  longispica          long-spiked\n  longpipes           long-footed\n  lutescens           yellowish or becoming yellow\n  macranthus          large-flowered\n  macrocarpus         large fruits\n  macrophyllus        large-leaved\n  macrus              large\n  maculatus           spotted\n  malacophyllum       soft leaves\n  maritimus           of the sea\n  micranthus          small-flowered\n  microcarpon         small-fruited\n  miliaceum           pertaining to millet\n  mirabilis           wonderful\n  monspeliensis       lives in caves and mountains\n  montanus            of mountains\n  multiflorum         many-flowered\n  muralis             of walls\n  murinum             mouse-colored\n  mutabile            changeable\n  mutabilis           variable\n  mutica              curtailed\n  natans              floating\n  neglectus           overlooked\n  nemoralis           of groves or woods\n  nitens              shining\n  nudicaulis          naked-stemmed\n  nutans              nodding\n  obtusata            blunt, rounded\n  obtusum             blunted, dull\n  occidentale         western\n  octoflora           8-flowered\n  officinalis         official\n  olignathus          few-flowered\n  orientalis          eastern\n  ornatus             adorned\n  ovinus              of sheep\n  palustris           marsh-loving\n  paniculatus         in panicles\n  parviflora          small-flowered\n  parvifolius         small-leaved\n  patens              spreading\n  patula              spreading\n  pauciflorus         few-flowered\n  pectinatus          comb-like\n  perennans           perennial\n  phleoides           resembling timothy\n  pilifera            bearing hairs\n  pilosa              with long hairs\n  polyanthes          many-flowered\n  polyanthus          many-flowered\n  pracocius           aggressive\n  pratense            of meadows\n  pubens              downy\n  pubescens           downy, covered with soft hairs\n  pubiflorum          downy-flowered\n  pulchellus          pretty, beautiful\n  pumila              dwarf\n  pumilus             dwarf\n  purpurascens        purplish\n  purpurea            purple\n  pusillum            very small\n  ramosissima         many-branched\n  ramosus             branched\n  repens              creeping\n  reptans             creeping\n  retroflexus         reflaxed\n  regodoseta          stiff bristles\n  robustus            robust, stout\n  rupestris           rock-loving\n  rostratus           rostrate, beaked\n  rugosa              wrinkled\n  saccharinus         saccharine\n  saccaroides         sweet; like sugar\n  salinus             salty\n  sanguilalis         blood-colored\n  sanguineus          blood-red\n  sativa              cultivated\n  sativus             cultivated\n  scandens            climbing\n  sciurea             resembling squirrel\u2019s tail\n  scoparius           broom-like\n  secundiflora        one-sided\n  septentrionalis     northern\n  sericea             silken\n  serotinus           late-flowering\n  sessilispicata      without pedicel\n  setaceus            bristle-like\n  sobolifera          bearing creeping, rooting stems or shoots\n  speciosus           showy, good-looking\n  spectabilis         spectacular, worth seeing\n  sphaerocarpon       round-fruited\n  squarrosa           with parts spreading or recurved at ends\n  sterilis            sterile, infertile\n  stramineum          straw-colored\n  strictus            strict, upright, erect\n  tectorum            of roofs, or houses\n  temulentum          drunken\n  tenarum             slender, tender, soft\n  tenarius            slender\n  tener               slender\n  tenuiflora          slender flowers\n  tenuis              slender, thin\n  tinctorius          of dyes\n  tomentosus          densely wooly\n  trichodes           pilose\n  tridens             with 3 teeth\n  trifidus            three-parted\n  trunicata           blunt\n  uncinatus           hooked\n  vaginaeflorus       flowers in sheath\n  vaginatus           sheathed\n  vernalis            vernal\n  vernis              of spring\n  versuta             versatile\n  verticellata        in whorls\n  villosa             hairy\n  villosissimum       hairy\n  villosus            hairy\n  virens              green\n  viridis             green\n  virgatus            twiggy\n  vulgaris            common\nTranscriber\u2019s Note:\nWords and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like\nthis_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.\nFootnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of\nthe section in which the anchor occurs. Footnotes [9], [11], [18],\n[19], [22], and [32] have multiple anchors. Obvious printing errors,\nsuch as backwards, upside down, or partially printed letters and\npunctuation, were corrected. Letters in reversed order and several\nitalics mark-ups were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of\nabbreviations were added.\nWords may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent\nhyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged unless\nindicated below. Obsolete and alternative spellings were left\nunchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected. In the lists of common\nnames, names are often run together, as in climbingmilkweed and\nrattlesnakefern; these were not changed.\nThe following was changed: \u201csmall-loaved\u201d to \u201csmall-leaved.\u201d", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Common names of a selected list of plants\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1940, "culture": " English\n", "content": "NATIONAL PARK AND VICINITY ***\n               LASSEN VOLCANIC NATIONAL PARK AND VICINITY\n                       Loomis Museum Association\n                     Lassen Volcanic National Park\n                Printed in the United States of America\n                  Susanville _Lassen Litho_ California\nIt is with some temerity that the author, a geologist by training and an\ninterpretive naturalist by occupation, undertakes to compile this\nbooklet on Indians who once inhabited the vicinity of Lassen Peak.\nThe main mission of a naturalist, as he functions in the National Park\nService, is to act as an interpreter of technical information gathered\ntogether by research scientists. It is his obligation as well as his\nprivilege to make these data of history and natural history available\nfor visitors to units administered by the National Park Service of the\nUnited States Department of the Interior. The Park Naturalist is\nchallenged to create in visitors an eager interest by presenting\ninformation in an appealing manner so that the great stories of the\nrespective areas may be learned easily and pleasantly. In doing this,\nvisitors gain fuller understanding and hence better appreciation of the\nsignificance of these areas. This leads to greater enjoyment of the\nscenic masterpieces, the scientific natural wonders, and the historic\nshrines of areas of the National Park System. Not only is the visitor\u2019s\nenjoyment enhanced by his active reception of the interpretive\nfacilities and services offered him by the Federal Government, but his\npride is stimulated in these areas which have been set aside for his own\nuse as well as for the benefit of future generations. A citizen\u2019s pride\nin his park areas in turn develops a love of country. It also promotes a\nsense of responsibility which helps the National Park Service fight\nvandalism, fire carelessness, and litter carelessness to the ultimate\nbenefit of all concerned.\nLittle on the pages which follow may be classed as original material for\nit is in the role of interpreter that the undersigned has assembled\ninformation gleaned by qualified students.\nThe term \u201cAmerind\u201d instead of the traditional word \u201cIndian\u201d was\nseriously considered for use in this book but finally rejected. Ever\nsince Christopher Columbus\u2019 historic mistake the word Indian has had a\nconfusing two-fold meaning. Columbus, of course, thought that he had\nbeen successful in reaching India when his little fleet touched the\nshores of the New World. Hence he applied the word Indian to the people\nhe found there, supposing them to be natives of India. The term Amerind\nis a coined contraction of the words: American Indian. The use of\nAmerind has been advocated by some authors to do away with confusion,\nand it does seem to be an excellent name, but it has not enjoyed wide\nusage by the American public.\nI am deeply indebted to the following named persons whose research and\nlearned writings have provided the bulk of the information contained in\nthe present publication. The bibliography carries the titles of the\nspecific references used.\n  Dr. Roland B. Dixon\n  Mr. Thomas R. Garth\n  Dr. E. W. Gifford\n  Dr. Robert F. Heizer\n  Dr. Stanislaw Klimek\n  Dr. A. L. Kroeber\n  Dr. Saxton T. Pope\n  Dr. Carl O. Sauer\n  Dr. Edward Sapir\n  Dr. Leslie Spier\n  Miss Erminie W. Voegelin\n  Dr. T. T. Waterman\nProperly, specific credit should be given in the text for each fact and\nquotation taken from the works of others, but the result would in this\ncase have been unwieldy and of no practical benefit to the readers whom\nthis book is intended to reach. It is hoped that professional\nethnologists into whose hands this volume may fall will forgive this\nunorthodox usage of the research results of serious students.\nMrs. Selina La Marr (Boonookoo-ee-menorra) was a valuable and gracious\ninformant. Thanks are due again to Dr. E. W. Gifford, Director of the\nMuseum of Anthropology at the University of California, for many\ncourtesies, including donation of a copy of Dixon\u2019s rare \u201cYana Indians\u201d\nand also for his constructive perusal of the manuscript. Others who\nassisted the author were Mrs. Grace Schulz, Miss Lois Bell of the\nUniversity of California \u201cUniversity Explorer\u201d radio program, and Mr.\nLouis Caywood, National Park Service archeologist. Dr. J. H. Woolsey,\nM.D., earned gratitude of the author by donation of his personal copy of\nPope\u2019s \u201cMedical History of Ishi\u201d. Miss Lilian Nisbet of the Tehama\nCounty Library was helpful in the securing of other reference materials.\nMost Californians are vitally interested in the Indians of this state,\nyet few are aware of the excellent California State Indian Museum\noperated by the Division of Beaches and Parks. The Indian Museum is open\nto the public daily, free of charge, in a separate building on the\ngrounds of Sutter\u2019s Fort State Historical Monument in Sacramento. The\nauthor highly commends this museum to you. It contains a wealth of\nauthentic materials which have been organized into handsome and exciting\nstory-telling exhibits of first quality by Curator Jack Dyson.\n  Prehistoric Man Comes to North America                               1\n  Indian-Pioneer Conflict; the Ishi Story                             20\n  Gathering and Preparation of Other Foods                            48\n  Household Implements, Tools, and Weapons                            66\n  Political Organization of Tribes                                   131\n  Creation Beliefs and Other Legends                                 157\n    [Illustration: Association logo]\n                 PREHISTORIC MAN COMES TO NORTH AMERICA\nArcheological studies of human remains from all over the world have\nshown beyond serious question that man originated in the Eastern\nHemisphere about a million years ago. Meager remnants of prehistoric\nskeletons of man and his tools, hearths, and debris heaps have been\nfound in deposits of late Cenozoic time, Chapter Five of earth\u2019s\nhistory. This late Cenozoic period starting about a million years ago is\ncalled the Pleistocene or Ice Age. These discoveries show the orderly\nprocesses of survival of the fittest and of evolution developing\nsuccessive generations of man with refined physical and mental\nqualities, ultimately producing modern man.\nDuring the Ice Age there were four separate times during which ice\nformation on all continents of the earth increased tremendously. Just\nwhat caused changes in climate to make this possible is not definitely\nknown. Slight changes in amount of carbon dioxide in the air, which\ncould have been affected by the amount of volcanic activity or by major\nchanges in the amount of plant life in existence, may have affected the\nclimate. Slight variations in the orbit of the earth in its course\naround the sun may also have had their influence. Even today it would\nrequire a drop of only a few degrees in the average annual temperature\nof the earth\u2019s climate to produce a large increase in ice formation. All\nthat is required is that a little more snow falls each winter than will\nmelt in the summer. Thus, each year the excess would gradually build up\nglaciers and continental ice sheets, producing another \u201cice stage\u201d in a\nfew thousands of years.\nThe area of ice in the world today is relatively small: under 6 million\nsquare miles, about the same as that existing during each of the four\ninterglacial (warm climate) stages of the Pleistocene. During the four\nglacial stages of the Ice Age, continental ice sheets increased their\nareas by three or four times, also becoming larger in size in each\nsuccessive cold cycle. The latest and most extensive of these glacial\ntimes, the Wisconsin Stage, actually saw two ice advances with a brief\nrecession separating them about 60,000 years ago.\nDuring each glacial stage tremendous amounts of water were removed from\nthe oceans and deposited on the continents as ice fields. This involved\namounts of as much as 20 million cubic miles of water, causing\nworld-wide lowering of sea level of about 150 or 200 feet. Today the sea\nbetween Alaska and Siberia is very shallow. It is not difficult to\nrealize that lowered sea level during the glacial stages of the ice age\ndrained the water from this and other shallow sea floors exposing these\nas land links or \u201cland bridges\u201d which extended between continents and\nislands. This state of affairs made possible the overland migration of\nman to the Western Hemisphere.\nIn his illuminating paper \u201cEarly Relations of Man to Plants\u201d Sauer has\npointed out that early man\u2019s migrations to the New World were not the\nresult of mere aimless wanderings. Peking Man of the first interglacial\nstage about 900,000 years ago in Asia used fire in established hearths.\nHe ate both cooked meats and vegetables. This evidence indicates at\nleast a semi-sedentary family life. Since he had learned to make himself\nmore comfortable generally by remaining in one favorable place, it\nfollows logically that even primitive Peking Man migrated only when he\ncould improve his lot by doing so. He moved on only when he was forced\nto do so by a failing food supply or because of crowded conditions\ncaused by increasing numbers of his fellow men. It is believed that not\nonly Peking Man, but his descendants were as sedentary as their food\nsupply allowed them to be. Dr. Sauer observes that\n  \u201c... the history of human population (numbers) is a succession of\n  higher and higher levels, each rise to a new level being brought about\n  by the discovery of more food either through occupation of a new\n  territory or through increase in food producing skill.\u201d\nThe invention of a better tool, improved food preparation, discovery of\nnew foods, better storage, or utilization would bring about this\nincrease in food availability.\nApparently the twin circumstances of the need for more food and the\nexistence of a dry land connection between Asia and North America\nenabled a series of migrations of prehistoric men to the New World. The\nmigrations did not occur just during one glacial stage, nor during the\nlast 15 or 25,000 years as some have claimed, but continued\ninterruptedly over a period of many thousands of years. Perhaps such\nmigrations started as long ago as 300,000 years\u2014whenever land\nconnections permitted and other conditions warranted. As a result, we\nfind a number of stocks of Old World Man at various levels of cultural\ndevelopment coming into the Americas. Naturally a variety of plant and\nanimal species migrated in both directions between the Old and New\nWorlds of their own accord, in addition to those which might have been\nbrought along by prehistoric man.\nA classic example of plant migration to the New World is that of\nCalifornia\u2019s celebrated redwoods. In China just a few years ago the\nlittle changed ancestors of these trees, the still-growing Metasequoia\nwere discovered. In rocks of the most recent era (Chapter Five of\nearth\u2019s history) the step by step migration of the changing redwood\nancestors can be followed by studying successively younger rock layers\nin Siberia, Alaska, and in Canada and northwest United States. These\nrelics and imprints of the foliage, fruits, and even of wood texture of\nthese ancient trees were covered by sands and muds, and thus preserved\nin stone as fossils. This has made it possible to identify the ancestral\nredwood species and to demonstrate their march to California. It is\ninteresting to note how the redwoods changed in the process, evolving by\ndegrees to cope with new conditions of climate and soil during their\nslow migrations. At length today two distinct and unique Sequoias are to\nbe found living only in California. One, the Coast Redwood, has adapted\nitself to coastal fogs and reproduction by sprouting root shoots. The\nother, restricted to drier areas of the west slope of the Sierra, the\nSierra Redwood or Big Tree, has its needles reduced to small scales to\nwithstand the drier climate, and reproduces only by seed.\nSauer observes that the stone implements of prehistoric man are the best\npreserved relics of his culture and are the most easily found.\nUnfortunately the less durable and less easily recognized relics of\nskin, bone, wood, and vegetable fibers which are equally or often even\nmore important clues to the past, have been altered beyond recognition\nor completely destroyed. As a result these disappeared or their\ncamouflaged remnants have been overlooked and passed unrecognized by\neven careful students seeking to learn the details of this fascinating\nstory of the how\u2019s and why\u2019s and when\u2019s of your ancestors and mine in\nEurope and also of the Indians in Asia and in North America in general,\nand of those of the Lassen area in particular.\n                    EARLY CULTURES IN NORTH AMERICA\nThe fact that skeletons of primitive forms of man have so far not been\ndiscovered in the Western Hemisphere does not mean that ancestral forms\npreceding modern man did not migrate to the New World in remote times.\nIt is that erroneous idea which has caused some persons to reason that\nman arrived here only in the final glacial stage. Good evidence has been\npresented to suggest that the sites he would have been most likely to\ninhabit might be submerged at present or may have been especially\nvulnerable to destruction by erosion.\nCertain primitive peoples of the New World (in South America) do no\nboiling of foods and do not have the dog, indicating very early\nimmigration from the Old World. Dr. Sauer suggests a date during the\nthird glacial stage, the Kansan, about 300,000 years ago instead of the\nWisconsin Glacial Stage of 15,000 or 25,000 years ago as some have\ncontended.\nAt the present level of archeological and paleontological knowledge of\nprehistoric man in North America, Sauer recognizes five basic early\ncultures. These are listed below in the order of their apparent\nappearances in the New World.\nThe most primitive and oldest culture of man recognized to date is very\ndifficult to detect, for its evidences were of a fragile nature. Few\ntraces of it remain to be seen today. This first culture known in North\nAmerica lacks both stone weapon points and grinding stones. These items\nwere also found lacking in the cultures of some isolated contemporary\npeoples of both North and South America.\nThe second oldest culture in North America was that of the Ancient Food\nGrinders which appears to have been widespread in the rather rainy\nclimate of the Mississippi and Pacific regions of North America. These\npeople built fireplaces or hearths\u2014beds of collected stones. They used a\ngrinding slab of stone on which a handstone was rubbed to crush hard\nseeds. This indicates a greater variety of foods than used in the\nearlier culture. A number of crude pounding tools such as choppers and\nscrapers were employed as were a few rude knives of stone. It is of\ninterest and significance that use of the grinder and grinding slab\ndisappeared completely from most or all of this area later. The well\nknown metate and mano grinding devices of the Southwest were introduced\nmuch later, along with the growing of corn or maize, from the Central\nAmerican region. Coiled basketry appears to be identified with this\nsecond culture too, such articles being essential as containers for\ncollection of seeds, winnowing, et cetera. Studies of the evidence in\nthe field show also that these peoples were sedentary to the extent of\ndeveloping refuse mounds or middens. The fact that this culture is not\nfound in Europe or in Asia indicates that it developed in the Western\nHemisphere.\nAbout 35,000 years ago the third culture appears to have developed. It\nwas one in which hunting was of major importance. These hunters were not\nnomads, however, for the building of hearths, accumulations of\nartifacts, and also the general use of seed grinding stones, all\nindicate rather sedentary habits. This culture is characterized by the\npresence of dart or spear throwers, an invention of European origin.\nThis indicates more recent migrations from the Old World. These darts\nwere stone tipped and propelled with a spear thrower or atlatl, making\nhunting of animal food much more effective than in the case of earlier\ncultures.\nThe fourth culture is that known by the names Folsom and Yuma. In these\npeople interest in plant foods and fibers was slight, for this was\nprimarily a mobile hunting culture. The people were not sedentary, but\nmoved around.\nWell after the disappearance of the glaciers of the Ice Age, late comers\nfrom the Old World brought a fifth culture to the Americas. These people\nused the bow and arrow with its small and finely worked stone point.\nFish hooks were used and many stone implements were well polished. This\ntoo is the first culture of the New World with which the dog was\nassociated.\nIn Eastern North America, and particularly well known in the Southwest,\nare abundant archeological evidences from easily recognized prehistoric\nliving sites. These reveal a succession of more recent cultures and\nchanges within cultures, as well as movement of early peoples. In\ncontrast there are relatively few recognized prehistoric sites in\nCalifornia which tell much about early customs and material culture of\naboriginal man. Some productive areas which have been found are notably\nthe following: The Farmington Reservoir area of Stanislaus County more\nthan 4,000 years old\u2014possibly much older, Kingsley Cave, the Santa\nBarbara area, and the off-shore islands to the southwest of it. There\nare also a few shell mounds in the Los Angeles\u2014Ventura area and more\nnumerous and extensive ones in the San Francisco Bay vicinity. Of the\nlatter shell mounds A. L. Kroeber writes:\n    [Illustration: AREAS AND SUBAREAS OF CULTURES IN AND ABOUT\n    CALIFORNIA\n    after A. L. Kroeber]\n  NORTHWESTERN CALIF.\n  NORTH PACIFIC COAST AREA\n  CENTRAL CALIFORNIA\n  SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA\n  PLATEAU AREA\n  PLAINS AREA\n  CALIFORNIA-GREAT BASIN AREA\n  SOUTHWEST AREA\n  LOWER COLORADO\n  \u201c... all the classes of objects (shells, refuse, mortars, pestles,\n  obsidian, charmstones, and bone awls) in question occur at the bottom,\n  middle, and top of the mounds, and ... they occur with substantially\n  the same frequency. In other words, the natives of the San Francisco\n  region traded the same materials from the same localities one, two, or\n  three thousand years ago as when they were discovered at the end of\n  the eighteenth century. They ate the same food, in nearly the same\n  proportions (only mammalian bones became more abundant in higher\n  levels), prepared it in substantially the same manner, and sewed\n  skins, rush mats, and coiled baskets similarly to their recent\n  descendants. Even their religion was conservative, since the identical\n  charms seem to have been regarded potent. In a word, the basis of\n  culture remained identical during the whole of the shell-mound period.\n  \u201cWhen it is remembered that ... the beginning of this period\n  (occurred) more than 3,000 years ago, it is clear that we are here\n  confronted by a historical fact of extraordinary importance. It means\n  that at the time when Troy was besieged and Solomon was building the\n  temple, at a period when even Greek civilization had not yet taken on\n  the traits that we regard as characteristic, when only a few\n  scattering foundations of specific modern culture were being laid and\n  our own northern ancestors dwelled in unmitigated barbarism, the\n  native Californian already lived in all essentials like his descendant\n  of today. In Europe and Asia, change succeeded change of the\n  profoundest type. On this far shore of the Pacific, civilization, such\n  as it was, remained immutable in all fundamentals.\n  \u201c... The permanence of Californian culture ... is of far more than\n  local interest. It is a fact of significance in the history of\n  civilization.\u201d\nSuccessive intrusions of different peoples and the isolation of the\nresultant developing Indian tribes, century after century, gave rise to\nmany diverse languages. Although some were mere dialects, there were\nabout 750 different North American Indian languages.\n                         THE CALIFORNIA INDIANS\nDr. A. L. Kroeber\u2019s map shows all tribes within the present political\nboundaries of the State of California. The tribes of the extreme\nnorthwest corner and those of the southern tip of the state are not\ntypical of what we generally think of as \u201cCalifornia Indians\u201d.\nAlthough it may not be scientifically sound to do so, it is often\nconvenient to refer to the Indian tribes of the California region\ncollectively. The term \u201cDigger Indians\u201d is frequently used for this\npurpose with a somewhat disparaging connotation. The origin of this name\nis traceable to white traders and pioneers who observed that local\nIndians dug extensively for a number of food items, hence the name\nDigger was applied. However, this is a poor name as digging was but one\nof many methods the Indians used to secure food. Besides, digging was by\nno means peculiar to Indians of the California area. It is best,\ntherefore, simply to use the term California Indians, if one wishes to\nrefer to this group of tribes as a whole.\nIn connection with the nickname Digger Indian, it is of interest to note\nthat the California tribes used the conspicuous pine of the foothills,\n_Pinus sabiniana_, as a source of edible pine nuts and for other\npurposes too. Because the so called Digger Indians used these trees so\nmuch, the pioneers named the conifers Digger Pines, a name recognized\ntoday as the proper common name of that tree.\nCalifornia tribes are usually not considered high culturally among\nIndians generally, yet Yurok, Pomo, and Chumash are equal to any tribe\nin North America in wood, bone, steatite, obsidian, feather, and skin\nwork, while local tribes of the Lassen area made basketry of a variety\nand quality unsurpassed elsewhere.\nAlthough there were local differences in food habits, the California\nIndians as a group had a highly diversified diet in contrast to the\nso-called one-food tribes in surrounding areas. Of course it is an\nover-simplification to speak of one-food tribes, for all ate quite a\nvariety of foods. Yet, it is true that several cultures had been built\nupon the great abundance and importance of one particular food item as\ncompared to all other foods eaten. North of California, Indians built\ntheir culture largely upon the salmon. To the east were tribes which\ndepended upon the bison for most of their needs, and southeast of\nCalifornia the Southwest Indians built their culture around the all\nimportant maize or native corn. In any of these regional groups, if the\nmain food item failed, disaster struck the tribes. In contrast, the\nCalifornians, with diversified eating habits, had four major food\nsources: fish, game, roots, and seeds or nuts. Each was important and\nthe failure of any one caused hardship, but by no means the serious\ndisaster which befell the more specialized groups of Indians if their\nmain food supply item failed. If any one item of the California Indian\ndiet were to be selected as the most important and universal food, one\nof the nuts, the acorn would have to be named.\n    [Illustration: INDIAN TRIBAL DISTRIBUTION IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA\n    after A. L. Kroeber]\n  TOLOWA\n  YUROK\n  KAROK\n    UPPER\n    LOWER\n  SHASTAN\n    SHASTA\n    OKWANUCHU\n    ACHOMAWI\n    ATSUGEWI\n    KORO MINU\n    NEW RIVER\n  MODOC\n  NORTHERN PAIUTE\n  LASSEN VOL. NAT. PARK\n  PYOT\n  WHILIOUT\n  ATHABASCAN\n    CHILULA\n    HUPA\n    NONGATL\n    SINKYONE\n    LASSIK\n    WAILAKI\n    KATO\n  YUKI\n    YUKI\n    HUCHNOM\n    COAST YUKI\n  POMO\n  WAPPO\n  CHIMA RIKO\n  WINTUN\n    NORTHERN\n    CENTRAL\n    SOUTHWESTERN\n    SOUTHEASTERN\n  COSTANOAN\n    SAN FRANCISCAN\n    SANTA CLARA\n    SANTA CRUZ\n  YANA\n    CENTRAL\n    SOUTHERN\n    YAHI\n  MAIDU\n    NORTHEASTERN\n    NORTHWESTERN\n    SOUTHERN\n  WASHO\n  MIWOK\n    COAST MIWOK\n    PLAINS\n    NORTHERN\n    CENTRAL\n    SOUTHERN\n  YOKUT\n    NORTH VALLEY\nCalifornia Indians are often regarded to have been lazy and shiftless.\nTo be sure there were such individuals, but we have that type of person\nin our midst too, and I dare say in equal or greater percentage. As a\nmatter of fact, Indians generally could not afford to be lazy\u2014there was\nno beneficent government to coddle them. It was largely a case of sink\nor swim. They had to provide their own shelter, food, and clothing as\nwell as what amusement and extras\u2014hardly to be called luxuries\u2014they\nwished to enjoy. These things were all wrought from the wilderness with\ntheir own bare hands, using only wood, stone, and fire as tools. These\nnative Americans lived in a stone-age culture. Metals, the wheel,\ndomesticated herd animals, and agriculture were unknown to California\nIndians. Although there was some seasonal migration, there were no truly\nnomadic or wandering tribes in California.\nIn California there were 103 separate tribes each speaking its own\nlanguage. To be sure, some were mere dialects of others, but there were\n21 tongues completely distinct from each other and mutually\nunintelligible. These belonged to several unrelated language families,\nas shown on the second map.\nAs suggested above, Kroeber has shown that we are technically incorrect\nin referring to the California Indians as a single group of tribes.\nWithin the political boundaries of the State of California there were\nactually three separate cultures with a number of subcultures, which\nwere as follows: The small area in the northwest corner of the state,\nthe Klamath River drainage, was occupied by the Northwest California\nSub-culture, a part of the North Pacific Coast Culture which extended\ninto British Columbia. The California-Great Basin Culture had three\nrepresentatives in the state: the smallest or Lutuami Sub-culture,\nrepresented by the Modoc tribe only, extended down from the north across\nthe east central portion of the northern boundary of California. The\nnext larger was the Great Basin Sub-culture just east of the\nCascade-Sierra backbone. The third and largest sub-culture of the\nCalifornia-Great Basin Culture was that of the Central California tribes\n(the Diggers of the pioneer), extending westward from the Cascade-Sierra\ncrest to the Pacific Ocean across the bulk of the state. The fifth\nsub-culture is known as the Southern California comprising the area\nsouth of the Tehachapi Mountains from the coast east across the Colorado\nRiver, being a part of the Southwest Culture.\n    [Illustration: LINGUISTIC FAMILIES\n    INDIAN LANGUAGE GROUPS OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA and the families to\n    which they belong, after A. L. Kroeber]\n  Lutuamian\n    LUTUAMI\n  Hokan\n    KAROK\n    SHASTAN\n    CHIMARIKO\n    POMO\n    WASHO\n    YANA\n  Shoshonian\n    PAIUTE\n  Penutian\n    WINTUN\n    MAIDU\n    MIWOK\n    YOKUT\n    COSTANOAN\n  Algonkian\n    YUROK\n  Athabascan\n    ATHABASCAN\n  Yukian\n    YUKI\nNevertheless, some generalities hold, and at the risk of the inaccuracy\nwhich is typical of generalizations, we might set forth the following\ncustoms as being characteristic of California Indians:\nAnimal flesh bulked a smaller volume of food eaten than did vegetable\nmaterials\u2014or, in the case of coastal peoples, than did seafoods. Dog and\nreptile flesh were considered poisonous or undesirable, but insects and\nworms were generally eaten. Acorns were the most important single food.\nAll tribes utilized seeds of such plants as buckeye, grass, sedge, and\nsunflower family plants. All items, but the first, were collected with a\nbasketry seed beater in a conical burden basket, parched, winnowed,\nground, and eaten either dry, as unleavened bread, or as boiled mush.\nAlthough the fish hook and line were known throughout the area, most\nfishing was done by means of nets, weirs, use of poison, and harpoons\nthrust, but not thrown.\nHunting with bow and arrow was most important. Disguise and dogs were\nused in the north, but surrounding the game was the common means of\nhunting in the south.\nThe northern bow was short, broad, and sinew backed while southern\nCalifornians used long narrow bows without reinforcement.\nArrows were usually two-piece and tipped with obsidian points. Three\ndifferent arrow releases were used among California Indians. Northern\narrows were straightened by use of a hole through a piece of wood or\nsimilar material, and were polished by use of horsetail stalks while a\ngrooved squarish soapstone (steatite) did both jobs in the south.\nBasketry was highly developed, being California\u2019s best art form. The\nnorthern quarter of the area did twined basketry; coiled basketry\nprevailed elsewhere.\nCloth was unknown, but woven rabbit skin strip blankets were universal,\nespecially for bedding. Rush mats were twined and sewn.\nPottery was unknown except for a very crude undecorated form in the San\nJoaquin Valley, an intrusion from the Southern California Sub-culture\nwhere pottery became important.\nMusic of California was characterized by singing, rattles, whistles,\nsplit slap sticks, flute, and musical bow. The last two instruments were\nthe only ones which were able to make real melodies, but amazingly,\nneither one was used for dances or ceremonies. California Indians were\nvirtually without any drums\u2014the exception being a single headed flat\nfoot drum used in ceremonial sweathouse chambers of the tribes in the\nSacramento and San Joaquin Valleys.\nDress of California women was a front and a back apron of\nskin\u2014especially buckskin\u2014or of plant fiber. Men wore nothing or a folded\nskin about the hips or between the legs. In bad weather both sexes used\ncape-like or wrap-around (over one arm and under the other) skin robes.\nIn localized areas the brimless dome-shaped basketry cap was worn by\nwomen. Hair of both sexes was long (but shorn in mourning) and\nfrequently put up in nets by men. Men removed their beards by pulling\nwith their fingers.\nIn mountain areas social and religious cults were lacking. In the\nextreme northwest corner wealth dances were held; in central California\nthe secret society and Kuksu dances, in the south the Jimsonweed\ninitiation system, and in the Colorado River area the dreamsong ceremony\nflourished.\nHouses varied from open enclosures and brush or bark shelters to frame\nstructures more or less completely dug into the ground and covered with\nbark, brush, and dirt, usually with a roof entrance and or one to the\nsouth; this was the earth lodge. In the extreme northwest housing was\nnot the earth lodge, but a structure built on top of the ground;\nhand-split planks were used in its construction.\nSweat houses were of the earth lodge type, often of daily service and in\nnorthern areas, lived in too. Sweat houses of California were not heated\nby steam, but directly with fire.\nBoats generally were of rushes tied into balsa rafts or into boat\nshapes. In addition one-piece dugout canoes from tree logs were typical\nof the northern portion of California, becoming progressively more\nrefined in workmanship and in design to the northwest. A unique lashed\nsplit board canoe was made by channel island tribes in the Santa Barbara\nvicinity.\nThe tribe as a political unit, so common elsewhere in America, did not\nexist in California. What we call a tribe was actually a number of\ngroups of Indians, each of whom had a chief, spoke the same language\ndialect, had the same customs, intermarried regularly, and were usually\nmutually friendly. There was no tribal chief as such.\nIn the northwest portion of California wealth was so important that real\nchieftain leadership was lacking. In central and southern California the\nchief was a powerful local leader on a hereditary basis. Between the two\nextremes was a zone where tribes struck a compromise; the hereditary\nlocal chief had moderate authority and usually was well to do, but not\nnecessarily so. Rich men in smaller political divisions were influential\nheadmen under the local chief.\nWarfare was only for revenge and not for plunder or for a desire for\ndistinction. Except for the Northwest Sub-culture, scalps were generally\ntaken and included the victim\u2019s skin down to his eyes or nose, and\nincluding the ears. Not infrequently the whole head was taken by a\nvictorious warrior. The weapon was the bow and arrow, with rocks\nemployed in close combat. Such war implements as shields, clubs, spears\n(throwing), and tomahawks were not used.\nGuessing games, usually played by men, were universal, with variations,\nand heavy gambling was the rule. Shinny in several different forms was\nwidely played.\nShamans were employed for curing diseases which were believed due to the\npresence in the body of some foreign hostile object. This was removed by\nsucking accompanied by singing, dancing, and tobacco smoking.\nThe girls\u2019 adulthood or puberty ceremony and dance was important to all\nCalifornia tribes.\nPopulation figures even on the most scholarly basis, Kroeber states, are\nat best reasonable guesses. As nearly as can be determined there were\noriginally about one million Indians in North America, three million in\nCentral America, and three million in South America. California probably\nhad about 133,000 Indians or nearly one per square mile. This is a\ndensity three or four times greater than for the whole of North America.\nToday the North American Indian population (including about 30%\nhalf-breeds) is less than 10% of what it was. Over 90% of our Indians\nhave been destroyed by wholesale killing at the hands of the white man,\nby new diseases, unfavorable changes in diet, clothing, and dwellings\nplus such Caucasian cultural factors as settlement, concentration, and\nthe like. The decline in Indian population varied directly with the\ndegree of civilized contact the several tribes experienced. It is\ninteresting to note that virtually all of the Indians exposed to the\nSpanish missions commencing 1769 are gone except for a few in the\nextreme south who were only partly missionized. Kroeber states:\n  \u201cIt must have caused many of the fathers a severe pang to realize, as\n  they could not but do daily, that they were saving souls only at the\n  inevitable cost of lives. And yet such was the overwhelming fact. The\n  brute upshot of missionization, in spite of its kindly flavor and\n  humanitarian root, was only one thing: death.\u201d\nKroeber also points out that some tribes had much less resistance and\nhence suffered greater decline in population in response to equal white\ncontact than others did. As in the case of other living things, there\nwere favorable circumstances under which the Indian flourished\u2014where\nlife was relatively easy and secure. Such conditions produced virile\nstock and a rich culture both materially and spiritually\u2014a condition\nfound in broad valleys drained by the great rivers of California: the\nKlamath, the Sacramento, and the San Joaquin. As is also the case with\nspecific plants and animals, Indians in less favorable sites lived\nsubmarginally\u2014a difficult existence, poor in material and spiritual\nculture. Under such circumstances it takes just a small amount of\nadditional unfavorable influence to make existence impossible. On this\nbasis Kroeber explains the extinction or near extinction of poor\nmountain tribes upon contact with the whites while the Indians of the\nfertile valleys, although suffering more intensive Caucasian contact,\nwere able to survive in reasonable numbers. This is a specific exception\nto the general observation made above that population decrease varied\ndirectly with the degree of contact. There are examples in California;\nthe local one is the survival of valley Maidu and Wintun populations as\ncompared to the surrounding mountain people with poorer cultures: the\nYahi, Yana, Okwanuchu, Shasta, New River Shasta, Chimariko, and the\nAthabascan tribes of the west with survival percentages today of up to\nonly 5% at best.\nThere is another factor which caused greater devastation of the\neconomically insecure mountain tribes. White settlers were able to use\nto their own advantage some of the labor, services, and even food which\nthe valley Indians afforded them. Thus it was not to the interest of the\nwhites to wipe out these Indians. On the other hand, the mountain tribes\nwith a poorer economy were prone to steal livestock to supplement their\nfood supplies as they had no means to gain wealth to enable them to buy\nfrom the whites. Such depredations were a major cause of retaliation by\nwhite man in the form of bloody punitive attacks on Indians from whom\nthe settlers had nothing to gain.\n                    INDIAN TRIBES OF THE LASSEN AREA\nLassen Peak with an elevation of 10,453 feet above sea level is the\ncentral high point of a somewhat topographically isolated mountain mass\nof volcanic origin. The slopes descending in all directions from Lassen\nPeak are clothed in coniferous forests, dotted with small lakes of\nglacial origin, and drained by a few fish bearing streams flowing\nradially from the mountain. There are also a few hot spring areas and\nsome barren expanses where recent eruptions have produced mudflows and\nlavas. For the most part, game abounds in the Lassen highland, but the\nwinters are snowy and severe, making it unsuitable for Indians to live\nthere the year around.\nAs shown on the map, parts of the lands of four distinct tribes of\nIndians lay within what are today the boundaries of Lassen Volcanic\nNational Park. Permanent homes and villages of Atsugewi, Yana, Yahi and\nmountain Maidu tribes were at lower elevations in the Ponderosa Pine and\nDigger Pine belts, and situated near streams. There food was relatively\neasily available and winters were the least severe within the limits of\nthe respective tribal territories.\nEach summer when deer migrated to higher elevations, the Indians also\nmoved toward Lassen Peak to hunt and to fish trout, spending the whole\nsummer in temporary camps.\nThere was some contact between the four tribes during their sojourns in\nthe uplands of the park area, but the activities of each Indian group\nwere pretty well confined to its own territory. The four Lassen tribes\ndid on occasion engage in small battles, but this was the exception\nrather than the rule\u2014generally speaking they lived harmoniously as\nneighbors, and there was even occasional inter-marriage between tribes.\nThese tribes all had simple hill or mountain cultures which, in spite of\nsome difference of custom, were surprisingly alike. It is believed that\nthis is due to the fact that the four tribes all lived under very\nsimilar conditions of environment\u2014the same type of country in many\nrespects. The similarity of their cultures is all the more interesting\nin that the Atsugewi were of the Hokan Family, speaking a Shastan\nlanguage. Yana and Yahi, also of Hokan stock spoke Yana languages. The\nmountain Maidu were of the Penutian Family, speaking a Maidu language.\nAccording to the best available figures, some of which are only\nreasonable guesses, populations of the local tribes were probably about\nas follows:\n    [Illustration: INDIAN TRIBAL AREAS OF THE LASSEN REGION\n    after A. L. Kroeber and T. R. Garth\u2014note the boundaries of Lassen\n    Volcanic National Park dashed in above and left of center of the\n    map. Lassen Peak is at the junction of the Atsugewi, Yana, and Maidu\n    territories.]\n  ACHOMAWI\n  SHASTAN\n    OKWANUCHU\n  NORTHERN WINTUN\n  CENTRAL WINTUN\n  S. E. WINTUN\n  CENTRAL YANA\n  NORTH (YANA)\n  SOUTHERN YANA\n  ATSUGEWI\n    ATSUGE\n    APWARUGE\n  NORTHERN PAIUTE\n  NORTHEASTERN MAIDU\n  NORTHWESTERN MAIDU\n  SOUTHERN MAIDU\n  WASHO\n  Garth states that: \u201cThe Atsugewi are divided into two major groups,\n  the Atsuge or pinetree-people, who occupy Hat Creek Valley, and the\n  Apwaruge\u2014from Apwariwa, the name of Dixie Valley\u2014who live to the east\n  in and around Dixie Valley. Sometimes the Apwaruge are called\n  Mahoupani, juniper-tree-people, a name which reflects the dry and\n  barren nature of their territory....\n  \u201c... certain cultural differences (existed) between the eastern and\n  western Atsugewi, who in most aspects of nonmaterial culture and in\n  language are one people. In the western area there was more abundant\n  rainfall and a fairly luxuriant growth of pines, oaks, and other\n  trees. Here the Atsuge subsisted largely on acorns and fish; made\n  twined basketry, using willow, pine root, _Xerophylum_ grass, and\n  redbud materials; and had bark houses and numerous other structures of\n  bark. On the contrary, in the eastern area, which is comparatively\n  arid and lacking in trees, the Apwaruge depended on the acorn less\n  than did the Atsuge and fishing was less important, to judge by the\n  scarcity or lack of nets, fish hooks, and harpoons; made inferior\n  twined baskets of twisted tule with a different twist to the weave; as\n  a rule had their houses covered with tule mats rather than with bark;\n  and were much poorer than the Atsuge. This cultural distinction\n  between the eastern and western areas is also found to the north among\n  the Achomawi.\u201d\nDixon\u2019s studies have revealed that the Maidu had no general name for\nthemselves, remarkable as this may seem. The name Maidu was first used\nby Stephen Powers in 1877 in his volume \u201cTRIBES OF CALIFORNIA\u201d, a name\nhe arbitrarily applied to these Indians since the word meant \u201cIndian\u201d or\n\u201cman\u201d in their language. The adjectives northwest or valley, northeast\nor mountain, and southern or foothill are applied to identify the three\ndifferent cultures corresponding to the three distinct geographic\nprovinces inhabited by the Maidu Indians as a whole. In a number of\nrespects the culture of the mountain or northeast Maidu was more like\nthat of their northern neighbors, the Atsugewi, than it was like that of\nthe closely related southern and northwestern Maidu peoples. Obviously\nthe factor of environment or characteristics of the land occupied is of\nextreme importance in creating such a situation.\n             INDIAN\u2014PIONEER CONFLICT AND THE STORY OF ISHI\nConflict\u2014prolonged, tragic, and violent\u2014flared during the period when\nEuropeans wrested control of North America from the native Indian. In\nviewing the struggle between Indian and white man, feelings run high\neven today.\nWhat was it when Custer\u2019s contingent was wiped out?\u2014when the Modocs\ninflicted such heavy losses on the American troops?\u2014when the Navajo,\nSioux, and others made their devastating raids on wagon trains and\npioneer settlers? These were just as much a part of the war as were the\nexploits of Rogers\u2019 Rangers, the indiscriminate slaying of Indian men,\nwomen, and children in the Yahi caves on Mill Creek, and the\nannihilation of large segments of Atsugewi and Yana tribes cornered at\npoints northwest of the present Lassen Volcanic National Park area. War\nis never a pretty thing. Was the hit and run killing of white people by\nIndians any less defensible morally than white man\u2019s atrocities against\nthe Indians, or, for that matter, than commando raids and atomic\nbombings of today? Our viewpoint on such matters in the past has all too\noften been that might makes right, since we have always been on the\nwinning side. Until very recently we have followed the biased opinion of\nthe colonists and pioneers of these United States: whenever we won, it\nwas a glorious and righteous victory, but if the Indian emerged\nvictorious, it was regarded as a dastardly massacre. It is a viewpoint\nreadily understandable where a person\u2019s loved ones are involved\u2014but not\njustifiable.\nOur veterans of recent wars will vouch for the fact that white man\u2019s\nwars can be primitive and violent when life and limb are at stake. We\nare hardly in a position to criticize the \u201ccruel and sneaking\u201d fighting\nmethods of the Indians. Was it not use of Indian fighting methods which\nwas so valuable to us in defeating the British in the colonial war for\nindependence?\nIndians fought in the only way they knew\u2014and a disheartening losing\nfight it was for them with bows and arrows against rifles. For each gain\nin weapons and technical know-how the Indians made, the whites made\nmany. True, it cost Americans much in the way of lives, anguish, and\nmoney, but how small were these losses in comparison to those of the\nIndians. American Indians, the undisputed owners of this continent for\nthousands of years, were not only nearly exterminated, but in the end we\ntook virtually all of their land by force and with it took away the\nmeans of self support as well without \u201cdue process of law\u201d. We denied\nthe Indian the right of \u201clife, liberty, and the pursuit of\nhappiness\u201d\u2014the very things for which we as a nation stand. In all\nfairness, however, it should be stated that in recent years modest\nmonetary retribution has been made by the U.S. Government to some of the\nsurviving descendants.\nS. F. Cook has pointed out that Spanish contact with California Indians\nwas a rather passive matter. Spanish penetrated deeply, but did not\nsettle on Indian lands of appreciable size. The Spanish were present in\nsmall numbers, a population numbering perhaps 4,000 by 1848. To be sure\nthere was occasional bloodshed, but it was the exception in Spanish\nCalifornia rather than the rule, for the Spanish regarded Indians as an\nasset, a human resource which provided labor and even some food and\nmaterials. The Indians were a respected element in the social and\neconomic structure of Hispanic California, having civic and legal\nrights. Even under the Spanish, was there a great reduction of the\nIndian population through limited warfare and displacement, but much\nmore importantly through disease. Nevertheless, by 1845 a more or less\nsatisfactory equilibrium seems to have evolved between the Spanish and\nthe California Indians.\nIn contrast the hordes of white immigrants who followed considered the\nIndians entirely useless and there was no place for the latter in the\npioneers\u2019 economy of material wealth. All good lands were taken from the\nIndians arbitrarily and as quickly as possible. However, it must be\nstated that there were exceptions to both the Spanish and Gringo\nrelations with the California Indians, but, in general, the foregoing\nstatements are accurate.\nHow the conflict of pioneer versus Indian affected the Atsugewi is\nsummarized for us by Garth as follows:\n  \u201cThe Atsugewi, because of their somewhat secluded mountain habitat,\n  were spared contact with white civilization until the middle of the\n  nineteenth century. Although there were vague reports of contact with\n  Spanish explorers or Mexican bandits, these could not be verified.\n  Peter Skene Ogden may have been the first white man to visit the area\n  (1827-1828). Besides the trappers, Fremont, Greenwood, and other\n  explorers probably skirted Atsugewi country. Peter Lassen passed\n  through Achomawi-Atsugewi country in opening the Pit River Route of\n  1848. He was soon followed by a stream of white migration from the\n  east which was devastating to the Indians and their culture.\n  Prospectors entered the Lassen region in 1851, and not long afterward\n  came white settlers. By about 1859 the Indians were felt to be a\n  menace to the whites in the area and were rounded up by militia and\n  taken to the Round Valley Indian Reservation. Unsatisfactory\n  conditions at the Reservation caused most of them to leave in 1863 and\n  return to their old haunts along Hat Creek and Dixie Valley.\n  \u201cJoaquin Miller reports an uprising in 1867 of the Pit River and Modoc\n  Indians, who had made up old differences and were now fighting\n  together. A number of whites were massacred. Miller speaks of an\n  Indian camp being made on Hat Creek in the war that followed. It is\n  not thus improbable that the Atsuge participated in that war. After a\n  year or so of fighting the Indians suffered a final crushing defeat\n  and surrendered. This last engagement may be the one at Six Mile Hill,\n  spoken of by informants, in which a large number of their people were\n  cornered in a cave and massacred by soldiers. After this, many of the\n  Indians were again removed to Round Valley. Those remaining and some\n  who subsequently returned from the Reservation maintained friendly\n  relations with the whites. Today most Atsugewi live on allotments in\n  their old territory, the younger Indians often working for their white\n  neighbors or for the lumber mills. The census of 1910 gives a\n  population of 240 for \u2018Hat Creek Indians\u2019. This figure may also have\n  included the Dixie Valley Atsugewi, since they are not mentioned in\n  the census. The present population is probably half that or less.\u201d\nThe Maidu also were decimated upon contact with white man. However, with\nonly rare exception, Maidu accepted rather passively invasion of their\nterritory with the attendant driving away of game and destruction of\nfish in the streams by mining operations in gold rush days. However,\nsince the remnants of the Maidu were in the way of white mans\u2019\ndevelopments, treaties were made in 1851 by which these Indians gave up\nall claims to their ancestral lands and were taken to short lived\nreservations in Amador, Nevada and Butte Counties, also later to the\nRound Valley Reservations in the Coast Range. A great many Maidu soon\nreturned to their homes. In the late 50\u2019s and 60\u2019s a desultory war was\nwaged on the Maidu by California State troops which further reduced the\nnumber of surviving Indians of this tribe.\nThe management of the University of California\u2019s excellent informative\n\u201cUNIVERSITY EXPLORER\u201d radio program series has given permission to quote\nthe following from its broadcasts. This material concerns the conflict\nof the closely related Yana and Yahi tribes with the whites and the\nfabulous story of Ishi. The script has been abridged and considerably\nrearranged:\n  \u201c... The Yana way of life was a strange one to the white observer, but\n  the tribes prospered under it until white emigration from the East\n  threw them into conflict with a new and unfriendly people. The\n  Indians, of course, resented the white incursion and revolted against\n  it. That happened in all sections of the country where whites\n  displaced Indians, but it would be hard to imagine a more inept way of\n  handling the situation than that used by the white men in the\n  Sacramento Valley. Some of the large land owners protected the Indians\n  of their holdings; among them were General John Bidwell, one of the\n  founders of Chico, (Peter Lassen on his Rancho Bosquejo between Mill\n  and Deer Creeks), and John Sutter, on whose property the Gold Rush\n  started. But they were exceptions. Most of the settlers apparently\n  believed the only way to handle the natives was to compete with them\n  in cruelty. One celebrated Indian-killer took great pride in a blanket\n  he had made from Indian scalps. The whites had learned scalping from\n  the Eastern Indians, but they themselves popularized it in\n  California....\n  \u201cThe Indians often plundered settlers\u2019 cabins and stole livestock.\n  This was natural, since they regarded the whites as invaders.\n  Unfortunately, the settlers\u2019 retaliation frequently consisted of\n  rounding up a gang of Indians and slaughtering them. And it didn\u2019t\n  make too much difference whether they were the guilty Indians.\n  Professor Waterman wrote that the Yahi expressed their resentment of\n  the white men more violently than did the other Yana groups, but since\n  the Yahi moved around more and displayed greater skill in hiding out,\n  quite innocent groups of Indians often took the blame for the acts of\n  the Yahi. Professor Waterman cited the case of one white posse which\n  took to the trail following a series of Indian raids. The posse came\n  upon an encampment of Indians and shot about forty of them. But the\n  Indians had been camped in the same place for two nights, and the\n  whites later found a couple of almost-empty whiskey barrels there. It\n  doesn\u2019t stand to reason, Professor Waterman pointed out, that Indians\n  skilled in warfare would be so careless after an attack on their\n  enemies.\n  \u201cAs the animosity between white men and red men grew, the atrocities\n  on both sides became revolting. White women and children were tortured\n  and killed by the Yana. But the anthropologists who have studied this\n  unpleasant phase of California history believe the whites invited such\n  savage assaults by their own brutal mistreatment of the Indians.\n  \u201c... The Yana gradually took to the woods as it became obvious that\n  they were being outnumbered and decimated by the settlers in one\n  massacre after another. By the late 1860\u2019s the Indians had been\n  reduced in numbers and intimidated to the point where they no longer\n  could be considered a serious menace to the people who had taken over\n  their hunting grounds. By then the Indians\u2019 crimes were more on the\n  level of petty theft than major violence. The three Yana tribes had\n  become almost extinct as social organizations, but a fair number of\n  Yana-speaking individuals survived long after the turn of the century.\n  \u201cWith the Yahi tribe, however, it was a different story. For a long\n  time the Yahi\u2014then called the Mill Creeks, because area around that\n  little stream was their principal hunting ground\u2014for a long time, the\n  Yahi were believed to have been wiped out in a final massacre in\n  1865.... In 1871, a group of cattle-herders in Tehama County found a\n  spot where Indians apparently had wounded a steer. The whites used\n  dogs to follow the steer\u2019s bloody trail, and cornered some thirty\n  Indians in a hillside cave. They promptly slaughtered the Indians,\n  including several children. The settlers\u2019 peculiar idea of mercy was\n  pointed out by Professor Waterman\u2019s informant, who noted that one of\n  the cattle-herders could not bear to kill the children with his .56\n  caliber rifle\u2014\u2018it tore them up so bad\u2019 he said. So he did it instead\n  with a .38 caliber revolver.... They call the rock shelter Kingsley\n  Cave after Norman Kingsley, the settler who ... supposedly ... shot\n  the Indian children. The Kingsley Cave site was apparently used for a\n  long time. Grinding tools of two different cultural periods were found\n  ... (by University of California Archeological Survey staff\n  excavations currently investigating the site).\n  (The Yahi were thought to have been completely wiped out by this last\n  unjustified atrocity, but in 1908) \u201c... surveyors for a power company\n  in the hilly country around Deer Creek reported they had caught a\n  glimpse of a naked Indian standing poised near the stream with a\n  double-pronged primitive fishing spear. Next day, other members of the\n  party were startled when an arrow came whistling through the\n  underbrush at them\u2014a stone-tipped arrow like those used by the\n  supposedly extinct Indians. The surveyors kept on pushing ahead, until\n  they came upon a cleverly concealed camp in the tangled woods. There\n  they found a middle-aged woman and two aged and feeble Indians, a man\n  and a woman. The old woman, hiding under a pile of rabbit skins,\n  apparently wanted water, and the surveyors gave her some after the old\n  man and the other woman had hidden in the underbrush. The surveyors\n  also carried off all the blankets, bows and arrows and other articles\n  in sight; but when they returned next day to make some sort of\n  restitution, the Indians had disappeared. They were never seen again,\n  even though the University later sent anthropologists in search of\n  them....\n  \u201c... with the dawn of a clear August day in 1911.... The butchering\n  crew of a slaughterhouse near Oroville were awakened ... by a furious\n  barking of the dogs at the corral. They rushed into the corral to find\n  a man crouching in the mud, surrounded by the slaughterhouse shepherd\n  dogs. The butchers called off the dogs to get a closer look at their\n  guest\u2014and a most unusual guest he was.\n  \u201cThe man\u2019s only clothing was a piece of torn, dirty canvas across his\n  shoulders. His skin was sunburned to a copper brown, his hair was\n  clipped close to the skull, and he obviously was suffering from severe\n  malnutrition. His body was emaciated and his cheeks clung to the bones\n  to accentuate his furiously glaring eyes.\n  \u201cBut the strangest thing about this man was his speech. It was like\n  nothing the butchers had ever heard.... The sheriff tried English and\n  Spanish, then several Indian dialects. But he was unable to draw any\n  intelligible response from his prisoner. For lack of a better place to\n  put him, the sheriff locked him in the jail cell reserved for mental\n  cases, even though the man from the slaughterhouse appeared to be more\n  lost than insane.\n  \u201cThe \u2018Wild Man of Oroville\u2019 made good newspaper copy, and clippings\n  about his mysterious discovery caused much excitement in the\n  department of anthropology at the University of California. It was a\n  good thing that the news reached the University when it did. The\n  frightened wild man was cowering in his cell, refusing to accept food\n  from his captors whom he obviously distrusted, while the sheriff\n  vainly tried to identify him.\n  \u201cThe late Professor T. T. Waterman was especially excited. So excited,\n  in fact, that he stuffed a few clothes in his suitcase, quickly picked\n  out a list of words from the files on California Indian languages, and\n  caught the first train to Oroville for an interview with the prisoner.\n  \u201cThe reason for Professor Waterman\u2019s excitement was that he believed\n  the Oroville prisoner was a Yahi Indian. If this guess was correct,\n  Waterman would have a major anthropological find. For anthropologists\n  are concerned with origins, development and variegated cultures of\n  mankind; and if the frightened prisoner in Oroville turned out to be a\n  Yahi, Professor Waterman and his colleagues would have a living\n  encyclopedia of the language, customs, and habits of a people who were\n  believed to be extinct ... he might be one of the little band reported\n  at Deer Creek (in 1908), perhaps the man with the fishing spear.\n  \u201cThe task of determining whether the prisoner was Yahi was complicated\n  by the fact that no one knew the Yahi language. This doesn\u2019t sound\n  like an insuperable stumbling block, until you remember that the\n  California Indian languages were numerous and distinct; there were\n  over one hundred dialects, many of them mutually unintelligible. These\n  dialects were classified into eighteen major language groups, which in\n  turn made up six entirely different language families. These six\n  language families apparently are completely unrelated\u2014a strange\n  circumstance, when you consider that almost all of the languages of\n  Europe can be traced to common origins.\n  \u201cHowever, Professor Waterman was fortunate in one respect. A fairly\n  extensive word-list had been collected from the dialect of the Nozi\n  Indians who had once lived just to the north of the Yahi and were\n  their nearest relatives. Both the Yahi and the Nozi belonged to the\n  Yana language stock, which stemmed from the widespread Hokan family.\n  So Professor Waterman relied on Nozi words to make the identification.\n  \u201cAt first, the prisoner in Oroville seemed as frightened of Professor\n  Waterman as he had been of all the other white men. Patiently, the\n  anthropologist proceeded through his list of Nozi words, but the\n  captive Indian apparently recognized none of them. At last, though,\n  the professor pointed to the wooden frame of the Indian\u2019s cot, and\n  pronounced the word \u2018si\u2019wi\u2019ni,\u2019 which according to his list meant\n  \u2018yellow pine\u2019. Immediately, the Indian relaxed. His harried, unhappy\n  look turned to beaming good cheer, and he acted as if he had found a\n  long-lost friend. Pointing to his cot, he repeated Professor\n  Waterman\u2019s word \u2018si\u2019wi\u2019ni\u2019 several times, as if agreeing that, yes,\n  his cot was yellow pine. His own language differed from that of the\n  Nozi, but some of the vocabulary was the same. Professor Waterman had\n  struck upon one of the right words; later, he pronounced more familiar\n  words, and it was established that the Indian was a Yahi. He also\n  managed to explain that he called himself \u2018Ishi\u2019, which meant simply,\n  \u2018I am a man\u2019.\n  \u201cProfessor Waterman was naturally elated with his new-found\n  acquaintance. The Butte County sheriff was equally elated to be rid of\n  his difficult charge, so Ishi was taken to the Museum, then located in\n  San Francisco, for further study and interrogation.\n  \u201cThus it happened that this human relic of the Stone Age came to live\n  at a modern university. The Regents of the University gave Ishi some\n  official status by appointing him an assistant janitor at $25 a month.\n  But his value to the University did not come from dexterity with a mop\n  and broom; he was valued because he could tell the anthropologists\n  about his people, preserving knowledge which otherwise would have died\n  with his fellow-tribesmen.\n  \u201cIshi adapted himself well to this new life, and he was a friendly and\n  popular fixture at the museum for five years. He picked up the white\n  man\u2019s ways by watching the people around him; at his first civilized\n  dinner, he imitated his hosts\u2019 motions and managed a knife and fork\n  far more skilfully than most of us can handle chopsticks in a Chinese\n  restaurant. He was delighted and awe-stricken by many of the\n  developments of civilization; but the things that impressed him most\n  were not what the anthropologists had expected. Electric lights,\n  airplanes, and automobiles made little impression; they were\n  completely beyond his range of experience, and he dismissed them as\n  \u2018white man\u2019s magic\u2019, worthy of little attention. The tall buildings in\n  downtown San Francisco did not startle him; as he explained, his own\n  country had cliffs and crags just as high. But what really amazed him\n  about the city were the enormous crowds of people on the streets. He\n  had seen people before, of course, but never more than twenty or\n  thirty in one place.\n  \u201cIn general, the things that Ishi considered most remarkable were\n  things which approached something in his own experience. He knew how\n  hard it was to start a fire by friction, so pocket matches were indeed\n  a wonder. Water faucets which could be turned on and off were likewise\n  marvelous; why, the white man could make a spring, right there in the\n  house! One of the first modern devices to catch Ishi\u2019s babbled\n  attention was an ordinary window roller shade. He tried to push it\n  aside, but it flipped back; he lifted it, but it fell down. Finally\n  someone showed him how to give it a little tug and let it roll itself\n  up, and Ishi was amazed. A half-hour later, he was still trying to\n  figure out what had happened to the shade.\n  \u201cIshi and his hosts learned to communicate with each other fairly\n  adequately; he never became accustomed to formal grammar, but he\n  picked up a vocabulary large enough to express his wishes and his\n  comments about the things around him. Actually, the anthropologists\n  admitted, Ishi learned to speak English far better than any of them\n  were able to learn Yahi. They suspected that some of his vocabulary\n  was acquired from the school children who used to visit him, for it\n  included a fair sampling of most unacademic slang.\n  \u201cThere were some things Ishi didn\u2019t like to talk about\u2014the death of\n  his relatives and the last horrible years around Deer Creek before he\n  wandered to the Oroville slaughterhouse\u2014were subjects he found too\n  painful. Besides, there was a tribal taboo against mentioning the\n  names of the dead. His close-cropped head, incidentally, was the\n  result of burning off his hair in mourning for his mother and sister,\n  in accordance with tribal custom.\n  \u201cBut the knowledge which Ishi passed on was rich and varied.... Among\n  the contributions for which Ishi is remembered are some of the finest\n  arrowheads and spear tips in existence; he made these for the\n  University Museum both of modern bottle glass and from the natural\n  materials.... In fact, Ishi was the source of almost all that is known\n  of Yahi life. He gladly described the customs of his people, and he\n  enjoyed chipping out Stone Age weapons and showing how they were used.\n  With primitive drawings, he tried to tell the story of the massacre\n  which wiped out most of his tribe....\n  \u201cIshi\u2019s own life ended in March 1916, when he died of tuberculosis. He\n  was then believed to be in his 50\u2019s. Those who knew him at the\n  University considered his death a great loss\u2014not only because of what\n  he had contributed to anthropology, but because he had a natural\n  friendliness and dignity which made him a beloved personality.\n  Professor A. L. Kroeber once told me: \u2018The manner in which he\n  acquitted himself, both from the scientific and social points of view,\n  was so admirable that everyone who chanced to meet him counted it a\n  privilege to be his friend\u2019. And Ishi had the comforting knowledge\n  that his departure from this earth would not be a completely alien\n  one. Because he had passed on the elements of his culture, it was\n  possible to bury him with all the ceremony of his own people. His bows\n  and arrows were laid beside him, and some bowls of food were placed in\n  the grave so he would not grow hungry on his long journey to the Happy\n  Hunting Ground....\n  \u201cIshi was not only the last survivor of the Yahi ... but he was also\n  believed to (have been) the last representative of the Stone Age in\n  the United States.\u201d\nWhile not apropos to the subject of this chapter, \u201cPioneer Conflict...\u201d\nwe digress with some quotations from Pope\u2019s \u201cMedical History of Ishi\u201d to\ngive the reader a better understanding of this last of the Mill Creek\nIndians, his character, and his beliefs.\n  \u201c... Ishi himself later made the statement that he was not sick but\n  had no food. White men had taken his bow and arrows; game was scarce,\n  and he had no means of procuring it. He had strayed from his usual\n  trail, between Deer Creek and ... Lassen (Peak). The railroad on one\n  side and a large river on the other kept him from making his way to\n  the refuge of the hills. His fear of trains and automobiles seems to\n  have been considerable in those days.\n  \u201cUpon being captured, Ishi, according to his own account, was\n  handcuffed, confronted by guns and pistols, and intimidated to such an\n  extent that he vomited with fear....\n  \u201cAbout this time (fall, 1912) I became instructor in surgery in the\n  University Medical School, and thus came in contact with the Indian.\n  \u201cFrom the first weeks of our intimacy a strong friendship grew up\n  between us, and I was from that time on his physician, his confidant,\n  and his companion in archery....\n  \u201cThe Museum (of Anthropology) is near the Hospital, and since Ishi had\n  been made a more or less privileged character in the hospital wards,\n  he often came into the surgical department. Here he quietly helped the\n  nurses clean instruments, or amused the internes and nurses by singing\n  his Indian songs, or carried on primitive conversation by means of a\n  very complex mixture of gesture, Yana dialect, and the few scraps of\n  English he had acquired in his contact with us.\n  \u201cHis affability and pleasant disposition made him a universal\n  favorite. He visited the sick in the wards with a gentle and\n  sympathetic look which spoke more clearly than words. He came to the\n  women\u2019s wards quite regularly, and with his hands folded before him,\n  he would go from bed to bed like a visiting physician, looking at each\n  patient with quiet concern or with a fleeting smile that was very\n  kindly received and understood.\n  \u201cWomen\u2014Ishi had many of our own obsolete superstitions regarding\n  women. One criticism he made of white man\u2019s civilization was the\n  unbridled liberty we give menstruating women. The \u2018Sako mahale\u2019, as he\n  designated them, were a cause of much ill luck and sickness. They\n  should be in seclusion during this period. In fact, he often commented\n  on the number of sick men that came to the hospital. I asked him what\n  he thought made so many men sick. He said it was \u2018Sako mahale, too\n  much wowi (houses), too much automobile,\u2019 and last but most important\n  of all, the \u2018Coyote doctor\u2019, or evil spirit.\n  \u201cDogs\u2014Playing with dogs, and letting them lick one\u2019s hand, Ishi said\n  was very bad. He assured me that to let babies play with dogs this way\n  led to paralysis. It is interesting to note that Dr. R. H. Gibson of\n  Fort Gibson, Alaska, has reported the coincidence of poliomyelitis\n  among the Tanana Indians and the occurrence of distempers in dogs.\n  \u201cRattlesnakes\u2014Ishi\u2019s treatment for rattlesnake bite was to bind a toad\n  or frog on the affected area. This is interesting in the light of the\n  experiments of Madame Phisalix of the Pasteur Institute, who\n  demonstrated the antidotal properties of salamandrin, an extract\n  obtained from salamander skin, and the natural immunity that the\n  salamander has to viper venom. Macht and Abel have obtained a similar\n  powerful alkaloid from the toad _Bufo nigra_, called bufagin, which\n  has some of the properties of strychnin and adrenalin. It has been\n  used as an arrow poison by South American aborigines. Experiments\n  which I conducted with salamandrin as an antidote to crotalin, show\n  that it has a pronounced protective and curative value in the\n  immunization of guinea pigs and in their cure after being bitten by\n  the rattlesnake. It is, however, too dangerous and potent a poison\n  itself to be of any practical value.\n  \u201cWhen out camping we killed and cooked a rattlesnake or \u2018kemna\u2019. Ishi\n  refused not only to taste it, but also to eat from the dishes in which\n  it had been cooked. We ate it, and found that it tasted like rabbit or\n  fish. Ishi expected us to die. That we did not do so he could only\n  explain on the grounds that I was a medicine man and used magic\n  protection.\n  \u201cMoon\u2014Ishi held the superstition common among uneducated Caucasians,\n  that it is unwholesome to sleep with the moon shining on one\u2019s face,\n  so he covered his head completely under his blankets when sleeping in\n  the open.\n  \u201cHygiene\u2014Ishi had wholesome notions of hygiene. When out hunting he\n  has several times stopped me from drinking water from a stream which\n  he thought had been contaminated by dwelling houses above.\n  \u201cHis residence in the Museum caused many misgivings in his mind. The\n  presence of all the bones of the dead, their belongings, and the\n  mummies were ever a source of anxiety to him. He locked his bedroom\n  door at night to keep out spirits. When we stored our camping\n  provender temporarily in the Museum bone room, Ishi was not only\n  disgusted but genuinely alarmed. It was only after the reassurance\n  that the \u2018bunch a mi si tee\u2019 could not enter through the tin of the\n  cans that he was relieved.\n  \u201cSurgery\u2014On some of his visits to the University Hospital, Ishi gazed\n  through the glass-panelled door of the operating room and watched the\n  less grewsome scenes therein, wondering no doubt what was the meaning\n  of this work ... and his questions afterward, though few and\n  imperfectly understood, showed that he marveled most at the\n  anaesthetic and that he debated the advisability of such surgical\n  work.\n  \u201cOnce he saw me remove a diseased kidney. He viewed the sleeping man\n  with deep wonder. He seemed interested at the methods we employed to\n  prevent hemorrhage. For days afterwards he asked me if the patient\n  still lived, and seemed incredulous when I said he did. When he saw an\n  operation for the removal of tonsils he asked me why it was done. I\n  told him of the pain and soreness which was indicative of disease, and\n  necessitated the operation. He conveyed to me the information that\n  among his people tonsillitis was cured by rubbing honey on the neck,\n  and blowing ashes down the throat through a hollow stick or quill; no\n  operations were necessary.\n  \u201cThe only surgical operation with which he seemed familiar was\n  scarification. This was accomplished by means of small flakes of\n  obsidian and had as its purpose the strengthening of the arms and legs\n  of men about to go out on a hunt.\n  \u201cHerbs\u2014His own knowledge of the use of medicinal herbs was\n  considerable, as we learned later when he went back to Deer Creek\n  canyon with us on a three weeks\u2019 camping trip, here he designated\n  scores of plants that were of technical, medicinal, or economic value.\n  But he put very little faith in these things. The use of herbs and\n  drugs seems to have been the province of old women in the tribe.\n  \u201cThere was a hole in the septum of his nose which he had used as a\n  receptacle for a small piece of wood, as well as for holding\n  ornaments. When he had a cold he placed in this spot a twig of baywood\n  or juniper, and indicated to me that this was medicine. It served very\n  much with him as menthol inhalers do with us. Its influence was\n  largely psychic but agreeable.\n  \u201cMagic\u2014The real medicine was magic. The mysteries of the k\u2019uwi, or\n  medicine man, were of much greater value than mere dosing. Their\n  favorite charms seem to have been either blowing of smoke and ashes in\n  certain directions to wield a protective or curative influence, or the\n  passing of coals of fire through themselves or their patients by means\n  of sleight of hand. They also sucked out small bits of obsidian or\n  cactus thorns from their clients, averring that these were the\n  etiological factors of sickness.\n  \u201cThe principal cause of pain, according to Ishi, was the entrance of\n  these spines, thorns, bee stings, or, as he called them, \u2018pins\u2019, into\n  the human frame. The medicine man sucked them out, or plucked them\n  while they were floating in the air in the vicinity of the sick man.\n  They were then deposited in a small container, usually made of the\n  dried trachea of a bird, or of a large artery. The ends of this tube\n  were sealed with pitch or some form of a stopper and the whole thing\n  taken possession of by the doctor, thus keeping the \u2018materia morbosa\u2019\n  where it could do no further harm.\n  \u201cThe fact that I was able to do sleight of hand: vanish coins, change\n  eggs into paper, swallow impossible objects at will, and perform\n  similar parlor magic, convinced Ishi that I was a real doctor, much\n  more than any medication or surgery at my command. He came,\n  nevertheless, to our clinic whenever he had a headache, or a bruised\n  member, or lumbago, and accepted our services with due faith.\n  \u201cSleep\u2014... he slept between blankets in preference to sheets. He had\n  several flannelette nightshirts but he preferred to sleep naked....\n  \u201cClothing\u2014... At first he was offered moccasins, but refused to wear\n  them. He wanted to be like other people. Usually he wore a bright\n  colored necktie and sometimes a hat, when he was going down town ...\n  cotton shirts and (cotton) trousers were his choice. He used a pocket\n  handkerchief in the most approved manner, and because of his frequent\n  colds he needed it often.\n  \u201cModesty\u2014Ishi, strange to say, was very modest. Although he went\n  practically naked in the wilds, and, as described by Waterman, upon\n  his first appearance in Deer Creek Canyon he was seen altogether nude,\n  nevertheless, his first request after being captured was for a pair of\n  overalls. He was quite careful to cover his genitalia; when changing\n  clothes, assumed protective attitudes, and when swimming in the\n  mountain streams with us wore an improvised breech clout even though\n  his white companions abandoned this last vestige of respectability.\n  \u201cToilet\u2014When well he bathed nearly every day, and he always washed his\n  hands before meals. He was very tidy and cleanly in all his personal\n  habits. When camping, he was the only man in our outfit who got up\n  regularly and bathed in the cold mountain stream every morning.\n  \u201cIshi was an expert swimmer.... He used a side stroke and sometimes a\n  modified breast stroke, but no overhand or fancy strokes; nor did he\n  dive. He swam under water with great facility and for long distances.\n  The rapids of Deer Creek were rather full yet he swam them, and\n  carried my young son hanging to his hair.\n  \u201cWhen he was sick he resented being bathed except when ordered by the\n  nurse or doctor. Like many other primitive people, he considered\n  bathing injurious in the presence of fever. He never attempted to take\n  a sweat bath while in civilization, but often spoke of them. I never\n  saw him brush his teeth, but he rubbed them with his finger, and they\n  always seemed clean. He washed his mouth out with water after meals.\n  \u201cHis beard was sparse but he plucked it systematically by catching\n  individual hairs between the blade of a dull jack-knife and his thumb.\n  In his native state he used a sort of tweezers made of a split piece\n  of wood. He did this work without the use of a mirror.\n  \u201cHe combed and brushed his hair daily. He washed it frequently.... At\n  first he had no dandruff, but after two or three years\u2019 contact with\n  the whites he had some dry seborrhoea, and began to get a trifle gray\n  at the temples ... he used grease on his scalp when in his native\n  state; whereas bay leaves and bay nuts he said were heated and reduced\n  to a semi-solid state, when they were rubbed on the body after the\n  sweat bath. Here they acted as a soporific, or, as he said, like\n  whiskey, and the person thus anointed fell into a sweet slumber. The\n  same substance was rubbed on moccasins to make them waterproof.\n  \u201cOn one occasion he contracted ring worm, probably from a wandering\n  cat. He was given a sulphur salve for this, and after its cure he\n  still used the ointment to soften his hands.... He was not susceptible\n  to \u2018poison oak\u2019 ... nor to sunburn. His skin bleached out considerably\n  while in San Francisco, and became darker when exposed to sunlight.\n  \u201c... (he) seemed to have the same fondness for sweet-scented soap that\n  Orientals manifest.\n  \u201cHis personal belongings he kept in a most orderly manner, everything\n  in his box being properly folded and arranged with care. Articles\n  which he kept outside of this box he wrapped in newspaper and laid in\n  systematic arrangement on shelves in his room.\n  \u201cIn working on arrows or flaking obsidian, he was careful to place\n  newspapers on the floor to catch his chips. In fact, neatness and\n  order seemed to be part of his self-education.\n  \u201cIn the preparation of food and the washing of dishes he was very\n  orderly and clean.\n  \u201cDiet\u2014... After a certain period of this luxury (eating heavily) he\n  discerned the folly of this course and began eating less, when his\n  metabolism returned to a more normal balance. Part of this increase\n  was due to the large quantities of water he drank. Being unaccustomed\n  to salt, our seasoning was excessive and led to increased hydration of\n  his bodily tissues. He had a great fondness for sweets.... He tried\n  and liked nearly all kinds of foods, but seemed to have an aversion\n  for custards, blanc manges, and similar slimy confections, nor could\n  he be persuaded to drink milk. He contended that this was made for\n  babies, while he said that butter ruined the singing voice....\n  \u201cMatches he took up with evident delight; they were such a contrast to\n  the laborious methods of the fire drill, or of nursing embers, which\n  he employed in the wilds.\n  \u201c... His meat he boiled only about ten minutes, eating it practically\n  without seasoning.\n  \u201cHis own food in the wilds seems to have been fish, game, acorn meal,\n  berries, and many roots. Prominent among these latter was the bulb of\n  the _Brodiaea_. The Indian could go out on an apparently barren\n  hillside and with a sharp stick dig up enough _Brodiaea_ bulbs in an\n  hour to furnish food for a good meal. These roots are globular in\n  shape, with the appearance of an onion, ranging in size from a cherry\n  to a very small potato. The flavor when raw is like that of a potato,\n  and when cooked like a roasted chestnut.\n  \u201cAlcohol\u2014... Ishi himself had no liking for strong drink, although at\n  one time he purchased a few bottles of beer and drank small quantities\n  diluted with sugar and water. He called it medicine. His response to\n  my query regarding whiskey was, \u2018Whiskey-tee crazy-aunatee, die man.\u2019\n  \u201cTobacco\u2014Occasionally Ishi smoked a cigarette, and he knew the use of\n  tobacco, having had access to the native herb in the wilds. But he\n  seldom smoked more than a few cigarettes a day, and frequently went\n  weeks without any. He disapproved of young people smoking. He chewed\n  tobacco at times, and spat copiously. Both of these indulgences,\n  however, he resorted to only when invited by some congenial friend.\n  \u201cEtiquette\u2014Although uncultured, he very quickly learned the proper use\n  of knife, fork, and spoon. His table manners were of the very best. He\n  often ate at my home, where he was extremely diffident; watched what\n  others did and then followed their examples, using great delicacy of\n  manner. His attitude toward my wife or any other woman member of the\n  household was one of quiet disinterest. Apparently his sense of\n  propriety prompted him to ignore her. If spoken to, he would reply\n  with courtesy and brevity, but otherwise he appeared not to see her.\n  \u201cWhen he wanted to show his disapproval of anything very strongly, he\n  went through the pantomime of vomiting.\n  \u201cThrift\u2014As janitor in the Museum, he was making a competent income,\n  understood the value of money, was very thrifty and saving, and looked\n  forward to the day when he could buy a horse and wagon. This seemed to\n  be the acme of worldly possession to him. He was very happy and well\n  contented, working a little, playing enough, and surrounded by\n  friends.\n                   \u201cISHI\u2019S DISPOSITION AND MENTALITY\u201d\n  \u201cDisposition\u2014In disposition the Yahi was always calm and amiable.\n  Never have I seen him vehement or angry. Upon rare occasions he showed\n  that he was displeased. If someone who he thought had no privilege\n  touched his belongings, he remonstrated with some show of excitement.\n  Although he had lived in part by stealing from the cabins of men who\n  had usurped his country, he had the most exacting conscience\n  concerning the ownership of property. He would never think of touching\n  anything that belonged to another person, and even remonstrated with\n  me if I picked up a pencil that belonged to one of the Museum force.\n  He was too generous with his gifts of arms, arrow-heads, and similar\n  objects of his handicraft.\n  \u201cHis temperament was philosophical, analytical, reserved, and\n  cheerful. He probably looked upon us as extremely smart. While we knew\n  many things, we had no knowledge of nature, no reserve; we were all\n  busy-bodies. We were, in fact, sophisticated children.\n  \u201cHis conception of immortality was that of his tribe, but he seemed to\n  grasp the Christian concept and asked me many questions concerning the\n  hereafter. He rather doubted that the White God cared much about\n  having Indians with Him, and he did not seem to feel that women were\n  properly eligible to Heaven. He once saw a moving picture of the\n  Passion Play. It affected him deeply. But he misconstrued the\n  crucifixion and assumed that Christ was a \u2018bad man\u2019.\n  \u201cUse of tools\u2014He was quite adept in the use of such simple tools as a\n  knife, handsaw, file, and hatchet. He early discovered the advantages\n  of a small bench vise, and it took the place of his big toe in holding\n  objects thereafter.... Journeys were measured by days or sleeps ...\n  (he) was awe-struck when I took him to a sawmill where large cedar\n  logs were brought in and rapidly sawed up into small bits to be used\n  in making lead pencils. It would have taken hours for him to fell even\n  a small tree, and an interminable length of time to split it. But here\n  was a miracle of work done in a few minutes. It impressed him\n  greatly....\u201d\nIn concluding remarks on Indian conflict with pioneer, a word concerning\nIndian reservations will not be amiss. The author does best again in\nquoting, this time from Kroeber:\n  \u201cThe first reservations established by Federal officers in California\n  were little else than bull pens. They were founded on the principle,\n  not of attempting to do something for the native, but of getting him\n  out of the white man\u2019s way as cheaply and hurriedly as possible. The\n  reason that the high death rate that must have prevailed among these\n  makeshift assemblages was not reported on more emphatically is that\n  the Indians kept running away even faster than they could die.\n  \u201cThe few reservations that were made permanent have on the whole had a\n  conserving influence on the population after they once settled into a\n  semblance of reasonable order. They did little enough for the Indian\n  directly; but they gave him a place which he could call his own, and\n  where he could exist in security and in contact with his own kind....\u201d\nDespite certain undesirable features of Indian Reservations, the general\nconclusion is that for a number of tribes survival has been considerably\ngreater today than would have been the case if the Indians had had to\nshift for themselves in competition with the whites.\nHunting was obviously a very important activity of the Lassen Indians,\nnot only for survival, but as a means of acquiring the comfort and\nsecurity which success brought. Also a good hunter was held in high\nesteem socially.\nDeer were most sought and the hunter went to considerable effort to get\n\u201cdeer power\u201d (a sort of guardian spirit) to possess him. This gave him\nskill and good luck. Generally only men hunted, sometimes individually,\nat other times in small or large groups.\nBefore going hunting tobacco was often smoked ceremonially with prayers\nand singing while the shaman (medicine man) supervised and the hunters\u2019\nbodies were anointed with medicine. Weapons to be used were smoked over\na fire, while the hunters talked to their bows and arrows about the\ncoming hunt. Frequently Atsugewi, Yana, and Yahi hunters also cut\nthemselves until they bled. This was true especially if their\nmarksmanship had not been good of late. Cuts were made in the forearm\nand charcoal was rubbed in. They often took sweat baths too before\nhunting, but the Maidu did not. The latter, however, offered shell beads\nto help increase deer power. Atsugewi hunters left offerings of paint,\ntobacco, and eagle-down at certain spots in the mountains for luck.\nAfter a youth killed his first game, Maidu and Atsugewi switched him, a\nbow string being commonly used. Then the Atsugewi father talked to his\nson, blew smoke on him, and sent him out alone into the mountains for at\nleast five days to seek power. Yana and Yahi youths were not permitted\nto touch, skin, or eat any of their first kill of each kind of animal,\nlest it spoil their luck. In these tribes the father skinned the animal\nand dressed the hide, teaching his son how this was done.\nAfter hunting there were often cleansing activities and ceremonies, and\nusually a division of meat although a lone hunter could retain all of\nit. It was considered quite bad to come home empty handed. After a bear\nhad been killed he was spoken to kindly and in sympathetic terms. Deer\neyes were often eaten to give good sharp eyesight to the eater.\nIn a popular method of deer hunting by all Indians of the Lassen area, a\ndeer head disguise was worn by the hunter. He approached his quarry\ncautiously using screening bushes and moving his antlered head above\nthem to simulate a buck feeding. Sometimes the hunter carried brush\nalong in front of himself. The mountain Maidu always used the whole\ndeerskin for disguise. When close enough the hunter would shoot with bow\nand arrow. Since this was a nearly silent weapon, there was no noise to\nstartle the deer, and so it was sometimes possible to slay two or three\ndeer on one occasion.\nAtsugewi hunters might encircle a small brush covered or wooded\nmountain. They set many fires, leaving non-burning gaps where bowmen hid\nin holes. The deer were shot as they came out of the burning area.\nMountain Maidu sometimes concealed themselves in pits near deer licks\nwhere they shot the animals in moonlight.\nAnother hunting method was to drive deer along fences built of brush or\nstone or along ropes to which bunches of tules were tied as hanging\nstreamers. Strategically placed hunters in shallow pits shot the driven\ndeer as they passed through openings which had been left. Dogs were\nfrequently used in hunting out and in driving deer.\nThe brush deer-blind along a well traveled deer trail was used too, as\nwell as hanging a noose in the deer trail to snare the deer. Still\nanother means of taking deer was like that of the northern neighbors of\nthe Atsugewi, the Pit River Tribe or Achomawi. They employed a six or\nseven foot deep pit about nine feet long dug with slightly undercut side\nwalls. This opening was covered and concealed with poles, brush, and\ndirt. As the deer trotted along established trails over the disguised\npitfalls they fell through. Or, deer might be driven to such pits,\nsometimes with the aid of converging walls or fences in conjunction with\npitfalls. Deer trapped in these pitfalls were killed by strangling from\nabove with ropes.\nAnother popular way to secure deer was to follow the animal for one or\nmore days. The pursuing Indian carried a small amount of food which he\nate to sustain himself while moving. The deer, although swifter afoot\nthan the hunter, was persistently followed at a steady pace. The animal\ndid not get a chance to feed properly nor to rest. At length the deer\nbecame weakened to the point where the hunter could approach and shoot\nit at close range.\nIf a hunter were fairly close to a deer and it was moving, he might\nshout at it, causing the deer to stop momentarily out of curiosity. This\nprovided a better chance of bringing the quarry down with bow and arrow.\nDeer were sometimes lured closer by whistling with lips, blowing on a\nleaf or grass blade held in the hands, or by imitating the cry of a\nfawn. A hunter is said occasionally to have been able to sing to a group\nof deer, holding their attention while he cautiously approached within\narrow range.\nIf practical, deer or other game was killed by driving the animals over\ncliffs. Elk, mountain sheep, antelope, and reportedly occasionally even\nbison were hunted by one or more of the means. Except for the case of\nmountain sheep, such animals were probably rare within the territories\nof the tribes being considered.\nMeat of such large game was prepared for eating after skinning by\nroasting in the earth pit ovens to be described in succeeding chapters\nor by cutting up and boiling. Much venison and the like was also stored\nfor winter use. In this case the meat was cut into strips and dried in\nthe sun or on wooden frames over fires. This was not a smoking, but\nrather a drying process. Such jerked meat was stored in large, tightly\nwoven baskets. Meat fresh or dried was almost invariably eaten with\nacorn mush.\nBear hunting was common among tribes of the Lassen area. The American\nBlack Bear is not aggressive and by no means always black. He is of\nmoderately large size and often is light or dark brown in color. Indians\nliked to hunt the Black Bear in winter, two hunters entering the\nhibernating den. One carried a torch and the other a bow and arrow. They\nrolled a large block of wood in front of them and shot the bear at point\nblank range, then quickly ran out. Wounded, frightened, and in a\nsemi-stupor, the bear usually stumbled over the wooden block. If he did\nnot die in the den, but came out, he was shot by other waiting hunters.\nMountain Maidu instead of entering the den smoked the bear out with\npitchy torches planted at the den entrance.\nThe California Grizzly was much larger, fiercer, and more aggressive.\nThis grizzly is now extinct, but was common especially in the foothill\nand lower mountain slopes of California before the coming of the white\nman. Grizzlies were normally engaged only by a large group of hunters\nand after considerable ceremonial preparation. Hunters never entered the\nden. Two stout poles were crossed in front of the opening with one or\ntwo men holding each\u2014a dangerous job. The bear was spoken to nicely and\nurged to come out which he usually soon did. As the bear started to\nclimb over the poles at the den entrance, the Indians pushed up forcing\nthe bear\u2019s body against the roof so that he could most easily be shot.\nIf this maneuver was not successful, a brave hunter enticed the bear to\npursue him while the others shot arrows into the grizzly. Especially\nsharp and heavily poisoned arrow points were used on grizzly bear by the\nAtsugewi.\nIt was believed that a man who drank fresh bear blood would be very\nhealthy thereafter, if he were strong enough. If he were weak, however,\ndrinking the blood would kill him promptly.\nMountain lion were tracked, sometimes with dogs, sometimes in the snow,\nthen treed and shot. Wildcats were generally killed in the same way. A\nhunter might coax a mountain lion to leap at him by simulating a deer\nfeeding, using the deer head and skin disguise, but this was a dangerous\npractice.\nExcept in the eastern part of Atsugewi territory where the Apwaruge\nlived, rabbits were not plentiful. Yana, Yahi, and Maidu hunted them\nmore, driving cottontail, snowshoe, and jack rabbits into long nets and\nclubbing them to death. In the winter rabbits were sometimes tracked and\nshot with bow and untipped arrows.\nOther small mammals were shot, caught by dogs, and dug, smoked, or\ndrowned out of burrows. A stick split at the end was thrust into a\nburrow and by twisting was entangled in the creature\u2019s fur sufficiently\nto drag him out. Ground squirrels could be outrun and killed by stepping\non them. Skunks, badgers, rats, and more often porcupines were eaten\u2014the\nlatter being clubbed or stoned to death.\nSmall and medium sized animals were also caught under stone or log\ndeadfalls which were propped up to drop on the victim while it was\ntraveling along a runway, crossing a stream on a log, or when the animal\npulled on a baited trigger. Similar placing was used for setting spring\nsnares which took advantage of bent tree limbs for power. Long fences\nwith nooses placed in gaps were used for rabbits, quail, and the like,\nand on occasion for creatures as large as deer. Some nooses were even\noperated by hand from a place of hiding.\nBirds of all sorts were caught too, but live or imitation decoys were\nnever employed as lures. Woodpeckers were removed from the nest by hand\nor else a noose was hung around the nest opening. Some birds were taken\nin basketry traps. Waterfowl were shot with bow and arrow and the young\nwere run down. Eggs were also taken. Some ducks were speared at night\nfrom canoes or driven into nets by use of a canoe with fire at one end.\nFrequently nets or snares were suspended at intervals just above a\nstream where waterfowl commonly alighted. Ducks and geese were also\ndriven into the traps in taking off from the water.\nGrouse and small birds like robins and blackbirds were shot with blunt\nor untipped arrows, usually of one-piece construction.\nIt is interesting to note that in contrast to other local tribes, the\nYana and Yahi tribes did not employ the following hunting techniques:\nburning brush, using bird snaring booths, nets for ducks, geese,\nrabbits, or deer, nor was game driven into enclosures or quail secured\nby use of net traps or drive fences. Furthermore Yana and Yahi did not\nbelieve that game was immortal.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi Snare set on a log lying across a stream.]\nIt was not an uncommon practice, especially among the mountain Maidu, to\nfrequently burn off their lands to make for easier travel and to\nminimize the possibility of ambush by enemies. The frequent \u201clight\u201d\nburnings do not seem to have generated enough heat to have destroyed the\nforests. Never the less this practice is not regarded as a wise\nconservation as it is definitely injurious to tree and much other plant\nreproduction as well as being destructive of organic material in the\nsoil, damaging the watershed and being unfavorable to certain animal\nspecies, as well as accelerating erosion.\nFishes were one of the four important food categories consumed by\nIndians of the Lassen region. Land-locked and other non-migratory\nRainbow Trout were abundantly available in mountain streams and in some\nlakes. Steelhead Trout penetrated the territories of our four tribes\ntoo. Salmon, however, did not go so far upstream, only rarely coming up\nHat Creek, for instance, into Atsugewi lands. For the most part this\ntribe of Indians visited the Pit River to the north in the autumn. They\npaid the Achomawi, through whose territory this fine salmon stream\nflowed, for the privilege of catching salmon by giving up a share of the\ncatch to them. The larger streams in south Yana, Yahi, and mountain\nMaidu country contained salmon and steelhead, but it seems that these\ntribes also made bargains with the Valley Indians for salmon fishing\nprivileges or else made fishing forays to the Sacramento River.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi Bow-type net. This kind was usually used in\n    small streams where it covered the full width of the stream bed.\n    Fish were commonly driven into it, then the handle was raised.]\nGill nets about three feet high and as much as 30 feet long were\ncommonly used. Spawning trout in the spring were speared in large\nnumbers. Although old informants have denied the practice,\nBoonookoo-ee-menorra (Mrs. Selina La Marr of the Atsugewi) tells of\ncatching Rainbow Trout by hand from Manzanita Creek banks about fifty\nyears ago when her family came up in the summer to fish. Trout were\nspeared by the Atsugewi with two pointed or four pointed spears instead\nof the common single pointed version. Bone or Serviceberry wood might be\nused for the tips. Spears were used not only from stream banks, but,\nespecially at night, from a canoe equipped with a torch in front. One\nman or more would spear the fish while a person, sometimes a woman,\npaddled the craft from the rear. The torch consisted of four\nmountain-mahogany sticks bound together with pitch down the center.\n    [Illustration: A northeast Maidu bow-fish net about forty inches\n    long. It was used for fish other than salmon. Northwest and southern\n    Maidu did not use such nets, employing seine nets instead (after\n    Dixon).]\nIt is interesting to note that the practice of shooting fish with bow\nand arrow was not carried on by any tribes of the Lassen area, although\nthe eastern people of the Pit River Indians (Achomawi), the western\nShasta, Wintu, and foothill Maidu did do so.\nOnly Atsugewi, of the tribes we are considering, trapped fish in\nconverging weirs into which fish might be driven. In the autumn, streams\nwere sometimes diverted by damming. The fish trapped in the ponds\nremaining were scooped out with baskets or nets. Mountain Maidu drove\nfish into traps and caught lamprey eels in dip or scoop nets. Bow-type\nnets illustrated in the text were used with the bow bent ends down\nresting on the bed of the stream, the pole being raised to trap the\nfish. The net was preferably as wide as the stream.\nAll local tribes fished with lines and hooks which were made by lashing\na sharp piece of bone to a section of twig, at an acute angle. Atsugewi\nand mountain Maidu also used a \u201cgorge\u201d for angling. This was a slender\npiece of bone two or three inches long fastened near the middle and\nsharpened at both ends. Hooks were sometimes baited with meat,\ngrasshoppers, or large flies, but man-made \u201cflies\u201d as fishermen know\nthem today were not used. Sometimes meat or grasshopper bait was used by\nAtsugewi on fish-lines without any hook. Atsugewi women occasionally\nfished with baskets and with hook and line. Hooks were often tied in a\nseries on a line attached either on both banks of the stream or to a\npole secured in the bank or tied to tules or to brush, and left over\nnight. A series of basket traps was sometimes likewise stretched across\na stream.\n    [Illustration: A Klamath fish hook similar to those used by local\n    tribes. Single barbed hooks were also employed.]\nSalmon fishing was done largely with harpoons which differ from spears\nin having one or more movable barbs or toggles of bone. These opened\nwhen the harpoon was pulled back (outward in the victim) thus securing\nthe catch all the more firmly. This was necessary for such large and\nheavy fish as salmon. Yana tribes caught their salmon with either hook\nand line or by spearing with a two pointed harpoon.\nNatural falls were favored fishing sites. There Indians caught salmon\nand steelhead trout as the fish attempted to scale the falls. Long\nhandled nets were used. Atsugewi went so far as to build scaffoldings to\nassist either in this method of fishing or from which to harpoon large\nfish. In the latter case many whitish rocks, where available, were\nthrown into the stream to build up a light colored bottom for better\nvisibility in harpooning or spearing.\nAfter the fish were caught they were killed by striking with a stick as\na general practice. Mountain Maidu sometimes killed fish by striking\ntheir heads on rocks. The central Yana, interestingly enough, killed\nfish by biting them!\nIn quiet portions of streams fish were poisoned by placing certain\npounded plant materials in the water. Yana and Yahi used crushed\nSoaproot; Atsugewi used pulverized Wild Parsley. Wild Parsley\napplication made the water bluish, and caused the fish soon to rise to\nthe surface of the water floating belly-up. Where suitable quiet pools\ndid not exist in a stream, they were sometimes formed by the Indians\nthrough temporary damming. Buckeye nut pulp, which is poisonous, was not\nused in this area for poisoning fish.\nLong basketry fish traps, usually constructed by men, were also\nutilized. The design and proportions of these varied with the tribe.\nEach of the Lassen area tribes had taboos which prevented youths, and in\nthe case of Atsugewi, their parents too, from eating the first fish each\nyouth caught.\n    [Illustration: Plan of Maidu open basketry fish trap (after Dixon)\n    several feet long. The pointed end was untied to extract the fish.]\nChubs and minnows, spurned by white man, were driven into nets and\neaten. At lower elevations, where waters were warmer and sluggish,\nsuckers provided a common source of food fish. The Indians also not\ninfrequently dove for crawfish and fresh water mussels. These were\ngathered in net sacks by male Indians of all local tribes. Yana and Yahi\nroasted mussels but did not boil them and never dried them for later\nuse. A flat rock might be carried on the shoulders to assist the diving\nIndians.\nSome fish were cooked by roasting over coals or by boiling. Most trout,\nhowever, were cleaned, head and backbone removed, and then strung up on\npoles to dry. No salt was used in the process. The dried fish was\ncarried to camp or village in large baskets. Dried trout was tied into\nsmall bales for storage and placed in baskets or in pits dug in the\nground for safe-keeping. Salmon were usually cooked in earth pit ovens,\nthen dried and crumbed by Atsugewi and mountain Maidu for later use.\nThis was of necessity an autumnal activity. Yana and Yahi stored their\nsalmon in dried slabs, pulverizing it as needed.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi basketry fish trap (after Garth).]\n                GATHERING AND PREPARATION OF OTHER FOODS\nAs has been pointed out earlier under \u201cCalifornia Indians\u201d, these tribes\nhad a common food pattern. Although there was some difference in the\nrelative importance of the four major types of food to the several\ntribes due to varying availability, the California Indians ate (1) game,\nespecially deer, (2) fish, particularly salmon and trout, (3) roots and\nbulbs which the women dug, and (4) fruits and seeds of a wide variety,\nthe most important of which were acorns.\nBesides fish and venison, many kinds of flesh food were eaten by the\nIndians of the Lassen area: fox, wolf, grizzly and black bear, skunk,\nraccoon, porcupine, rabbit, owl, fish, fresh water mussel, and turtle\nbeing most common. They also ate with apparent relish a variety of\ninsects and the like including crickets, grasshoppers, angleworms, red\nant eggs, and yellow-jacket larvae.\nGame which was not eaten by either Atsugewi or mountain Maidu was\ncoyote, elk, antelope, and all snakes and lizards. The last two items\nwere almost universally shunned by California Indians. Many California\ntribes including Yana and Yahi refused to eat dog meat, some of them\nbelieving canine flesh to be poisonous. That mountain Maidu was one of\nthe few tribes which ate dog flesh whenever it was available is denied\nby Dixon. Atsugewi ate it only as a last resort when rare, near-famine\nconditions prevailed or during times of severe epidemic. Canine flesh\nwas believed by them to be a powerful and perhaps somewhat dangerous\nmedicine. Buzzards seem to have been about the only birds which were not\neaten.\nEach tribe had certain taboos on eating game. An Atsugewi did not, for\nexample, eat wildcat, gopher, hawk, lamprey eel, or caterpillars.\nMountain Maidu did not eat mountain lion, badger, raven, or crawfish.\nHeart of deer was taboo to all males among Atsugewi and to all children\nand youths of the mountain Maidu. The foetus of all animals and also\ndeer fawns could not be eaten by any except Atsugewi, Yana, and Yahi old\nmen and old women. Animal foetus was, however, allowed as food to all\nmountain Maidu adults. Bear foetus was skinned by Atsugewi and fed to\nold women because it was so tender. Likewise, Yana and Yahi made foetus\nsoup for old folks to eat. Deer liver was taboo to Atsugewi boys and\nyouths. Taboo also among Atsugewi was the eating of fish and deer meat\ntogether. Among mountain Maidu the eating of salt on bear meat was\nprohibited. Many other food combinations were outlawed by these and\nother California tribes.\nDeer backbone was ground up and eaten dry by mountain Maidu or molded\ninto small cakes, then baked and eaten while Atsugewi would dry deer\nbackbones with meat still adhering, grind it up, and then boil the meal\nbefore eating it. Yana also ate pulverized meal of other bones after\ncooking. Marrow was relished; it was a special delicacy for Yana\nchildren.\nSecuring of large game and fish and their preparation has been described\nearlier.\nSuch animals as wildcat, raccoons, foxes, et cetera were skinned and\ncooked in earth ovens by all local tribes. These were pits sometimes as\nmuch as six feet wide and lined with rocks. A large fire was built in\nthe pit to thoroughly heat the rock lining, after which any unburned\ndebris was removed. The animal to be roasted was laid in the pit on a\nlayer of green pine needles, or various other leaves, depending upon the\ntribe. A large heated rock was placed inside the body cavity and smaller\nhot rocks were wedged under the fore and hind legs which were then all\ntied tightly together. A flat heated rock might be placed on top of the\ncarcass and the whole was covered with pine needles and the like, and\nfinally with hot ashes and sometimes dirt. The roasting proceeded for\nhalf a day or so. Blood and fat might be placed in the intestine\nmembranes of larger animals (especially wildcat) to form sausage and\ncooked in ashes. Mountain Maidu also boiled blood for eating.\nQuills of porcupine and hair of badger, squirrel, or other small mammals\nmight be singed off before cooking instead of skinning the animals.\nGround squirrels were sometimes merely gutted and then roasted in ashes\nwithout further preparation. When Yana (and probably Yahi) did this,\nthey then skinned the ground squirrels after cooking and mashed the\nwhole bodies by pounding before eating them. Rabbits were roasted over\ncoals and broken into pieces for eating. Both mountain Maidu and\nAtsugewi sometimes broiled small mammals on a single stick over coals.\nTurtles were cooked alive in hot ashes. If they crawled out they were\npushed back in again.\nDuck eggs were boiled in baskets using hot rocks\u2014cooked they would keep\nfor a week or two. Yana tribes roasted quail eggs in ashes. Birds were\ngutted, feathers singed off in flames and roasted on sticks or roasted\nin oven pits. Roasting was invariably used for the large birds such as\nducks, geese, and swans.\nAtsugewi practiced some fascinating gathering techniques in which they\nwere not unique. Insects were gathered by both men and women.\nGrasshoppers and crickets not infrequently appeared in large numbers.\nThese were collected early in the morning while still sluggish with\ncold. When very abundant they were scraped with sticks from branches of\nbushes into large burden baskets. During the heat of the day\ngrasshoppers were effectively collected by singeing them. Some tribes\nmerely burned dry grassy fields after which the insects were easily\npicked up. Atsugewi made a long willow \u201crope\u201d to which many bunches of\ndry grass were fastened. This was set afire and men carrying this\nblazing band stretched tightly between them ran across open grassland\nwhere the grasshoppers were numerous. The insects jumped into the flames\nand were thus killed. Yana pulverized grasshoppers and other insects\nwithout cooking them.\nAtsugewi roasted crickets in the pit oven. These were then dried two\ndays and finally eaten or stored. If they had been stored, they were\npounded before being eaten.\nSalmon flies were plentiful along Pit River and Lost Creek (outside of\nthe park). These were hand picked from the banks early in the morning.\nThe wings were removed and the bodies boiled before eating by the\nAtsugewi.\nWhen yellow-jackets, always carnivorous (meat eaters), were seen buzzing\nabout, Atsugewi would tie a white flower petal to a grasshopper leg.\nWhen the yellow-jacket picked this morsel up and flew away with it\ntoward its nest, the Indians would run after the yellow-jacket which was\neasy to follow on account of the conspicuous flower petal it carried\nalong. Thus yellow-jacket nests were found. A line was marked around the\nnest area with the fingers. This line was supposed to increase the size\nof the nest. Pine needles were then stacked over the nest and burned to\nkill the winged insects. This done, the nest was dug up and roasted\nalongside a fire, thus cooking the maggot-like grubs inside. These were\nconsidered to be quite a delicacy. According to Dixon, mountain Maidu\nyoung folks were denied this delicacy, but not so among the Yana. Dried\ngrasshoppers, crickets, and yellow-jacket larvae were foods often used\nas items of trade.\nAngleworms were collected by first driving a digging stick a few inches\ninto the moist soil, then moving the top about. The consequent\ndisturbing of the ground made the worms crawl out. Although other\nCalifornia tribes made angleworm soup, Atsugewi, Yana, and probably Yahi\nsometimes roasted angleworms between hot rocks. Maidu reportedly dried\nworms for eating.\nRed ant eggs were eaten by Indians too. Atsugewi baked them in earth pit\novens, while mountain Maidu parched them with coals. Mountain Maidu also\nate certain caterpillars, but the other tribes of the Lassen area did\nnot.\n    [Illustration: A. Sharpened iron rod digging stick with pine cross\n    piece wrapped in coarse cotton cloth used for about forty years by\n    Mrs. Mullen of Hat Creek. Length about four feet.\n    B. Another recent mountain mahogany digging stick made by Mr. and\n    Mrs. Lyman LaMarr (Boonookoo-ee-menorra). The point of the green\n    wood was toughened in flame. Stick three and one half feet long.]\nIndians of this region did not carry on any agriculture, that is they\ndid not plant crops for food or other purposes, but collected those\nwhich grew wild. It was, however, a common practice to burn some areas\nover regularly to stimulate growth of edible seed producing plants.\nWomen always gathered the vegetable materials and prepared them for use.\nRoots and bulbs provided vital foods to the aborigines also. These were\nprocured with a digging stick. In this region it was blunt at the top\nwith a tapered point at the digging end. Atsugewi fastened a short cross\npiece on top to serve as a handle. The digging stick was made by this\ntribe of green mountain-mahogany wood with the digging point hardened by\nscorching in the flame. After the coming of white man, the same design\nwas retained, but an iron rod replaced the mountain-mahogany digging\nshaft.\nIn use, the digging stick was thrust into the ground next to the plant\nwhose root was to be secured. The handle portion was worked sideways a\ncouple of times, then pulled downward toward the operator. The point\nvery effectively brought the root out of the ground. Roots were\ncustomarily tossed into a large cone-shaped carrying basket which was\nheld in place on the digging woman\u2019s back by a chest band over her\nchest. Some of the load in the basket might also be supported by a band\nfrom the basket over the Indian woman\u2019s forehead.\nRoots were cleaned by rubbing (sometimes with sand) in a shallow\nbowl-shaped basket of a rough coarse mesh weave of willow ribs, like\nthat used for cleaning acorns. The whole was dipped in water frequently.\nRubbing usually continued until the skins were entirely removed.\nThe most important item of this type collected in large amount for food\nis known as epos locally, or \u201cpeh-ts-koo\u201d among the old Atsugewi. The\nplant belongs to the parsley family and stands one to two feet high.\nActually, probably more than one species was eaten by Indians of the\nLassen area. These plants are not unlike except in detail. All had sweet\ncarrot-like taproots about two inches long. Garth states that Atsugewi\nate the species _Pteridendia bolanden_ which apparently corresponds to\nthe botanists\u2019 _Perideridia bolanderi_ or _Eulophus bolanderi_; also\nprobably _Carum_ or _Perideridia oregona_ and _californica_. Common\nEnglish names for epos are squaw root or yampah. Epos roots were dried\nand stored, then ground up for use. This food item was made into either\nsoup or bread. The finished product had a fine sweet meaty or nutty\ntaste, and was held in high esteem. Obviously this constituted an\nimportant vegetable in the diet.\nAt least two kinds of camas bulbs and _brodeia_ bulbs were roasted in\nthe earth pit oven, ground to pulp, shaped into cakes, and rebaked.\nThese were then either eaten or dried and stored. The latter process was\nnot employed by mountain Maidu. If the baked camas cakes were stored,\nthey would be soaked with water before eating. Camas cakes were not made\ninto soup.\nTiger lily bulbs were roasted in earth pit ovens and eaten immediately.\nThey were a highly prized food.\nWild onion was used too, but usually with other root foods as a\nflavoring.\nThe foregoing are but a few of the most extensively eaten roots. Many\nothers, especially those of the lily and parsley families, were used by\ntribes of the Lassen region.\nYana tribes robbed gophers of stores of edible roots and bulbs. These\nwere found by probing for burrows and digging out the animals\u2019 food\nstorage chambers. Men usually did this, which is an exception to the\ngeneral rule that women only collected vegetable materials.\nAcorns were probably the most important single food of California\nIndians. Surprisingly, this was true even in eastern parts of the\nterritories of the Atsugewi (Apwaruge), mountain Maidu, and others where\nacorns were scarce or wanting entirely. Indians frequently traded for\nacorns or made long journeys for them. Acorns of the black oak were\ngenerally preferred over other kinds. Nearly all varieties were used for\nfood on occasion, however. It is interesting to note that Modoc and\nKlamath Indians were exceptions in not using acorns for food.\nIn the fall, usually in September, acorns were gathered by women after\nthe ripe nuts had been knocked from the oaks with long poles, or by men\nand young agile girls climbing the trees to strike the fruit with\nstraight sticks or staves. To aid in climbing large smooth tree trunks,\nAtsugewi men used sapling ladders on which part of branches were left\nattached to serve for footholds. Mountain Maidu on the other hand used a\nvery unique two poled ladder with buckskin rungs. Acorns were carried to\nvillages by women in stages, using baskets about the size of nail kegs.\nFirst spring food gathering each year was marked by rites in which the\nshamans, or medicine men, conducted praying ceremonies. Atsugewi\nconducted three of these. In May first epos roots were gathered and sung\nover by shamans. They examined the roots and prophesied whether the\nwomen who had dug them were going to be sick. Those who were going to be\nsick dug roots all day. In the evening these were dumped into piles and\nwomen shamans sang over these for half the night to make the threatened\nwomen healthy. Each woman gatherer participating then took home the\nroots she had dug leaving some for the shamans, who cooked and ate them.\nA second first food ceremony consisted of a ceremonial feast of fruit\nand vegetable materials with fish which the men brought. In the third\nsuch rite, root digging women threw away the first roots they dug that\nseason and prayed to the effect: \u201cDon\u2019t make me poor. Give me good luck.\nYou may have this one.\u201d\nIn autumn, mountain Maidu held their first fruit ceremonies. Large\ngroups of women went out to gather acorns. Acorn mush was made\nimmediately of the first batch collected. The shamans ate some and\nprayed. Portions of this batch were then eaten by the rest of the\nassemblage. After that it was all right for anyone to gather and to use\nacorns of the new crop.\nLocal tribes stored acorns in the shell either indoors in large baskets\nor outside in pits or in large hoppers or granaries covered with bark.\nThe details of these varied with the several tribes. Maidu except for\nthe \u201cmountain tribe\u201d and Yana shelled, split, and slightly dried some of\ntheir acorns, and placed them in basketry storage bins lined with\nbroadleafed maple leaves. Maidu ate twelve different kinds of acorns,\nbut the favorites were the black oak (_Quercus kelloggii_), _golden cup\noak_ maul, or canyon oak (_Quercus chrysolepis_), and sierra live oak\n(_Quercus wislizenii_) acorns.\nIn preparation, acorns were cracked by up-ending each on a flat rock and\nstriking the point with any convenient small stone. Sometimes small\nacorns were cracked with the teeth. Though usually a woman\u2019s job, young\nfolks and men might help with the task.\n    [Illustration: Basaltic lava mortar from Yana territory, about ten\n    inches high.]\nThe thin brownish skin which covers the acorn kernels was removed by\nrubbing vigorously in rough porous baskets made entirely of willow ribs.\nWater was not used. Indians of the Lassen area did not employ stone\nmortars for grinding acorns as was the practice in other parts of\nCalifornia. Stone mortars were always found, not made, and were used for\nceremonial purposes, in the belief that these had been made by Coyote.\nHowever, Maidu families cherished portable stone mortars. They were kept\nburied at some distance from the dwelling, and dug up for occasional\ninspection. Bed-rock acorn pounding holes are not found in this region\neither except for the Maidu area. Instead, acorn meats were placed in\nhopper baskets lacking bottoms. This basketry mortar hopper rested with\nthe small open end down on a heavy flat stone. The pounding basket was\nheld in place by the Indian woman\u2019s knees as she sat in front of and\nstraddling it. In one hand she wielded a stone pestle, flat on the\ngrinding end. With the other hand she stirred the acorn material so that\nthe coarse pieces worked toward the center to get the full impact of the\npounding. The hopper basket was not always used, by the mountain Maidu,\nthe pounding often being done merely on a flat rock slab, the woman\u2019s\nfree hand continually brushing the acorn material back to the center.\nAcorn meal was ground until it was as fine as flour. The coarse pieces\nwere separated from the fine by a process which employed a flattish\npiece of wood or bark a foot or so across. Sometimes a basketry plaque\nwas used. A portion of ground meal was placed on this tray which was\nheld firmly at one side and inclined toward the operator. The other edge\nof the plaque was shaken, causing the coarse material to roll into a\ncontainer held in the lap for repounding while the fine flour remained\non the plaque. A small brush, generally made from the pounded and dried\nroot of the soap-plant, was used to brush the flour off and into the\ncooking basket. Mountain Maidu, according to Voegelin, actually did sift\nacorn meal through open-work baskets though this was not a common\npractice even among members of this tribe.\nWhite oak and some other acorn flour could be used for cooking without\nfurther preparation. Atsugewi preferred black oak acorns which had to be\nleached to remove the bitter tannic acid before using. To do this the\nflour was placed in a shallow depression on clean sand over porous\nearth, usually, but Yana used loosely woven baskets for the purpose, and\nin recent times it has become common practice to place cloth flour\nsacking over a screen or sieve. Cold water was poured over the meal\nuntil it was nearly free of bitterness. Warm water was then employed\nbriefly, but hot water was never used, for it would make the flour tend\nto jell. Sand was removed from the bottom of the flour by touching the\nbottom of a handful of the moist material to water. The flour held\ntogether, but the sand grains dropped off. The flour could be dried and\nstored at this point, but was usually used as it was prepared.\nPortions of about two or three quarts of acorn flour were placed in\ncooking baskets a foot or more in diameter. Water was added and then hot\nstones were dropped in. These smoothly rounded stones, of any shape and\nfrom one and a half to three inches in diameter, had been heated in an\nopen fire. They were quickly dipped into water to remove ashes before\nbeing put into the mush cooking basket. The method of handling these\ncooking stones seems to have varied. Present day Atsugewi say a small\nlooped stick was used, but old informants stated that two forked sticks\nwere employed. Stirring had to be continuous lest the cooking stones\nscorch the basket. Atsugewi used any convenient stick for this, but Yana\nhad a small oak paddle. After boiling a short while the acorn mush\nbecame light greyish or brownish in color; when cooled it jellied quite\nfirmly. Acorn mush was commonly eaten warm with meat, from small\nindividual baskets. Spoons were unknown in the Lassen area so acorn mush\nwas eaten with index and second fingers. Mountain Maidu made their acorn\nmush of a more liquid consistency so that it was often consumed by\ndrinking.\nAcorn bread was made by using less water and adding a small amount of\nreddish iron-bearing or blackish salt-bearing soil by Atsugewi, but\nmountain Maidu left this ingredient out. The paste was molded into\nbiscuit or loaf-shaped forms, wrapped in leaves and baked all night in\nearth pit ovens. Yana sometimes added red soil to their acorn bread\nmaking it brightly colored. Usually black oak acorns were used for bread\nby the Yana tribes and white oak for soup.\nThat acorns are a fine food is indicated by the following analysis of\nthe uncooked meal. The proportions vary somewhat, but not importantly\namong the several kinds of acorns used: 21% fat, 5% protein, 62%\ncarbohydrate, and 14% water, mineral, and fiber. In cooked acorn mush\nthe proportions remain the same relatively, except, of course, for the\ngreatly increased water content.\nBuckeye nuts, not used much by Atsugewi, were important to other Indians\nof California, especially those residing at lower elevations. These\nfruits were gathered when ripe, then shelled, pounded and soaked in\nloosely woven baskets until the poisonous juice was leached out. The\npulpy mass was next squeezed to remove excess water. Unlike acorn meal\nbuckeye pulp was eaten uncooked. Yana crushed their buckeyes with their\nfeet and leached the material in creeks, though sometimes hot water was\nused.\nNuts of digger pine and sugar pine were highly regarded as food. Men\nclimbed trees and picked digger pine cones or shook limbs to dislodge\nsugar pine cones. The cones were placed on end and covered with dry\ngrass which was burned, ridding the cones of pitch. After this heat\ntreatment, sugar pine nuts came out easily when cone scales were pulled\nback. After singeing the heavy digger pine cones were hit with rocks to\nobtain the large nuts they contained.\nThe white sweet crusty deposit occasionally found on the bark of sugar\npines was relished as candy by Atsugewi. However, it had a laxative\nproperty which mountain Maidu recognized and reputedly employed as such.\nA variety of small plant seeds also provided tasty nutrition. Several\nmembers of the sunflower family including balsam root species and mules\nears, and others were used by all local tribes. Such seeds were usually\ncollected by beating them with paddle-shaped basketry seed beaters into\nburden baskets. They were then parched with coals in flat trays, placed\nin flat baskets and worked about with stones until freed of skins. Seeds\nwere winnowed by tossing them up allowing wind to carry hulls and skins\naway. The seeds were then pulverized with a small stone or muller, being\nrolled or rubbed on a larger rock slab generally referred to as a\nmetate. Such seeds were eaten dry by Atsugewi, Yana, and Yahi without\ngrinding, or the flour might be moistened and molded into cakes about\nthe size of biscuits and eaten without further cooking. However, Yana\nalso cooked certain sunflower seeds and the yellow blossoming heads of\nthe small (_Helianthella_) sunflower were themselves cooked and eaten.\nClover tops were collected in summer and eaten fresh by all local\ntribes. Mountain Maidu also baked them in earth pit ovens, then dried\nand stored the material to be recooked in winter for making soup.\nAtsugewi cooked clover roots in ovens. Young thistle stalks were eaten\nraw as was the foliage of several carrot-like plants. Mushrooms, fresh,\nroasted, or dried were eaten also. Young soap-plant stems were eaten\nfresh or baked and dried for winter use by Yana tribes.\nManzanita berries were gathered by all Indians of the Lassen region in\nJuly and August. These berries were knocked into burden baskets with a\nstick. They were dried, stored in pits, pounded when needed, and sifted\nas fine meal. This was moistened and molded into biscuit-sized cakes and\nput away until wanted. Either fresh flour or the cakes were eaten plain\nor put into water and drunk. One investigator reported fermentation of\nmanzanita cider and its use as a mild intoxicant, but this appears to\nhave been the exception rather than the rule. The drink, of\nlemonade-like character, was usually consumed fresh. Manzanita cider was\nconveyed to the mouth by dipping a deer tail sop into the liquid, and\nthen by sucking it. Small cakes were made of a mixture of manzanita and\nwild plum flours. Yana and Yahi also ate manzanita berries as such\neither fresh, or roasted and dried.\nRed berries of skunk or squaw bush were gathered in midsummer, washed,\ndried, and stored. They were pounded into flour in a mortar basket,\nmixed with manzanita flour and drunk. Elderberries were mashed and mixed\nwith manzanita flour and stored as cakes.\nWild plums were prepared by removing seeds. These were then eaten fresh\nor dried for storage.\nChokecherries and service berries were put into baskets when ripe and\nmashed. The paste was eaten without cooking.\nGooseberries, huckleberries, currants, Oregon-grape, buckthorn, juniper,\nthimble, and elderberries were eaten fresh, too, but juniper fruits\nmight be dried and pounded into flour and stored.\nAnother item used as food was salt which mountain Maidu and Yana\ngathered locally in mineral form. The Atsugewi also imported it from\nRound Mountain in North Yana territory or made expeditions to this site\nto gather the dark salt material from a certain marsh. This salty earth\nwas shaped into black loaves and dried. It was not only used for\nflavoring, but the black soil was also eaten as such by some\nindividuals. Atsugewi had a local source of salt, however, by collecting\nfine whitish crystals in the early mornings from the blades of salt\ngrass which was run between the fingers. Atsugewi used salt for salmon\nand venison in cooking, but not in drying processes.\nPine pitch was chewed, but Atsugewi also used milkweed chewing gum.\nAs for eating customs, Atsugewi ate three meals each day. Mountain Maidu\njust prepared two real meals. Hands were washed after eating deer and\nbear meats. Mountain Maidu wiped faces and hands with bark and grass\nafter eating.\nThere was a well defined division of labor among California Indians. Men\nwould carry water for unusually long distances or heavy logs for\nfirewood, but women usually carried water, wood, acorn and root crops,\nand the like. In the case of moving camp, however, men carried the\nheaviest burdens. The most important division of labor was the\ndelegation to men of all activities concerning animals and animal\nproducts, and to women all pertaining to vegetable materials. Women, for\ninstance, collected materials for basketry and made all the baskets,\nexcept that men often made basketry fish traps and nets. Women dug roots\nand cooked all food except meat which men normally cooked. Exception to\nthis rule was necessarily made when men were away on hunting trips or at\nwar. Men usually built the houses, made moccasins and skin clothing too.\nAmong Atsugewi and mountain Maidu only men made fire, but this was\naccomplished by both sexes among the Yana and Yahi.\n                         HOUSES AND FURNISHINGS\nThe Atsugewi used earth-covered lodges as their permanent winter\ndwellings. These varied in size from about nine feet in length, for a\nsingle family, to more than thirty feet in length for a chief\u2019s house\nwhich was usually larger than other houses. Most frequently houses were\nabout twenty feet long and somewhat narrower, being occupied by three to\nfive families. The earth lodge was elliptical in shape with one center\npost planted firmly in the earth floor somewhat back of true center.\nThis supported beams running to two smaller secondary posts and to earth\nshoulders which resulted from excavation of the entire floor to a depth\nof about three feet. On the beams other poles or rafters and bark slabs\n(usually of incense-cedar) were laid. The whole sloping roof was then\ncovered with pine needles and a layer of earth.\nThe main entrance was through a hole about in the center of the roof.\nOver this a heavy mat was placed in bad weather. This opening also\nserved as a smoke hole. A ladder made of two poles with cross pieces\ntied on with serviceberry withes was used inside.\n    [Illustration: The Northeast (mountain) Maidu earth lodge plan used\n    only three primary posts plus secondary entrance posts.]\n  logs or poles\n  a fireplace\n  b mainpost with forked top\n  c front posts with forked tops\nA secondary entrance of small size, used by children, was built\nhorizontally at ground level on the south (front) end of the house. It\nprojected tunnel-like a short distance beyond the lodge outside wall.\nThe main purpose of this ground-level opening was to act as a ventilator\nduct to supply draft for proper burning of the cooking and house warming\nfire which burned in front of the center post. At night the ventilator\nduct was closed. This reduced air supply, causing the fire to burn very\nslowly. Glowing coals developed as a result. These produced reduced but\nadequate heat for the occupants who slept with their feet to the fire.\nMen did all of the house construction work except for excavation. The\nwomen did this with digging sticks and wooden or basketry scoops with\nwhich they threw the dirt out of the pit. Excavation of the floor of the\nlodge not only made it easier to construct a strong house, but\ncontributed materially to the warmth of the standard winter house.\n    [Illustration: Typical winter house of the local permanent Indian\n    villages at lower elevations.]\nThere was no furniture as such. Each family used an assigned portion of\nthe house, and cooked its own food, but utilized the central communal\nfire. A thin layer of grass, carefully kept away from the fire, covered\nthe floor. The Indians slept on the floor on mats made of tule. During\nthe day these and the sleeping blankets were rolled up and provided the\nonly seats. However, sitting usually consisted of squatting on the\nfloor.\nBlankets of deer and elk skin were generally used. Atsugewi also used\nloose tule or grass blankets and all our tribes employed both woven\nrabbit skin and patchwork rabbit or fox blankets. Yana in addition to\nall the foregoing utilized bear skins; sometimes they removed the hair\nfrom their blankets.\nAtsugewi pillows were of bundles of leaves or grass while those of the\nmountain Maidu were harder, being merely piles of small poles, blocks of\nwood, or rocks.\nInterior earth walls of the houses were sometimes hung with tule mats or\nskins fastened with pegs to prevent dirt from sloughing off and rolling\nonto the floor. A few shelves might also be provided by laying wooden\nslabs on sticks driven into the dirt walls.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi bark house]\nThere were other less substantial winter houses consisting either of\nsmall double lean-tos of bark slabs or conical houses on frameworks of\nslender poles and with shallow excavations. Some dirt was thrown against\nthe outside walls for added warmth. Lazy people, who were usually\nconsequently poor in the necessities and comforts of normal Indian life,\nlived in this more flimsy type of house. Also, women when indisposed\nrepaired to such huts. A doorway was left in the siding to be closed by\na tule mat in these little houses. They were also equipped with small\nsmoke holes for central fires.\nAtsugewi summer houses as such really did not exist. Summer camps were\nlittle more than circular enclosures of brush, juniper, or other conifer\nlimbs or of rock. These were ten or fifteen feet across with openings to\nthe east. There was no roof, although branches and bark slabs might be\nput over crude frames in rainy weather. If a person were caught in a\nsudden shower he might make a temporary shelter by leaning bark slabs,\nif available, against a large rock or log lying on the ground.\nAtsugewi did not have any separate sweat houses nor dancing or assembly\nchambers, but used the larger earth lodge houses for these purposes. The\nlargest belonged to chiefs and to other well-to-do Indians. Heat for\nsweating was provided directly by fire and not by production of steam as\nwas the case with Plains Indians who threw water on hot stones. In\nrecent years, however, after introduction of the horse, Atsugewi learned\nthe latter technique and also constructed Plains Indian type sweat\nhouses of one to three person capacity. These were dome shaped, and\nbuilt of willow poles set in the ground in a circle. The tops were bent\nover and tied down, and this framework was covered with skins.\nOld type sweating was for men only, but Indian women\u2014usually wives\u2014also\nsweated with men in the new style separate sweat houses. Old time\nAtsugewi purposes in sweating were for gaining success in hunting, in\ngambling, and for general good luck. Some praying was done, but there\nwere no formalized ceremonies or dances amongst the Atsugewi. Men\nsometimes slept in sweat houses.\nIn the case of all local tribes sweating was followed by a cold plunge,\nif available nearby. Lacking this facility, a cold sponge bath was\ntaken.\nThe mountain Maidu earth lodge for dwelling and sweating was similar to\nthat of the Atsugewi. However, northeast Maidu earth lodges \u201ckoom\u201d were\nsimpler and smaller than those of northwest and southern Maidu. Three\nposts, often forked were used in place of 10 or 11 employed for valley\nlodges. Excavation was about three feet deep, circular in plan, and from\n18 to 40 feet across. A large flat stone was placed upright at the foot\nof the mainpost between it and the fire in the center. The vertical\nwalls of the excavation were usually covered or lined with vertically\nplaced whole or split logs or with bark slabs. Logs were lain\nhorizontally on the three posts as indicated on the accompanying sketch.\nRadial rafters supporting the roof were placed on these beams and\nsloping downward to the ground surface outside as well as to two small\nposts at the small openway or ventilator passage. Cross poles were\nplaced horizontally on the rafters and on these, large pieces of bark,\nbranches, and pine needles were successively laid. Lastly, a heavy\ncovering of soil 8 to 20 inches thick was heaped on the structure. On\ntop in the center a smokehole was left, large enough to serve as the\nmain entrance originally, but after the coming of white man, the\nsmokehole was made smaller, and, instead, the originally small\nventilator tunnel which sloped from floor level up to the ground surface\noutside was enlarged, thus supplanting the smokehole as the main\nentrance. Originally a ladder of two poles with cross pieces tied on\nwith grapevine or other withes gave vertical access from the floor to\nthe smokehole entrance. Dixon reports that a notched log was sometimes\nused for the purpose among mountain Maidu.\nThe koom or lodge was occupied from November to March and was situated\non the edges of wide meadows in mountain Maidu areas. At lower elevation\noccupancy was more or less continuous.\nMountain Maidu did not have separate sweat houses. They always used a\nlarge earth dwelling lodge for the purpose. This was similar to the\nAtsugewi practice. These Maidu did, however, have a formalized sweat\ndance. Also different from the Atsugewi was the practice of men using\nthe sweat house for gambling, handicraft work, and competitive singing.\nThe \u201choe-bow\u201d of the mountain Maidu was a hut, 8 to 15 feet in diameter\nand excavated 12 to 15 inches deep. Two main poles were securely tied\nnear the end. From the resulting \u201cV\u201d at the top, shorter poles were laid\nto a pair of slender posts about three feet high and set about three\nfeet apart along the edge of the excavation. Against this frame\nbranches, bark, and leaves were piled and earth was heaped around the\nbottom. The doors of all such bark huts opened to the south and were\nhung with a skin or tule mat.\nThe rude summer shelter or shade provider was just like that of the\nAtsugewi.\nInformation on Yahi house details are somewhat scanty, but in all\nprobability they were small conical bark-covered huts while some larger\nearth lodges were built to house several families\u2014in general similar,\nbut perhaps smaller than those of the other tribes of the Lassen area.\nThe large pretentious lodge, constructed solely for sweating and\nceremonies, of the Sacramento Valley tribes seems to have been lacking\namong all of our local tribes.\nThe common bark hut dwelling of the Yana was apparently built over a\ncircular depression two feet deep, the top of the house rising about six\nfeet above the ground. It was probably like the mountain Maidu huts,\nbeing a series of poles resting on the edges of the excavation. These\nmet and were tied at the top to form a cone of low slope, although some\ninformants claimed that the posts were set so firmly that tying together\nwas omitted. The frames were covered with pine and incense-cedar bark\nslabs leaving a smoke hole near each apex. Earth was probably banked on\nthe lower sloping walls. Entrance was never through the smoke hole as in\nthe case of Atsugewi and some mountain Maidu earth lodge houses, but by\nmeans of a small door at ground level on the south side. The entrance\nwas protected by a little covered way extending outward three feet from\nthe house wall, and decked over by a gable roof of low pitch. A ramp of\nlow pitch extended from the floor of the house through this antechamber\nto the ground level outside as no steps were constructed.\nThe Yana lodge houses were not numerous. The ground plan was long,\nusually wedge or oval in outline and designed for several families, each\nwith its own fire. As with the other tribes discussed in this booklet,\nsuch buildings also served as sweat houses. A ladder consisting of a\nnotched log extended down from the smoke hole to the floor. One, two, or\nthree center posts with radiating rafters and shorter side posts were\nemployed. The Yana followed the Atsugewi practice of providing each\nearth lodge with a south facing, ground level, tunnel-like ventilator\nentrance of small size. It is possible that Yana did have a few special\nsweating lodges of the same design, but the matter is debatable. During\nsweating Yana men talked and played; the main purpose of sweating was to\nmake men strong.\nIt has already been pointed out that all four tribes which used what is\nnow Lassen Volcanic National Park did so only during the summer. During\ntheir high mountain sojourn, the local Indians did not live in houses as\nsuch. There, residence during the three or four summer months was in\ntemporary camps, usually roofless circular areas to accommodate several\nfamilies. These were fenced in with brush and were entered by one or\nmore openings somewhat in the same manner as campsites reserved for\nvisitors at their permanent villages at lower elevations. Four-posted\nhorizontal roofs, to provide shade, were sometimes constructed too. Yana\nseem to have made a lean-to or hut with grass and bark covering for\nsummer roofs.\n                HOUSEHOLD TOOLS, IMPLEMENTS, AND WEAPONS\nImplements for grinding foods were important. Mountain Maidu, in fact\nall Maidu tribes, ground some acorns on flat bed rock. When the\nresultant holes which eventually developed in the rock surfaces became\ndeep, they were abandoned as the acorn meal tended to pack into hard\nlumps at the bottoms thereof. A heavy flat stone grinding slab was most\nfrequently used. However, all Lassen area tribes had portable stone\nmortar bowls too. The Atsugewi and mountain Maidu did not make these nor\ndid they use them for grinding food. Such portable stone mortars were\nfound, evidently having been fashioned by more ancient tribes.\nSupernatural powers were ascribed to these mortars, and they were used\nonly by shamans or medicine men. The Maidu thought that stone mortar\nbowls were made by Coyote at the time of creation and scattered over the\nworld for the use of mankind. Others believed the mortars to have been\n\u201cfirst people\u201d originally, who were turned to stones in this form upon\nthe coming of the Indian people at which time other \u201cfirst people\u201d were\ntransformed into animals.\n    [Illustration: Northeast Maidu soapstone bowl six inches wide\u2014a rare\n    article (after Dixon)]\nAs has been described under the preparation of acorn mush, local tribes\nused the flat stone pounding slab under an open bottomed hopper basket,\nmost commonly. The hopper basket of the Atsugewi and mountain Maidu was\nusually of twined construction and bound often with buckskin about the\nbasal edge. Mountain Maidu sometimes employed their coiling technique in\nmaking the acorn pounding basket. It was from this tribe, at the turn of\nthe century, that Atsugewi learned to make their pounding hopper baskets\nof the stronger coiled construction.\n    [Illustration: Maidu stone axe head, 5 inches long (after Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: One of several seed beater types used locally]\nPestles of stone were long, smoothed, and sometimes flattened on the\nsides. This resulted from use of these implements also as rubbing or\nmulling stones for processing small seeds on flat slabs without\nemployment of basket hoppers. The pestles were always without the\nornamentation used by certain other California tribes. The pounding end\nof the food grinding pestles are ever so slightly convex\u2014their grinding\nsurfaces are nearly flat. This is in contrast to pestles used in the\ndeep bowl-shaped portable stone mortars for ceremonial purposes. The\ngrinding ends of these pestles were strongly rounded, nearly\nhemispherical in shape.\nThe muller or small seed crusher used on the flat grinding slab without\na hopper basket was of oval or rectangular shape, and it too was\nunornamented.\nSmall brushes used in miscellaneous food preparation were made of\npounded dried soap-plant bulb fibers.\nHot rocks for cooking were usually handled with two sticks. None of our\ntribes used spoons. Crude obsidian knives with, or more commonly\nwithout, bone handles were used for many chores.\nYana used split cobble stones for cutting and scraping operations. Their\nstone knives sometimes had wrapped buckskin handles.\nBone awls, usually with wrapped handles, were commonly used for sewing\nbuckskin and other hides. Atsugewi are said by some to have had both\neyed and open notched needles of bone for sewing skins and tule mats.\nThe wooden shuttle for net weaving was a stick notched at both ends and\nwas used by all of the local tribes. A squarish wooden net mesh spacer\npermitted nets to be properly made.\nMountain Maidu used deer antler wedges for splitting wood while Atsugewi\nused wooden wedges\u2014especially of mountain-mahogany. Wedges were usually\ndriven with simple wooden clubs, though rocks might be employed for the\npurpose.\nDrills for boring holes in shell work and for making pipes and the like\nwere used by Atsugewi only. Such drills were wooden shafts with stone\npoints. These were rotated by rolling the shaft between the palms of the\nhands. Where the drill was not in use, holes were made in pieces of wood\nwith live coals. Sometimes unfinished clamshell money was received in\ntrade perhaps at a discount. Such pieces were strung tightly onto a cord\nand the whole string was then rolled between two flat stones thus\ngrinding the shell edges to make the well formed disks characteristic of\nclam shell money.\n    [Illustration: Soap-root fiber acorn meal brush about 6 inches long\n    (after Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: A lava pestle, flat ended food pounder, about 10\n    inches long]\nFire making drills were of greater importance. All local tribes employed\nthem. Those of this area were one-piece hand rotated affairs which did\nnot utilize the labor saving drill bow of the midwest. A long buckeye\nwood stick about half an inch thick was twirled on a notched block of\nincense-cedar or juniper wood. A bed of dry shredded grass and\nincense-cedar or other flammable tinder was used to nourish the spark\ninto flame. Both sexes made fire among the Yana and Yahi, but unless the\nmen were away, Atsugewi and mountain Maidu women did not make fire.\nBuckeye was uncommon or lacking in the areas of the latter tribes, so\nthis material had to be traded from the Yana and Yahi. Buckeye fire\nmaking sticks commanded quite a price, a piece two feet long often\nselling for ten completed arrows. Since fire making required much effort\nand skill, fire was rarely allowed to go out. A \u201cslow match\u201d consisting\nof a piece of punky wood in which the fire smouldered was usually\ncarried along.\n    [Illustration: Maidu bone awls or basket \u201cneedles\u201d about 6 inches\n    long]\nIt was as true in prehistoric America as it is today that weapons were\nessential to existence. Weapons were necessary not only for\nwarfare\u2014whether aggressive or defensive\u2014but for the securing of game for\nfood since domestication of animals was not practiced.\nThe bow and arrow was the only important weapon of California Indians.\nLocal bows were rather short and quite broad in cross-section. We quote\nGarth\u2019s \u201cAtsugewi Ethnography\u201d on the subject as follows:\n  \u201c... The best bows were made by the Atsuge, who had a supply of yew\n  wood ... along the western borders of their territory. The Paiute were\n  anxious to trade for Atsuge bows and considered them much superior to\n  their own. In making the bow a piece of yew wood was selected, split,\n  and shaved down with flints and pumice stone to the required form and\n  thickness. After it had been wrapped in green grass and roasted in hot\n  ashes, the bow was bent to required shape (recurved tips with a slight\n  incurve at the middle), which it retained when it cooled off. Sinew,\n  taken from the back of a deer, was softened by chewing and was then\n  glued on the back of the bow in short strips, which were rubbed out as\n  flat as possible with a smooth piece of bone. Salmon skins were boiled\n  to make the glue.\n    [Illustration: Yahi making fire by twirling buckeye rod on\n    Incense-cedar block]\n    [Illustration: Maidu fire drill of buckeye (right) about 28 inches\n    long. In the two inch wide Incense-cedar slab note the cut notches\n    with a deeper twirling hole at the head of each.]\n  \u201cThe designs painted in green and red on the backs of bows are among\n  the few examples of masculine art. The painting was done with a\n  feather tip. The sinew for the bowstring ... was chewed to make it\n  soft and then it was made into a two-ply cord by rolling it with the\n  open hand on the thigh. After salmon glue was rubbed in to make the\n  fibers stick together, the string was stretched by tying a rock to one\n  end and allowing it to hang down from some support. A tassel ... of\n  mole skin might be attached to the end of the bow for decoration....\n    [Illustration: Indian Jack Harding after photo by Williams\n    \u201cMontgomery Creek\u201d Indian, part white\u2014good archer\n    An Atsugewi type bow characteristically short, broad, sinew backed\n    and held at 45 degree angle in shooting. Note the painted\n    decoration]\n  \u201c... Flint tipped arrows ... were made of cane or rose and had\n  foreshafts of Serviceberry, or they might be entirely of Service wood.\n  Cane arrows ... with a sharp-pointed foreshaft of Serviceberry were\n  commonly used for small animals and birds. Such arrows might be\n  unfeathered ... (an informant) recalled a bird arrow ... with a barbed\n  wooden point. Deer-bone pointed arrows were sometimes used for killing\n  deer and other game. Voegelin reports that these arrows were also\n  sometimes barbed. Flint-tipped arrows were about thirty inches long\n  ... arrows for small game were somewhat shorter than flint-tipped\n  arrows ... the wood was ordinarily dried before it was used. The end\n  of the Serviceberry foreshaft was cut into a dowel which was inserted\n  in the soft pithy center of the main shaft, the juncture being wrapped\n  with sinew. A notch one-fourth of an inch deep was cut in the butt. A\n  laterally notched obsidian arrow point was inserted in the split end\n  of the foreshaft and bound on with cross lashings of sinew. The\n  binding was ordinarily waterproofed with pitch.\n  \u201cTwo small grooved pumice stones were used to smooth arrow shafts. The\n  foreshaft was painted red as an indication that poison had been\n  applied to the point. Other bands or stripes of color toward the nock\n  end of the arrow served as ownership marks ... the stripes might run\n  spirally as on a stick of candy ... all kinds of colors being used for\n  painting arrows. Feathers were split along the midrib and were glued\n  to the shaft, about a finger\u2019s width below the butt, with pitch. Sinew\n  wrapping bound down each end of the feathers, three of which\u2014about\n  four inches long\u2014were used to an arrow. The edge of the feather was\n  burned smooth with a hot coal. Feathers of hawks or similar birds were\n  used on ordinary arrows, but for the finest arrows\u2014those to be used\n  for bear and deer\u2014eagle feathers were employed. An arrow wrench of\n  bone or wood was used for straightening arrows; or they might simply\n  be straightened by using the teeth as a vise. A flat antelope horn\n  might be perforated and used as an arrow wrench.... (John La Mar) had\n  a small triangular stone with a hole in the center ... which, he said\n  was heated in the fire and used for straightening cane arrows.\n    [Illustration: Maidu bow 40 inches long and two inches wide, deer\n    sinew backed and painted with powdered greenish rock from Oregon\n    mixed with Salmon glue. Two arrows are obsidian tipped. (after\n    Dixon)]\n  \u201cAlthough the flint points themselves were considered poisonous, an\n  arrow poison was often used for larger game as well as in war. The\n  usual method of making poison was to take the liver or pancreas of a\n  deer and allow it to rot; the material was then smeared on the arrow\n  point....\u201d\nRattlesnake poison was also employed; however none of the poisoned arrow\nconcoctions were very effective except to start infection of wounds\ninflicted by arrow points so treated.\n    [Illustration: Painted Atsugewi bows (after Garth)]\n  a. Goose Valley, design in red (Apwaruge)\n  b. Goose Valley, design in red (Apwaruge)\n  c. Drawn by Dave Brown (Atsuge) with outer lines red, inner lines\nArrow points found in the park area, in the territory of both Atsugewi\nand mountain Maidu are most frequently of obsidian, but sometimes are of\na dense dull black basalt lava. The term flint is a very loose one,\nbeing applied to obsidian, chert, opal, chalcedony, and even to the\ndense basalt, noted above, in common usage.\nMountain Maidu imported yew wood as this did not commonly grow in their\nown territory. This tribe, however, also manufactured its own bows. In\npractically all respects bow and arrow design and execution were\nidentical to that of the Atsugewi. Those of Yana and Yahi were similar\ntoo. All tribes of the Lassen area fashioned arrow points with barbs. In\naddition mountain Maidu flaked points without barbs but with basal stems\nfor attachment were made.\n                      MOUNTAIN MAIDU STONE POINTS\n    [Illustration: Dull black obsidian much more convex on one side than\n    on the other. From near Corral Meadow; one and one half inches.]\n    [Illustration: Black obsidian near Little Willow Lake; one and one\n    half inches long.]\n    [Illustration: Dense black basalt from Terminal Geyser; one and five\n    eighths inches.]\n    [Illustration: Black obsidian near Little Willow Lake, one inch\n    long.]\n                   ATSUGEWI KNIFE (?) AND ARROW POINT\n    [Illustration: Black obsidian spear point or knife from south shore\n    of Summit Lake; four inches.]\n    [Illustration: Dark gray banded point from Northeast shore Snag\n    Lake; two inches.]\n    [Illustration: Dark gray obsidian point from Battle Creek Meadows.\n    Note unusually strong asymmetry in two planes; one inch long.]\n    [Illustration: Coarse gray lava knife (?) from Battle Creek Meadows;\n    Three and one half inches long.]\nThe bow was most frequently held in shooting at an angle of about 45\ndegrees with the arrow on top. Mountain Maidu used that style, too, or\nelse held the bow horizontally with the arrow on top except in case of\nwar when the arrow was held on the underside of the bow. Gifford and\nKlimak reveal that northern and central Yana held the bow horizontally.\nSapir and Spier found that the Yana tribes proper (not Yahi), however\nheld bows vertically in shooting. All tribes considered except Yahi used\nthe primary release of the arrow in shooting. In this method the arrow\nwas held between the index and third fingers, which caught and pulled\nback the string. The thumb held the other side of the arrow. The Yahi,\non the other hand used the Mongolian release; grasping the arrow with\nthe thumb and unbent first joints of the first and second fingers.\n    [Illustration: Maidu bone arrow point flaker about ten inches long\n    (after Dixon)]\n  \u201c... the arrow was let fly between the index and third finger of the\n  left hand, which held the bow. Many arrow points were uniface and\n  curved slightly to one side.... A hunter, when shooting at a distant\n  object, turned the arrow so that the point curved up; when shooting an\n  object close by, he turned the arrow so that the point curved down. A\n  hunter carried at least one arrow in his left hand with his bow. Extra\n  arrows were carried in a quiver ... (made of) coyote, raccoon, or\n  other skins. Ordinarily the hunter carried his quiver on his back, but\n  if he wanted to be able to reach the arrows easily, he hung it on his\n  ... shoulder so that it fell under his left armpit. Arrows were taken\n  from the quiver with the right hand.\u201d\nInside the quiver, at the bottom, a cushion of dry grass was placed to\nprevent the stone points from chipping each other.\n    [Illustration: Maidu arrow-straightener and smoother of sandstone\n    about three inches long (after Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: Nearly colorless obsidian south of Sulphur Works;\n    three quarters inch.]\n    [Illustration: Off-white chalcedony point south of Sulphur Works\n    area; one and one half inches.]\n    [Illustration: Black obsidian one and one quarter inches long and a\n    full one half inch thick.]\n    [Illustration: Three inch point of coarse gray lava from Mill Creek\n    Canyon.]\n    [Illustration: Black obsidian. South of Sulphur Works, one and one\n    half inches.]\n    [Illustration: Yana arrow points one and one half to two inches\n    long. The materials used are mostly black obsidian, also dark grey\n    and buff obsidian. One is of dense black basalt.]\n    [Illustration: A pair of Yana arrow smoother and straightening\n    stones made of porous glassy (pre-Lassen?) dacite pumice, length\n    about two and one half inches]\nWar clubs were not used. Atsugewi claim to have had a stone axe,\nsharpened by chipping and lashed with sinew to a split oak or\nmountain-mahogany handle a foot or so long. It was used for chopping\nroots and small trees on occasion, but the stone axe was certainly not\nwidely used by California Indians, and even among Atsugewi it may have\nbeen unknown until the coming of white man, or knowledge of it may have\nbeen gained from Plains Indians after the advent of the horse. The\ntomahawk, so important to Indians of eastern and midwestern North\nAmerica, was unknown to California Indians. Trees were normally felled\nand cut by controlled burning.\nFour-foot spears, tipped with large flaked stone points for fighting at\nclose quarters, were used by all local tribes on occasion, but were not\nnumerous. Only the Yana are believed to have thrown the weapon; the more\ncommon usage seems to have been by energetically thrusting it.\nKnives or daggers as fighting implements were made of chipped obsidian\nbut were quite rare. A short, crude, one edged, stone knife was used\nwidely as a general utility implement, but not in combat nor in killing\ngame. Yana Indians also employed a mussel shell knife for light delicate\nwork around camp. Atsugewi and mountain Maidu sometimes affixed wooden\nhandles to their obsidian knives. These two tribes also fashioned knives\nof sharpened bone and horn.\n    [Illustration: A wooden arrow straightener from northern California\n    (Yurok)]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi stone arrow-straightener]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu arrow quiver made of an inside-out\n    small mammal skin.]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi cased fox skin quiver made by slitting\n    animal\u2019s skin along its hind legs, turning skin inside out, and\n    finally sewing the mouth and eye openings shut.]\n    [Illustration: 4\u00bd inches     7 inches\n    Maidu stone knives of obsidian, one with a wooden and sinew handle\n    (after Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: A warrior in stick armor and fur helmet]\nOf equipment for warfare, Garth states:\n  \u201cDefensive armor included rod armor ..., gowns ... of dried elk or\n  bear skins, and skin helmets which came down over the forehead and\n  ears, \u2018so a man could just see out of it\u2019. The skin armor extended to\n  the ankles or lower; it was worn over one shoulder so that it\n  protected only the side of the body turned toward the enemy. Rod\n  armor, made of serviceberry withes twined together with buckskin\n  string, was high enough to come up to the neck under the chin and\n  extended two or three inches below the belt. The Plains Indian shield,\n  although found among the Surprise Valley Paiute and other Paiute\n  tribes to the east, was lacking among the Atsugewi,\u201d and all other\n  tribes of the Lassen area.\n                         BASKETRY AND TEXTILES\nThe outstanding art of the Indians of California was their basketry. In\nfact the excellence of California basketry generally is not exceeded\nelsewhere in North America. Size varies from that of a pea to that of a\nbushel basket. Both weave and ornamentation were very diversified.\nBasketry of the Lassen area, especially that of the Atsugewi and\nmountain Maidu, was of good quality. Both coiled and twined types of\nbasketry (to be described below) were made by mountain Maidu, but the\nAtsugewi did not learn the art of coiled basketry from the Maidu until\nthe early 1900\u2019s. Yana and Yahi wove both types but twined baskets were\nby far the more numerous. This is due to the fact that these tribes were\nakin to the twining tribes of the north. Close contact with the\nneighboring Wintun tribes of the Sacramento Valley resulted in the\naddition of limited amount of coiling technique in their basketry making\nover the years.\n    [Illustration: Technique of the three willow rod (or rib) coiled\n    basketry (after Otis T. Mason). Note that the lashing strand anchors\n    the three new ribs \u201ca\u201d, \u201cb\u201d, and \u201cc\u201d to the top rib \u201cd\u201d of the\n    preceding three \u201cd\u201d, \u201ce\u201d, and \u201cf\u201d group]\n    [Illustration: Simple twined basketry technique employs two weft\n    (lashing) strands, but when overlaying with another material is done\n    two or more layers will make up each of the strands \u201ca\u201d and \u201cb\u201d\n    (modified from Otis T. Mason)]\nCoiled basketry itself had some technical variations with which we shall\nnot concern ourselves. The coiling technique was characteristic of the\ncentral and southern part of the California area. Mountain Maidu used\nthree willow rods in a parallel group which ran as a core in a\ncontinuous spiral starting at the center of the basket. This was the\nwarp element. The bundle of three willow ribs was lashed to the\npreceding basketry by a strand or weft (filler) of the inner bark of\nredbud. This was accomplished by poking an awl through the preceding\nrow, and separating the stitches. In doing so, the awl was passed under\nthe topmost of the core or warp of three coiling willow ribs. A redbud\nbark strand was then slipped through the awl hole, thus lashing the\nthree loose willow ribs down by passing the strand around them and\nthrough the next awl hole in the preceding row. Recent Atsugewi coiled\nbasketry technique is similar in all details, having been learned from\nthe Maidu.\n    [Illustration: Variations of the simple twined basketry technique:\n    a, method of starting the round root-cleaning basket; b, detail of\n    side wall of basket showing open work weave. (Garth)]\nTwined basketry consisted of willow ribs radiating from a common center.\nThese twigs were the warp. The weft of filling and binding stitches were\nsplit pine root strands. Dixon states that mountain Maidu sometimes dyed\npine root black by burying it in mud mixed with charcoal. Pine root was\ntightly woven in to make the bottom of the basket which was normally\nundecorated. More and more willow ribs were added as the basket became\nlarger. The willow ribs were curved up when willow rib additions were\ndecreased. As the sides began to be built up on these twined baskets,\neach pine root stitch, both inside and outside, was covered with a\nwhitish strand of bear-grass or squaw-grass. The tops of baskets were\noften left unfinished after the unused willow warps were clipped off.\nThe basket did not unravel in use. However, the best baskets were\nfinished by adding a marginal strengthening ring of choke cherry or\nwillow which was bound to the basket body firmly and neatly, usually by\nwrapping with strands of redbud bark. During weaving willow withes were\nfastened inside of the basket to help it retain its shape, but these\nwere removed upon completion of the basket.\n    [Illustration: Side outline shapes of Maidu baskets (after Dixon).\n    The plan of virtually all Maidu baskets was circular. Twined storage\n    baskets are up to three feet in diameter for holding seed, meal,\n    etc. Open twined construction was used for storage of whole acorns,\n    fish, and meat. Flatish circular basketry plaque was for \u201cvibration\n    sifting\u201d.]\n         GENERAL UTILITY_\n         GENERAL UTILITY_\n         GENERAL UTILITY_\n         GENERAL UTILITY_\n  _TRAYS or large BASKET COVER_       _TRAY or BASKET COVER_\nSome utility baskets were undecorated, being made merely of pine root\nand willow, or, if coiled, of redbud and willow. However, most baskets\nbore some designs. They were all named and were inspired by the objects\nof nature about these outdoor peoples, and not the product of their\nimaginations. Nevertheless, the designs are quite stylized, often to the\nextent that recognition of the inspiration is difficult or impossible.\nIn the case of twined baskets the designs were made by substituting\nouter redbud bark for squaw-grass to produce a dull red instead of the\nwhite overlaid stitches of the rest of the basket. As a result of the\ndouble twining technique the designs were seen equally well on the\ninside and the outside of each basket. Black designs were of overlaid\nmaidenhair fern (_Adiantum pedatum_) stems. However, mountain Maidu also\nused common bracken fern (_Pteris aquilinum_) for black designs. Indians\nto the north of the Atsugewi used roots and stems of certain sedges\ntreated with charcoal and mud or with ashes and water to produce\nbasketry materials of black and of warm henna-brown coloration\nrespectively. These were used on occasion by Atsugewi. The bear-grass,\nredbud, and maidenhair fern decorative materials were most commonly used\nby all tribes of this area. Atsugewi are the only local Indians to have\nused feathers to adorn their baskets. They used the shiny iridescent\nblue-green feathers from the necks of male mallard ducks. This was not\ncommon, however, and by no means used as often nor developed to the fine\nart and diversity of the famous Pomo feathered basketry of the Clear\nLake region of the California Coast Range. Atsugewi are also believed to\nhave occasionally adorned some basketry work with shell beads and\nporcupine quills, but this must have been quite rare or more examples\nwould have survived to the present day.\nOuter bark of redbud almost always decorated coiled baskets.\nConcerning Maidu basketry Dixon states that the vast majority of the\narticles are of the coiled type, twining technique being used only for\nburden baskets and hopper or grinding baskets. For the radial ribs of\nthe former they used shoots of hazel (_Corylus rostrata_ var.\n_californica_) when available. He points out too, the frequent use of\nthe feather, quail-tip, and arrow-point designs not only among the\nmountain Maidu, but among all Maidu. A characteristic of this group of\nIndians also, in contrast to other local tribes, is the tendency to\nconfine one design to a basket rather than combining designs. Maidu\nemployed a wide variety of designs. Many of them represent animals and\nplants. A considerable number of Maidu patterns exhibit a more or less\nobscure realism which becomes apparent only after one is informed as to\nwhat the design means. The Maidu show a tendency also toward arrangement\nof design elements in spiral or zigzag lines.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi basket, twined and overlaid with bear-grass\n    and maiden hair fern.]\n    [Illustration: Maidu hopper, pounding, or milling basket of twined\n    construction on rock mortar slab. Diameter about eighteen inches\n    (after Dixon).]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi general utility basket of twined\n    construction with lizard foot design. Underside shown to reveal dark\n    (actually tan-colored) area of bare split pine root weft without\n    bear-grass or maiden hair overlay.]\n    [Illustration: Coiled type Atsugewi hopper basket with flying geese\n    design. View shows pounding hole in bottom of basket, in this case\n    bound with buckskin.]\nDixon noted that \u201cmussel\u2019s tongue\u201d (the fresh water mussel) is one of\nthe unique and peculiar basketry designs used by the Atsugewi.\nRepresentation of intestines and deer excrement are also worthy of\nspecial mention for this tribe. Other common Atsugewi designs in\nbasketry decoration are lizard, deer rib, owl\u2019s claw, and flying geese,\nas well as arrow-point. Two or more different designs are often combined\non a single basket. Among Atsugewi and Achomawi there seems to be no\nrestriction of certain patterns to baskets intended for special uses.\nLike mountain Maidu, zigzag and spiral arrangements are preferred,\nhorizontal bands being rare. Curiously an Atsugewi design is often given\ndifferent meaning by different individual Indians. This is in contrast\nto the uniformity of interpretation of a given design by all the Maidu\nindividuals, normally.\n    [Illustration: Maidu open twined \u201ctray\u201d or plate-like basket about\n    ten inches long (after Dixon)]\nYana tribes frequently substituted another material for willow ribs. The\nidentity of this warp is not certain. Reliable students believe it to be\nhazelnut twigs, but to my knowledge that plant is scarce indeed even in\nthe foothill territory. Yana and Yahi had some other peculiarities in\ntheir basketry. Designs were sometimes wrought in a negative way, that\nis by merely leaving off overlay so that the design was thereby defined\nin exposed pine root weft. Sapir and Spier found that these tribes also\nused alder bark for dying basketry decoration materials a red-brown. A\nreddish color was produced on peeled shield fern stems by passing them\nthrough the mouth while chewing dogwood bark. They dyed pine roots, too,\non occasion with a red soil or with the powdery filling of spores from\nthe inside of a fungus obtained from certain coniferous trees. These\nvariations of basketry decoration do not seem to have been used by the\nAtsugewi and mountain Maidu.\n    [Illustration: Maidu fish-teeth design on coiled basket.]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu geese-flying design on coiled basket.]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi lizard\u2019s claw or lizard\u2019s foot design.]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu mountains designs on twined baskets.\n    The right hand treatment may be repeated in reverse to the right\n    making a symmetrical pyramid shaped design outline.]\n    [Illustration: An interesting unsymmetrical flower design.]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi intestines.]\nThe basketry described above was all close-woven. In fact, so closely\nwere the twined baskets made that they held water with little or no\nleakage even without linings of pitch or any other substance. There was\nno pottery of any kind in central or northern California.\nThe art of basketry included also a third type\u2014loose or open weaving,\nsometimes of tules. The latter were also used extensively for making\nmats for a variety of purposes. Open weaving at other times was done\nwith willow withes, split juniper twigs, or of another material\ntentatively identified as hazel. Fish traps, carrying baskets, some\nstorage baskets, and bags were not infrequently of this type of\nconstruction.\nAll basketry materials had to be well soaked in water, as they were\nbrittle when dry. After weaving and upon drying these materials set in\nplace, making the basketry firm, strong, and resistant to unraveling.\nCollection of basketry materials was more arduous and required greater\nknow-how than might be suspected. Willow withes were only taken from the\nparticularly strong and supple shoots from Hinds or valley willow\n(_Salix hindsiana_) which grows along stream banks up to 3000 foot\nelevations and also from the similar sandbar, river, or grey willow\n(_Salix fluviatilis_ variety _argyrophylla_) which also lines streams,\noften growing in sandbars. These species are recognized by their long\nvery narrow silvery leaves and a grey bark, furrowed when mature. Willow\ntwigs were collected when the leaves were off of the stems in the spring\nand in the fall. At other times the twigs were more brittle. Spring\npicked willow withes \u201cslipped\u201d their bark easily, but those collected in\nthe fall had to be scraped to remove the bark. The willow ribs were\nfurther dressed by scraping to uniform size.\nPine roots of either ponderosa pine (_Pinus ponderosa_) or digger pine\n(_Pinus sabiniana_) were usually used. However not all trees had roots\nof suitable strength and flexibility, so that it was necessary to \u201cshop\naround\u201d for good roots. This involved digging holes to reach the roots\nand then testing these by tugging on small strands until suitable roots\nwere located. Roots three or four inches in diameter were then cut off\nwith a small obsidian axe, if the individual were so fortunate as to\npossess this rarity, or by using a sort of bone pick, or, more commonly,\nby slowly burning through the green root with a small fire. Root lengths\nof about four feet were gathered, taken home, and there roasted in hot\nashes. This made the pine roots very soft. They were then split into\nquarters with digging sticks or stone choppers and finally were pulled\napart into thin strips using hands and teeth. The resulting half inch\nwide strips were tied into bundles for storage. In use, these strips\nwere well soaked in water. Pine root strands of proper width were easily\nsplit off by hand. The finer and smaller the basketry to be done,\nnaturally, the narrower was the material split for making it.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi twined basket, deer-rib and arrow point\n    designs. Both are frequently used.]\n    [Illustration: Pit River (used by Dixon to include Atsugewi) popular\n    mussels\u2019 tongue designs.]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu mountain-and-cloud design on coiled\n    basket.]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi pine cone design]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi deer-gut design on twined basket\u2014also a\n    popular pattern.]\n    [Illustration: Another Atsugewi version of deer-gut design on twined\n    basket.]\n    [Illustration: Pit River (applied by Dixon to include also the\n    Atsugewi) deer excrement designs.]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi flint design]\nThe chief overlay material\u2014already mentioned\u2014was what we call bear-grass\nor squaw-grass. In truth this is not grass, but the leaf of a lily, the\nwell known bear-grass of Mount Rainier National Park, scientifically\nknown as _Xerophylum tenax_. This grows only in limited areas in this\nregion, hence Atsugewi had to make long trips on foot to obtain it. In\nrecent years, at least, bear-grass was to be found only in the territory\nof the Shasta and of the mountain Maidu: a few miles west of Mount\nShasta and near Greenville in Plumas County. Bear-grass could be\ncollected only during about two weeks in mid-July. Earlier it was too\ntender; later it was too brittle \u201clike hay\u201d. Only new central leaves of\neach plant were plucked. The heavy mid-rib had to be removed from each\nleaf with an awl before use.\nMaidenhair fern frond stems were picked in August.\nRedbud twigs collected in the spring would \u201cslip\u201d the red outer bark\neasily in a thin layer. This was used for overlay pattern making on\ntwined baskets. The white inner bark, or, more properly, sapwood was\nthen stripped off for binding material and as the white lashing weft for\ncoiled baskets. In the case of fall-collected redbud twigs the red outer\nbark adhered to the sapwood. This was used as the lashing strand or weft\nwhere red designs were desired on coiled baskets.\nApwaruge, the eastern division of the Atsugewi, often made baskets of\ntules. These were more flexible, softer baskets than those made by the\nwesterners, the Atsuge, and so there was considerable exchange of\nbaskets between the two divisions of the Atsugewi.\nAtsugewi occasionally made openwork baskets from split juniper too,\nespecially for low scoop-shaped, round, or oval baskets for fishing,\nroot cleaning, et cetera, but as indicated earlier, willow ribs were\nused for this purpose also.\n    [Illustration: (Yana) dogs ears]\n    [Illustration: Probably Yana House design]\n    [Illustration: Maidu quail tip design widely used but only on coiled\n    baskets.]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) crane\u2019s leg]\n    [Illustration: (Atsugewi) meadow lark]\n    [Illustration: (Achomawi) flying geese or pine cone\n    (Yana) pine cone]\n    [Illustration: Maidu earthworm design on a coiled basket.]\n    [Illustration: Maidu bushes design on a coiled basket.]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu duck\u2019s-wing design on a coiled\n    basketry plaque.]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) diamond\n    (Yana) wolf\u2019s eye]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu eye design.]\n    [Illustration: (Atsugewi) flint or arrowhead]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) watersnake (?)\n    (Yana) bushes]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) bats]\n    [Illustration: Maidu design, probably sugar pine tree.]\n    [Illustration: A continuing zig-zag arrow feather design widely and\n    frequently used by Maidu in coiled basketry, sometimes this was\n    combined with the quail tip pattern.]\n    [Illustration: Single and double arrow point designs\u2014the most\n    commonly used of all Maidu patterns. It was relatively easy to make\n    and very versatile.]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) big tongues\n    (Yana) intestines]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) quail tip\n    (Yana) root digger]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) mountain\n    (Yana) root digger hand]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) earthworm\n    (Yana) intestines]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) earthworm\n    (Yana) intestines]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) mountain\n    (Yana) root digger hand]\n    [Illustration: (Achomawi) mountain or bear\u2019s foot\n    (Yana) root digger hand]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) vine\n    (Yana) geese]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) rattlesnake\n    (Yana) geese]\n    [Illustration: (Wintun) sucker tail\n    (Yana) long worms in rotten wood.]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) wolf\u2019s eye]\nBasket styles varied little among the several tribes of the Lassen\nregion. Bottle shapes were never made until after the coming of white\nman. Cooking baskets were bowl-shaped with high, convexly curved sides,\nsometimes nearly globular in form. Baskets from which food was eaten\nindividually and general utility baskets were similarly shaped but\nsmaller. Boiling baskets were sometimes without decoration; their\ndimensions of height and width were about equal. Storage baskets also\nhad about the same shape, curving less, sometimes, but were large, being\nthree feet or more in size. Some were of open work, but usually they\nwere of close or tight weaving.\nFlattish bowls or somewhat curved trays were used for food platters as\nwell as for winnowing, parching, and cleaning foods by chafing. Some\nwere of open weave made of willow or hazel (?) only while others were\nclosely woven.\nBasketry acorn grinding hoppers also called milling baskets or pounding\nbaskets, were usually regular twined baskets of suitable size and shape:\nwide mouthed bowl or funnel-shaped. Having no central point from which\nto start the warp, because of the open bottoms, hopper baskets were\nstarted by twining three pine root wefts about the bases of many willow\nwarps to make a circle about five inches in diameter. Additional warps\nwere built up on the radiating ribs, proceeding then in the normal\nmanner of twining. Twined hopper baskets were usually reinforced by\nlashing one or two strong rings of willow or serviceberry withes. They\nmight also be bound with buckskin along the bottom edges for improved\nstrength and durability as well as to decrease loss of acorn meal during\nthe pounding process. In recent years both mountain Maidu and Atsugewi,\nalso used coiling technique in making hopper baskets, for which purpose\nit is well suited.\nA recent innovation among Atsugewi has been the covering of bottles with\nbasketry and also the weaving of oblong shaped closely twined and coiled\nbaskets, as well as goblet shaped creations.\n  According to Garth, the seed beater \u201c... was a paddle-shaped implement\n  from one and a half to two feet long with a willow warp and open work\n  twining, also of willow (spaced at three quarters of an inch between\n  rows) across the blade. The handle was wrapped either with willow\n  strips or with buckskin.\u201d\nAnother important use of basketry was in the construction of cradle\nboards, or more properly, basket cradles. These are generally known to\npresent day Americans by the incorrect term papoose baskets. The cradle\nbasket is discussed under the heading \u201cBirth and Babies\u201d.\n    [Illustration: (Yurok) flint\n    (Yana) zigzagging]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) quail-tip\n    (Yana) \u201csitting up in a series\u201d]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) vine\n    (Yana) \u201cbraided\u201d]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) mussels]\n    [Illustration: (Maidu) earthworm\n    (Yana) \u201cbraided\u201d]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) mountains]\n    [Illustration: (Yurok) \u201csitting\u201d\n    (Yana) \u201czigzagging and turning back\u201d]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) wolf\u2019s eye]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) trout or salmon tails]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) flint]\n    [Illustration: (Yana) guts]\n    [Illustration: (Atsugewi) skunk\u2019s ear]\nBeautifully made basketry caps for women, finely twined, spreading\nbowl-shaped affairs were made by all tribes of the Lassen area. These\nwere nicely decorated on the bottoms\u2014or rather tops\u2014as well as on the\nsides, a feature lacking on all other types of local baskets. Another\nunique feature of the basketry cap was the fact that the inside of the\nhat was abraded by rubbing so that none of the pattern remained visible\nbecause all of the overlay on the inside had been worn away. It is\nsuspected that this made the inside of the hat less slippery on the hair\nso that it did not slip off the head so easily. Removal of the\ndecoration from the inside of the basketry cap in no way altered the\nappearance or permanence of the outside decorative patterns.\nMats were woven of viscid bulrush, more commonly called tule stalks\n(_Scirpus lacustris_ or _acutus_). According to Voegelin, Atsugewi\nsometimes sewed these together by piercing them with bone needles.\nHowever the more usual method of manufacture was that of lashing\ntogether the ends of parallel tule stalks laid next to each other. This\nwas done with double cords or strands in the regular simple twining\nmanner which shows up well in the sketch of Atsugewi tule leggings. Such\nmats were extensively used as bed mats or mattresses, as earth wall\ncoverings, as doorway and ventilator hole hangings, and so on by all of\nthe tribes of the Lassen region. Mountain Maidu also employed\nbroad-leaved cat-tail (_Typha latifolia_) or narrow-leaved cat-tail\n(_Typha angustifolia_) for such purposes on occasion. This tribe also\nappears to have used a string weft in making at least some of the mats.\n                       TANNING, CORDAGE, AND GLUE\nMountain Maidu buried bear skins in wet ground, but hides generally were\nsoaked about a week in water by local Indians. Mountain Maidu used ashes\nto help dehair skins other than deer, but this was not a practice common\nto other tribes. Stone, or more frequently, shaped deer rib or pelvic\nbones were used as dehairing scraper tools on skins. The hide was draped\nover an inclined post and was soaked and squeezed occasionally during\nthe process of scraping.\nThe tanning agent was a cooked soup of animal brains, particularly those\nof deer. This material might first have been mashed, mixed with dry\nmoss, and then molded into small cakes for drying and storage. The deer\nbrain agent was well rubbed into the cleaned, soaked skin. It was then\nallowed to soak overnight in the tanning solution. The next day while\ndrying the skin in the sun, the operator stretched and worked the hide\nwith his hands to make it soft and pliable.\nAmong Atsugewi the skin was then smoked over a fire of moist rotten logs\nor green juniper boughs burning in a shallow pit. The skin was laid on a\ndomed framework of willow branches arched over the fire. The hide was\nturned occasionally to insure uniform treatment. Mr. Garth believes that\nthis smoking process was recently learned. It was not generally\npracticed by neighboring tribes, but produced superior buckskin which\nresisted stiffening as a result of subsequent wetting. Even Atsugewi did\nnot smoke other skins.\n    [Illustration: Nets. a, b, stages in net making; c, tule float; d,\n    net shuttle.]\nMen did all this work as well as the hunting, skinning, and fashioning\nof garments from hides. Skins were sewn with bone awls and deer sinew\nthread which was made by rolling fine deer sinew strands on the thigh\nwith the open hand.\n    [Illustration: Net making shuttle about fourteen inches long (after\n    Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: The usual Maidu knot for nets (after Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: Carrying net]\nLike other local tribes, the Maidu used many woven skin blankets. These\nwere fashioned from one inch strips of rabbit fur, especially, but also\nof the skins of wildcat, cougar, geese, or crows. These were not tanned\nso that upon drying they twisted or curled like the strands of a rope\nwith the fur or feather side out. Ends were tied together to form a long\nfur or feather covered rope. This was wound about two poles set upright\nin the ground six feet or so apart to form the warp for the blanket.\nMore of the same material was then woven up and down as weft to produce\na soft and very warm skin blanket which was also quite durable. When\nbird skins were employed a cord core was threaded thru the center of the\ntwisted strands before weaving for greater strength.\nMountain Maidu also did feather work like that of the Atsugewi, however\nfoothill and valley Maidu did so to a greater extent and of a more\nelaborate nature.\nWillow, serviceberry, and redbud withes, and at lower elevations,\nlengths of wild grape vines were used for tying purposes. However,\nIndians also had need for strong and more versatile and more durable\nstring, cord, and rope. These were usually made from vegetable fibers.\nAtsugewi and mountain Maidu used Indian hemp and milkweed but not nettle\nor iris fibers as did some other tribes. When mature, but before they\nbecame old and brittle, the plants were collected and dried, stripped of\nleaves, and the flesh was scraped and pounded off leaving the free\nfibers. String was made by placing two small bundles of fibers parallel\nand close together on the thigh of the leg. These were rolled up into\ntwo strands side by side with one stroke of the open hand moving either\nup or down the thigh. On the return stroke the two separate and now\ntwisted strands were twisted together into one string. Stout cord was\nmade by repeating the process, substituting two strings for the two\nbundles of loose fibers this time. To make rope the process was repeated\nseveral times, successively doubling the cordage product. As the cordage\nstrands were twined together, the product was held in the left hand, the\nrolling being done by the right hand on the right thigh.\nNets of good quality were fabricated in a variety of mesh sizes, the\nuniformity of which was controlled by use of squarish wooden blocks.\nShuttles to hold the string for net tying were straight pieces of wood\nnotched at each end and into which the strand was wrapped. As has been\npointed out, nets were used chiefly for hunting, fishing, and carrying,\nalthough small nets were often worn in the hair by men.\nAdhesives were important in the economy of the Indians too. Pine pitch\nand glue made from the skins of fish were used. A solution of the latter\nwas mixed by the mountain Maidu with certain internal organs of fish and\nboiled vegetable materials to improve the quality of their glue.\nIt was the lack of transportation rather than the existence of any which\nwas important to the aboriginal Americans. This was responsible for the\ndegree of isolation which was required to produce the variety of customs\nand languages in most parts of the \u201cNew World\u201d. Introduction of the\nhorse in historic times materially changed the habits of Plains Indians.\nLikewise the somewhat aggressive Modoc tribe to the north of the Pit\nRiver, whose conflict with the whites has been memorialized in Lava Beds\nNational Monument today, became mobile, even prior to the gold rush\ndays, through use of the horse. As a result the Modocs made a number of\nhit and run raids upon Atsugewi and other tribes and were able to carry\noff slaves. This was not the traditional mode of warfare.\nTransportation among Indians was by foot or by water until recent times.\nCalifornia Indians did not use dogs as beasts of burden as Plains\nIndians did and as the Eskimos still do. Women did general hauling; men,\nhowever, did most of the really heavy carrying. Women used the conical\nburden basket extensively, but the men did not. Both sexes used the\nbuckskin pack strap which in the case of mountain Maidu passed over the\ntop of the head. Atsugewi pack straps went over the forehead and also\nover the shoulder across the chest. The brimless basketry cap or hat was\nused with the packstrap especially among the women. Heavy loads were\nfrequently carried by men upon the shoulder; such burdens were often\nrolled in mats or animal skins.\nCarrying nets made of twisted fibers were commonly employed by men and\nwomen among local tribes. Atsugewi used a folded buckskin bag sewed at\nthe edges, with a handle on top, and opening at the side. Yana\nmanufactured an open-work carrying basket too.\nIn this region loads were never carried on the head, but on occasion\nmight be suspended on a pole and carried between two men. The mountain\nMaidu also used a litter for the sick, but Atsugewi carried sick persons\nin burden baskets on their backs.\nIn rough country crude trails were sometimes built, but this was not a\ncommon practice. Generally trails as such were not constructed, but\nwhere they existed they had developed as the result of long use along\nlogical routes, in much the same manner as deer and other game trails\ndevelop.\nTo cross streams advantage was taken of logs which had fallen of natural\ncauses. On occasion single logs were felled by burning to serve as\nbridges. Yana at lower elevations frequently had large streams to cross\nand smaller trees to utilize. Two logs might be felled parallel and\ncross sticks lashed on with grapevine for better footing.\n    [Illustration: Boat Types of Native California (not to scale). a,\n    Yurok (northwestern California) river canoe; b, Klamath\n    (northeastern California) canoe; c, tule balsa.]\n    [Illustration: Distribution of Types of Native California Boat.]\n  a, Dugout canoe\n  b, Dugout canoe\n  c, Tule balsa\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi dug-out canoe on Hat Creek]\nIn swimming most Indians used a pseudo-breast stroke or swam on their\nbacks with a frog style stroke. Atsugewi also did a \u201cdog paddle\u201d keeping\narms under water. Mountain Maidu used swimming techniques which embraced\nprinciples like those of white man\u2019s side stroke and crawl. They jumped\ninto the water feet first in preference to headfirst diving. When\nswimming under water to collect crawfish or mussels a rock was often\ntied loosely to the back.\nWater transportation was not of the same degree of importance to the\ntribes of the Lassen region that it was to Sacramento Valley, Coastal,\nand Northwestern Indians. Nevertheless Atsugewi used sharp or blunt\nended canoes while that of the mountain Maidu had a shovel-like prow and\nstern. These were made from pine logs, usually windfalls about two feet\nin diameter and had a capacity of two to four persons. The logs were\nhollowed out by controlled burning so that the walls were an inch or two\nthick. Pitch was rubbed onto portions needing more burning. Water or mud\nwere used to check burning and the charred wood was scraped out with\nrough angular stones. Local dugout canoes were rather crude affairs.\nCracking of the wood was prevented by keeping the boats wet. They were\npropelled by an unadorned poling rod or by a single bladed square-ended\npaddle about three feet long. A raft, consisting of three or four logs\nlashed together, was used as well by all local tribes and propelled by\npoling.\nAtsugewi had another type of craft: the tule balsa\u2014a five foot long\nraised prow affair made of bundles of tules lashed together. It might be\npoled or else pushed by a swimmer. Often this raft-like boat was towed\nby a rope of willow. Atsugewi occasionally ferried children or goods in\nbaskets, while among mountain Maidu swimmers carried children on their\nbacks and carried goods in one hand, raised above the water level,\nswimming with the other hand.\n                     DOMESTICATED ANIMALS AND PETS\nWe are apt to think of Indians, especially Plains Indians, riding horses\nas part of the natural prehistoric scene, yet this was not the case.\nAlthough fossil remains in the rocks show clearly the development of the\nhorse over a period of several millions of years on this continent, the\nhorse, the camel, and the rhinoceros\u2014to mention but a few of the\nspectacular mammals\u2014became extinct on the American continents before the\nadvent of prehistoric man. American Indians had never seen a horse until\nthe coming of the Spanish to the New World in 1540. Likewise domestic\ncattle, sheep, goats, and chickens were unknown to the aborigines.\nThe dog was widely distributed, however. Some tribes had large as well\nas small dogs of a variety of colors. In the Lassen area the dogs were\nall about the size of small coyotes, mostly with fairly short hair, but\nthere are some reports of long haired dogs. Typically the dogs had small\nrather erect and pointed ears. Coloration was chiefly fawn colored to\nbrown. Amongst Atsugewi, dogs were usually quite numerous, but certain\nvillages seem to have had only a few. In such cases and among the\nmountain Maidu, who generally had only few dogs, they were borrowed for\nhunting. Dogs were almost always named.\nDogs served to warn their owners of the approach of strangers to the\nvillage or camp. Mountain Maidu taught their dogs not to bark, but to\n\u201csniff\u201d conspicuously as a signal of stranger approach.\nTribes of the Lassen area did not normally keep dogs in their dwelling\nhouses. Atsugewi built separate, domed, bark-covered dog houses, and\nmountain Maidu built two kinds of shelters for their dogs. One was a\nsubterranean earth-covered dog house, and the other a conical affair of\nbark slab type construction.\nDogs were widely used in hunting. They were efficient in catching\nrodents and other small mammals such as ground hogs. They were also\nuseful for treeing mountain lions and were adept at bringing down\nwounded deer by jumping up and seizing the deers\u2019 ears.\nDogs were not often eaten by tribes in this section of California. Upon\ndeath, dogs were not buried, but the bodies were merely thrown out.\nUpon death of the dog\u2019s owner, among Atsugewi, the dog was retained by\nthe widow, but among mountain Maidu the dog was suspended in a tree\nbecause \u201cIt makes dog\u2019s spirit glad\u201d! Although not being generally\nconsidered in this account, it is curious that among Modoc and eastern\nAchomawi dogs were burned at the deaths of their owners.\nBear cubs were commonly kept. Atsugewi also kept fawns and other small\nmammals as pets. Birds of various sorts were kept by certain tribes.\nAtsugewi plucked or cut wings of birds, especially of eagles whose\nfeathers were prized for arrow making, and for ceremonial and decorative\npurposes.\nThe members of all tribes, especially the Yana and Yahi, went bareheaded\nmuch of the time. However, basketry caps nearly hemispherical in shape\nand of fine tightly twined weave were worn regularly by Indian women.\nThe caps were probably worn to prevent chafing of the pack straps\noriginally, but Atsugewi women wore them most of the time. Such hats\nwere well decorated with overlaid designs typical of the tribes under\nconsideration. Those of Yana and Yahi were usually of tule with black\nand white overlay. Mountain Maidu made some coiled basketry caps, not\ninfrequently employing tules or reeds.\nMen of all our tribes wore fur headbands on occasion and among Atsugewi,\nfur or buckskin caps too, especially in winter, when shallow bucket\nshaped skin hats of coyote, raccoon, mink and the like afforded\nprotection against the rather intense cold.\nEyeshades attached to a band around the head were worn by some Yana\nwomen so as not to see their sons-in-law! Atsugewi men and possibly\nothers might wear side blinds when spearing fish at night to keep torch\nlight out of their eyes.\nChildren up to about six years of age ran about naked, and often the\nolder men and women did likewise, particularly among the Maidu.\nBuckskin dresses were worn to some extent by the women of most local\ntribes. The mountain Maidu dress was tied at both shoulders and tied or\nbelted at the waist. The garment was provided with flaps over the upper\narms but lacked sleeves. Buckskin dresses were worn by some Indian women\nrich in worldly goods, and usually for special occasions. Recent\nbuckskin dresses, of course, are sewn on sewing machines, neatly\ntailored, and follow the general pattern of the conventional dress,\nincluding regular sleeves.\nIn normal everyday garb Indian women were naked above the waist. A\nwrap-around skirt, or, more frequently two narrow or wide aprons were\nworn. Sometimes one apron went around the hips, being tied in back and\nprovided with a buckskin flap which covered the wearer\u2019s buttocks. The\nIndian women\u2019s aprons were commonly made of shredded incense-cedar,\nwillow, or juniper bark, or of tules. In the case of Yana and Yahi\nwomen, frequently grass or shredded, spring-gathered, broad-leaf maple\nbark were used. The latter was a favorite valley Maidu skirt material.\nThe double aprons might however be made of whole buckskin or of strips\nor cords of buckskin, and in winter furs might be used for the purpose.\nThe double apron is recognized as the standard garb of California Indian\nwomen. That of the Maidu was often very narrow, being not much more than\na front and a rear tassel.\n    [Illustration: A beautiful old Shasta buckskin woman\u2019s wrap-around\n    apron ornamented with tan, black, and red vegetable fiber bound\n    slitting in the manner of coarse modern hemstitching, with strings\n    of olivella shells and shaped abalone pendants, and finished on the\n    bottom with long buckskin fringes. The garment is much like the more\n    pretentious aprons described for Atsugewi.]\n    [Illustration: Detail of ornamentation on the Shasta buckskin apron]\n    [Illustration: Mountain Maidu woman\u2019s tassel-type of shredded bark\n    apron, about twenty two inches long. Some such aprons were\n    considerably wider (after Dixon).]\n    [Illustration: Woman\u2019s basketry cap probably Atsugewi or Shasta.\n    Note the design placed on top as well as on the sides of the basket,\n    in contrast to other types of baskets. The bottoms of which are\n    devoid both of design and overlay materials and so present an\n    unadorned pine-root surface.]\nWomen\u2019s casual aprons and other clothing were not highly ornamented, but\n\u201cdress-up\u201d clothes might be fairly elaborately trimmed. Fringing of\nbuckskin, spangles of shell money and ornaments, strings of shell beads,\npine nuts, deer hoofs, and special white grass fringes commonly\ndecorated their better clothes.\nIn the summer some men, and particularly old ones wore nothing at all.\nMost others wore very little clothing besides a sort of loin covering of\nbuckskin or fur which went between the legs and was held in place back\nand front by a belt about the waist. A crude buckskin shirt without\nsleeves was sometimes used.\nDuring winter above aprons, skirts, or loin covering other garments were\nworn. Then men commonly wore the sleeveless buckskin shirt. Both sexes\nusually wore robes of woven rabbit skins (usually imported by the\nAtsugewi), or made of deer or bear fur and worn with the hair side\ninside. Or else the robes were of a patchwork of small mammal skins sewn\ntogether. These same robes were frequently used for bedding at night. As\na matter of fact almost any sort of skins available might be used as\nrobes. These were tied on in a variety of ways. The wearers must have\npresented a rather motley appearance. On occasion small poncho style\nrobes with a central hole for the head and neck clothed the upper bodies\nof local Indians during cold weather.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi fringed buckskin dress of pioneer period]\n    [Illustration: An Atsugewi legging made of lashing tules together\n    with a simple twining stitch]\n    [Illustration: Maidu buckskin moccasin about eleven inches long\n    (after Dixon)]\nThumbless mittens were made of cased skins of weasels, rats or small\ncottontail rabbits and tied at the wrist with a thong. Atsugewi also\nutilized their fur-lined quivers as muffs when hunting.\nCalifornia Indians spent much of the time barefoot, but wore buckskin\nmoccasins at war, on long hunts or journeys. Different styles were made\nby each of the local tribes. None, however, were normally decorated.\nMountain Maidu also made moccasins of fur with the hair side in, and\nAtsugewi stuffed pounded grass or grass into their footwear or wore\ngrass or tule slippers inside their moccasins during the winter. Maidu\nput soft grass or sedges in their moccasins for added warmth. An extra\nsole of tougher leather such as elkskin was sometimes sewn onto the\nmoccasin, but this was not customary.\nOccasionally open sandals held on by three or four thongs were worn by\nAtsugewi and Yana.\n    [Illustration: Maidu snowshoe with raw-hide lashings]\n    [Illustration: Snowshoe of about eighteen inches in diameter (after\n    Dixon)]\nKnee length leggings of various materials were common in winter. These\nwere tied on with buckskin strips at ankle and knee. Yana used\nhip-length pantleg type leggings held on with waist bands. Atsugewi\nsometimes employed fur pieces, twined tule, or spiral wrap-around fur\nstrip leggings. Maidu used deerhide leggings with the hair side inside.\nThese went from ankles to above the knees where they were tied, and were\nheld close to the leg by an outside spirally wound thong from top to\nbottom.\nSnowshoes were a necessity too in the rigorous climate of even the lower\nportions of the areas inhabited by tribes of the Lassen area,\nparticularly in those of the Atsugewi and mountain Maidu. Snowshoes of\nthe former Indians were circular in plan; those of the latter were oval.\nSnowshoes were fashioned from small green wooden limbs shaped while hot,\nand then crisscrossed with strips of buckskin or hide with the fur side\ndown for better traction. Atsugewi used green juniper limbs for the\npurpose. Since the whole foot was bound firmly to this footgear, there\nwas no heel play as in the case of white mans\u2019 snowshoes.\n                      BEAUTY AND PERSONAL GROOMING\n  Of Atsugewi standards of beauty Garth states: \u201cThe ideal woman was\n  short but plump and solidly built so that she could do much work. A\n  slim woman was considered too weak, and a very tall woman was made fun\n  of and called lohkata (stick woman). Heavy breasts, a straight slim\n  nose, large eyes, long black hair, and small feet were all admirable\n  qualities. A girl with big feet was likely to be lazy, also a small\n  foot was desirable because it would not take so large a moccasin. A\n  mother pressed her girl child\u2019s foot together to make it slender. The\n  ideal man was of average height and was heavy set. If a child had a\n  flat nose, his mother pinched it and tried to give it a higher bridge.\n  Bow legs, it was said, might be straightened by the mother when the\n  child was young. Also a child\u2019s ears were pressed against his head; if\n  the ears stood out, this was thought to indicate poor hearing. A slim\n  hand indicated a lazy person; a short stubby hand signified a good\n  worker.\u201d\nGarth also comments to the effect that evidently the ideals of Indian\nbeauty had a very practical basis. The same general criteria of beauty\nand desirability of women seem to have prevailed among the other tribes\nof this region also, but Yana preferred a rather flat and broad faced\nfeminine beauty.\nThe hair of both men and women among California Indians was generally\nworn long. The tribes of the Lassen area were no exception. However,\nbangs on the forehead were known. Boys and girls let their hair hang\nloosely, except that Atsugewi sometimes cut small boys\u2019 hair short to\nmake it grow better later.\nWomen usually parted their hair in the middle wearing it in two hanks,\none hanging in front of each shoulder. Each was tied with a piece of\nrawhide. Women of Yana tribes often used strips of otter or mink fur for\nthe purpose as did some Atsugewi. Yana women might add further\ndecoration in the form of a small string of shell beads. Atsugewi women\nmight paint their scalps at the part in the hair with red paint.\nThe male Indian tied his hair in a bunch which hung down the back. All\nlocal tribes, except mountain Maidu, seem also to have frequently used a\nsmall mesh hairnet made of plant fibers with a buckskin band to hold a\nman\u2019s hair in a sort of roll at the back of his head. Maidu called the\nnet wee-kah. In preparation for war or for the hunt Yana men coiled\ntheir hair on their heads with well defined top knots. For dances and\nother special events, male Maidu and Yana, if rich, wore mesh bonnets\nthickly covered with white eagle down feathers tied in so that the net\nstrands were not visible. Bone hairpins were sometimes used among Yana\nand mountain Maidu men.\n    [Illustration: Men\u2019s hair net type of cap worn by adult males of all\n    Lassen area tribes, the wearer\u2019s long hair being piled on top of the\n    head when worn as in upper sketch (after Dixon) with the loose\n    excess net allowed to fall straight down behind.]\n  _NET_\n  _BUCKSKIN_\n  _DRAWSTRING_\n  _CORD_\nAdults cut their hair off with stone knives to show grief and mourning\nwhen relatives died. Both men and women cropped their hair closely, but\nmountain Maidu women sometimes only trimmed it off to shoulder length.\nSingeing instead of cutting the hair was sometimes resorted to.\nFor combing the hair, Atsugewi might use a single stick, a pine cone, or\na teasle burr. Mountain Maidu might use stiff pine needles, but the item\nmost commonly used by all tribes for the purpose was the porcupine tail.\nThe animal\u2019s tail was skinned out, stuffed with grass, and sewed shut at\nthe open end. Sharp ends of the porcupine quills were blunted with hot\nstones.\nHair was not dyed in this region. It was, however, rubbed with animal\nfat or bone marrow to make it look nicer by aboriginal standards.\nAtsugewi are said to have perfumed their hair on occasion with aromatic\nplant foliage. Hair and body lice were not uncommon; these were hunted\nand removed by hand. Maidu washed their hair frequently with common\nsoaproot (_Chlorogalum pomeridianum_).\nFaces of adults were painted for a number of occasions. Black was used\nto some extent by both sexes to prevent sunburn and snow-blindness if\nlong exposure in the bright sun were expected. Although Yana men and\nwomen used red and white paint when dancing, among our other tribes face\npaint was used chiefly by men for dances and ceremonies.\n    [Illustration: Porcupine tail comb about ten inches long (after\n    Dixon)]\nPaint pigments were mixed with animal fat, especially deer grease, or\nwith marrow and applied with the fingers. It was smeared on upper arms,\nlegs, chest, and cheeks. Atsugewi and mountain Maidu blackened their\neyebrows. Red pigment was either red soil, usually roasted or burned to\nmake the color brighter, or the spores from a fungus which grows on the\nbark of fir trees. The fungus material was dried over a slow fire to\nprepare it for use. Black pigment was universally charcoal. Ashes were\nnot used as white pigment. Students of local tribes state that chalk was\nemployed for white paint. However, chalk is lacking in the Lassen\nvicinity and it is highly probable that the suitable and readily\navailable white diatomaceous earth deposits were used for this purpose\ninstead. Atsugewi also used blue color which was obtained in rock form\nby trade with their northern Pit River or Achomawi neighbors.\nThe light beards which started to grow on male Indians\u2019 faces were\nuniversally removed completely by plucking with the fingers.\nEarlobe and nose piercing was generally practiced by both sexes. Among\nAtsugewi rims of their ears as well as the lobes were perforated in some\ninstances.\nTattooing was occasionally done by Yana, but not as commonly as among\nAtsugewi where women not infrequently wore tattooed vertical lines\nacross their mouths. Both sexes commonly tattooed their cheeks with\nhorizontal lines or with two or three lines radiating from the corners\nof the mouth. Arms and legs were also tattooed to a certain extent. The\nmutilation was done by rubbing charcoal into cuts which had been made\nwith stone knives or by rubbing charcoal on the skin and then pricking\nit with bone awls or porcupine quills. However, even among Atsugewi,\ntattooing was by no means universal. Mountain Maidu women were sometimes\ntattooed with three, five, or seven vertical lines on the chin.\nEarrings were worn by nearly all men and women. Atsugewi employed bone\nrings, clamshell beads, feathers and even painted ear ornaments.\nMountain Maidu and Yana usually used bone or wooden ones, plain or\ndecorated with feathers or shells. Abalone, like other sea shells, were\nreceived only in trade and were fashioned into pendants for ears or\nnoses.\nNose piercing consisted of making a hole through the septum of the nose.\nThis practice was popular among all local tribes. It was done to permit\nthe wearing of jewelry although Yana ascribed a deeper meaning to the\ncustom as well. They believed that no person would go to his equivalent\nof heaven unless the nose septum was pierced. Hence this was done to the\ndead and a stick inserted if it had not been done in life. Two-pointed\nbone nose-pins were popular inserts as were long narrow dentalium\nshells, or nose pendants of beads. Only among mountain Maidu were nose\nornaments highly decorated.\n    [Illustration: Portion of Atsugewi (probably) necklace of dentalium\n    shells (one and one fourth inches long) and glass trader beads.]\n    [Illustration: Maidu necklaces: bear claw and insect perforated\n    acorn.]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi necklace of clamshell disks and digger pine\n    nuts which are a full half inch long.]\nNecklaces were common adornments too, but local tribes did not use\nbracelets. Items used for necklaces were perhaps bear teeth and bear\nclaws among Atsugewi and Yana. More commonly, certainly, and used by all\nof our tribes were olivella shells, shaped pieces of abalone shells,\nsmall animal and bird bone rings or tubes, clamshell discs, long\ntooth-shells (dentalia), and Digger Pine nuts which had been parched\nuntil blackened. Their ends had then been rubbed off or holes bored\nthrough ends or sides and cleaned out. Yana also made mussel shell disks\nlocally, not only for necklaces but as ear pendants. In later years all\ntribes used glass trader beads, usually interspersed with native items.\nMaidu, especially their tribes of the lower elevations, went in for\nelaborate feather decorations and headdresses. Valley Maidu even had\nfeather cloaks for ceremonial use.\nAmong local tribes wealth was the direct result of skill and industry\nand was highly regarded by all. A person\u2019s social status in the tribe\nvaried directly with his wealth. Lazy persons not able to properly care\nfor their own needs were considered as bums and looked down upon by all\nother members of the village. With wealth went a certain amount of\npower. Chiefs, although empowered by heritage, were always well to do,\nand the wealthiest men in smaller units acted in the capacity of\nhead-men.\nAs with modern man, money among Indians was an arbitrary medium of\nexchange, yet it was of more practical value to the Indians than our own\ncoins are to us. Their money was prized not only for what it would buy\nin material things, but as possessing important decorative value as\nwell.\nThe long tooth-shell or dentalium was used whole and unmodified. It was\nthe currency of the northwest California coast. The money of central and\nsouthern California was the clamshell disk. This was cut, smoothed into\ndisk shapes about half an inch in diameter, and each was perforated with\na central hole by means of which this money could be strung onto cords.\nIn no case did local tribes travel the California coast to obtain these\nshell coins. Instead, this item found its way to Indians of the interior\nthrough progressive or step-by-step trading from coastal tribes through\nintermediate aboriginal traders.\nAs we might expect, dentalia, having a northern origin, were secured by\nAtsugewi not from their neighbors to the south, but from the northern\nYana in exchange for buckskins, arrows, wildcat skin quivers, and\nwoodpecker scalps. The mountain Maidu did not have dentalia at all.\nExcept for the central Yana custom of measuring the length of strings of\nclamshell disks, amounts of money were determined by counting and not by\nmeasuring length on arm tatoos as was so commonly the case in other\nparts of California. Skins of small mammals which had been skinned by\nmaking only one slit in the hind quarters and whose mouth openings had\nbeen tied shut, served as purses.\nAll of our tribes used clamshell money. Among Yana clamshell disks were\nnot as valuable as dentalia, and they were more common also among\nAtsugewi, the dentalia being used more for decoration than as money. The\ntribes of the Lassen region generally received the finished clamshell\nmoney; almost never did they manufacture this, although they did work\ntraded abalone shell into jewelry pieces.\nMaterial wealth or treasure other than weapons, skins, baskets, and food\nalso consisted largely of imported seashells. Whole olivella shells were\ncommonly used as dress ornaments and also for paying shamans for\nservices. Bone cylinders, columellae of shells, and especially polished\ncylinders of the mineral magnesite were highly prized. These might be\nused as the central piece of a necklace in the same manner that we might\nutilize a precious gem.\nAll local tribes used the beautiful salmon colored feathers of the\nRed-shafted Flicker, a woodpecker also known to us by the name\nYellowhammer. A headband of the bird\u2019s feathers\u2014the stiff quills\u2014was\nworn on the forehead. Mountain Maidu doctors wore this item also as a\nbelt. In addition Atsugewi made a full feather band which was worn in a\nvariety of ways including hanging down the back. This was usually used\nonly by the shamans.\nAnother ceremonial item was the California or Acorn Woodpecker scalp\nheadband. This usually had a buckskin strap base, however, mountain\nMaidu glued these gay feathered patches onto fur bands, Yana wore\nwoodpecker scalps on buckskin as belts.\nMountain Maidu made belts of bands on which the showy greenish feathered\nneck skins of male Mallard Ducks in mating plumage were strung.\nFor ceremonial use it was generally customary to tuck small tufts of\nfeathers into the top of the hair. Among Atsugewi, chiefs only used\neagle feathers for this purpose. This tribe also fastened single\nfeathers into the crown of buckskin caps in a radiating manner, and also\nonto strips hanging down the back. Sometimes feathers were tipped with\nsmall white feathers to make the former even more decorative. Feathers\nwere also fastened to head nets in a number of ways which differed\nsomewhat among our tribes. Among Atsugewi, women wore these on occasion,\nbut generally it was the males who decked themselves with feathers.\nFeather plumes of various sorts, employing either twisted buckskin or\nstick bodies, were also in general use.\nThe knowledge and use of tobacco are among the important elements which\nour own culture of today has inherited from the Indians of North\nAmerica. Of what benefit this has been is a debatable matter, but its\neffect has been profound, both on our customs and our economy.\nLocal tribes used simple one piece wooden pipes of tubular design for\nthe most part in smoking tobacco. Atsugewi and mountain Maidu commonly\nemployed elder and other woods with a pithy and easily removed center.\nAlthough not otherwise being considered in this account, the Shasta\nIndian technique of pipe making is mentioned here because of its\nuniqueness. These folks hollowed pipe stems by soaking the end of a\nsuitable stick in salmon oil. The larvae of the salmon fly were then\nintroduced, and these worm-like creatures, eating the nourishing fishy\ncore, would bore their ways lengthwise through the center of the\nheartwood where most of the salmon oil was concentrated. The Yana\nhabitually used the wood of ash as pipe stock. Mountain Maidu found but\ndid not manufacture a few simple stone pipe bowls also of tubular\ndesign. These had considerable spiritual significance and were treated\nwith great care. Garth states that Atsugewi also had short stone pipes,\ntubular in shape, to which elder or rose wood extensions up to eleven\ninches in length were applied. Stone pipes were apparently not common in\nthe Lassen region, however.\n    [Illustration: Steatite stone pipes were used without wooden stems,\n    each between three and four inches long. The holes in such pipes\n    were made by tapping a deer antler piece in the depression\n    containing some sand, a slow but effective boring process. This was\n    commonly done by Valley tribes.]\n    [Illustration: Yana reddish porous lava (dacite?) pipe, broken half,\n    both sides shown. Note funnel-shaped depression in the bottom of the\n    outside (lower half)]\nPipes were used at social gatherings, after sweating, and at bed time.\nThe pipes of the local tribes did not have any bends or curves. These\nstraight tubular pipes were therefore most conveniently smoked when the\nIndians were reclining on their backs thus keeping the tobacco from\nfalling out. Pipes were normally passed around, and used only by the\nmen. However, women shamans of the mountain Maidu also smoked them.\nShamans regularly used pipe smoking in ceremonies, especially when\nhealing the sick.\nTobacco grew wild and burning of brush was performed in certain\nlocalities to promote the growth of _Nicotiana_ plants. Tobacco was not\ncultivated, but mountain Maidu did collect and scatter seeds in\nfavorable areas. Tobacco was prepared merely by collecting the leaves\nwhen fully developed but still green, then drying, preferably in the\nshade, and finally crumbling the cured leaf in the hand. Tobacco was\ncarried in buckskin pouches usually. Atsugewi often added manzanita and\ndeer grease to their smoking tobacco. Indians of this region did not\nchew tobacco nor did they eat it with lime as was the custom elsewhere\nin California. Native tobacco is quite strong.\nMusic of local tribes was limited indeed. It was usually made by men.\nOnly Atsugewi among the Lassen tribes possessed the drum, and this is\nbelieved to have been of recent introduction. It was a tambourine type:\nflat, cylindrical, a foot or so across, and with buckskin shrunken over\none end.\nThe shamans of all tribes used cocoon rattles. These were made of large\ncocoons from which the moth pupae had been removed through a small hole.\nPebbles or seeds were then inserted and usually five or six\ncocoons\u2014among Atsugewi as many as thirty\u2014were tied onto the end of a\nwooden handle and dried. Cocoon rattles were considered dangerous and\nwere usually kept hidden out of doors, being used by shamans only when\ndoctoring.\nA single split stick clapper was employed generally for all types of\nsinging and dancing, not being reserved for any special type of person\nor ceremony.\nDeer-hoof rattles were made from the small hard \u201cdew-claws\u201d from the\nbacks of deer legs. About twenty dew-claws were tied loosely with thongs\nto a strip of buckskin which was then wrapped about a stick with a plain\nhandle. The deer-hoof rattle was operated by vigorously jerking it\nlengthwise, in and out. It was used exclusively in the important puberty\nrites when girls attained womanhood.\n    [Illustration: Deer-hoof rattle, length about ten inches (after\n    Dixon)]\n    [Illustration: Maidu split-stick clapper, twenty inches long]\n    [Illustration: Maidu cocoon rattle eight inches long]\n    [Illustration: Maidu bird-bone whistles]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi deer-claw rattle]\n    [Illustration: Universal split-stick dancing rattle]\n    [Illustration: Maidu cocoon rattle]\n    [Illustration: Flute and bull-roarer of local manufacture]\nAtsugewi and Yana employed hunting bows as musical instruments by\nholding one end in the mouth and plucking the string with fingers.\nMountain Maidu did so too, but like the others only for their own\namusement.\nBone, cane, and elder whistles were blown at dances. Flutes, the most\ntuneful of Indians\u2019 instruments, were not played at ceremonies or at\ndances, curiously enough, but just for self amusement, or in the case of\nmountain Maidu also for courting pretty girls. Flute melodies were\nsupposed to tell stories, but words were not sung to help the\ninterpretation. Yana made a six-hole flute; other tribes of the Lassen\narea used a four hole model. In all cases they were open, reedless\ninstruments blown at an angle across one end. The flute was most\nfrequently made of elder wood\u2014mountain Maidu burned the holes into it\nwith live coals.\nExcept for basketry designs art as such is virtually non-existent. A few\nsimple designs were painted onto hunting bows, and some nose and ear\npendants might be considered jewelry art forms, but of the lowest\ndevelopment. The application of face and body paints and tattooing were\nalso simple examples of Indian art.\nThere appear to be no cliff or cave paintings in the vicinity of Lassen\nPeak, but they are abundant in Lava Beds National Monument about 75\nmiles to the north. A different matter is that of petroglyphs which, in\nCalifornia, usually have been made by striking or pecking smooth rock\nsurfaces with small hard stones. Some of these are to be found in the\nAtsugewi and central Yana territories at lower elevation. However, these\nsymbolic markings were not executed by the local tribes. Atsugewi\nbelieve them to have been made by mythological characters. It appears\nthat the petroglyphs must have been made by the predecessors of the Hat\nCreek and Nozi Indians, for these people claim no knowledge of even the\nmeaning of the rock writings. Shortly before going to press the first\npetroglyph known to come from the Lassen vicinity was found in the\nterritory of the Southern Yana. The site is one where numerous obsidian\nchips and arrowpoints have been found on a gently south sloping, open\nforested portion of Lassen Volcanic National Park headquarters area at\nan elevation of almost 5000 feet and situated slightly west of the\nvillage of Mineral and just north of the north edge of Battle Creek\nMeadow.\nThis find on a 10 inch boulder appears to be of ancient origin. The\nsurface has weathered considerably yet not so much that the character of\nthe carving has been altered. It is apparent that the quarter inch deep\ngrooves have been made by rubbing rather than by pecking with hard\nrocks. This is all the more interesting since the boulder bearing the\ncarving is of a tough hard and site lava. It is indeed unfortunate that\nthe significance of this Battle Creek Meadows petroglyph is unknown. The\nauthorities venture the opinion that the stone may have been used in\npuberty ceremonies. If so, whether by the Southern Yana or their\npredecessors we do not know either.\n    [Illustration: Battle Creek Meadows petroglyph about nine inches\n    long. The eye-shaped area A is a smooth flat one eighth of an inch\n    below the level of the rest of the rock surface. The grooves\n    bounding it are more than one quarter inch deep and of V-shaped\n    cross-section while the other markings are much shallower troughs\n    with rounded bottoms some being quite vague. B, C, D, and E indicate\n    deeper rounded depressions. F is a smooth and very uniform slightly\n    concave area.]\n                      GAMES AND SOCIAL GATHERINGS\nHeavy betting on games was the rule. Games were commonly played between\nneighboring villages or even on occasion with neighboring tribes.\nGambling was an important element in these contests and large sums were\nbet. Sometimes nearly all of a person\u2019s or even of a group\u2019s possessions\nwere at stake. Evaluation of the stakes in white man\u2019s terms is\ndifficult, but they are said frequently to have been of the order of\nseveral hundred dollars or even as much as a thousand dollars. Important\ngames lasted more than one day\u2014perhaps three or four days. The players\ncaught brief rests only and were completely exhausted by the time the\nplaying was over. Singing was the usual accompaniment and high quality\nrendition at games was much admired. Cheating was rare, maybe because it\nwas supposed to bring subsequent bad luck.\nMost games were guessing games. There was considerable variety in the\ncharacter and number of gambling stones or wooden sticks used, the\nmanner of shuffling and other details. The sticks were shuffled and then\nconcealed in the hands of one or several players on one side. The\nopposition had to determine the location of the marked stick or the\narrangement of several. There were many spectators and excitement ran\nhigh. Women occasionally participated along with the men who were the\nmain contestants. Counting sticks might be supplied to each side in\nequal number at the beginning. More often, however, the sticks were all\nplaced in a common pile at the outset, the successful side taking a\ncounting stick with each win. These scoring sticks were taken and\nsurrendered as the tide of the game changed until one side had all. The\ngame was won at this point.\nBall games were played too. The ball was of buckskin stuffed with hair.\nThe object was to kick the ball between the other team\u2019s goal posts.\nKicking ball races over given courses and back, or around a lake shore,\nwere also indulged in. In some contests the men and youths on opposing\nsides would engage in restraining each other so that a number of\nindividual or group wrestling bouts developed on the playing field.\n    [Illustration: Yana gambling bone, four inches long]\nThere were foot races of distances either short or up to fifteen miles\nor so in length. Also archery contests and wrestling matches were held.\nIn wrestling the object was to throw the opponent to the ground;\ntripping was not allowed. Contests in which heavy rocks were tossed,\nsomewhat in the manner of today\u2019s shot-put, and heavier rocks carried in\ncompetition over a designated line were other games in which the\nAtsugewi engaged.\nShinny was played by women and children as well as by men, but adult\nsexes played separately in all of our tribes except Yana. Among them\nonly men participated in this game. Mountain Maidu had three players on\na side; Atsugewi had five players. Straight shinny sticks curved at the\nstriking end were used and the puck was a hide affair. Mountain Maidu\nused a double ball puck. An attempt was made to keep the puck in the air\nin play. The object, of course, was to get the puck to go between the\nopponents\u2019 goal posts. The Yana used a puck of two bones linked by a\nstring several inches long. Running with the puck on the stick as well\nas hitting, and throwing it down the field were permitted.\nChildren improvised a number of games in the same manner as our own\nchildren do today in copying their parents. They played house with\nlimbless but dressed dolls, made and used toy bows and arrows, and made\nsling shots, too. They commonly tried juggling two stones in one hand,\nspun acorn tops by hand, and in some instances noise makers such as\nwooden buzzers and bull roarers were used. In play, loud noise was not\ncondoned, however.\nSmall feasts might occur at any time and were perhaps the most important\nsocial gatherings of Atsugewi. They were usually sparked by a temporary\nabundance of food. Dancing was not included.\n    [Illustration: Child\u2019s acorn top]\nMr. Garth describes the Atsugewi \u201c... grand occasion ... held only when\na large supply of food had been accumulated, was the bagapi or \u2018big\ntime\u2019.... The chief called a meeting to decide on the date and then sent\nhis people to various places for deer and other foods. Knotted strings\n(rokuki) with a knot tied for each intervening day before the festival\nwere sent to other villages. By untying a knot each day other chieftains\nknew when to start for the host\u2019s village. The host chief stood on the\nroof of his earth lodge and welcomed the visitor, calling each chief by\nname: \u2018Don\u2019t fall down. Step carefully. I\u2019m glad you have come to see\nme. Don\u2019t be in a hurry.\u2019... Toward evening the visitors might give a\ndance, after which the host chief called everyone to eat. Large baskets\ncontaining acorn mush, meat, sunflower seeds, and other foods were\nplaced on the ground. The host proffered baskets of food to each\nvisiting chief who in turn then distributed the food to his people. In\nwinter two tribal groups on opposite sides of the sweat house might have\na competitive sweat dance, vying to see which could endure the heat\nlongest. In summer the sweating was usually omitted, and games of chance\nwere begun. In the several days that followed, foot racing, archery,\nweight lifting, and other contests were indulged in. Large bets were\nmade by opposing sides on the outcome of each contest, and the losing\nside at the end of the week\u2019s festivities often had little property\nleft. Surplus food was divided among the guests before they departed.\u201d\nMountain Maidu had more dances and more types of dances than other\ntribes of the Lassen area. Tribes of the Sacramento Valley had many more\nand more complicated dance ceremonies than ours did.\nMountain Maidu had formalized sweat dances which were performed inside\nlarge dwelling lodges at night and were participated in by both sexes.\nAs in the case of Yana, only one man, the leader, sang and hit the\ncentral pole rhythmically with a split stick rattle. The dancers\nperformed simultaneously but in one spot until they were exhausted and\ntook a cold swim afterwards.\nOf the less ceremonial Atsugewi sweat dance, Garth states:\n  \u201c... Men danced naked except for circlets ... of twisted grass around\n  the waist, head and upper arm, and occasionally from one shoulder\n  diagonally across the chest.... Three or four lines of black or white\n  paint might be drawn across the chest and upper arm. Women wore a\n  skirt and only a small amount of paint. The dancing took place in the\n  combination sweat, dance, and dwelling house of the chief or head\n  man.... The fire was built high with dry mountain mahogany ..., pine\n  ..., and sometimes with willow ..., all woods which burned without\n  much smoke; the ventilator door was closed and the dance began. The\n  one singer sat in a corner and beat time with a split stick rattle....\n  Each of ten or twelve dancers might approach close to the fire to show\n  his ability to endure heat, pick up burning brands, one in each hand,\n  and alternately hit one upper arm and then the other with the brands.\n  The heat often became so intense that water had to be thrown on the\n  center post to prevent its catching fire. There was rivalry to see who\n  could stay inside longest, and after a time one man after another\n  emerged and dived into the icy water nearby or rolled in the snow.\n  There might be sweating three or four nights in succession on the\n  occasion of a communal hunt.\u201d\nMountain Maidu held a dance gathering each spring for Black Bear and\nGrizzly Bear. They believed that this dance had been done by animals in\nmythical \u201cbefore Indian times\u201d. This gathering lasted three days and\nnights, but the actual dance was in progress only one day and night.\nOnly women danced but men participated in the ceremony dressed in bear\nrobes. There was much feasting too.\nThe pre- and post-war dances are discussed under the chapter on war.\n                    POLITICAL ORGANIZATION OF TRIBES\nTribes, as we think of them, were non-existent as political units, and\nhence there were no tribal chiefs, but there were village chiefs, in the\nCalifornia province.\nThe self governing unit was always a village or a group of small closely\nadjacent villages. This is the political unit which was governed by the\nchief. Villages might consist of from four to about twenty-five earth\nlodges and bark huts with populations of from twenty-five to a hundred\nor more persons. Influential leaders, usually of much wealth\u2014but not\nnecessarily so\u2014were recognized as head-men, exercising considerable\nauthority over the smaller villages or separated groups of houses near\nvillages. However the head-man\u2019s authority was subservient to that of\nthe chief.\nChieftainship was inherited through the father\u2019s lineage, the oldest son\nbeing the first in succession. However, if the son were too young to\ntake over, the deceased chief\u2019s brother was temporarily in charge. The\nqualities of good character and knowledge were also important\nqualifications for chieftainship, and a chief could be deposed if he\nwere not a good one. Tenure was normally for life, dependent upon\nsatisfactory behavior and performance of his responsibilities.\nThe chief\u2019s relatives hunted and fished for him, but he fed visitors and\nprovided most of the food for feasts. The chief always directed\ncommunity economic activities such as group fishing, deer hunting, and\nroot digging expeditions. For this reason chiefs had to know much about\ngame, fish runs, ripening seasons, et cetera, and had to possess good\njudgement to insure success of group undertakings. Chiefs also spoke to\ntheir people mornings and evenings, and at ceremonies and the like.\nChiefs furthermore declared days of rest when chores were done about\nhome. Another function was to arbitrate quarrels among the people.\nMountain Maidu villages had assistant chiefs besides, who were sons or\nbrothers of the chiefs. This assistant advised the chief and substituted\nfor him as the occasion demanded. A specific duty of his was the\ndivision of food at ceremonies.\nSome chiefs had secondary female chiefs who in the case of the Maidu\nwere daughters, among Atsugewi the chiefs\u2019 wives. A woman in this\ncapacity supervised preparation of food for feasts and in Atsugewi\nvillages might give orders to men.\nAtsugewi chiefs appointed clowns at ceremonies who were paid. Appointed\nmessengers were a part of every chief\u2019s staff. They were selected on the\nbasis of both willingness to serve and ability. Maidu had about six\nmessengers per village while the number varied among Atsugewi.\nMessengers were good speakers, reliable men, and were discharged if they\nfailed in their duties. These included not only message running, but\namong Atsugewi, tending fires at ceremonies. For Maidu chiefs,\nmessengers welcomed guests and traveled about gathering news and\nscouting. Special fire tenders were appointed in this tribe.\nAtsugewi chiefs seem to have possessed greater prestige and authority\nthan those of the mountain Maidu, the Yana, and the Yahi. The decisions\nof Atsugewi chiefs were final, but these had to be diplomatic if the\nchief were to remain popular. If a chief were unpopular some of his\npeople would move to another village leaving the first chief\u2019s community\nnumerically weaker. Chiefs were generally well obeyed by rich and poor\nalike. In return, chiefs unfailingly had the interests of their people\nat heart. Atsugewi chiefs, specifically, set examples of industry,\nbehavior, and judgement for their people. No doubt this was generally\ntrue of the chiefs of units in other local tribes too.\nBecause of the greater popularity, prestige, and consequently larger\nfollowing of some individual chiefs, they were considerably more\npowerful than other chiefs in the same tribe. Such men were influential\nto some extent beyond the boundaries of their own territories.\nWars were commonly small scale encounters and might be either within\ntribes or between tribes. Atsugewi were not often aggressive. Most\ntribes at one time or another had differences with neighboring tribes,\nbut friendly relations were usually re-established soon. Certain tribes,\nhowever, were repeatedly or traditionally enemies, as for instance,\nKlamath, Paiute, or Modoc against Atsugewi; Washoe against mountain\nMaidu; Achomawi or Wintun against the Yana tribes; and mountain Maidu or\nWintun against Yahi. Tribes sometimes helped each other in wars, and\neither payment or reciprocal aid was usually forthcoming.\nCauses of hostilities in the Lassen area were usually revenge for\nmurders (if uncompensated), abduction of women and children, or insults\nto chiefs. Mountain Maidu, Yana, and Yahi also waged wars on account of\npoaching, rape, alleged witchcraft, and the like. All able bodied men\nnormally went to war, but mountain Maidu left some at home to protect\nthe women.\nChiefs generally did not participate in the fighting although they often\nwent along on the war expedition. Instead of leading the battles\nthemselves, chiefs appointed special warrior leaders who were principal\ntargets of the opposition. Such battle leaders were often head-men, but\nalways were men competent to lead the fight and who had good arrow\ndodging power.\nShamans habitually went to war, but did not fight actively except on\noccasion. They were busy singing during battle and urging the warriors\non or exhorting supernatural help. The Atsugewi shaman reportedly\n\u201cstayed behind a tree all the time giving out his power\u201d.\nPreparation for war consisted of practicing dodging arrows, shooting\narrows, in some cases at effigies, and in dancing. The main purpose of\nthe preparation was to incite enthusiasm for the fight. This was so\nsuccessful that quite a commotion developed in the community, to the\nextent that such incidents occurred as warriors with knives chasing\nwomen and a man shooting his own dog with an arrow! Preparatory war\ndances were held outside near the villages. Both men and women\nparticipated and shamans sang. Mountain Maidu sustained their dances for\nseveral days. Warriors spoke to their arrows addressing them as persons.\nAtsugewi men painted themselves with white and black stripes on faces,\nlimbs, and bodies. Yana used red and white war paint. Mountain Maidu\nwore head nets and bands. Dried untanned skins of bear, elk, and such\nwere worn at dances as well as in battle, as were waistcoat armors of\nstrong vertical sticks lashed together. Leather helmets were worn by\nsome warriors.\nThe enemy was usually attacked just at dawn using the element of\nsurprise to the fullest extent possible. Some battles were pre-arranged\nin which a number of participants faced each other in well formed lines.\nSuch conflicts were subject to \u201ccalling off\u201d if too many men were\ninjured or killed. Serious raids, however, did not give quarter and men,\nwomen, and children were killed. Booty was taken and scalps, too, were\nstripped from fallen victims. Scalps were later burned by Atsugewi, but\nmountain Maidu dried human scalps on frames. This tribe also took entire\nheads from bodies on occasion. Prisoners were taken too: Atsugewi not\ninfrequently adopted captured children. Captive women might be\nmistreated and raped, then killed. Adult prisoners might escape with\nrelative ease because there was no suitable way to confine them\npermanently, and some were returned voluntarily.\nWhile the war party was away on its expedition, the women at home danced\nindividually in the manner of the war dance. They sang and prayed to\nhelp the men at war. Atsugewi women dancers carried feathers, bows, and\narrows, but rattles were not used in these morale dances.\nUpon return of the war party a victory dance was held in or near the\nvillage in the open air. Men and women danced independently, but\ntogether at the same time. Atsugewi men painted themselves red and white\ninstead of the black and white used for the pre-war dance. They wore\nheaddresses of all sorts and the warriors carried their bows, arrows,\narmor, and other fighting gear while dancing. The victory dance took\nplace around a fire. Next to the fire Atsugewi planted a short pole on\nwhich the new scalps were displayed while mountain Maidu danced with the\nscalps secured to hand-carried sticks. It is worth noting that while\nsome readers may consider this gloating over human scalps to be a\nprimitive morbidity, it is true that often white men\u2014the very pioneers\nwe eulogize\u2014took and coveted human scalps themselves.\nWarriors, particularly those who had killed adversaries, purified\nthemselves by swimming, rubbing aromatic plants on their bodies, praying\nfor luck. They did not eat meat for from a few to many days, depending\non the tribe. Among Atsugewi they also sweated with the same end in\nview, and women brushed the men\u2019s bodies with plant materials to aid the\npurification process.\nSurprisingly, the eating of hot foods and any form of meat was taboo to\nwounded warriors. This seems strange, since these are the very foods\nwhich we consider beneficial to injured persons.\nWhen an attack appeared likely upon an Atsugewi village, the whole\npopulation retired to high ground which was easily defended. Such sites\nwere prepared in advance and might be considered crude forts as they\nwere surrounded by rock walls and provided with shelters for the\nnon-combatants.\nIn intertribal wars there was usually no compensation as such made where\nthe encounter had been motivated by the satisfaction of securing\nrevenge. In the case of feuds or murders within the tribe payment was\nmade to relatives of the slain. If persons on both sides were slain\ncompensation was made for all the dead. The chief or head-man supervised\nthe peace negotiations. Payment was usually in beads or money, but\nAtsugewi sometimes paid off in women or in the amount of the usual price\nof a bride. In this tribe too, the amount of compensation was made\naccording to the wealth of the victim. A poor man\u2019s life was not\nconsidered to be worth as much as a rich man\u2019s. Atsugewi had a\nsettlement dance meeting in which both sides were present and wore\nfighting regalia. These dancers disarmed themselves after the payment\nhad been made.\nThe natural function of birth obviously varied only in details of\nhandling the situation, delivery assistance, disposition of the\nafterbirth, and methods of cutting and treating the child\u2019s umbilical\ncord. The baby was born in a separate hut which contained a trench\nheated with coals. These were covered with grass and pine needles or fir\nboughs. On this warm green bed the woman lay at least a part of the time\nduring labor and also after delivery.\nChildren were desired and a barren woman was looked down on socially.\nInability to produce children was grounds for divorce. The behavior of\nboth parents during pregnancy was believed to closely affect personality\nand health of the child.\nAfter giving birth, the mother remained in isolation for from nearly a\nweek to a month or more. Many taboos were imposed upon her. Bathing in\nstreams and sweat baths, eating fresh or dried meat or fish, grease, and\noften salt were forbidden to her. Most tribes of the Lassen area also\nprohibited combing of the mother\u2019s hair by herself during the period of\nisolation. Also taboo was scratching herself with her hands, making\nbaskets, preparing food, or traveling.\n    [Illustration: Front and side views of Atsugewi cradle basket for a\n    very young baby. (tseh-nay-gow)]\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi young baby carrying basket or teseh-nay-gow]\nThere were restrictions on the father of the newly born child too. Among\nAtsugewi and Yana he stayed with the mother, but mountain Maidu fathers\nstayed away for periods of a week or less. Immediately after the birth\nhad taken place, the father ran to the woods to break up and bring home\nquantities of fire-wood. Hunting and fishing of all kinds and traveling\nwere taboo for several weeks in most cases. Atsugewi and mountain Maidu\nnew fathers were also forbidden to smoke and gamble, and like their\nwives, were denied eating fresh or dried fish, meat, and grease for\nvarying periods up to a month. Release from taboos occurred with\nsweating and bathing among Atsugewi and mountain Maidu. Fathers in these\ntribes also gave away the first kill when they resumed hunting.\nThe mother generally massaged the infant to improve the shape and\nproportion of nose, face, limbs, and torso. Shedding of the baby\u2019s\numbilical cord was an important event which the Indians wished to occur\nas soon as possible. A variety of odd practices to this end were\nemployed. The occurrence of the event relieved the parents of some, or\nin other cases of all, the post birth taboos. Among most of our tribes\nthe dried cord was saved until the child reached manhood or womanhood.\nIt was customarily secured to the cradle basket, but frequently was\nsubsequently lost. Earlobes might be pierced in early infancy especially\nif the child were prone to cry much.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi older baby carrying basket or yah-birr-dee.\n    Note the rounded bottom on A, a modernization. Partial illustration\n    B shows old style construction with a pointed bottom for thrusting\n    into the ground.]\nTwo cradle baskets were used. Mountain Maidu made two of similar oval\nshape, but the first and smaller one was without a hood. Atsugewi and\nYana tribes made two different types, but both with rounded carrying\nhandles and sunshades on top. These were constructed of willow ribs,\npine root, and buckskin. The first small basket was called tseh-nay-gow\nby Atsugewi and was used for several months. It was short and with a\ndistinctly rounded basketry shelf or lip at its lower end. The larger\nbaby basket was called yah-bih-dee and was practically identical to that\nof the mountain Maidu. This was made of the usual twined basketry\nmaterials, but was of different construction. Willow ribs were lashed\nonto a sturdy one-piece forked branch frame, the joint being at the\nbottom. The base or stem of this Y-piece stuck out below for several\ninches being sharpened so that it could be stuck into the ground near\nthe mother in camp or when she was out digging roots in the fields.\nBoo-noo-koo-ee-menorra tells of an interesting modification of the\nyah-bih-dee today. Its frame is now simply rounded at the bottom instead\nof having the pointed end described above. \u201cMost people have cars now a\ndays\u201d she says, \u201cand that point poked a hole through the seat of the\ncar. So now we make the round kind.\u201d Our visitors to Lassen Volcanic\nNational Park are always interested in names of the \u201cpapoose basket\u201d.\nThis term and the words moccasin, wampum, and so on are no doubt of\nIndian origin being the actual words or reasonable facsimiles thereof\nused by some eastern tribe for the objects concerned. English speaking\nAmericans have adopted these names as meaning those particular articles\nfor all Indian tribes. It may be recalled that earlier in this book, it\nwas pointed out that each tribe had its own distinct language and so,\nobviously, each tribe would have had its own distinct names for these\nobjects. Hence there is no all inclusive \u201cIndian name\u201d for the cradle\nbasket or anything else.\n    [Illustration: Maidu baby carrying basket about thirty five inches\n    long.]\nThe baby was wrapped in tanned buckskin or soft furs, normally wildcat\nby the Atsugewi. A pad of grass or padded bark was placed on the cradle\nboard or basket and then the child was lashed into the tshe-nay-gow with\nbuckskin straps in a sitting position on the sill with its feet hanging\ndown. Most tribes used dry grass, pounded until soft, for diapers, but\nmountain Maidu used skin material for the purpose. Babies were kept in\nthe cradle baskets until they were able to walk. The cradle frame was\ncarried on the mother\u2019s back with a tump-line passing over her forehead\nor chest. A series of larger cradle baskets were made as the child grew,\nusually three before the child was allowed to crawl or walk.\nThe newborn infant was never fed the colostrum from its mother. The baby\nwas either let go without food or given a cooked meat gruel for\nnourishment for the first two days or so until bonafide milk was\nproduced in the mother\u2019s breasts. Children were nursed as often as they\nwished and until they were quite large: even three or four years old.\nNames were given to children usually at the age of about a year. Yana\nwaited even longer, however, until ages of four to six years before\ngiving real names which for this tribe were habitually of a hereditary\nnature. In the meantime, temporary descriptive nicknames were given.\nMany real Atsugewi names had meanings, while those of mountain Maidu and\nYana normally did not. Nevertheless, Yana and to a certain extent other\nIndians too, might acquire additional nicknames and descriptive names\nlater in life, even in adulthood.\nTwins were unwanted among all local tribes, probably because of the\ndouble care and feeding responsibilities involved. Mountain Maidu\nthought that twins were bad luck and actually feared them. It was\ngenerally believed that twins were caused by the mother having eaten\ntwinned nutmeats. These, therefore, were carefully avoided.\nKilling newborn babies whether illegitimate, twins, crippled, or when\nthe mother died in childbirth, was practiced only on very rare\noccasions. Certainly infanticide was not the rule among any of the local\ntribes, but of course was practiced in certain other areas.\n    [Illustration: Yana baby cradle basket for young baby.]\nA girl\u2019s attainment of puberty or womanhood was an event of obvious\nimportance and it was recognized as such by all tribes of the Lassen\nregion with extensive formal ritual and ceremony for each individual\ngirl. Only the more important and generally employed taboos and rites\nare noted below. There was considerable variation in details of such\nmatters even among the four tribes with which we are dealing.\nThe girl was secluded in a separate hut for from three to six days and\nsometimes during the nights too. The taboos she observed during this\ntime were much like those imposed on a mother giving birth, but were\neven more extensive. The young lady must eat from her own special\nbaskets, not cross streams, avoid contacting men\u2014especially hunters,\nrefrain from gazing at the sun or moon, et cetera. Among things she must\ndo were to wear a basketry cap, or special head bands among some tribes,\nand have her hair put up in two knobs wrapped over her shoulders. This\nhad to be done for her as she was not allowed to touch her own hair.\nCarrying the deer-hoof rattle she must run races with other girls, and\ndance much also, scratch her head only with a special scratcher, have\nher earlobes pierced if this had not already been done, and frequently\nher nose septum was punctured too, being kept open by insertion of a\nround stick. Among Wintun tribes of the Sacramento Valley some taboos\nlasted for from one to three years!\nFor several nights public dances were held which lasted all night. Since\nthere was no special ritual for anyone but the girl for whom the dances\nwere held, these ceremonies were of a joyous nature and were popular and\nwell attended. In the middle of the night food provided by the girl\u2019s\nfamily was served to all present. Singing with deer-hoof rattle\naccompaniment was carried on all night. Intimate affairs between couples\nwere not unusual during such dances. During the daytime as well dances\nwere held, but these were of short duration and participated in chiefly\nby the women of the village. At the end of the ordeal the girl bathed\nand was given new clothes, ending her taboos.\nThere was no formal ceremony when boys attained manhood except that the\nyouths were generally sent alone into the neighboring mountains for\nseveral days to seek special \u201cpowers\u201d to give them skill and luck in\ncertain pursuits such as deer hunting, archery, fighting, shamanism, and\nthe like.\nDuring menstruation all women had to observe many taboos too. These\nincluded eating alone and living in seclusion. They could eat no meat or\nfish, fat, or salt, and must not cook. They must avoid sick persons and\nhunters, and could not scratch themselves except with the scratching\nstick. At the end of the taboo periods of four or five days, they\nusually bathed in streams for purification.\nCuriously, wives\u2019 menstruations had to be observed by their husbands in\na number of ways. Most common was prohibition of smoking, and they must\neat lightly. Among mountain Maidu the husband could hunt and fish, but\ncould not eat any flesh; among Atsugewi the reverse was true.\nMarriage itself was not formalized with any ceremony. It was common\npractice for parents to arrange marriages when children were young and\nthese arrangements, which involved some exchange of gifts or payment,\nwere usually honored later. Most other marriages were arranged by\nparents later when the children had reached maturity and generally these\nrecognized the children\u2019s wishes. Both of these types of marriages were\nthe basis for extensive exchange of presents and visits, details of\nwhich differed among the several tribes. In addition there was almost\nuniversal payment for the girl\u2014about ten strings of clamshell disks was\nstandard. The boy and girl became husband and wife simply upon starting\nto live together, but the new status was usually marked by a feast\nparticipated in by the families concerned. Generally there followed a\nperiod of residence of the couple with one or both of the in-laws. On\noccasion marriages grew from intimacies with no parental negotiations,\nbut such matches were not well regarded by the community.\nIndian men frequently married women from other villages and occasionally\neven women from other tribes.\nIf a wife died her sister was generally obliged to marry the widower.\nLikewise, if the husband died it was customary that his brother would\nmarry the widow. A wise institution was the relationship of the husband\nand wife with their in-laws. Neither could speak to nor hand things\ndirectly to the in-law of opposite sex, or in some cases even to the\nbrothers and sisters of the in-laws; such things had to be done by a\nthird party. In some instances the mother-in-law even avoided looking at\nher son-in-law even though she might like him. Such arrangements no\ndoubt prevented many arguments and quarrels, but as far as their own\nevaluation of these customs were concerned, the basis lay in the belief\nthat a bear might eat either or both of the violators of the in-law\ntaboos.\nThe practice of having more than one wife at a time was common. One man\nmight have three or four wives, but rarely had more than two at a time.\nRich men or head-men and chiefs were most apt to have more than two\nwives.\nDivorce was simple indeed. The man just sent the girl back home if she\nwere barren, lazy, promiscuous, or the like. If he had good reasons for\nwanting to get rid of his wife, her purchase price might be refunded by\nher family, or else the ex-wife\u2019s sister might be sent to him in\nexchange, or, sometimes, in addition with no additional payment. On the\nother hand, the wife might leave her husband if she had been badly\nmistreated, or if the husband did not provide enough meat and clothing\nfor the family or if he were unfaithful. In divorce the children were\ndivided. Usually, but not always, the girls remained with their mother\nand the boys with their father. However, divorce was not common among\nIndians of this region.\nOn the whole, morals were high and sexual deviations were infrequent,\nalthough the whole range of such practices were known to the aborigines.\nIt appears beyond argument that divorces, moral laxity, and sexual\naberrations increased with the coming of white man.\nAtsugewi and mountain Maidu left the corpse in the house for one day.\nThey prepared it for burial by dressing it well and adding bead\nnecklaces, then wrapping it in a hide. Yana did the same, washing the\nbody first, and although also adorning the corpse with jewelry, they\nalways removed decorative nose ornaments, replacing these with simple\nsticks. According to Voegelin, Atsugewi removed the body for burial\nprone and feet first through the wall of the house, but Garth states\nthat the body was removed through the southern ventilator passage or\nthrough the regular entrance way in the roof.\nThe mountain Maidu, Yana, Yahi, and usually the Atsugewi bent the body\ninto a position called flexed. The arms were folded across the chest and\nthe knees were drawn up against the stomach before wrapping the corpse\nin a robe which was then sewn shut. The mountain Maidu sometimes put the\nwrapped cadaver into a large basket. Voegelin was of the opinion that\nAtsugewi buried their dead lying flat on their backs, and if so, always\nwith the head toward the east. It is thought that this prone burial\nmight be a recent innovation learned from white man.\nMourners among all of our local tribes wailed aloud and brought gifts\nfor the dead. Women, especially the older ones, mourned vigorously. To\nquote Garth again on Atsugewi, of their mourning he states:\n  \u201cThe deceased\u2019s close relatives mourned the hardest, but friends might\n  also mourn\u2014\u2014\u2018to make them feel better.\u2019 Mourners cried and rolled on\n  the ground, throwing dirt and hot ashes in their faces and hair. Some,\n  in their grief, tried to commit suicide, and a close watch had to be\n  kept over them to prevent their doing so. Favorite methods were to\n  swallow small bits of (obsidian) or to eat a certain kind of spider.\n  Mourners were warned not to cry around the house near the body but to\n  go to the hills to cry, and also not to look down when crying or to\n  cry too much. Otherwise they were subject to bad dreams in which\n  spirits would plague them and possibly kill them. A mourner might\n  acquire power at this time. A widow, with possibly a sister to help\n  her, would wail for a time at daybreak and again in the evening. This\n  lasted for two or three months, sometimes longer. A widower seldom\n  cried more than two or three weeks. The widow visited places at which\n  she had camped with her husband, broke up utensils left there, burned\n  down the brush where he was accustomed to cut wood, and piled up rocks\n  where they had slept together. A widower behaved in similar\n  fashion.... If death occurred in a village, no entertainments could be\n  held for a time; otherwise relatives of the deceased had the right to\n  break things up and throw them around. A man would not sing or attend\n  a \u2018big time\u2019 gathering until at least a year after death of a close\n  relative.\u201d\nIf the lodge were to be lived in again, after a person had died in it,\nAtsugewi brought in juniper boughs, and these were burned to purify the\nhouse. Bark huts, however, were always burned down after an occupant had\ndied.\nMountain Maidu children were kept away from the dead and from the\nfuneral proceedings. In that tribe and probably among all local tribes,\nif the deceased were rich the funeral would be much larger and more\npretentious than if the person had been poor. In the former case the\nceremony was followed by a feast. Other tribes buried the dead in the\nevening generally within twenty-four hours after death, but Yana waited\nthree or four days. Mountain Maidu grave diggers put grass in their\nmouths. Small shallow graves sufficed for poor people, in fact, among\nAtsugewi, at least, poor people were often buried in small depressions\nin lava flows and covered over with convenient rocks.\nEnroute to Atsugewi burials no one was permitted to look back, and water\nwas sprinkled along the path to prevent the dead person\u2019s spirit from\nreturning to the village. At the grave the dead were asked aloud please\nnot to look back, for if they did other members of their families would\ndie soon.\nCremation, that is, burning of corpses was rare among tribes of the\nLassen area. At the battlefield and in other instances of death far from\nhome, especially in the case of mountain Maidu, burning was done\noccasionally. After this the bones were collected, wrapped in buckskin,\nand then buried.\nThe flexed bodies of the dead were always placed in graves facing\neastward. Widows customarily attempted to throw themselves into the\ngraves, but were restrained from doing so. A basket of water was\ninvariably placed next to the body, and most personal property of the\ndeceased was broken and also placed in the grave. The amount of property\nso disposed of varied with the tribe. Mountain Maidu and especially the\nYana tribes put practically everything in the grave. The latter even\nwent so far as to include many gifts of a nature not normally associated\nwith the sex. Aprons and baskets, for instance, might be placed in a\nman\u2019s burial. Among Atsugewi the relatives retained some of the property\nof the deceased. Atsugewi might place some food on the grave and mark it\nwith a vertical stick, but it was not tended later, and the site was\ngenerally soon lost.\nIn winter a person might be buried shallowly in the floor of a living\nhouse. Next spring the house would be torn down and the dirt walls caved\nin. There was variation not only between, but within tribes as to the\nfinal disposition of houses of the deceased. They might be burned down,\na common practice, or they were torn down, abandoned, temporarily\ndeserted, or torn down and rebuilt. If to be lived in again,\npurification of some sort was always practiced, either by burning\njuniper boughs in the house, smoking tobacco, bringing in aromatic\nplants, or treating the main beams. Among Yana tribes the family seems\nto have habitually abandoned the house right after the funeral and to\nhave burned the whole thing including property and food of all the\ninmates, retaining only the barest necessities of life such as sleeping\nrobes.\nAmong Atsugewi all mourners had to deny themselves meat and fresh fish\nfor one day; then they sweated and swam after the funeral. Mountain\nMaidu mourners, including all persons who had had any part in the\nfuneral, had to undergo four or five days taboo on eating all flesh.\nThey also had to eat alone and from separate dishes, do head scratching\nwith special sticks only, were allowed no hunting, gambling,\nintercourse, or smoking. Purification of those persons contaminated by\nparticipation in burial included swimming and washing every day that the\ntaboos were in effect.\nOnly Atsugewi, of all local tribes, are said to have practiced suicide,\nthough unquestionably it did occur on occasion among all California\nIndians.\nMentioning the name of the deceased in the presence of his relatives was\nconsidered very poor taste, and was actually forbidden in some cases.\nIt was forbidden that the widow touch the corpse, so that relatives had\nto prepare the body for burial. After the funeral, the widow always cut\nher hair off closely. If an Atsugewi, she made a belt out of it, and the\nhair belt was then often decorated with shells. In all local tribes the\nwidow traditionally covered her whole head and face with pitch and\ncovered this with white diatomaceous earth or black charcoal. Touching\nher head or face (the whole body for mountain Maidu) with fingers was\ntaboo; she could do this only with the scratching stick which mountain\nMaidu widows wore around the neck. Raggedy, ill-looking clothes were\nworn by the survivor, and Atsugewi widows put pitch on old basketry caps\nto be worn. A mourning necklace was worn at all times, made of lumps of\nhard pitch strung onto a fiber string. This was worn until remarriage,\nwhich was usually two or three years for Atsugewi and one to three years\nfor mountain Maidu. Pitch on the face and head was normally left on\nuntil it wore off of its own accord.\nThe mourning conduct of grieving men who had lost their wives in death\nwas not nearly so lengthy or as rigorous as was that of widows. Widowers\ncut their hair too, but among Atsugewi the only other observance\nrequired was abstinence of flesh eating for a day. Mountain Maidu\nwidowers spent one sleepless night out in the mountains. Widowers did\nnot generally sing at dances and at \u201cbig times\u201d for about a year, but\nthis was not compulsory. The Yana are said to have stayed away from\ndances for two or three years.\nParents mourning the loss of children cut their hair slightly and placed\nsome pitch on hair or faces. The Atsugewi mother observed a three day\nmeat taboo and the Maidu father went to the hills to seek power.\nHowever, loss of a baby in birth or before its navel cord dropped off\nwas considered a more serious situation. Such bereaved parents gave all\nof their belongings away in order to make a fresh start.\nAnniversary mourning rites were not conducted in the Lassen region. An\nexception was the rare instance among Atsugewi when a child was sick at\na time just three years after the death of its parent. Under such\ncircumstances a shaman sang over the child and the whole remaining\nfamily and relatives mourned, later washing themselves. With respect to\nthe general lack of mourning anniversaries it is of interest that the\nfoothill (northeast) Maidu held elaborate annual burnings for several\nyears after death of relatives. At these great mourning dance ceremonies\nlarge quantities of valuable possessions were burned as sacrifices to\nhonor the dead.\n                       COUNTING, TIME, AND PLACE\nCounting on the fingers was usual practice. Mountain Maidu started with\ntheir thumbs while Atsugewi began on the little finger of one hand and\ncounted across to that on the other hand, and toes were used for the\npurpose too. To help in counting, tribes also employed sticks to\nrepresent groups of numbers: Atsugewi used sticks to represent 1\u2019s, 5\u2019s,\n10\u2019s, and hundreds. Yana frequently used a stick to represent the unit\n20. This is presumed to be a natural unit because it is the sum of all\nof a person\u2019s fingers and toes.\nTime of day, of course, was not expressed in any unit like our hour, but\nroughly by the position of the sun in its daily course overhead. Seven\nto nine positions were referred to descriptively in this respect plus\nearly, mid, and late night.\nPhases of the moon were most practical and were universally used as a\nlonger measure of time. The succession of new moon cycles were named and\nan old man in the village customarily kept track of these by memory. As\nmight be expected from this system, in which there was no recording,\narguments ensued over just which moon or \u201cmonth\u201d was currently in\neffect. One full course of the moon\u2019s phases takes just about a month,\nso the names for Indians\u2019 moons corresponded nearly to our month names.\nAll local tribes recognized four seasons. These were identified by the\npositions of certain stars among mountain Maidu, but more generally by\nthe positions of the rising sun with respect to a certain peak, tree, or\nsimilar fixed object. Some Indians kept track of the seasons by watching\nthe daily progression of a beam of sunlight coming through the smoke\nhole of a house and falling upon its floor or wall. The shortest day of\nthe year naturally was marked by the most southerly progression of the\nsun. This was noted by the Indians, no doubt with joy in the realization\nthat longer days and, somewhat later, warmer weather were to be\nexpected. The year started with the beginning of November when Indians\nof the Lassen area had left the high elevation hunting grounds on the\nflanks of Lassen Peak, had collected their stores of acorn and salmon,\nand were warmly settled in their winter quarters. Mountain Maidu seem to\nhave used names for only the nine moons most important to them.\nThere was no calendar as such, but the number of days until a certain\n\u201cbig time\u201d or other event was kept track of by either cutting off or\nuntying one knot in a knotted cord or thong each day. Years were not\nrecorded either, but were measured within the memory span as so many\nwinters ago, or by relating time to some important event, such as a war\nwhich most persons might remember.\nDirections were pointed out, or in speech were referred to as sunrise\nand sunset for east and west respectively. Directions were commonly\ngiven with respect to features of the local geography: in the direction\nof such and such a village or toward a named river, spring, or mountain\nwhich was conspicuous or generally known. We must remember that the\nterritories of our local tribes were small and that the terrain was\nintimately known. Specific names were not only given to the conspicuous\nfeatures of the topography, but among Atsugewi, at least, virtually\nevery flat, every draw, and every hill was specifically named, and these\nnames were known to all members of the tribe. Names of places in the\nterritories of other tribes were not known by the local names of those\ntribes. They were either translated or given its own entirely different\nset of names by the first tribe. In other words, each tribe had\ndifferent names for all places\u2014a very confusing situation. Dixon reports\nthat Maidu recognized directions as we know them, but that the northeast\nor mountain Maidu had five: west, northwest (the direction of Lassen\nPeak), north, east, and south.\n                    CONCEPTS OF SUN, MOON, AND STARS\nMountain Maidu and Atsugewi believed the sun to be a female human\u2014the\nwife\u2014and the moon to be a male human\u2014the husband. This is a reversal of\nthe sex ascribed to these bodies by some other tribes. They believed\nthat the figure of a frog was visible in the moon.\nAtsugewi stated that Frog fought Moon and swallowed him and the next\ntime that Moon swallowed Frog who is now in the center of the moon. When\nMoon and Frog fought, the former was not round, but crescent shaped.\nYana stated that in the moon they could see Moon\u2019s wife, Frog. Pine\nMarten snapped his evil father-in-law Moon into the sky by means of\nbending a springy tree \u2019way down and suddenly letting it go. He used the\nsame system to snap Frog and her two daughters into the sky also.\nTo Atsugewi, as to most tribes, the phases of the moon: new, full, and\nwaning, represented birth, life, and death\u2014repeated every four weeks,\nalthough, of course, none of the Indians had the concept of a \u201cweek\u201d\nsuch as we have. All through the year Atsugewi greeted the new moon. Old\npersons shook themselves, and their clothes and bedding in its presence.\nYounger folks ran and jumped toward the moon. If the points or horns of\nthe new moon crescent were vertical it was a bad omen indicating\nsickness or death. Babies were shown the new moon, and in the case of\nboth Atsugewi and mountain Maidu, babies\u2019 faces and arms were rubbed in\nthe new moonlight to make them grow fast. All local tribes addressed the\nmoon aloud in friendly terms as if it were a personal relative. The Yana\nprayed to it. In contrast to Atsugewi reaction to vertical position of\nthe two moon points, the Yana and mountain Maidu accepted this as\nmeaning good fortune and good weather ahead. To these tribes horizontal\nposition of the moon crescent in the winter sky denoted that it was full\nof water and indicated pending rains or storms. At other seasons both\nhorns up foretold of death. Yana thought that both sun and moon were\nfeminine.\nAfter its daily trip across the sky, Atsugewi thought that the sun\nreturned to the east in a blue cloud via the side of the earth. As the\nsun and the moon passed each other at the side of the earth, they\ndecided on the weather for the following day. The moon supplied the cold\nand the sun the heat.\nEclipses of sun and moon were believed by Yana to be due to their dogs\ndevouring them. Atsugewi and mountain Maidu felt that the heavenly\nbodies were dying. The former were of the opinion that Lizard was eating\nSun or Moon as the case might be. They shouted loudly, shot arrows into\nthe air toward the eclipse and beat all available female dogs. Mountain\nMaidu thought that Frog was eating Moon or Sun.\nA reddish moon foretold of disaster and was a sign of war for Atsugewi,\nbut to Yana it meant hot weather ahead.\nOnly a few star groups of the night sky were named.\nYana thought the constellation we call the Belt of Orion was Coyote\u2019s\narrow. All local tribes believed the Milky Way to be a road, or river in\nsome cases, which was traveled by departing spirits or souls of the\ndead. Shooting or Falling stars, (more properly meteorites) presaged\ngood weather to the Atsugewi who thought these were torches carried by\nspirits from one house to another in the sky. For this tribe too, a\nsingle conspicuous star\u2014no doubt a planet\u2014seen near the moon was an evil\nsign. If the star were on the left someone nearby would die soon; if it\nlay to the right of the moon someone farther away was doomed.\nAtsugewi called the Seven Sisters wir-etisu. These girls were seduced by\na little rabbit boy at a puberty dance. They became ashamed and went up\nin the sky to become stars. The Big Dipper was called Coyote\u2019s Cane.\nMaidu thought that stars were made of something soft like buckskin.\nAs mentioned in the preceding chapter, weather was determined by\nagreement between sun and moon, but it appears that many things could\ninfluence their decisions.\nAtsugewi assumed it to be the natural thing that it would sprinkle a\nlittle after a funeral. They also felt that rolling rocks down mountain\nsides or loud shouting in the mountains would cause rain. Furthermore\nthey believed that the occurrence of precipitation could be influenced\nby shamans, if they felt like it, by smoking tobacco while looking at\nthe sun. The nature of the spirit of a girl, whose ears were pierced at\nthis time, was also thought to either cause it to rain or to stop doing\nso according to her spirit power.\nRainbows brought good wild crops as far as the Atsugewi were concerned.\nHowever, both they and mountain Maidu were of the opinion that pointing\nwith a finger at a rainbow, particularly among children would cause the\nfinger to become crooked or to fall off.\nThunder and lightning were feared by all tribes of the Lassen region. To\nAtsugewi thunder was the shouting of an old man who wears a rabbit skin\nand who goes about looking for women whom he kills. Mountain Maidu\nthought it to be due to an old man who lives up above and who was once a\nboy on earth, but who had been sent away because he was too fast and ate\neverything in sight. How he made the noise we do not know.\n  Also, according to Dixon, \u201cThunder is thought to be a man or boy of\n  miraculous abilities. He eats trees chiefly. Had it not been for\n  Mosquito, however, Thunder would have preyed on people. Mosquito\n  deceived him, and refused to let Thunder know whence the blood and\n  meat he brought came. Had Thunder found out that Mosquito obtained\n  these from people, they, and not the trees, would have been his prey.\u201d\n  To Yana, thunder was a mythical dog originally: \u201c... a child dug from\n  the ground who accompanied Flint Boy to the west in the guise of a\n  dog. He remained behind in the black storm clouds capping Bally\n  Mountain, a high peak west of Redding, whence his terrific bark could\n  be heard as thunder.\u201d\nAtsugewi and mountain Maidu, fearing thunder and lightning, talked to\nthem and told them to go away. Old men in the latter tribe carried\nburning sticks in a circle to help drive them away. Atsugewi placed\nskins, preferably raccoon, on sticks held up in the air. They would wave\nthese around and call aloud words to the effect that there are: \u201cToo\nmany rattlesnakes here, go some other place!\u201d. Not only that, but\nfrequently during a thunder storm, especially if violent, they would run\ninto open areas, and sometimes even jump into water. Lightning was\nthought to be the weapon of the old man, Thunder Person, mentioned\nabove. It came out of his mouth. Apparently Thunder Person was thought\nto assume the form of a raccoon on occasion. Maidu also believed that it\nwould thunder whenever a person was bitten by a rattlesnake or when a\ngreat man died or when a woman had a miscarriage.\nWhirlwinds were generally regarded as evil omens which sickened people\nwith bad dreams and captured peoples\u2019 shadows or spirits. Indians tried\nto dodge or hide from them. They spoke informally to whirlwinds.\nMountain Maidu said that they put pains into people. Whenever possible,\nMaidu smoked tobacco when talking to whirlwinds. Atsugewi threw dirt and\nwater at the dust devils in an effort to destroy them. Yana did\nlikewise, but they did not believe that spirits were inside of\nwhirlwinds.\nLassen Peak and its vicinity are subject to many local earthquakes\ntoday. The geologic nature of the area indicates that this has been so\nfor thousands of years. Lassen Peak was known to the Atsugewi as\nWicuhirdiki, which has no meaning. The area was thought to be inhabited\nby a powerful spirit, but Garth notes that there seemed to be no fear\nabout hunting and fishing there, and the Indians apparently utilized the\nhot springs medicinally. Garth recorded one pertinent bit of Atsugewi\n(Apwaruge) myth as follows:\n  \u201cThere once was an earthquake that shook this country up and made\n  those boulders out on the flat shake. It shook so much that it made\n  people sick. There was a very old woman whose hair was almost green.\n  She picked up a rock and pounded it on another rock while she sang.\n  She was praying for the world to stop shaking. Soon she got an answer,\n  and the shaking ceased. Many people were killed. Those who lived in\n  canyons were covered by rocks that were shaken down.\u201d\nYana interpretation of the perplexing and frightening phenomenon of\nearthquakes is tied in, as we might expect, with mythology as follows,\nto quote from Sapir and Spier:\n  \u201cA series of fabulous malignant beings were conceived as dwelling in\n  certain localities. In the Sacramento River were water grizzlies\n  (hat-en-na) which pulled fishermen down to devour (them).... They were\n  spotted black and white, like dogs. Somewhere (not specified) was a\n  serpent (e-k-u) which killed people. Near Terry\u2019s mill were believed\n  to dwell malignant little beings (yo-yautsgi), like little children.\n  They often enticed people and ate them up. At a marshy spot and spring\n  on Round Mountain, called Ha-mupdi (?), dwelled a being called\n  Mo-s-ugi-yauna who caused the ground to shake when he was displeased.\n  \u201cOnce Mo-s-ugi-yauna made a little baby of himself and put himself in\n  the road of two women. One of them took it up and in sport gave it one\n  of her nipples to suck, though she was really without milk. The baby\n  kept sucking until the girl tried to take her breast away, but without\n  success. The baby kept sucking at her, sucked up her flesh, and at\n  last sucked up her whole body.\n  \u201cThis being was displeased if strangers came near and talked anything\n  but Yana. Once some Yreka Indians came and talked Chinook jargon at\n  that place, whereupon the earth began to shake violently. At last the\n  owner of the place cried out to Mo-s-ugi-yauna that it was not he who\n  had thus spoken and begged him \u2018in the doctor way\u2019 to stop, whereupon\n  he did.\u201d\n                   CREATION BELIEFS AND OTHER LEGENDS\nAll local Indians believed in a mythical age when animals were persons\nand talked to each other. Both Atsugewi and mountain Maidu thought that\nfloods played a part in the past scheme of things before people were\ncreated by gifted animal ancestors.\n  Garth relates that \u201cAtsugewi mythology tells of the successive\n  creation of two former worlds, the first of which was destroyed by a\n  great flood and the second by a fire which Coyote instigated in an\n  attempt to kill his rival, Grey Fox. After this both Coyote and Grey\n  Fox descended from the heavens on a long rope to the primeval sea\n  below. Here Grey Fox took combings from his fur (in some accounts a\n  piece of sod) and proceeded to make land of it, stretching it to all\n  sides until the present earth was made, in concept a large island\n  floating in the sea. Grey Fox then created trees, animals, and finally\n  people. The sun and moon were two brothers whom Grey Fox told to mount\n  into the sky to light the world, the one during the day and the other\n  at night.... Grey Fox first wanted to create two moons and two suns,\n  but Coyote objected saying that it would be too hot. Grey Fox then\n  made only the sun and one moon.\u201d\n  In a somewhat different version, Dixon has recorded that the Atsugewi\n  \u201c... recount how, in the beginning, there was only the illimitable sea\n  and the cloudless sky. Slowly in the sky a tiny cloud began to form,\n  and grew till it reached considerable proportions. Then gradually it\n  condensed, and, becoming solid, became the Silver-Gray Fox, the\n  Creator. Then arose immediately a fog; and from this, as it condensed,\n  and coagulated as it were, arose Coyote. By a process of\n  long-continued and intense thought, the Creator created a canoe into\n  which both he and Coyote descended, and for long years floated and\n  drifted aimlessly therein, till, the canoe having become moss-grown\n  and decayed, they had, perforce, to consider the necessity of creating\n  a world whereon they might take refuge.\u201d\nThe Yana legends quoted below from Gifford and Klimek (first) and from\nSapir and Spier are from the northern and central tribes, of that\npeople. These legends are given in lieu of those of southern Yana and\nYahi, with which this book should be concerned, because of the\nsimilarity of the culture of these four tribes. It is extremely unlikely\nthat there would be very great differences in their legends and beliefs\nof creation. Obviously each tribe had its own unique details.\n  North Yana: \u201cCoyote, assistant creator, was marplot (the evil schemer)\n  who brought death into the world as follows: Coyote, his two sons, and\n  other people went down-stream to get clamshells. The people played.\n  Coyote\u2019s sons seized the clamshells and ran off with them. One escaped\n  with the stolen shells, but the other was killed. The Coyote boy who\n  escaped shouted to Old Man Coyote, who sat in his assembly house and\n  observed daily what transpired. Coyote boy told the old man his\n  brother was dead. Old Coyote then mourned for his son. Silver Fox told\n  him not to cry, but to clean the assembly house and bring in the dead\n  boy. They strewed the floor with straw and built fire. Silver Fox told\n  old Coyote to lie down and pretend to sleep. \u2018Do not move,\u2019 said\n  Silver Fox. This was to cause dead boy to revive. They started to cut\n  old Coyote\u2019s belly to get back the spirit of his dead son. Old Coyote\n  shouted with pain and said: \u2018Let him stay dead. The dead shall remain\n  dead.\u2019 Thus he spoiled Silver Fox\u2019s plan for resurrection.\u201d\n  Central Yana: \u201c... the creation of people took place at Wama-riwi, a\n  village at the cove north of Battle Creek and several miles west of\n  the present Shingletown, that is, roughly at the center of Yana\n  territory. Here in the beginning were Lizard and Cottontail (in\n  Dixon\u2019s version, Lizard, Gray Squirrel, and Coyote; in Curtin\u2019s,\n  Silkworm) who had no predecessors. Discussing how people shall be\n  made, Lizard lays down sticks which they carry to the four directions\n  to become neighboring Indian tribes. Realizing that they have omitted\n  those at the center, they put down bad (short) sticks there. Hence the\n  Yana are shorter than any of their neighbors: a view held by the Yana\n  and repeated by Powers as fact. In Dixon\u2019s version (from the same\n  informant) Lizard carefully prepares three sticks for Atsugewi,\n  Wintun, and Achomawi, and as an afterthought, short sticks for the\n  Yana. The first three are placed to the east, west, and north; the\n  others are boiled to transform them into humans. Coyote refuses to\n  recognize them until they speak properly, that is, the Yana tongue.\n  Curtin\u2019s version is quite different, although still the Yana are\n  created from sticks: his presumably Northern Yana informant, himself a\n  chief, placed the locale in his own country, at Round Mountain. Here\n  Silkworm puts down three sticks, for the Yana chief, a woman, and an\n  orphan, and a large number around the first for common people; he\n  instructs them how to procure food and admonishes that they obey the\n  chief.\n  \u201cThe origin of sex, or rather its proper attribution rests in the\n  circumstance that in the beginning, women were men; men were women.\n  The women were such poor hunters that people starved. To remedy this,\n  Cottontail placed stones in a fire; when the women were seated, the\n  stones burst, cutting their proper organs, and the women became men.\n  Hands were then webbed like Lizard\u2019s. In order that they might handle\n  bows and pestles, Lizard, experimenting, cut his fingers apart. With\n  this as a model, he separated those of humans. (In Curtin\u2019s version,\n  Water Lizard remedies the defect for himself alone.) In the beginning\n  when people died, they rose from their graves again. Coyote, who\n  objected to these improvements of human affairs, not only proposes\n  that they shall stay dead but stamps down a dead man who would rise.\n  When his own son dies, he changes his mind, but Lizard, Cottontail,\n  and Gray Squirrel will have none of it, so that death and mourning\n  were established forever.\u201d\n  Again Garth is here quoted on Atsugewi beliefs: \u201cAs in most of\n  northern California there are numerous natural phenomena in Atsugewi\n  territory which marked some mythological event. A low cone-like rock\n  in Dixie Valley was said to be a basket belonging to Coyote. About\n  four miles south of Pittville on the old village site of Mawakasui was\n  an oblong rock ten feet or so in length which was said to be the\n  petrified remains of a lizard whom Butterfly had killed. The extremely\n  rough tongue of lava-covered land extending down the center of Hat\n  Creek Valley was created by Porcupine to impede Coyote with whom\n  Porcupine was running a race. Eagle Lake was said to have been\n  formerly in Atsuge territory, but Coyote tired of the manzanita\n  berries and camass roots which the people fed to him here, so he moved\n  the lake to the Apwaruge country. Here the people fed him epos roots\n  and treated him better.\u201d\n  The Maidu concept of the world according to Dixon is that of \u201c...\n  floating on the surface of a great sea, but anchored by five ropes\n  stretched by the Creator, which hold the island steady, and prevent it\n  from drifting about. Occasionally some being seizes these ropes and\n  shakes them, and this causes earthquakes. The world was flat when\n  first made from the bit of mud brought up from the depths of the\n  primeval sea by the turtle (turtle does not appear in the northeast or\n  mountain Maidu version) or from the robin\u2019s nest floating in the sea.\n  Later the Creator and the Coyote went about over the world, making the\n  rivers and mountains. Coyote was in general responsible for the\n  latter, and for the extreme roughness of the country....\u201d The\n  Creator\u2019s stone canoe is said to be visible today on top of Keddie\n  Peak just north of Indian Valley (Greenville); also his and Coyote\u2019s\n  dance houses may be seen as huge circular depressions at what is now\n  Durham (near Chico).\n  In his extensive collection of Maidu myths, Dixon observes that\n  \u201cThroughout the myths there is nowhere any suggestion that the Maidu\n  had any knowledge of any other region, that they were immigrants in\n  the land where they live. This complete absence of any migration\n  tradition is a feature which is very characteristic, and serves to\n  differentiate the mythology not only of the Maidu, but of most\n  Californian tribes, from that of the Southwest, and much of the\n  eastern portion of the continent.\u201d\n  He further states: \u201chere the creation is a real beginning: beyond it,\n  there is nothing. In the beginning was only the great sea, calm and\n  unlimited, to which, down from the clear sky, the Creator came, or on\n  which he and Coyote were floating in a canoe. Of the origin of\n  previous place of abode of either Creator or Coyote, the Maidu know\n  nothing....\u201d\n  \u201c... the whole series of tales told by the stock ... appeared to\n  follow one another in a more or less regular and recognized order.\n  Beginning with the creation, a rather systematic chain of events leads\n  up to the appearance of the ancestors of the present Indians, with\n  whose coming the mythic cycle came to a close. This mythic era, the\n  be-be-ito, seems to fall into a number of periods, with each of which\n  a group or set of myths has to deal. First, we have the coming of\n  Ko-do-yan-pe (Earth-Namer or Creator) and Coyote, their discovery of\n  this world, and the preparation of it for the \u2018first people\u2019; next the\n  creation of these first people, and the making and planting of the\n  germs of the human race, the Indians, who were to come after; third,\n  the long period during which the first people were in conflict, and\n  were in the end changed to the various animals in the present world.\n  In this period Earth-Maker tries to put an end to Coyote, whose evil\n  ways and wishes are in direct contrast to his own.\u201d Creator was always\n  dignified and striving to make life easy, happy, and deathless for\n  mankind, while Coyote, a trickster and amorous knave, worked with\n  continued success to render life difficult for man with the result\n  that man\u2019s lot is to suffer and finally to die. This belief was\n  generally uniform among the tribes of the Lassen area. \u201c... During\n  this period Earth-Maker strives for a last time in vain with Coyote,\n  his defeat, and disappearance toward the East coincident with the\n  appearance of the human race, which bursts forth from the spots where\n  the original pairs had been buried long before.\u201d These potential human\n  beings had been made \u201c... as tiny wooden figures by the Creator, and\n  planted here and there in pairs, that they might grow in secret and\n  safety during the time of monsters and great conflicts....\u201d\n  In other myths also there is great similarity among the Maidu,\n  Atsugewi, Yana, and Yahi. Dixon says concerning \u201c... The theft of\n  fire, for instance.... In all, the fire is held by a man and his\n  daughters, and is discovered largely through the agency of the Lizard;\n  the fire is watched and guarded by a sentinel bird, is stolen in\n  consequence of his sleeping while on guard, and pursuit by the women\n  is hindered by the strings of their skirts being cut as they sleep.\n  The fire is brought back by a group of animals, among whom the fire is\n  divided for safety; and the pursuers, who are usually Thunder, and his\n  two daughters Rain and Hail, are put to flight.\u201d\nThe bulk of the important doctoring was done by shamans or medicine men.\nThis was all based on supernatural faith and fear. As we know from\nadvances of our modern civilization in the field of psychosomatic\nmedicine, such \u201cin the mind\u201d cures were highly effective in practice.\nWith all due respect to the modern medical profession, it is a foregone\nconclusion that from 50% to 75% of the patients of today\u2019s general\nmedical doctor are going to get well eventually without any bonafide\nmedical treatment anyway. This percentage favored the shamans too.\nBesides shamans there were secondary Indian doctors called herbalists.\nAmong Atsugewi, these persons did not have the power of shamans, and\ncould not cure disease, but only check or weaken it. However, this class\nof doctor did administer various medicines internally and externally,\nand gave treatments which may actually have been\u2014in some cases\u2014of\nbenefit beyond mere faith healing. These remedies were handed down, as\nwas all Indian knowledge, by word of mouth from generation to\ngeneration. Old men taught the young.\nHerbalists were able to make snake bite victims recover; treatment\nincluded sucking the wound. Cauterization or burning of affected parts\nwas practiced. Atsugewi treated rheumatism in patients with vapor baths\nin a trench of hot coals on which pine needles and yerba santa or\nmountain balm branches were placed, with a robe over all.\nMountain Maidu smoked wild parsnip for headaches, colds, and wounds.\nMountain Maidu and Atsugewi believed that toothaches were caused by the\npresence of worms in the teeth. Corrective poultices were placed on the\ncheek. Yana did this too, but placed a hot stone on the poultice, and\nalso bit on a mole\u2019s front foot, dried, to relieve the pain. Atsugewi\noften set the poultice on fire which might leave permanent scars.\nThe seeds of rosinweed, a member of the sunflower family, were\ncollected, then shelled, cooked, dried, and finally pounded. This\nmedicine was taken for chills. Wild iris roots were chewed raw for\ncoughing.\nDecoctions, that is, water in which plants had been boiled to extract\ntheir medicinal juices, were drunk. California angelica, a member of the\nparsley family, was used in this way for colds, diarrhea, headache, et\ncetera. This medication was popular with all local tribes for treating\nmany ills.\nYana used poultices of roots of bracken fern, pounded and warmed for\napplication to burns. The bulbs of false solomon seal were pounded fine\nand also hot soap-root poultices were applied to swellings, pains, or\nboils. Peeled California angelica roots were crushed and laid on aching\nheads.\nGround squirrel grease was used to soften rough hands and to relieve\ncracking of the skin from chapping.\nAtsugewi employed green leaves of chokecherry, pounded as poultices, for\ncuts, sores, and bruises. The boiled liquor of pounded chokecherry bark\nwas used for bathing wounds to promote healing.\nThey employed decoctions of wormwood to prevent blood poisoning and to\ntreat cuts. Decoctions of greenleaf manzanita leaves were good for cuts\nand burns. Both oak bark and oak gall decoctions were drunk to prevent\ninfection and catching colds and were given to women in childbirth.\nAtsugewi also chewed raw juniper berries as a treatment for colds.\nObviously there was a host of other treatments as we know of a large\nvariety of other plants, roots, and fruits which were used medicinally.\nBroken bones were set as best they could be set, and were bound up in\nsimple but effective splints.\nFor general good health Garth states that an Atsugewi \u201c... man chewed\nthe top shoot off a young pine tree. Especially was this done by a\nfather after his wife bore a child.\u201d\nIn Yana sweat houses and probably in those of other tribes too, veins\nwere cut with obsidian chips to \u201clet the bad blood out\u201d if a person felt\nill.\nGhosts and spirits were one and the same, and were to local Indians as\nsouls are conceived by white man, yet the Indian conception was more\nvariable. Some spirits were good and others were evil, but all were\nfeared and avoided whenever possible. They were frequently associated\nwith omens and had somewhat the appearance of human beings. Among\nAtsugewi they were visible only to shamans, but were heard by nearly all\npersons. Yana commoners both saw and heard spirits, but only very\nrarely.\nThe spirit left the body right after death. Mountain Maidu thought that\nit turned back once before going on. Yana believed that the spirit\ntarried in the vicinity of the body for a while, going to the south\nfirst briefly for a sort of trial or evaluation which included\ndetermination as to whether or not the nose septum had been pierced.\nThen, as all local Indians apparently agreed, the ghost or spirit went\nto a distant place in the west via the Milky Way. Yana thought that\nthere was some distinction in destination of good and bad persons\u2019\nghosts, but our other tribes conceived only of one place for all spirits\nfinally. We do not today have a very clear understanding of the\naboriginal Indian concept of heaven except that people lived in this\nland of the dead in sweat houses, hunting, eating, loving, and sleeping,\nbut with complete absence of sickness. Concepts of the life of spirits\nchanged with the coming of the whites preceding even the advent of\npioneer settler days. All information in that regard which students have\nbeen able to gain from informants in this region is decidedly flavored\nwith Christian dogma.\nSpirits or ghosts returned to old haunts of the body on occasion or,\nmore often, to the vicinity of the grave. For this reason burial grounds\nwere usually well removed from villages. Bad smells would drive spirits\naway, while whistling and flowers attracted them. Fiber-wound crossed\nsticks were hung in sweat houses of Yana tribes to keep spirits out. All\ntribes of the Lassen area thought that ghosts visited the living in\ndreams and also considered it feasible that the spirits of people might\ngo to visit those of the dead when the persons were asleep, or more\ncommonly when the living were unconscious.\nMountain Maidu didn\u2019t speak much about ghosts, but if one had been\nmaking a nuisance of itself by visiting much in dreams, they fed it by\nhaving all members of the family throw small portions of food into the\nfire before commencing to eat their meals. Besides, a shaman was hired\nunder these circumstances to sing for the dreamer. The same ceremony was\nobserved by the Atsugewi. It was also the practice of the dreamer in\nthis tribe to eat with a dog, spitting out some of the food, saying to\nthe dog, \u201cYou better eat for me. Take that spirit away.\u201d Atsugewi were\nevidently very conscious of ghosts for they spoke to them, spit out\nchewed epos roots for the spirits, smoked tobacco for them, burned hair\nand skin to repel them, and tobacco and feather bundles were hung near\nthe house doorways for their benefit. New Atsugewi parents had a unique\nritual at the time of their first meat eating after the taboos of\nchildbirth\u2014they chewed small amounts of meat and put this on their toes\nfor the dogs to eat.\n  Garth says of Atsugewi spirit beliefs: \u201cA man who was about to die,\n  whether he felt sick or not, had a peculiar odor about him. If he went\n  hunting, deer ran from him saying, \u2018Phew, that man smells bad.\u2019\n  Coyotes and dogs would come close to him and bark at him. He would die\n  unless a shaman could remove this aura of death from him.\u201d\nThere were many omens of a spirit nature which foretold calamity. To\nAtsugewi upon hearing the cries of certain animals at night, especially\nif an owl hooted at one, or if one saw a kingsnake, death was supposed\nto descend upon a relative.\nIf evil spirits frightened a person and tried to steal his soul, the\nspirits could be foiled by standing with one\u2019s feet widely spread apart.\nIf followed by a ghost, a person might turn around, retracing his\nfootsteps while the spirit continued in the direction one had been\ntraveling initially.\nWhen a person was asleep his spirit could wander around. If, during\nthese wanderings, a bad spirit caught the person\u2019s spirit before he\ncould awaken, the person was deprived of it.\nAlso the spirit on occasion left a person voluntarily if it didn\u2019t like\nthe body, as for instance, if it smelled badly. When a person\u2019s spirit\nor soul were gone, only the heart was left to keep him alive, and he\nwould succumb easily to the first sickness. For this reason, Atsugewi\nshamans periodically examined all the people to see if any spirits were\nmissing. When anyone was found lacking his spirit, the shaman had to\nwork to bring it back, sucking it into the person\u2019s head. If several\nspirits were missing at once, it was not easy to get the right spirit\nback into its own body. They didn\u2019t know what would happen if a person\ngot the wrong soul back into his body\u2014but it wasn\u2019t good.\n                        SHAMANISM AND DOCTORING\nShamans or doctors, more commonly known to modern Americans by the name\nmedicine men, were important in the lives of all Indians but, among\nours, probably to the highest degree among the Maidu. Whether we, with\nour scientific enlightenment today, are after all happier and of greater\npeace of mind, than the aborigines were or not, is a philosophical\nconsideration beyond the scope of this book. The fact of the matter is\nthat mankind in the past invariably has resorted to the supernatural to\nexplain things not understood. Indians are a case in point\u2014being totally\nwithout scientific explanations, mysticism and the supernatural pervaded\ntheir whole culture\u2014their every day activities\u2014to a point which to us\ntoday seems fantastic, yet understandable in a way. If you and I had\nbeen in the Indian\u2019s place, might not we also have subscribed whole\nheartedly to these same beliefs with which we would have grown up, and\nwhich our loved and trusted elders had taught us in good faith?\nShamanism gave to the Indians a feeling of comfort and, shall we say,\nsecurity?\u2014a sort of foundation of faith which all men must have for the\nliving of reasonably satisfying lives.\nShamans were men of influence in the village, with prestige second only\nto that of the chief. Women shamans were uncommon and usually possessed\nless potent power. The life of a shaman was precarious because if he\nfailed to effect a high percentage of cures or if he were \u201cproven\u201d\nresponsible for sending pains which caused death to persons, he might be\nkilled\u2014sometimes even with the advance approval of the chief, and\nwithout retaliation by the offending shaman\u2019s relatives. When this was\ndone, he was cut into pieces, not for the morbid reasons, the reader\nmight suspect, but for the practical reason that the parts of his body\ncould in this way be disposed of in widely scattered places. Otherwise\nthere was the danger that he might, with the help of his power, be\nreassembled and again be able to continue his malpractice and to include\nhis murderers among future victims.\nThere were several kinds of shamans among the local Indians. Each tribe\nin the Lassen area had the all important Sucking Shaman. Atsugewi and\nmountain Maidu also had special Bear, Rattlesnake, and Weather Shamans\nwhile only Yana had Singing Shamans in addition.\nThe power of shamans was much more potent than mere \u201cluck\u201d which came\neasily to the majority of ordinary mortals in dreams, during puberty\nceremonies, and the like. This \u201cluck\u201d was a weak supernatural blessing\nwhich was not sought, but came voluntarily and gave the person skill and\nsuccess in crafts and daily pursuits such as fishing, hunting certain\nanimals or birds, canoe making, et cetera.\nIt would be impractical in this book to give the complicated and\nvoluminous details of all phases of shamanism as conceived and practiced\nby each of the four local tribes. The following information has been\nsomewhat generalized in the hope that the reader will get the \u201cfeel\u201d of\nthe shaman concept which was essentially the same for all the tribes of\nthe Lassen area.\nPower was usually sought by men desiring to be shamans, but all were not\nsuccessful in such quests. On the other hand shamanistic power came to\nsome voluntarily, and it was dangerous not to accept this power if it\ncame to one. To refuse might cause death. One could tell when one was\nsuccessful in getting power because one would bleed from the nose or\nmouth. He would also learn to sing and dance, and would receive\ninstructions and paraphernalia from his guardian spirit.\nShamanistic power could be acquired in a number of ways, not all of\nwhich applied to each tribe being considered. A rare means was by\ninheritance. If an old shaman had power and if this power or guardian\nspirit liked his son or nephew, it would say \u201cSometimes I\u2019m going to\nplay with that boy\u201d and so it goes to the boy. At sundown the latter\nlistens to it sing to him and he gets the power. The boy learns about it\nin the vision and from the old shaman\u2019s instructions.\n    [Illustration: Small portions of yellow hammer or red-shafted quill\n    headbands.]\nAnother infrequent way to gain power was involuntarily when seriously\nill, while in a trance, or when dreaming.\nThe third and usual method of acquiring the shamanistic power was by\nvision quest. It was a difficult ordeal. This might be undertaken at\nvarious times of life, but most commonly at or near puberty. In questing\npower there was no assurance of success, no matter how sincere a person\nmight be, or how hard he might try. Successful shamans could quest\nrepeatedly for additional powers.\nYouths were prepared for questing by being lectured to by fathers or\nuncles who also pierced their nose septa. Each youth went alone and\nunclothed into certain portions of the mountains for several days and\nnights. He slept little and fasted, eating little or nothing at all; all\nflesh was taboo. The questing usually included swimming in lakes or\nspecial pools and placing the nose piercing stick in an underwater\nniche, and (Yana) securing certain bird feathers. He built a fire,\nsmoking his body over it, and cut himself deliberately. If successful,\nthe power came to him in a trance or faint producing bleeding from the\nnose or mouth.\nThe guardian spirit communicated with the novice, appearing in a vision\nusually. It gave instructions and taught its special ceremonial song. To\nshamans of some tribes the guardian spirit looked something like a\nhuman; to others it looked like a bug or like a small hair. This was the\n\u201cpain\u201d or poison object and yet was considered to be a guardian spirit\nat the same time. This is what the novice acquired in becoming a shaman.\nThis pain or guardian spirit could come from any of many sources. It was\nalive and could talk, and gave the novice certain resultant powers. Most\ncommonly powers were from animals such as coyote, bear, and the like,\nbut also might come from sun, moon, wind, thunder and lightning, eagle,\nhawk, small birds, reptiles, frog, or oldman spirit.\nThe novice then acquired what we might call magic feathers. There were\nseveral types including the popular salmon colored flicker feathers.\nMost important, however, was the feather tuft known as kaku among the\nAtsugewi. This allegedly was found in finished form and not made. So\nfull of power was the kaku that it could not be kept in a house. It was\nplaced outside securely tied to a willow branch beside a stream or\nhidden inside a hollow tree trunk. The kaku was able to move by itself\nso had to be tied down or placed under a rock. When the novice shaman\ndiscovered his kaku, the feathers were singing; when he died, blood\ndripped from its feathers!\nUpon his return to the village, the successful seeker stayed out of\ndwelling houses for a day or two. Among some tribes he was sick for this\nperiod. Universally he sweated and swam. Eating habits of the novice\nshaman varied in different cases, but were always as dictated by the\nspecific instructions given to him by his guardian spirit. Invariably\nall forms of flesh were shunned. He smoked tobacco and gave his first\nhunting kill to an old man. During the novice period the new shaman was\nhelped by old shamans at the fireside in the sweat house. He did much\ndancing, singing, handled hot coals and fire, bled from the mouth, and\nmight fall into a trance.\nIn contrast to herbalist doctors who gave private treatment, that of\nshamans was public and usually conducted indoors, preferably in sweat\nlodges. The shaman needed singing help and the more help and the more\npersons who attended his doctoring the better. Sucking Shamans were the\nmost important and required official assistants. These included one or\nmore interpreters to communicate with the lay helpers or supporters,\nwhile the shaman was doctoring, and an outside speaker to help call the\nshaman\u2019s spirits. Doctoring could take from one to three days and\nnights.\nTo diagnose the patient\u2019s ills the shaman danced about, blowing smoke on\nhim, and singing with the help of the audience. The shamans also drank\nwater, sometimes with a tube, from portable stone mortars with spirit\npower. They often squirted water from their mouths. A whistle was used\nin some cases and often the supernatural powerful cocoon rattle. Among\nmountain Maidu herb medicines might be administered to the patient also.\nAt length the shaman\u2019s guardian spirit or pain told him the location of\nthe disease object, and then he could see or feel it. Often the shaman\nlearned further from the spirit just who it was who had sent the disease\nobject to plague his patient.\nCuring the afflicted was accomplished next by the shaman\u2019s sucking this\npain or disease object out of some portion of the person\u2019s body. The\nevil pain could be any curious small object and this the shaman\nexhibited to all present. The malignant pain was disposed of in a number\nof ways. It might be sent back to the owner who sent it, that is, the\noffending shaman. Or, it might be sent to his children who would be\ndoomed because a shaman could not doctor his own pain. Other times the\ncuring shaman would destroy the disease object by biting it and burning\nit or dispose of it by taking the pain into his own charmed body.\nWhen a whole community had been affected by a pain sent by an evil\nshaman, the pain usually hid in the bushes nearby. In such a case, the\nshaman had to be very powerful to get the best of the situation. First\nhe conducted the ceremony of detection of one victim in the usual sweat\nhouse manner. Once the shaman found out where the trouble was, he went\noutdoors with the villagers to help in corraling the offending pain.\nFrequently only after a lengthy search was he successful in finding the\npain and then capturing it. Upon taking it into his body it might be so\npowerful as to cause him to go into a trance. In this event his\nassistants had to support him bodily, and had to sing for him, otherwise\nthe shaman might die. Without wishing to appear facetious or\ndisparaging, it can be said that a good shaman had to be an excellent\nshowman as well.\nSucking Shamans were obligated to accept all cases which they were asked\nto treat. If they refused any and the afflicted died, then the shamans\nmight be killed themselves by relatives of the persons who succumbed.\nThe thinking was that if a shaman refused a case, he must have had\nsomething to do with making the person sick in the first place.\nPayment was always made to the shaman. The amount was determined by the\npatient\u2019s relatives. They would take the offering to the shaman when\nengaging him, but payment was not made at that time. The shaman looked\nover the proffered payment and might ask for more or for a different\nkind of payment. To give himself a foolproof alibi in case of failure to\ncure, and to increase his prestige if he did cure, he might reply to the\neffect that \u201cThe beads already have the smell of death on them, but I\u2019ll\nsee what I can do about it.\u201d The payment was placed near the patient\nduring healing treatment and was not actually collected by the shaman if\nthe patient died within a few weeks or months. The shaman\u2019s assistants\nwere also paid, but in lesser amounts.\n    [Illustration: Maidu shaman ceremonial neck pendant knife of\n    obsidian, nine and one half inches long (after Dixon)]\nBesides the main function of curing, other good powers of the shamans\nwere the ability to foretell future events, to see what was going on at\ndistant places, and to locate lost or stolen articles. Among certain\ntribes control of weather was also possible by Sucking Shamans\u2014among\nothers there were special shamans with weather power.\nEvil powers of Sucking Shamans could cause illness or death. This was\ndone by talking to the pain and sending it to the victim. The shaman\nmight put it on the end of a willow stick and point it at the person\nwhile singing and smoking tobacco. This could go on all night.\nTransmission of the pain to the intended victim was facilitated by\ncontact, such as sneaking up behind him and touching him, or by putting\nthe disease pain in his food or under his doorstep. The bad pain might\nalso be dispatched by blowing it through a pipe or putting it in the\nvictim\u2019s pipe, or by talking to the shaman\u2019s own animal spirit,\ninjecting the pain into it and then sending the animal to the victim.\nThis power animal might just take it to the intended person, or it might\nactually attack and bite him. If the evil pain had been successfully\nsent, and the intended dire results occurred, the relatives of the\nvictim had a moral right to kill the offending shaman, without fear of\nretaliation. It seems that the culprit was usually recognized\u2014obviously\noften mistakenly. It follows that shamans\u2019 lives were somewhat\nprecarious, not knowing who was going to find damning evidence against\nthem.\nBy somewhat the same means as described above shamans could steal a\nperson\u2019s spirit or soul, rendering that person liable to quick and sure\ndeath from the slightest accident or illness. Shamans could be hired to\nperform these evil powers.\nSinging Shamans were dreamers foretelling the future and telling the\nliving what their dead relatives wanted them to do. The Singing Shaman\nwas always male among mountain Maidu. Our other tribes did not have this\nspecialist, instead such powers were in the repertoire of the Sucking\nShaman.\nAmong Yana and Yahi tribes, apparently, weather doctoring could be done\nby any shaman, and this was usually the case among Atsugewi. However,\nmountain Maidu had specialized Weather Shamans. These were men who were\ncapable not only of producing rain, snow, or hail, but also fog and high\nwinds, or ending any of these.\nRattlesnake Shamans were generally women among Atsugewi and men among\nmountain Maidu. They could protect people from rattlesnakes or cure\nbites. The latter was accomplished by sucking which removed snakes and\nsnakes\u2019 teeth from the wound.\nBear Shamans did not exist among Yana tribes. Among Atsugewi and\nmountain Maidu these were not specialists, instead bear power was an\nadditional skill of Sucking Shamans. They were almost always men and\npertained not to Black Bear, but only to the California Grizzly. They\nwore bear skin, hair, teeth, and claws and simulated the bear\u2019s actions\nin treating patients. Bear Shamans were called primarily to minister to\nbear wounded persons from whom they sucked out bear blood and teeth.\n                          MISCELLANEOUS MAGIC\nAll tribes of the Lassen region exercised miscellaneous more or less\nsupernatural powers which one might term magic.\nExamples were: carrying a turtleshell on one\u2019s belt which rendered a\nperson immune to rattlesnake strikes, or, among Maidu the rubbing of the\nroot of _Angelica breweri_ on the legs to keep rattlesnakes away.\nPoisoning of persons could be done by some skilled people (not shamans)\nby rubbing an unspecified substance on their hands and then touching the\nvictim\u2019s body; this could drive him crazy or kill him.\nTo mountain Maidu the number five was sacred and lucky according to\nDixon.\n    [Illustration: Yana charmstones and a fir twig basket container for\n    such charms.]\nCharm stones, usually in pairs were found by many fortunate Indians.\nThey were smooth and rounded and were especially effective if possessing\nrings or other special markings on them which were actually surface\ntraces of mineral veins. Quartz crystals, rare in this volcanic region,\nwere also highly prized as charm stones. An ideal storage place for\ncharm stones in their special basketry containers was in a rattlesnake\n\u201cden\u201d where such snakes tended to hibernate in the winter. At any rate\ncharm stones were kept hidden and the owner would secretly rub them on\nhimself to gain good luck in gambling or in other pursuits which\ninvolved much in the way of chance.\n    [Illustration: Atsugewi charmstones]\nPrayers for a variety of reasons were offered simply by the individual.\nIt was common practice every few days or so to make token food offerings\nat mealtime for no specific reason. The bits of food might be thrown to\nthe east or into the fire.\nThus ends this resume of the customs and beliefs of the tribes of the\nLassen region\u2014tribes virtually extinct as such today\u2014tribes which once\nlived here among the scenic beauties of Lassen Volcanic National Park.\nWe, the descendants of the relentless conquerors of these local Indians,\ncome here now to enjoy ourselves and to refresh our bodies and spirits.\nAs we do this on the lands of the vanquished, we owe them not only a\nmoment of thoughtful reverence, but also whatever kindness and aid we\nare able to give their descendants.\n  Dixon, Roland B.: BASKETRY DESIGNS OF THE INDIANS OF NORTHERN\n          CALIFORNIA\n    Feb. 12, 1902, Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History,\n  Dixon, Roland B.: MAIDU MYTHS\n    June 30, 1902, Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History,\n  Dixon, Roland B.: THE NORTHERN MAIDU\n    May 1905, Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History, Vol.\n  Garth, Thomas R.: KINSHIP TERMINOLOGY, MARRIAGE PRACTICES, AND\n          BEHAVIOR TOWARD KIN AMONG THE ATSUGEWI\n    July 1944, American Anthropologist, Vol. 46, No. 3\n  Garth, Thomas R.: EMPHASIS ON INDUSTRIOUSNESS AMONG THE ATSUGEWI\n    Oct. 1945, American Anthropologist, Vol. 47, No. 4\n  Garth, Thomas R.: ATSUGEWI ETHNOGRAPHY\n    Feb. 1953, Anthropological Records, University of California, Vol.\n  Gifford, E. W. and Klimek, Stanislaw: CULTURE ELEMENT DISTRIBUTIONS:\n    1936, University of California Publications in American Archeology\n          and Ethnology, Vol. 37, No. 2\n  Heizer, R. F. and Whipple, M. A.: THE CALIFORNIA INDIANS\n    1951, University of California Press\n  Klimek, Stanislaw: CULTURE ELEMENT DISTRIBUTIONS: I, THE STRUCTURE OF\n          THE CALIFORNIA INDIAN CULTURE\n    1935, University of California Publications in American Archeology\n          and Ethnology\n  Kniffen, Fred B.: ACHOMAWI GEOGRAPHY\n    1928, University of California Publications in American Archeology\n          and Ethnology\n  Kroeber, A. L.: HANDBOOK OF THE INDIANS OF CALIFORNIA\n    1925, Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of American Ethnology,\n  Kroeber, A. L.: CULTURE ELEMENT DISTRIBUTIONS: XV, SALT, DOGS, AND\n          TOBACCO\n    Feb. 1941, Anthropological Records, University of California, Vol.\n  Mason, Otis T.: REPORT OF THE NATIONAL MUSEUM\n  Merriam, C. Hart: CLASSIFICATION AND DISTRIBUTION OF THE PIT RIVER\n          INDIAN TRIBES\n    Smithsonian Institute, Vol. 78, No. 3\n  Pope, Saxton T.: THE MEDICAL HISTORY OF ISHI\n    May 15, 1920, University of California Publications in American\n          Archeology and Ethnology, Vol. 13, No. 5\n  Sapir, Edward: THE POSITION OF YANA IN THE HOKAN STOCK\n    June 1917, University of California Publications in American\n          Archeology and Ethnology, Vol. 13, No. 1\n  Sapir, Edward and Spier, Leslie: NOTES ON THE CULTURE OF THE YANA\n    Sept. 1943, Anthropological Records, University of California, Vol.\n  Sauer, Carl O.: EARLY RELATIONS OF MAN TO PLANTS\n    Jan. 1947, Geographical Review\n  Vogelin, Ermine W.: CULTURE ELEMENT DISTRIBUTIONS: XX, NORTHEAST\n          CALIFORNIA\n    June 1942, Anthropological Records, University of California, Vol.\n  Waterman, T. T.: THE YANA INDIANS\n    Feb. 1918, University of California Publications in American\n          Archeology and Ethnology, Vol. 13, No. 2\n                     NATIONAL PARK SERVICE UNIFORM\n                     LASSEN VOLCANIC NATIONAL PARK!\nAs a citizen of the United States it belongs to you. Keep it unspoiled\nfor your next visit and for future generations by helping to:\n  1. Prevent forest fires.\n  2. Protect the flowers, the animal life, and the rock and mineral\n          formations.\n  3. Keep it clean.\nThis booklet is one of a series prepared by the Loomis Museum\nAssociation, a non-profit distributing organization sponsored by the\nNaturalist Department of Lassen Volcanic National Park. The Association\nis dedicated to the accumulation and dissemination of information\nconcerning the history and natural history of this park. Toward this end\nit has published the following books available by mail. The post office\naddress is Mineral, California. During the summer, these publications\nare also available at the Loomis Museum sales desk at Manzanita Lake,\nLassen Volcanic National Park.\n  GEOLOGY OF LASSEN\u2019S LANDSCAPE, Schulz                               55\u00a2\n  PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE LASSEN VOLCANO, Loomis                     85\u00a2\n  GUIDE TO LASSEN PEAK HIGHWAY, Schulz                                25\u00a2\n  STORIES OF LASSEN\u2019S PLACE NAMES, Schulz                             40\u00a2\n  BIRDS OF LASSEN VOLCANIC NATIONAL PARK AND VICINITY, Stebbins       85\u00a2\n  FISH AND FISHING IN LASSEN VOLCANIC NATIONAL PARK, Potts            40\u00a2\nFor mail orders please add 12% for postage and packing. If the addressee\nis in California also add 3% sales tax. Prices are subject to change\nwithout notice.\n    [Illustration: Association logo]\n\u2014Silently corrected a few typos.\n\u2014Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook\n  is public-domain in the country of publication.\n\u2014In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by\n  _underscores_.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Indians of Lassen Volcanic National Park and Vicinity\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1940, "culture": " English\n", "content": "STRIKE ***\nTHE KING WHO WENT ON STRIKE\n THE KING WHO\n WENT ON STRIKE\n BY\n PEARSON CHOATE\n Author of \"Men Limited: An Impertinence\"\n \"And those things do best please me\n That befal preposterously.\"\n Puck\n \"A Midsummer Night's Dream.\"\n Act. III. Scene II.\n NEW YORK\n DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY\n Copyright, 1924\n BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.\n PRINTED IN U.S.A.\n VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC.\n BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK\n \"Is it not strange so few Kings abdicate; and none yet heard of has\n been known to commit suicide? Fritz the First, of Prussia, alone tried\n it, and they cut the rope.\"\n \"The French Revolution, A History.\"\n Part I. Book VII. Chapter XI\n _Thomas Carlyle_\nTHE KING WHO WENT ON STRIKE\nCHAPTER I\nThe King leant against the stone balustrade, which runs round the\nroof of Buckingham Palace, and looked about him. All around him,\nabove him, and below him, the night was ablaze with a myriad lights.\nLoyal Londoners, in accordance with their custom, were closing their\nCoronation celebrations with illuminations, with fireworks, and with\ngood-humoured horse-play in the crowded streets. In spite of gloomy\npredictions to the contrary, the proverbial Coronation weather of the\nlast day or two had not failed. A radiant June day had given place to\na wonderful June night. Here, on the palace roof, high up above the\ntumult and the shouting the night air was cool and fragrant. The King\nrested his elbows on the broad top of the carved stone balustrade. He\nwas very weary. But he was glad to be out in the open air once again.\nAnd he was gladder still, at last, to be alone--\n\"A tall, fair, goodlooking young man, still in the early twenties,\nwith an open, almost boyish face\": \"A young man of athletic build,\nclean-shaven, and very like his dead brother, the Prince, but lacking,\nperhaps, something of the Prince's personal distinction, and charm\":\n\"Thick, fair, curly hair, blue eyes, and a happy, smiling mouth\":\n\"A typical young English naval officer, with an eager, boyish face,\nunclouded, as yet, by any shadow of his high destiny\"--it was in\nphrases such as these that the descriptive writers in the newspapers\nhad described, more or less adequately, the new King's outward\nappearance. What he was inwardly, what the inner man thought, and felt,\nand suffered, was not within their province, or their knowledge. At the\nmoment, his outward appearance was completed by an easy fitting, black,\nsmoking jacket, plain evening dress trousers, and a pair of shabby\ndancing pumps, into which he had changed immediately after the state\nbanquet, which had been the final ordeal of his long and exhausting\nofficial day. It was characteristic of the inner man, about whom so\nlittle was known, that he should have been thus impatient to throw\noff the gorgeous uniform, and the many unearned decorations, which the\nbanquet had necessitated. It was characteristic of him, too, that he\nshould be bareheaded, now, and drawing absently at a pipe, which he had\nforgotten to fill--\nAll the crowded events of the long, tense, and exhausting Coronation\nDay which was, at last, happily at an end had seemed strangely unreal\nto the King. The slow and stately progress to the Abbey in the morning,\nthe huge gilt state coach, the team of cream horses, the gold-coated\npowdered footmen, the bodyguard of plumed Household Cavalry, the\ndecorated streets, the crowds, the wild cheering, the thousand faces,\nthe thousand eyes, his own mechanical bowing, his own mechanical smile;\nthe protracted, exhausting ceremony in the Abbey, the ermine-caped\npeers and peeresses, the grotesque gorgeously clad officers of state,\nthe tall figure of the venerable Archbishop with his hands raised\nin benediction, his own heavy royal robes, the Crown, the bursts of\nmusic and of song, the pealing bells, the brilliant uniforms of the\nsoldiery; the streets once again, the crowds and the wild cheering, his\nown mechanical bowing, his own mechanical smile, the heat, the glitter\nand the glare, the tension, the thousand flushed curious faces, the\nthousand eyes, the slow movement of the coach, the secret, hidden,\ninward fear; the all too short rest in the afternoon, with its few\nminutes of troubled, nightmare sleep; the interminable state banquet in\nthe evening, the gold plate, the uniforms, the colours, and the lights,\nthe Family, strangely subservient, the congratulations, the speeches,\nthe homage; the dense crowd round the palace after the banquet, his own\nrepeated appearance at the huge, open window above the main entrance,\nthe night air, the thousand eyes yet once again, the cheering, and the\nlights--all these things had been unreal, unbelievable, the bewildering\nphantasmagoria of a fevered dream--\nNow, as he leant against the roof balustrade, the same sense of\nunreality which had haunted him all day was still with him.\nBut he compelled himself to look at the blazing illuminations, none the\nless.\nA man could not afford to live, indefinitely, in a fevered dream.\nThe trees in the densely thronged Mall were hung with innumerable,\ncoloured electric lights. A blaze of yellow, smokeless flambeaux, on\nthe left, marked the line of Carlton House Terrace. \"God Save the\nKing,\" and \"God Save King Alfred the Second\"--house after house, in\nthe terrace, repeated the loyal prayers in glittering letters of fire.\nThe same devices were reproduced, in a picturesque setting of crowns\nand flags, on the lavishly illuminated Admiralty Arch. Beyond was the\nglare of Trafalgar Square, where the Nelson Column, pricked out in\nred, white, and blue lamps, soared aloft, a shaft of vivid colours\nagainst the dark blue of the night sky. Further away, on the right,\nthe familiar, luminous clock face of Big Ben, which showed that it\nwas already nearing midnight, shone out, brightly, above the golden\nbrilliance of Whitehall. Westminster Abbey towers were touched with\nfire. Queen Anne's Mansion was a broad, solid wedge of blazing, various\ncolour. Up and down the square tower of the Westminster Cathedral ran\na hand of flame, writing a loyal motto, in crabbed, monkish Latin,\ndifficult to translate. On the left, beyond the Green Park, shone the\nlights of Piccadilly, where the fronts of the clubs vied in patriotic\nradiance. From the Green Park itself, and from Hyde Park, in the\ndistance, soared rockets, which burst into clusters of red, white,\nand blue stars, and showers of multi-coloured rain. The cheers of the\ncrowds, in the parks, and in the streets, rose with the rockets, in a\nregular, muffled roar. Overhead, above the lights, above the rockets, a\nscore or more of illuminated aeroplanes hummed, diving, nose-spinning,\nside-slipping, and looping the loop, with the agility, the grace, and\nthe breathless swiftness of the aerial acrobats who know not fear.\n\"God Save the King,\" and \"God Save King Alfred the Second.\"\nThe mere repetition of the blazing words impressed them upon the King's\nnotice.\nTheir irony was his second thought.\nDid the people know, the cheering people, far down below there, in the\ncrowded parks, and illuminated streets, that, stereotyped formulae as\nthey were, there was real need, now, for those prayers?\nAnd, if they did know, would they care?\nSave him from his enemies?\nPerhaps. Almost certainly.\nBut from himself--an unwilling King?\nA light, night breeze from the west, blew softly across the palace\nroof, rustling the silken folds of the Royal Standard, as it hung\nlimply against the fifty-foot flagstaff, immediately above the King's\nhead. With the quick, subconscious instinct of the trained sailor, he\nlooked up to see if the flag was in order. To be \"a sailor, not a\nPrince\" had been, for years, his publicly avowed ambition, an ambition\nwhich had only recently been thwarted. His interest in this, no doubt,\ntrivial matter of a flag was typical of the lasting impression which\nhis long and happy years of naval service had left upon his character.\nIn most things, small and great, the Navy had taught him, the Navy had\nformed him.\nThe flag was correct. The very knots in the rope left no loophole for\ncriticism.\nThe small, gilt Royal Crown, which normally surmounted the\nflagstaff had been removed. In its place a large crown of coloured,\nelectric lamps had been erected, as a finishing touch to the palace\nilluminations. Above the lights of this crown, the pointed shaft of the\nlightning conductor, which ran up the flagstaff, protruded, clearly\nvisible against the night sky.\nThe lightning conductor had been left in position.\nA slow smile lit up the King's face, and something of his weariness\nfell from him, as he saw the pointed shaft of the lightning conductor.\nHere, at last, was reality, presented, paradoxically enough, in the\nform of an allegory, a symbol.\nThe words of the old Duke of Northborough came back to the King.\nAt the close of one of the earliest of the many, long, informal talks,\nin the course of which the old Duke had set himself to explain to the\nyoung and inexperienced Prince, who had been called, so unexpectedly,\nto the throne, a few of the more urgent problems of Government, the\nKing had brought the veteran Prime Minister up on to the palace roof,\nto see the new roof garden, which was the only innovation he had made,\nso far, in the palace arrangements, an innovation due to his pleasant\nrecollection of nights of shore leave spent in the roof gardens of New\nYork, during his service with the Atlantic Fleet. The old Duke had\nadmired the flowers, and approved the tubbed trees; then he had looked\nup at the flagstaff, where the Royal Standard had been flying in a\nnoble breeze; the juxtaposition of the pointed shaft of the lightning\nconductor, and the Royal Crown, at the top of the flagstaff, had caught\nhis eye; and he had called the King's attention to it, at once, with an\narresting gesture.\n\"It is an allegory, a symbol, sir,\" he had said, in his vivid, forceful\nway. \"You wear the Crown. I am the lightning conductor. It will be my\nduty, and the honour of my life, when the storm breaks, to take the\nfull shock of the lightning flash, so that the Crown may remain on your\nhead, unshaken.\"\nThere had been no need for the King to ask of what impending storm\nthe old Duke spoke. From the first, in all his talk, the increasing\nmenace of the world-wide revolutionary conspiracy had been the veteran\nstatesman's most constant theme.\n\"In your grandfather's time revolution in England was impossible, sir.\nIn your father's time it was possible, but unthinkable. If your brother\nhad lived, it might have remained unthinkable for years, perhaps for\nthe whole of his reign.\" \"Like your father, your brother had the secret\nof arousing personal loyalty. The Prince smiled, and men and women\nloved him. For years he had been preparing himself, and consolidating\nhis hold on the people, making ready for the struggle which he saw he\nmust come.\" \"It is not for me to disguise from you, sir, that your\nbrother's death has given a new impetus to the revolutionary movement\nin this country. A younger son, a Prince who never expected, who\nwas never expected, to reign--against you, sir, the international\nrevolutionary forces feel that they have their first real chance in\nEngland. The Internationalists, and the Communists, on the Continent,\nand the extremists amongst our own Labour leaders, are likely to effect\na working agreement. It is necessary that we should remember, that it\nhas been by such agreements, that Europe has been swept almost clear of\nKings, from end to end.\" \"We must be prepared. We are prepared. But it\nis of vital importance that you, sir, should understand the position.\nMake no mistake, sir. They would haul down your Royal Standard, from\nthe flagstaff here, sir, and run up their pitiable rag of a Red Flag,\nin its place.\"\nA new understanding of the difficulties that his father had faced,\nof the heavy burden that he had borne, for so many years, without\ncomplaint, had come to the King, in recent weeks. More poignant\nstill was the new understanding of, and the new sympathy with, his\ndead brother, the Prince, that the last few weeks had brought him.\nHis father had always been remote. Between him, and his brother, the\nPrince, there had been real friendship, and familiar, easy intercourse,\nin spite of the Prince's splendid future, in spite of his own frequent\nabsences at sea. But he had not known. He had not understood. With a\nsailor's contemptuous impatience in such matters, he had always turned\nan almost deaf ear to the Prince's talk of politics and parties. The\nPrince's splendid future! And he stood now, in the Prince's place.\nIt was the Prince who had urged him to trust, and to listen to, the old\nDuke.\nOnce again, the King stood by the bed, in his brother's room, late in\nthe afternoon of the day, when the disease, which had stricken the\nPrince so inexplicably, within a few weeks of their father's death, had\ndone its worst, and it was known that he, too, must die, die, after\nall, uncrowned.\nDeathly white the Prince lay there, propped up in bed, with his eyes\nclosed.\nOutside the sun was setting, and the London sparrows were twittering\ntheir vesper hymn.\nThe blue uniformed nurse bent down over the bed, and spoke in the\nPrince's ear.\nThe Prince opened his eyes, saw him, recognized him, and smiled.\n\"They tell me that I have got 'the route' Alfred,\" he whispered\npainfully. \"I am not afraid to die. But I would live if I could. I\nknow, no one knows as I know, what this will mean to you. They tell me\nI mustn't talk. I can't talk.\n\"The Duke is your man. Trust the Duke! He will not fail you. He will\nbe your sheet anchor. With the Duke to steady the ship, you will ride\nout the storm.\"\nAn hour later, the Prince lay dead.\nThe King flung up his head.\nThe Duke had not failed him.\nMany men had mourned the Prince's death, but no man had mourned it, as\nhad the veteran Prime Minister. Between the Duke and the Prince, it\nwas notorious, there had been a friendship, a constant association,\npersonal and political, closer than that between many a father and son.\nPolitically, the Prince's death must have been a staggering blow to\nthe Duke. And yet the wonderful old man had never faltered. Early and\nlate, he had laboured, with inexhaustible patience, at times with a\nsurprising freedom, and yet always with a tact which made his freedom\npossible, to place his unrivalled knowledge, and his ripe wisdom,\nuntouched by party spirit, at the service of a new, a young, and an\ninexperienced King.\nThe King was not ungrateful.\nStill leaning wearily as he was against the roof balustrade, he turned\nnow, as he thought of the old Duke, and looked across the shadowed\ndarkness of St. James's Park, at the golden glare thrown up by the\nilluminations in Whitehall. There, in the silent, rather comfortless,\nand closed in house, in Downing Street, where he had lived, with hardly\na break, for so many years, his father's minister, his brother's\nfriend, the old Duke, even now, as likely as not, was hard at work,\nindomitable, tireless, resourceful, sparing neither himself, nor his\nsubordinates, so that he, the King, \"a sailor, not a Prince,\" might\nreign.\nYes. The lightning conductor was in position.\nHe, the man who wore the Crown, must not fail.\nHe must not fail the Duke.\nIt was odd, but the thought that he might fail to support the Duke,\nthat he might not come up to the standard which the Duke might set for\nhim, had more weight with him, than any thought of the people, of the\nnation. It was an instance of the Duke's personal magnetism, of course.\nHis personal magnetism, his dominance, had been talked about for years.\nDid the Duke dominate him? No. But the Duke was a living, forceful\npersonality, a man, a strong man. The people, the nation--well, they\nwere only phantoms; they were the thousand, flushed, curious faces;\nthe thousand eyes; the cheering crowds, far away down there, in the\ndarkness, in the crowded parks and illuminated streets below.\nIt was, in a sense, a triumph, or at least, a notable success, for\nthe Duke, that he, the King, had been crowned; that the day had\npassed without hostile demonstrations, without a single regrettable\nincident. What reward could he give, what return could he make, to the\nold statesman, for his ungrudging, tireless service? The Duke was his\nservant. In intimate, familiar talk, he never failed to call him \"sir.\"\nThe Duke must be his friend. His friend? A King could have no friends.\nA man apart, isolated, lonely, and remote, as his father had always\nbeen, a King was condemned to live alone.\nA sudden, unbearable sense of loneliness, a terror of himself, a terror\nof this new, isolated, remote life, in which he was to be denied even\nthe poor palliative of friendship, swept over the King. He had longed\nto be alone. He had come up, out here, on to the palace roof, to be\nalone. He had been eager to escape from the curious faces, from the\nthousand eyes. But now he longed for human companionship, for human\nsympathy, for human hands.\n\"Judith!\"\nThe name rose to the King's lips, unsought, unbidden.\nJudith, tall and slender, with her deep, dark, mysterious eyes, and\nher crown of jet black hair; Judith, with her cheeks flushed with\npleasure, her eyes aglow, and her hand stretched out to him in joyous\nwelcome--the King saw, and felt, her bodily presence, as in a vision,\nand his loneliness, and his terror, his weariness, and his fever, fell\nfrom him.\nHe must go to Judith.\nIt would be dangerous. It was always dangerous. It would be more\ndangerous, tonight, than ever before. But he would go. He must go. All\nday he had smiled, and bowed, and posed, for the multitude, playing his\npart in the gorgeous, public pageantry, which the multitude loved, an\nactor playing his part, an actor, the servant of the public. Surely,\nnow, he might wrest a few brief hours, from the night, for himself?\nIt was a long time, a week or more, since he had seen Judith.\nA few brief hours with Judith, a few brief hours of rest, of rural\npeace, and quiet talk; a romp with the Imps, who would be fast asleep\nnow, tucked up in their cots, each clutching some cherished toy, some\nstrange, woolly animal, or some dearly prized, deadly instrument of\nmimic war, but who would awake, with their prattle, like the birds, at\ndawn; a few minutes of Uncle Bond's diverting nonsense, about the next\ninstalment of his forthcoming serial, and the dire distresses he had\ninvented for his latest business girl heroine--a few brief hours, so\nspent, would bring him back to the palace, refreshed and strengthened,\nready to shoulder, once again, the heavy burden of his isolation, the\nheavy burden which seemed now too heavy to be borne.\nYes. Late as it was, he would go to Judith. A night visit? It would be\nafter one o'clock in the morning, when he arrived. Would Judith mind?\nSurely not! Judith and he were outside conventions.\nWith the quick, impulsive movement of the man who puts an end to\nhesitation, the King swung round from the stone balustrade, crossed the\nroof, and so passed, without another glance at the blazing Coronation\nilluminations, or at the night sky, down the broad, wrought-iron\nstaircase which led from the roof into the palace.\nCHAPTER II\nIn the anteroom to his own newly decorated suite of rooms, the King\nfound two of his valets still on duty. One of them was Smith, the\nrubicund, grizzled old sailor, who had been his servant in the Navy.\nDismissing the other man with a gesture, the King beckoned to Smith,\nand entered his dressing room.\n\"I do not want to be disturbed, in the morning, until I ring my bell,\nSmith,\" he announced. \"I shall probably go out into the garden for a\nbreath of fresh air, last thing. See that the door into the garden is\nleft open. That is all now. Good-night.\"\nSmith withdrew, at once, with the bob of his bullet-shaped head, which\nwas the nearest approach he could make to the bow required by etiquette.\nLeft alone, the King glanced round the dressing room.\nOf all the rooms in the palace which he used habitually, this room had\nbecome the most distasteful to the King. The massive, old-fashioned,\nmahogany furniture, the heavy curtains drawn right across the windows,\nthe thick-piled carpet, and the softly shaded lights, in the room,\noppressed him, not so much because of what they were in themselves, as\nbecause of what they were associated with, already, in his own mind.\nIt was here that he dressed for Court functions. It was here that\nhe dressed, three or four times a day, not for his own pleasure and\nconvenience, but \"suitably for the occasion.\"\nA masculine doll. A male mannequin. A popinjay.\nBut he was going to dress to please himself, now, anyway.\nMoving swiftly about the room, he proceeded to ransack drawers, and to\nfling open wardrobe doors, as he searched for a particular blue serge\nsuit, of which the Royal staff of valets strongly disapproved.\nAt last he found the suit he sought.\nA few minutes later, he had effected, unaided, a complete change of\ntoilet.\nThe blue serge suit, instinct with the Navy style that was so much\nto his mind, together with the grey felt hat, and the light dust\ncoat, which he selected, made an odd, and subtle, difference in his\nappearance. Before, even in the easy undress of his smoking jacket, he\nhad been--the King. Now he was, in every detail, merely a young naval\nofficer in mufti, rejoicing in shore leave.\nLooking at himself in the huge, full-length mirror which stood\nimmediately in front of the heavily curtained windows, the King\napproved this result.\nThe young naval officer in mufti, who looked back at the King out\nof the cunningly lighted mirror, tall, fair, and clean-shaven, had\nretained much of the unconscious pride of youth. The face was, as yet,\nonly lightly marked by the lines, the thoughtful frown, and the dark\nshadows, which are the insignia of a heavier burden, of a greater\nresponsibility, and of a more constant anxiety, and care, than any\nknown at sea. The mouth and chin were pronounced and firm, moulded by\nthe habit of command. The lips were a trifle full, and not untouched\nby passion. A student of that facial character, which all men, princes\nand peasants alike, must carry about with them, wherever they go, would\nhave said that this young man had a will of his own, which might be\nexpressed by rash and impetuous action. The brow was broad and high.\nThis was a young man capable of thought, and of emotion. Something of\nthe healthy tan, which long exposure to wind and weather leaves, still\nlingered on the cheeks, but a slight puffiness under the tired blue\neyes, told of weariness, and of flagging physical condition.\n\"A breath of Judith's country air will certainly do me good. It will\nfreshen me up,\" the King muttered.\nSwinging round from the mirror, he crossed the room, to the door, and\nswitched off all the lights. Then he opened the door. The long corridor\noutside, which led from his suite of rooms to the central landing,\nand so to the main staircase in the palace, was still brilliantly\nlit. Closing the dressing room door behind him, the King slipped\nquickly down the corridor. Avoiding the central landing, and the main\nstaircase, which lay to his right, he turned to the left, up a short\npassage, which brought him to the head of a private staircase, which\nwas strictly reserved for his personal use. This staircase led down to\nthe ground floor of the palace, and ended in a small, palm and orange\ntree decorated lounge, half vestibule, and half conservatory, which had\nbeen a favourite retreat of his father. A glass door opened out of the\nlounge into the palace garden. This door, as he had directed, had been\nleft open. Quickly descending the staircase, the King passed through\nthe lounge, out by the open door, into the garden.\nA sharp glance, first to the right, and then to the left, assured\nhim that he was unobserved. By his order, the posts of the military\nguard, and the beats of the police, on duty round the palace, had been\naltered recently, so that he could use this door untrammelled by their\ncompliments. An unmistakable impatience with even necessary observation\nof his personal movements had already become known as one of the new\nKing's most pronounced characteristics, and the military, and the\npolice authorities, alike, had done their best to meet his wishes in\nthe matter, although his wishes had added greatly to their difficulties.\nThe palace garden was full of the fragrance of the wonderful summer\nnight. The west breeze blew softly along the paths, and rustled amongst\nthe innumerable leaves of the overhanging trees. A few minutes of brisk\nwalking led the King through the darkness of the shrubberies, across\nthe deserted lawns, and past the shining, light-reflecting water of the\nlake, to the boundary wall at the far end of the garden.\nA small, old, and formerly little used wooden door in this wall was his\nobjective.\nLately, by his order, this door had been repainted, and fitted with\na new lock. One or two members of the palace household staff were\nhoused in Lower Grosvenor Place, the thoroughfare on to which the\nwall abutted. It was, ostensibly, in order that these trustworthy and\ndiscreet members of the household staff might be able to pass in and\nout of the door, unchallenged, and so use the short cut through the\ngarden to the palace, that the King had considerately directed that\nthe lock on the door should be renewed, and that new keys should be\ndistributed.\nIt was one of these new keys which he now produced from his own pocket,\nand, after a hurried glance behind him to assure himself that he was\nstill unobserved, fitted into the lock.\nThe lock worked smoothly.\nThe door opened inwards.\nThe King stepped out on to the pavement of Lower Grosvenor Place.\nThe door, operated by a spring, closed silently behind him.\nLower Grosvenor Place, normally a quiet and deserted thoroughfare\nwas, tonight, for once, thronged with people. A cheering, singing\nrollicking crowd, the backwash of the larger crowds, which had been\nattracted to the palace, and to the display of fireworks in the parks,\nhad taken possession of the roadway. For a moment, the noise of the\ncrowd, and the lights of the street, coming so abruptly after the\nsilence, and the secluded darkness of the garden, disconcerted the\nKing. Next moment, smiling a little at the thought of his own bizarre\nposition, he darted into the crowd, and began to work his way across\nthe road.\nInevitably jostled, and pushed, by the crowd, he made slow progress.\nSuddenly, his progress was arrested altogether.\nA little company of West End revellers, half a dozen youthful dandies\nfrom the clubs, and as many daringly dressed women, who were moving\ndown the centre of the road, with their arms linked, singing at the top\nof their voices, deliberately intercepted him, and circling swiftly\nround him, held him prisoner.\n\"Where are your colours, old man?\" one of the women demanded, in\nan affected, provocative drawl. She was young, and, in spite of\nher artificial complexion, and dyed eyebrows, she still retained a\nsuggestion of prettiness, and even of freshness. \"Here! This is what\nyou want!\"\nAs she spoke, she caught hold of the lapel of the King's coat, and\npinned to it a large rosette of red, white, and blue ribbons.\n\"There! That looks better,\" she declared. \"You don't want people\nto think you're one of these Communist cads, and in favour of a\nrevolution, do you?\"\nThe King laughed merrily.\nThat he, the King, should be suspected of being in favour of revolution\nstruck him as irresistibly absurd. Then the second thought which is\nso often nearer to the truth than the first, supervened. After all,\nwas the idea so absurd? Was he not--an unwilling King? Had he not been\nincreasingly conscious, of late, of a thought lurking at the back of\nhis mind, that he, of all men, had, perhaps, least to lose, and most\nto gain, in the welter and chaos of revolution? What would he lose?\nThe intolerable burden of his isolation: the responsibility, and the\nexacting demands of the great position, into which he had been thrust\nso unexpectedly, and so much against his will. What would he gain?\nLiberty, Equality, Fraternity! The revolutionary slogan voiced his own\npersonal needs. His laughter died away.\nHappily, a precocious, fair-haired youth, who was leaning on the\nshoulder of the rosette-distributing girl, broke the awkward little\nsilence which ensued.\n\"Chuck it, Doris! Can't you see he's one of us?\" he remarked. \"He's got\nNavy written all over him.\"\nAnd he nodded to the King, as to a brother officer.\n\"Mind your own business, Bobbie, and I'll mind mine,\" Doris drawled,\nunperturbed. \"He's a nice boy, but he'd forgotten his rosette. No man,\nwho isn't wearing the right colours, is going to pass me by, tonight,\nunchallenged.\"\nThe King pulled himself together with an effort.\n\"But now that I am wearing the right colours, you will let me pass?\" he\nsuggested. \"I am in rather a hurry.\"\nBobbie promptly dragged the laughing and protesting Doris to one side,\nand so left the road clear for the King.\n\"Pass, friend!\" Bobbie announced. \"All's well!\"\nThe King dived hastily, once again, into the crowd. A sudden, and\ncuriously belated, fear of recognition, here in the immediate vicinity\nof the palace, lent wings to his feet. No doubt the reckless audacity\nof his excursion almost precluded the possibility of recognition. And\nyet thousands of these people had seen him, at close quarters, only a\nfew hours ago.\nSo they knew about the impending storm, and they were already taking\nsides. He looked at the rollicking crowd which surged about him, now,\nwith new interest. Red, white, and blue rosettes, similar to the one\nwhich was pinned to his own coat, were being worn everywhere. The right\ncolours appeared to be popular. In the elaborate, secret, protective\nschemes, lettered for code purposes, in the Greek alphabet, from Alpha\nto Gamma, which the old Duke of Northborough had laid before him, to\ndemonstrate the Cabinet's readiness for every eventuality, the loyalty\nof the people had no place. Might not that loyalty render the old\nDuke's schemes unnecessary? But the old Duke wanted, he seemed almost\nanxious, to force a fight. And the old Duke was, of course, right.\nBy this time, the King had succeeded in working his way across the\nroad. He turned now, mechanically to his left, down a quiet, side\nstreet, which ended in a cul-de-sac, but afforded, on the right, an\nentrance to one of those odd, shut in havens of coach-houses and\nstables, which are to be found all over the West End of London, tucked\naway behind the great houses, from which they usually take their\ndirectory title, with the addition of that admirably significant word,\nmews. Here, in a small, lock-up garage, which he had contrived to rent\nin the name of a youthful member of his personal, secretarial staff,\nthe King kept a two-seated, powerfully engined, motor car. Geoffrey\nBlunt, the nominal tenant of the garage, a light-hearted but discreet,\ncadet of a good house, had also lent his name for the purchase of the\ncar. In recognition of Blunt's complaisance in the matter, the King had\nallowed him to accompany him in one or two harmless Caliph Haroun Al\nRaschid night interludes, in which the car had figured; but Blunt, as\nVizier, had no idea that the King, his Caliph, used the car, as now,\nfor solitary excursions.\nThe police constable on the beat happened to be testing, with\nhis bull's-eye lantern in action, the fastenings of the adjacent\ncoach-houses and stables, in the dimly lit mews, when the King arrived\nat the garage. Recognizing in the King, as he thought, a resident in\none of the neighbouring houses, the constable saluted him respectfully,\nand helped him to open the garage doors, and run out the car.\n\"You'll find the traffic difficult tonight, sir, I'm thinking,\" he\nremarked, with a hint of a London tamed Irish brogue. \"They turned\nthe people out of the parks, when the fireworks finished, a full half\nhour ago, but, bless you, they are in no hurry to go home. Well, it's\none night in a lifetime, as you might say, isn't it, sir? And, beyond\nholding up the traffic, there's no harm in the people--they're just\nlively, that's all. There'll be a good many of them will lie in late,\nwhen they do get to bed, in the morning, I'm thinking. But the tiredest\nman, in all London, this night, and in the whole Empire, too, if it\ncomes to that, I should think must be the King himself, God bless\nhim! Did you get a good view of him, yourself, sir? I was in duty in\nWhitehall for the procession, and barring a yard or two, I was as close\nto him then, as I am, now, to you. As fine, and upstanding a young\nfellow, as you could wish to see, he is, too, and as like his poor dead\nbrother, the Prince, God rest his soul! as two peas. But he looked\ntired, I thought. I hope they won't work him too hard, at first. He's\nonly a young man still, and he's got his troubles before him, they say,\nalthough to look at the people, tonight, you wouldn't think so, would\nyou? But give him his chance, and he'll do as well as his brother,\nthe Prince, I say, for all that he's a sailor. I'm an old Guardsman,\nmyself, sir, the same as the Prince was, but, after all, it's time you\nhad your turn, in the Senior Service, isn't it, sir?\"\nBusy putting on the thick leather motor coat, and adjusting the\ngoggles, which he kept stored in the car, the King listened to the\nconstable's garrulous, friendly talk with rich amusement, not untouched\nby a more serious interest. He almost wished that he could reveal\nhis real identity to the man, and then shake hands with him. Surely\nthe loyalty of the people had been underestimated? This garrulous\npolice constable had a juster appreciation, and a more sympathetic\nunderstanding, of the difficulties and the dangers of his position,\nthan he had ever imagined possible.\nWith the constable's assistance the King closed, and re-locked the\ngarage doors. Then he slipped a handful of loose silver into the man's\nnot too ready palm, and sprang up into his seat at the steering wheel\nof the car.\n\"Liquidate that in drinking to the King's health, constable,\" he\ndirected, as he started the car. \"Drink it to the frustration of all\nthe King's enemies.\"\nAll the King's enemies? His worst enemy? Himself?\nThe man's reply was drowned by the throbbing beat of the powerful\nengine.\nA moment later, the car leapt forward, out of the dimly lit mews,\nswung up the quiet side street, beyond, and so passed into the densely\nthronged roadway in Lower Grosvenor Place.\nThe police constable's prediction as to the difficulties of the traffic\nproved more than justified. In Grosvenor Place, the King found that he\ncould only advance at a snail's pace, sounding his siren continuously.\nOver and over again, he had hurriedly to apply all his brakes. The\ncrowd, singing, cheering, and rollicking, had taken complete possession\nof the roadway, and ignored the approach of all vehicles of whatsoever\nkind. Fellow motorists, in like case with himself, grinned at the\nKing, in friendly, mutual commiseration. For his part, it was with\ndifficulty, that he restrained his impatience, and kept his temper. He\nwas still far too close to the palace for his peace of mind.\nAt Hyde Park Corner, the police, mounted and on foot, had contrived\nto maintain a narrow fairway, which made real, although still slow,\nprogress through the locked traffic possible. But in Park Lane, the\ncrowd had it all their own way again, spread out across the road, and\nindulging in rough horse-play, as nearly out of hand as the London\ncrowd ever permits itself to go. Happily, by the Marble Arch, the\nroad cleared once more. In Oxford Street, in spite of the brilliant\nilluminations of the famous shops and stores, and the huge crowds\nwhich they had attracted there, the King found that he could slightly\nincrease his speed. When he swung, at last, into Tottenham Court Road,\nand so headed the car directly north, the traffic, by comparison with\nthat through which he had just passed, seemed almost normal. Free now\nfrom the necessity of extra vigilance, and only occasionally called\nupon to sound his siren, or to apply his brakes, he was able to open\nout the car considerably, and settle himself more comfortably at the\nsteering wheel.\nCHAPTER III\nIt was a wonderful summer night. Here, as the car ran out into the\nquieter, less crowded, and more humbly illuminated area of the inner\nsuburbs, the night reasserted itself. Rising late, above the roofs and\ntwisted chimney pots, a large, round, golden moon hung low in the dark\nblue sky. The rush of air, stirred by the throbbing car, was cool and\nfresh. Naturally, and inevitably, the King's thoughts turned now, once\nagain, to Judith.\nIt was on just such a wonderful summer night, as this, in early June, a\nyear ago, that he had first seen Judith.\nOn that memorable night, the King had driven alone, out of London,\nlate at night, just as he was driving now, at the end of a fortnight's\nleave, which he had spent incognito, in town. Soon after he had run\nthrough the fringe of the outer suburbs, which he was even then\nentering, with four hundred odd miles of road between him and the Naval\nBase in Scotland, where he was due to rejoin his ship, and with barely\ntime to make them good, the car he was driving had developed engine\ntrouble. A few minutes of frenzied tinkering had set the car going\nagain, but the engine had only served to carry him well clear of the\ntown, out into the sleeping countryside, when it had failed, once more,\nthis time completely, and he had found himself stranded, at the side of\nthe lonely, deserted, country road, the victim of a permanent breakdown.\nThe King smiled to himself, now, as he recalled his reckless, humorous\nappreciation of that situation. In those days, \"a sailor, not a\nPrince,\" he had had a light heart. Nothing had been able to disturb his\nequanimity for long.\nAbandoning the broken down car, almost at once, at the side of the\nroad, he had set out, adventurously, on foot, to look for succour.\nThe night had been, then, as now, cool, fragrant, and moonlit.\nSoon a narrow, winding, wooded lane, on the left of the road, had\nattracted him. Turning down this lane, he had followed its twisting,\ntree-shadowed course, for over a mile or more, until, suddenly, he\nhad come upon the small lodge, and open carriage gate, of an isolated\ncountry house, which stood, a little back from the road, surrounded by\ntall trees.\nThe short, moonlit drive, where the rhododendron bushes and the\nlaburnum trees were in full blossom, had led him to the front of the\nsilent, darkened house.\nThe King remembered vividly the odd sense of impending romance, the\nlittle thrill of excitement, and of expectancy, with which he had rung\nthe front door bell.\nA short pause had ensued, a period of waiting.\nAnd then he had heard a movement on his right, and he had turned, and\nhe had seen Judith--seen Judith, for the first time.\nShe had slipped through the open window door, on his right, on to the\nverandah, which ran all round the shadowy house, and she had stood\nthere, close beside him, tall and slender, surrounded by the ghostly\nwhite blossoms of the clematis creeper, which covered the verandah\npillars and rail--Judith with her cheeks delicately flushed, her deep,\ndark, mysterious eyes aglow, and her wealth of jet black hair knotted\nloosely at her neck, Judith clad in a Japanese kimono of gorgeous\ncolours, from under which peeped little wisps of spotless white linen,\nand filmy lace.\nThe King laughed softly to himself, as he recalled that it was he,\nand not Judith, who had been shy and embarrassed, that it was he, and\nnot Judith, who had blushed and stammered--until Judith had come to\nhis rescue, understanding and accepting his incoherent apologies and\nexplanations, almost before he had uttered them, and taking absolute\ncommand of him, and of the whole delightfully bizarre situation from\nthat moment--\nThe necessity of avoiding a couple of belated country carts, moving\nslowly forward towards Covent Garden, at this point, broke abruptly\ninto the King's reverie. The powerfully engined car was running\nsmoothly, and at a high speed now, along the level surface of one of\nthe outer suburban tramway tracks--\nIt was Judith who had promptly roused old Jevons, the gardener, and\nsent him off, post haste, to take charge of the derelict car. It was\nJudith who, greatly daring, had penetrated into the jealously guarded,\nliterary night seclusion of Uncle Bond, on the upper floor of the\nsilent, darkened house, and had compelled the little man to leave his\nlatest business girl heroine, in the middle of the next instalment\nof his new serial, although that instalment was, as usual, already\noverdue, and come downstairs, urbane and chuckling, his round,\ndouble-chinned, and spectacled face wreathed in smiles, to entertain an\nunknown, and youthful stranger, as if his midnight intrusion was the\nmost natural thing in the world.\nIt was Judith, familiar with the way that they have in the Navy, who\nhad understood, from the first, the vital necessity of his rejoining\nhis ship in time. It was Judith who had routed out time-tables, and\nlooked up trains, while he and Uncle Bond had smoked and discussed the\nsituation at large, and had discovered that he still might be able to\ncatch the Scottish Mail, at some railway junction in the Midlands, of\nwhich he had never heard.\nIt was Judith who had packed off the at once enthusiastic Uncle Bond\nto the garage to turn out his own brand new Daimler. It was Judith who\nhad insisted that they must make a hurried, and informal, but wholly\ndelightful picnic meal. It was Judith who had slipped out, while Uncle\nBond and he ate and drank, and put his kit, which the careful Jevons\nhad brought from the broken down car to the house for safe custody,\ninto the Daimler. Finally, it was Judith who had given them their\nmarching orders, and their route, and had stood on the verandah, and\nwaved her hand to them, in friendly farewell, when Uncle Bond had\nstarted the Daimler, and the huge car had swept down the drive, out\ninto the sleeping countryside.\nOf the wild drive that had followed, half way across England, through\nthe wonderful summer night, the King had now, as he had had at the\ntime, only a hazy, confused impression--a hazy, confused impression\nof Uncle Bond, at his side, crouched over the steering wheel of the\nhuge Daimler, driving with a reckless audacity more suited to the\ncommander of a destroyer, or of a submarine, than to a mere retailer\nof grotesquely improbable tales, of Uncle Bond talking incessantly as\nhe drove, and chuckling delightedly, as he gave a free rein to the\nfantastic flights of his characteristically extravagant humour.\nWhere, and when, he had caught the night mail, the King had still no\nclear idea. A blurred vision of Uncle Bond, racing at his side, down a\nlong, dimly lit railway platform, and throwing his last portmanteau in,\nafter him, through the window of the already moving train, was all that\nremained with him, of the scene at the station.\nAnd then the train had thundered on, through the sleeping countryside,\nand he had been alone, at last, in the darkness, in the darkness in\nwhich, for hours, he had seen only Judith's beautiful, vivid face,\nwhile the train had thundered in his ears, only Judith's name--\nBy this time, the powerfully engined car had run clear of the outer\nsuburban tramway track, and was rushing through the semi-rural area\nof market gardens, and scattered villas, where the town first meets,\nand mingles with, the country, on the north side of London. Coronation\nilluminations had now been left far behind. Soon even the last of the\nlong chain of lamps provided by the public lighting system was passed.\nIt was by the light thrown on to the road, by the glaring headlights on\nthe throbbing car, and by the softer light of the moon, that the King\nhad now to do his driving--\nFrom the first he had known that Judith, and Uncle Bond, could never\nbe as other people to him. It was this knowledge which had warned him\nnot to betray his real identity. From the first, it had seemed of\nvital importance to him, that no shadow of his Royal rank should be\nallowed to mar the delightful spontaneity of his intercourse with these\ncharming, unconventional people, who, looking upon him as merely a\nyoung, naval officer in trouble, had at once placed all their resources\nat his disposal, as if he had been an old and intimate friend. It was\nthis knowledge which had prompted him, when he came to telegraph to\nUncle Bond, to report his successful rejoining of his ship, to sign the\ntelegram with his favourite incognito name, Alfred York. That he should\nhave been in a position to telegraph to Uncle Bond was only one of the\nmany lesser miracles of that wholly miraculous night. At some point\nin their wild drive, Uncle Bond had slipped his visiting card into\nhis hand, and had contrived to make him understand, in spite of his\ndreamlike abstraction, that, while he was known to his admiring public\nas \"Cynthia St. Claire,\" the notorious serial writer, he was known to\nhis friends as plain James Bond, and that he, and his niece Judith,\nwould be glad to hear that he had escaped a court-martial.\nLooking back at it all, now, with the wonder that never failed him\nwhen he thought of Judith, it seemed to the King that the miracles\nof that first memorable night, twelve months ago, had merely been\nthe prelude to a whole sequence of other, and far greater, miracles.\nWhen leave came his way once again, it had seemed only natural to him\nthat he should run out to see Judith and Uncle Bond, to thank them\nfor their kindness which had included the salving, and the temporary\nstoring of the derelict car. But that Judith and Uncle Bond should have\nwelcomed him so warmly, and pressed him to repeat his visit, whenever\nhe happened to be passing through town, that had been--a miracle!\nAgain, it was only natural that he should have taken advantage of their\ninvitation, and that he should have fallen into the habit of running\nout to see them, whenever he could snatch a few brief hours from the\nexacting demands of his semi-official life. But that Judith, and Uncle\nBond, should have thrown open their house to him, so soon, without\nquestion, and made their home, his home, that had been--a miracle!\nThat he should have been able to keep his frequent visits to, and his\nincreasing intimacy with, Judith and Uncle Bond a secret, for nearly\ntwelve months, was a miracle. That in all that time, Judith and Uncle\nBond should never have suspected his real identity, never penetrated\nhis incognito, was a greater miracle. But that his friendship with\nJudith should have remained unspoilt, innocent, that was the greatest\nmiracle of all.\nIt was Judith who had wrought this last, greatest miracle of all. It\nwas Judith who had made their friendship what it was. Somehow, from\nthe first, she seemed to have been able to shut out, or, at the worst,\nto ward off, from their intimacy, all dangerous provocations. It was\nas if she had drawn a white line round herself, even in her thoughts,\npast which neither he, nor she, could enter. Uncle Bond, most wise and\ntactful of hosts, had helped. And the Imps, Judith's boys, had helped\ntoo.\nSomehow, Judith and the Imps, Button, so called because of his button\nmouth, and Bill, cherubic and chubby, had always been inseparably\nassociated in his mind. Almost from the first, he must have known that\nJudith, young as she was, was a widow. But it was only lately that he\nhad learnt that her husband had been a sailor like himself, a sailor\nwho had served with distinction, and lost his life, in the Pacific War,\nthe war which he had missed himself, to his own everlasting regret, by\na few bare weeks of juniority--\nBy this time, the throbbing car was sweeping down the opening stretch\nof the Great North Road, out into the real country. More as a matter\nof custom, than of conscious thought, the King slowed down the car. It\nhad become his habit on these occasions, that he should slacken his\nspeed, when he had at last successfully escaped from the town, so that\nhe could attune his mind to his surroundings, and savour to the full\nhis eager anticipation of Judith's joyous welcome.\nSuddenly, the ghostly, white painted figure of a signpost, for which he\nalways kept an eye open, flashed into his view, on the left of the road.\nOnce, on a winter evening of fog-thickened darkness, when he had been\ndriving out to see Judith, as he was driving now, the King had grown\nuncertain of his route. Coming to this signpost, he had been glad to\nhalt, to verify his position. Clambering up the post, with the ready\nagility of the sailor, he had struck a match, to discover that the\nsignpost had been used, by some unknown humorist, to perpetrate a jest,\nwith which he had found himself in instant, serious, and wholehearted\nsympathy. The ordinary place names had been obliterated on the signpost\nfingers. In lieu of them had been painted, in rude, black letters, on\nthe finger pointing to London, \"To Hades,\" and, on the opposite finger,\npointing north, out into the open country, \"To Paradise.\"\nThe King headed the car now \"To Paradise,\" with an uplifting of the\nheart, which never failed him, on this portion of the road.\nA little later, he became aware that he was passing the site of his\nformer breakdown, the breakdown which had first led him, a year ago, to\nJudith.\nHe knew then that he had run out of Middlesex into Hertfordshire.\nSoon the familiar turning of the narrow, tree shadowed lane, on the\nleft of the road, came into view. Swinging the car into the lane, the\nKing, once again, slackened his speed. He drove now with special care.\nIt had become part of a charming game, that he and Judith played, that\nhe should try to drive down the lane, and up to the house, without her\nhearing his approach. Somehow, he hardly ever won. Somehow, Judith was\nalways on the alert, always expecting him.\nBut tonight, it almost seemed, in view of the unusual lateness of his\narrival, as if he might score one of his rare successes. The car ran\nsmoothly, and all but silently, down the narrow lane. At the bottom, at\nthe house, the carriage gate, as usual, stood wide open. In the moonlit\ndrive, the rhododendron bushes and the laburnum trees were in full\nblossom, just as they had been on that memorable first night, a year\nago. The King drove straight up the drive, and round the side of the\nsilent, darkened house, to the garage beyond. The garage door, like the\ncarriage gate, stood wide open. Here, in Paradise, apparently, there\nwas no need to guard against motor thieves.\nThe King turned the car, and backed it into the garage, beside Uncle\nBond's huge Daimler. The silence which followed his shutting off of\nthe engine, was profound, the essential night silence of the country.\nFlinging off his thick, leather motor coat, his hat, and his goggles,\nhe tossed them, one after the other, into the car. Then he left the\ngarage, and moved quickly back round the side of the house, treading,\nwhenever possible, on the grassy borders of the garden flower beds,\nlest the sound of his footsteps should reach Judith, and so warn her of\nhis approach.\nCHAPTER IV\nIn a bush, close up to the house, a nightingale was in full song.\nFurther away, from one of the trees beyond the shadowy garden lawn,\nanother nightingale replied. It was as if the two birds were singing\nagainst each other for mastery, pouring out, in a wild, throbbing\necstasy, the one after the other, twin cascades of lovely, liquid,\nmatchless notes.\nJudith was sitting on the moonlit verandah.\nThe King laughed softly to himself, when he saw her.\nAs usual, he had lost!\nShe rose to her feet, to receive him, as he approached, and so stood,\ntall and slender, just as she had stood on that first, memorable night,\na year ago, framed in the ghostly white blossoms of the clematis\ncreeper, which covered the verandah pillars and rail. She was wearing\nan evening gown of some material in white satin which had a glossy\nsheen that shone almost as brightly as the moonlight against the dark\nbackground of the silent house. She was bareheaded, and the light,\nnight breeze had ruffled one or two tresses of her luxuriant jet black\nhair. Her beautiful, vivid face was flushed. Her deep, dark, mysterious\neyes were aglow. Her lips were parted in a little smile of mingled\nhumour and triumph.\n\"I _knew_ that you would come tonight,\" she said.\nThe King stepped up on to the verandah, to her side.\n\"I had to come,\" he confessed.\n\"It is a long time, a week, ten days, since you were here.\"\n\"I am not my own master. I have been--very busy. They have given\nme--promotion!\"\n\"The Service! Always the Service!\" Judith cried.\n\"It is the King's Service,\" the King replied.\n\"I know! I would not have it otherwise, even if I could,\" Judith\nmurmured. \"I am glad, and proud, that you have been very busy; that\nthey have given you--promotion; that you serve--the King! And, tonight,\nyou are wearing his colours?\"\nAs she spoke, she put out her hand, and deftly rearranged the long\nribbons of the red, white, and blue rosette, which the audacious Doris\nhad pinned to his coat, earlier in the night.\n\"And, tonight, I am wearing his colours,\" the King replied. \"When the\nstorm, that they say is coming, really breaks, the King will need all\nhis friends.\"\nWith a quick, abrupt movement, which seemed to indicate a sudden change\nof mood, Judith laid her hands on his shoulders, and turned him a\nlittle to the right, so that the moonlight fell full upon his face.\n\"Yes. You have changed. Your--promotion--has made a difference,\" she\nmurmured. \"You speak gravely. You look older. You are more serious. And\nthere are little lines, and wrinkles, and a frown there, that was never\nthere before.\"\nThe King drew in his breath sharply.\nThe light pressure of Judith's hands on his shoulders, and the sudden\nacute sense of her nearness which it brought him, disturbed him\nstrangely.\nThis was a mistake. This was dangerous. And it was unlike Judith. It\nwas not Judith's way.\nAll at once Judith seemed to divine his distress.\nShe turned from him quickly.\n\"Come and see the Imps,\" she said, \"I was just going in, to look at\nthem, when you arrived.\"\nLight of foot, and slender, and tall, she moved off then, on tiptoe,\nwithout waiting for him, along the shadowy verandah, towards the open\nwindow-door of the night nursery near by.\nConscious of a relief, of which he was somehow ashamed, the King\nfollowed her, obediently, on tiptoe in turn.\nIn the night nursery, the nightlight, which protected Button and Bill\nfrom the evil machinations of ghosts and goblins, was burning dimly,\nin its saucer, on the mantelpiece, but a shaft of bright moonlight\nrevealed the two cots, at the far end of the room, in which the\nchildren lay, fast asleep, side by side. Judith was already bending\nover the foot of the cots, when the King entered the room. She looked\nround at him, finger on lip, as he approached. Button, flushed and\nrosy, stirred in his sleep, and flung one small arm out of bed, across\nthe snow-white counterpane. Bill, cherubic and chubby, heroically lying\non, lest he should suck, his thumb, never moved.\n\"They have had a wonderful day,\" Judith whispered. \"We ran our flag\nup, this morning, in honour of the King, and I tried to make them\nunderstand about the Coronation. Bill wanted to know if Uncle Alfred\nwould be in the procession! They would do nothing else for the rest of\nthe day, but play at being King. You see, they took their crowns to bed\nwith them.\"\nShe pointed to two crowns, crude, homemade, cardboard toys, covered\nwith gilt and silver paper, which lay, one on each pillow, beside the\nsleeping children.\nA strange thrill, a chill of presentiment, a sense of some impending\ncrisis, which, it seemed, he was powerless to prevent, which he must\nmake no attempt to prevent, ran through the King. He shivered. Then\nhe leant over the cots, and, very carefully, lest he should wake him,\npicked up the crown which lay on Button's pillow.\nThe crude, grotesque, cardboard toy made a poignant appeal to him.\nInevitably this toy cardboard crown reminded the King of that other\nCrown, from which, even here in Paradise, it seemed, he could not\nescape, that other Crown which had been placed on his head at the\nclimax of the long and exhausting Coronation ceremony, not many hours\nback. That other Crown had been heavy. This was light. That other\nCrown had been fashioned by cunning artists in metal, out of the\nenduring materials judged most precious by man. This crown had been\nlaboriously patched together by the untried fingers of a child, out\nof the flimsy, worthless materials furnished by a nursery cupboard.\nAnd yet, of the two crowns, was the one more valuable, more worth\npossessing, than the other? Both were symbols. That other Crown was the\nsymbol of a heavy burden, of a great responsibility. This toy crown\nwas the symbol of a child's fertile imagination, and happy play. Both\nwere pageantry. The one was the pageantry of a lifetime's isolation,\nand labour. The other was the pageantry of a child's happy play, for a\nsingle summer day.\nThe irony of the contrast, the irony of his own position, gripped the\nKing, with a thrill of something akin to physical pain.\nWith the absurd, toy cardboard crown still in his hand, he turned, and\nlooked at Judith.\nA dimly realized, instinctive rather than conscious, desire for\nsympathy prompted his look.\nAnd Judith failed him.\nIt was not what she did. It was not what she said. She did nothing. She\nsaid nothing. And yet, in one of those strange flashes of intuition,\nwhich come, at times, to the least sensitive of men, the King was aware\nthat Judith was not herself; that the accord which had hitherto always\nexisted between them was broken; and that he and she had suddenly\nbecome--antagonistic.\nJudith stood with her hands resting lightly on the brass rail at the\nfoot of Button's cot. Outwardly her attitude was wholly passive. None\nthe less, as he gazed at her, the King's intuitive conviction of their\nnew antagonism deepened.\nAn odd, tense, little pause ensued.\nThen, suddenly, Judith turned, and looked at him.\nA wonderful look. A look which amazed, and dumbfounded the King.\nA look, not of antagonism, as he had anticipated, but, welling up\nfrom the depths of her dark, mysterious eyes, a look which spoke,\nunmistakably, of a woman's tenderness, sympathy, surrender, love.\nFor a breathless moment or two, they stood thus, facing each other.\nThen Judith bent down, hurriedly, over the cots once again.\n\"If you will go out on to the verandah, Alfred, I will join you there,\nin a minute or two,\" she said.\nHer voice was husky, tremulous, low.\nMechanically, the King replaced the absurd toy cardboard crown, which\nhe was still holding in his hand, on Button's pillow. Then, dazed, and\nlike a man in a dream, he swung slowly round on his heel, and passed\nback, through the room, out to the verandah again.\nThe nightingales were still singing in the garden. The air was heavy\nwith the rich scent of some night-blossoming stock, set in one of the\nflowerbeds immediately below the verandah rail. The moon was afloat in\na little sea of luminous, billowy, drifting clouds.\nThe King sat down in one of the large, wicker work chairs, which always\nstood on the verandah.\nHe was glad to sit down.\nHe was trembling from head to foot--\nIt was for rest, and quiet, and peace, that he had run out to see\nJudith, and between them, all in a moment, they had blundered,\ntogether, into the thick of an emotional crisis.\nHow? Why?\nIt was all an inexplicable mystery to him.\nWhere was the white line Judith had always drawn round herself?\nWhere was the barrier of physical reserve she had always maintained\ninviolable between them? From the first moment of his arrival, he\nrealized now, in some odd way, almost in spite of herself as it were,\nshe had been--alluring!\nA strange, new Judith!\nA sudden, queer feeling of resentment stirred within the King.\nHe had been so sure of Judith!\nShe had placed him in an impossible, an intolerable position.\nNo. That was unfair, unjust. Judith was not to blame. Judith did not\nknow--how could she know?--the peculiar difficulties, the inexorable\nlimitations, imposed upon him by his Royal rank. She did not know--how\ncould she know?--that friendship was all he could accept from, all he\ncould offer, to, any woman. To Judith, he was merely a young naval\nofficer, whose frequent visits, whose unmistakable delight in her\nsociety, could have only one meaning.\nHe alone was to blame. By his own act, by his own deliberate\nconcealment of his real identity, he had made this crisis inevitable\nfrom the first.\nWhat attitude was he to adopt towards Judith now? Could he ignore\nwhat had happened? Could he hope that Judith would allow him to ignore\nwhat had happened? Or had the time come when he must reveal his real\nidentity to Judith at last? Would she believe him? If she believed him,\nwould she be able to forgive his deception? And, even if she forgave\nhim, would not the shadow thrown by his Royal rank irretrievably injure\nhis intimacy with her, with the Imps, and with Uncle Bond? All the\nspontaneity, the ease, and the naturalness of their relationship would\nbe at an end.\nNo. Whatever happened he could not risk that.\nJudith and Uncle Bond, were the only people he had ever known who had\nreceived him, who had accepted him, for what he was himself, the man\nwho remained when all the adventitious trappings of Royalty had been\ndiscarded. Judith and Uncle Bond, were the only people he ever met,\nwho treated him as an equal. As an equal? Judith, and Uncle Bond,\nquite rightly, often treated him as their inferior, their inferior in\nknowledge, in experience, in wisdom.\nThe King leant back in his chair, and closed his eyes. He was suddenly\nvery weary. The reaction following all that he had been through the\nlast twenty-four hours was heavy upon him. Difficult and dangerous\nmoments, he realized, lay immediately in front of him. And he was in no\ncondition to meet either difficulty or danger. What he wanted now was\nrest--\nIt was some little time before Judith reappeared on the verandah. When\nshe did reappear she brought with her a tray on which stood decanters,\nand glasses, and biscuits, and fruit. A picnic meal, like the one which\nhe had enjoyed on that first memorable night twelve months ago, had\nbecome, whenever possible, a feature of the ordinary routine of the\nKing's visits.\nJudith set down her tray on a wicker work table which stood beside the\nKing.\nThe King did not look round. He could not, he dare not, face Judith.\nJudith slipped behind his chair.\n\"I am sorry, Alfred,\" she said. \"I blame myself. It was my fault. It\nought not to have happened, tonight, of all nights. You were absolutely\nworn out, already, weren't you? I might, I ought to, have remembered\nthat. I want you to forget all about it, if you can. Now, how long can\nyou stay?\"\nA great wave of relief swept over the King.\nJudith was herself again.\nThis was the old Judith.\n\"I shall have to leave at seven o'clock in the morning, as usual. I\nmust be back in town by eight o'clock at the latest,\" he said.\n\"Then you must have a drink, and something to eat, at once,\" Judith,\nthe old Judith, announced taking absolute command of him again, from\nthat moment, as was her wont. \"We'll stay out here, and listen to the\nnightingales, for half an hour, if you like. I am glad they are singing\nfor you, tonight. And then, and then you will go straight to bed.\"\nDrawing another chair up to the table, as she spoke, she sat down. Then\nshe proceeded to wait upon him with the easy, unembarrassed grace which\ngave such an intimate charm to all her hospitality.\n\"Whisky and soda? And a biscuit? Or will you smoke?\" she asked.\n\"I am too tired to smoke. I am almost too tired to drink, I think,\" the\nKing murmured.\nJudith looked at him keenly.\n\"What you want is sleep, Alfred,\" she said. \"Drink this! It will do you\ngood. Don't bother to talk. I'll do the talking.\"\nThe King took the glass which Judith held out to him, and drank, as he\nwas told.\nThen he leant further back still in his chair.\nHe had reached a point, he was suddenly conscious now, not far removed\nfrom complete exhaustion.\nIn a little while, Judith, as she had promised, began to talk.\n\"You will see Uncle Bond, in the morning, of course,\" she remarked.\n\"You will do him good. He is in rather a bad way, just at present,\npoor old dear. The new serial seems to be giving him a lot of trouble.\n'Cynthia St. Claire' isn't functioning properly, at the moment. He's\nlocked himself up, for several nights now, without any result. He says\nit doesn't seem to matter how many candles he lights. 'Cynthia' still\neludes him. It really is a sort of Jekyll and Hyde business with him,\nyou know. If he is to do any work, he has to be 'Cynthia St. Claire,'\nand not James Bond. It is plain James Bond we prefer, of course. But it\nis 'Cynthia' who makes all the money, you know.\n\"The worst of it is, in spite of what Uncle Bond says, I am afraid it\nisn't all 'Cynthia's' fault this time. He's been running up to town,\nand knocking about the clubs, a good deal lately. That is nearly always\na sign that he is trying to dodge 'Cynthia.' It is almost as if he had\ngot something on his mind. Seeing you will do him good. He always gets\nwhat he calls a flow on, when you have been over. He wants it badly\nnow. The new story is three instalments behind the time-table already.\nPart of his trouble, I think, is that he is working on a plain heroine.\nHe does them alternately, you know. One Plain. The next Ringlets. This\none, I understand, is very plain. He misses the chance, I believe, of\nfilling in with purple passages of personal description. You have read\nsome of Uncle Bond's stuff, haven't you? Officially, I am not allowed\nto. Unofficially, of course, I read every word of it I can get hold of.\nIt's wonderful how he keeps it up, isn't it? And, every now and then,\nin spite of 'Cynthia,' he slips in something, without knowing it, which\nonly James Bond could have written. All sorts of unexpected people read\nhim, you know. He says it is the name, and not the stuff, that does the\ntrick. I think that it is the stuff. People like romance. Uncle Bond\ngives it to them.\"\nAt that moment, the sleep, of which the King stood in such dire need,\nlong overdue as it was, touched his eyelids.\nJudith shot out her arm, and skilfully retrieved the half empty glass,\nwhich all but fell from his hand.\nA little later, when he awoke with a start, conscious of the strange\nrefreshment which even a moment's sleep brings, he found that Judith's\nhand was in his.\n\"It has been a wonderful summer,\" Judith murmured. \"If the sun did not\nshine again, for months, we should have no right to complain. First\nthe lilac, and the chestnuts, and the hawthorn; then the laburnum and\nthe rhododendrons; and now the wild roses are beginning to show in the\nhedges. The skylarks singing at dawn; the cuckoo calling all day; the\nthrushes and the blackbirds whistling in the hot afternoon; and the\nnightingales, singing at night, as they are singing now! The bright sun\nin the morning, the blue sky, and the green of the trees. The haymakers\nat work in the fields. The whir of the haycutting machine. The Imps\ntumbling over each other in the hay, and calling to me. Diana's foal\nin the paddock, all long legs, and short tail. The wren's nest in\nthe garden, with six little wrens in it for Jenny Wren to feed. The\nafternoon sunlight on the trees; Uncle Bond in the garden, chuckling\nover his roses; the sunset; the young rabbits, with their white\nbob-tails, scuttling in and out of the hedges; a patter of rain on the\nleaves; the breeze in the trees; the twilight; the cool of the evening;\nand then the blue of the night sky, the stars, and the golden moon,\nin a bed of billowy, drifting clouds. The scent of the hayfields, the\nscent of the flowers; and the nightingales singing, in the garden, as\nthey are singing now!\n\"The nightingales are singing about it all. Can you hear what they say?\nI have been trying to put the nightingales' song into words. Listen!\nThose long, liquid notes--\"\nThe night air was heavy with the scent of the night-blossoming stock,\nin the flowerbed, immediately below the verandah rail. The nightingales\nsang as if at the climax of their rivalry for mastery. A huge owl\nlumbered, rather than flew, across the shadowy garden.\nFor a moment, it seemed to the King, as if the verandah, the house, the\ngarden, and even the night sky, stood away from them, receded, and that\nhe and Judith were alone, together, in infinite space.\nThe moment passed.\nJudith stood up.\n\"Bed!\" she said, speaking with the note of smiling, kindly discipline,\nwith which she ruled the Imps, and, when she chose, even Uncle Bond\nand himself. \"You will be able to sleep now, Alfred.\"\nThe King rose obediently to his feet to find, with a certain dull,\ndazed surprise, that he was stiff and sore, and hardly able to stand.\nDazed as he was, he did not fail to see the look of sharp anxiety which\nshone, for a moment, in Judith's eyes.\n\"Lean on me, old man!\" she exclaimed. \"You are done up. I'll see you\nto your room. They have been working you too hard. Do they never think\nof--the man--in your Service?\"\nShe put out her arm, as she spoke, and slipped it skilfully round his\nshoulders.\nAnd so, glad of Judith's support, and only restfully conscious of her\nnearness now, the King moved off slowly along the verandah towards the\nroom, at the far end of the silent, darkened house, which had come\nto be regarded as his room, and, as such, was strictly reserved, \"in\nperpetuity,\" for his use alone.\n\"Here you are!\" Judith announced, at last, halting at the open window\ndoor of the room. \"You will be able to manage by yourself now, won't\nyou? You must sleep now, Alfred. Dreamless sleep! Every minute of it!\nThe Imps will call you, as usual, in the morning. Good-night.\"\nA minute or two later, the King found himself alone, inside the room,\nsitting on the edge of the bed, with an urgent desire for sleep rising\nwithin him.\nThe fresh, fragrant night air blew softly into the room, through the\nopen window door, beyond which he could see, as he sat on the edge of\nthe bed, the gently swaying branches of the garden trees, silhouetted\nagainst the dark blue background of the moonlit sky.\nThe nightingales were still singing in the garden.\nYes. He could sleep here.\nThe room itself invited rest, induced sleep. Plainly, although\ncomfortably furnished, and decorated throughout in a soothing tint\nof grey, the room had a spaciousness, even an emptiness, which was\nfar more to the King's taste, than the ornate fittings of that other\nbedroom of his in the palace, where sleep so often eluded him. Beyond\nthe absolutely necessary furniture, there was nothing in the room, save\nthe few essential toilet trifles which he kept there. Nothing was ever\naltered in, nothing was ever moved from, this room, in his absence. It\nhad all become congenial, friendly, familiar.\nThe King undressed, mechanically, in the moonlight, and put on the\nsleeping suit which lay ready to his hand, on the bed, at his side.\nThen he got into bed.\nHis last thought was one of gratitude to, and renewed confidence in,\nJudith. How she had humoured, how she had managed him, coaxing and\ncajoling him, as if he had been a sick child, along the shadowy road to\nsleep. The emotional crisis which had arisen so inexplicably between\nthem had, as inexplicably spent its force harmlessly. Their friendship\nwas unimpaired. Nothing was altered between them. Nothing was to be\naltered. Judith had emphasized that. The Imps were to wake him, in the\nmorning, as usual. He was to see Uncle Bond. All was to be as it had\nalways been. He was glad. He had no wish for, he shrank instinctively\nfrom the thought of, any changes, here, in Paradise.\nBut now he must sleep. Dreamless sleep.\nAnd so, he fell asleep.\nHe slept, at once, so soundly, that he never stirred, when, in a little\nwhile, Judith slipped noiselessly into the room. Crossing to the bed,\nshe stood, for a moment or two, looking down at him, with all the\nunfathomable tenderness in her dark, mysterious eyes, which she had\nasked him to forget, which she had made him forget.\nSuddenly, she leant over the bed, and kissed him lightly on the\nforehead.\nThen she slipped quickly out of the room, once again.\nCHAPTER V\nIt was to the sound of the patter of bare feet, on the polished floor\nof his bedroom, followed by suppressed gurgles of joyous laughter, that\nthe King awoke, in the morning. Bright sunshine was streaming into\nthe room, through the still open window door. Button and Bill, their\nfaces rosy with health and sleep, and their hair still tousled, as it\nhad come from their pillows, engagingly droll little figures in their\ndiminutive sleeping suits, stood at his bedside, watching him with\nshining, mischievous eyes. As he sat up in bed, they flung themselves\nat him, with triumphant shouts, wriggling and swarming all over him, as\nthey essayed to smother him, under his own bedclothes and pillows.\nAt the end of two or three hilarious, and vivid moments of mimic\nfight, the King brought the heavy artillery of his bolster to bear\non his enemies, smiting them cunningly in the \"safe places\" of their\nwriggling, deliciously fresh little bodies, and so driving them, inch\nby inch, down to the foot of the bed, where, still laughing and\ngurgling gloriously, they rolled themselves up, to evade his blows,\nlike a couple of young hedgehogs.\nThen the King flung his bolster on to the floor, and, reaching out\nhis arms, took his enemies captive, tucking them, one under each arm,\nand holding them there, kicking and protesting, but wholly willing\nprisoners.\nButton, at this point, although suspended under the King's left arm,\nmore or less in mid-air, contrived to wriggle his right hand free, and\nheld it out gravely, to be shaken. On the strength of his seven years,\nButton had lately given up kissing in public, and begun to affect the\nformal manner of the man of the world, in matters of courtesy, as\nshrewdly observed in Uncle Bond.\n\"Good morning, my boy,\" he remarked, in Uncle Bond's blandest manner.\nIn order to shake Button's hand, the King was compelled to release Bill\nfrom his prison, under his right arm. Bill, whose happy fate it was\nto be still only five, the true golden age, had no man of the world\npretensions, no sense of shame in his affections. Breaking ruthlessly\ninto Button's formal greeting, he flung both his chubby arms round\nthe King's neck, pulled his head down to be kissed, and then hugged\nhim, with all the force in his lithe little body, chanting in a voice\nabsurdly like Judith's the while--\n\"Diana's got a foal, all legs and stumpy tail, and a white star on its\nface. We're making the hay. There's a wren's nest in the garden. It's\npast six o'clock, and it's a lovely summer morning, and you've got to\nget up, Uncle Alfred.\"\nFrom some dusty pigeonhole in his memory, where it had lain since his\nown far-away childhood, there floated out into the King's mind, a\nphrase, a sentence--\n \"And I said I will not put forth mine hand to touch my King, for he is\n the Lord's Anointed.\"\nIt was a phrase, a sentence, which he could trace back to the Bible\nlessons, which had been as faithfully and remorselessly delivered, on\nSunday afternoons, in the Royal nursery, as in any other nursery of the\nperiod, when the strict discipline in such matters, derived originally\nfrom the now well-nigh forgotten Victorian era, had not been altogether\nrelaxed. It was a phrase, a sentence, which had impressed itself upon\nhis childish imagination, and had, for years, stood between him, and\nhis father, the King. His father had been the Lord's Anointed. As a\nchild he had not dared to put forth his hand to touch him! For years,\nhe had lived in awe, almost in fear, of his own father. Perhaps this\nwas why, even down to the day of his death, the King had always seemed\nto him to be a man apart, isolated, lonely, remote. Perhaps this\nwas partly why, he himself, now that he was King, was so constantly\nconscious of his own intolerable isolation.\n \"And I said I will not put forth mine hand to touch my King, for he is\n the Lord's Anointed.\"\nIf Button and Bill, particularly Bill, whose chubby arms were, even\nnow, tightening around him, knew his real identity, knew that he was\nthe King, \"the Lord's Anointed,\" not a fairy tale King, not a King\nof their own childish play, but _the_ King, in whose procession they\nhad thought Uncle Alfred might have a place, would not they live in\nawe of him, would not they fear him, would not the present delightful\nspontaneity, the fearlessness, the frank embraces, of their intercourse\nwith him, be irreparably injured?\nYes. His decision of the night before must stand.\nButton and Bill must never know, Judith and Uncle Bond must never\nknow, his real identity.\nAt that moment, Judith knocked at the bedroom door.\n\"Good morning, Alfred. The bathroom is yours, and the Imps, if you\ndon't mind having them with you, and letting them have a splash,\" she\ncalled out cheerily. \"But no flood in the passage, this morning, mind!\nBreakfast in half an hour, on the verandah. We shall be by ourselves.\nUncle Bond has had another bad night. 'Cynthia' has failed him again.\nHe daren't face eggs and bacon in public, he says. Hurry up, Imps. Big\nsponge, floating soap, and bath towels, at the double.\"\n\"I'm first!\" Button shrieked, making a wild dive for the door.\n\"I'd rather be last!\" Bill explained, quite unconcerned, lingering to\ngive the King a final hug.\n\"If I'm last, I shall be able to float 'Ironclad Willie,' and\n'Snuffles,' shan't I? They haven't had a swim--for _ever_ so long--poor\ndears.\"\n'Ironclad Willie,' and 'Snuffles,' were a large china fish, and a small\nchina duck, which Bill sometimes forgot, and sometimes remembered at\nbath time.\nA hilarious, crowded, half hour followed. It was a half hour lit up,\nfor the King, by the blended innocence and mischief which shone in the\nImps' eyes, a half hour set to music for him by the Imps' gurgling\nchuckles, and radiant, childish laughter. First came the bathroom,\nwhere the Imps splashed and twisted in the bath, their brown, wriggling\nlittle bodies as lithe and supple as those of young eels; where Bill,\nlost in a huge bath towel, demanded assistance in drying all the back\nplaces and corners; where Button solemnly lathered his chin, just\nas Uncle Alfred lathered his chin; where Bill was, for one terrible\nmoment, in imminent peril of his life, as he grabbed at the case of\nshining razors. Then came the bedroom again, where odd, queer-shaped\nlittle garments had to be turned right side out, and buttons and\nstrings had to be fastened, and tied. Innocency, fearlessness, trust,\nmischief, and laughter were inextricably mingled in it all, with\nlaughter predominating, the radiant laughter of the happy child,\nignorant of evil.\nAll this was all as it had always been, and, for that reason, it all\nmade a more poignant appeal, than ever before, this morning, to the\nKing.\nBreakfast was served, as Judith had promised, out on the sunlit\nverandah.\nOne glance at Judith, as he approached the breakfast table, assured the\nKing that it was the old Judith with whom he had to deal.\nDressed in white, and as fresh and cool as the morning, Judith was\nalready in her place, at the head of the table, hospitably entrenched\nbehind the coffee pot.\nShe looked up at the King, with her customary little nod, and friendly\nsmile.\n\"You slept? You are rested? It was dreamless sleep? Good boy!\" she said.\nAnd she poured out his coffee.\nFrom that moment, they fell, easily and naturally, into their usual\nroutine.\nIntimate conversation, with the Imps at the table, was out of the\nquestion. An occasional glance, a sympathetic smile, was all that\ncould pass between them. The King was well content to have it so. He\nwas pleasantly conscious that the accord between them, which had been\nso inexplicably broken, for a time, the night before, was completely\nrestored. Their friendship was unimpaired. Nothing else mattered.\nLooking at Judith, cool, competent, and self-contained, as she was, he\nfound himself almost doubting the actuality of the emotional crisis of\nthe night before. Had that scene in the night nursery been a dream? A\nmere figment of his own fevered, disordered imagination?\nThe birds whistled, and called cheerily from the sunlit greenness of\nthe garden.\nThe Imps chattered like magpies as they attacked their porridge.\nIt was a merry, informal, delightfully domestic meal.\nThis, it seemed to the King, was his only real life. That other life\nof his in the palace, guarded, night and day, by the soldiery, and the\npolice, was the illusion, was the dream.\nBut the meal was, inevitably, a hurried one, and it ended, abruptly,\nand all too soon, when Judith rose suddenly to her feet, and drove the\nImps before her, along the verandah, to say good morning to Diana's\nfoal in the paddock.\nNo word of farewell was spoken.\nIt had become an understood thing, part of the usual routine, that the\nKing should never say good-bye.\nLeft alone, the King leant back in his chair, and filled, and lit, his\npipe. He always lingered for awhile, beside the disordered breakfast\ntable, on these occasions, so that he could savour to the full, the\npeace, the quietness, and the beauty of his surroundings. He had learnt\nto store up such impressions in his memory, so that he could invoke\nthem, for his own encouragement, in his darker hours. And, it was more\nthan probable, that if he waited a few minutes, Uncle Bond would come\nout to speak to him. A sentence or two, from Judith's talk the night\nbefore, recurred to him now. Uncle Bond, really worried, was a new, and\nstrange, phenomenon. If he could cheer the little man up, as Judith had\nsuggested, he would be glad. He owed a great deal to Uncle Bond.\nA thrush, perched at the top of a tall fir tree, near the house,\nwhistled blithely.\nThe minutes passed.\nUncle Bond did not come.\nAt last, the King glanced reluctantly at his watch. It was seven\no'clock. It was time for him to go. He must be back in the palace by\neight o'clock, at the latest. He stood up. Then, conscious of a keen\nsense of disappointment at not seeing Uncle Bond, over and above the\ndepression which he always felt when the moment came for him to leave\nParadise, he stepped down off the verandah, and moved slowly round the\nside of the house, through the sunlit garden, towards the garage.\nHe had no hope of seeing Judith, or even the Imps, again. They would\nstay in the paddock, or in the hayfields beyond, until he had driven\naway, clear of the house, and the garden.\nCHAPTER VI\nUncle Bond, as it proved, had been waiting for him, all the time, at\nthe garage.\nThe little man had run the King's car, out of the garage, into the\ndrive. Already seated himself in the car, he looked up, as the King\napproached, with a mischievous twinkle in his spectacled eyes, and a\ndroll smile puckering his round, double-chinned, clean-shaven face.\n\"Good morning, my boy, I'm going to see you along the main road, for\na mile or two,\" he announced. \"I shall have to walk back. That will\nbe good for me. Judith says I'm getting fat! Thought I was cutting\nyou, didn't you? I thought that I'd stage a little surprise for you.\nAstonishment is good for the young. It is the only means we old fogies\nhave left, nowadays, of keeping you youngsters properly humble. The\nImps have taught me that! Jump in! I want to talk to you.\"\nThe King looked at the corpulent little man, and laughed.\n\"I was feeling absurdly disappointed, because I hadn't seen you, Uncle\nBond,\" he confessed.\nPutting on his thick leather motor coat, and adjusting his goggles,\nwhich the little man had placed in readiness for him, on the vacant\nseat at the steering wheel, the King got into the car, and started the\nengine.\n\"The first mile in silence!\" Uncle Bond directed. \"If possible I have\ngot to assume an unaccustomed air of gravity. And drive slowly. The\nsubtlety of that suggestion probably escapes you. A bar or two of slow\nmusic and--enter emotion! When I chuckle again, you can change your\ngear.\"\nAway from the house, down the short, sunlit drive, and out into, and\nup, the narrow tree-shadowed lane beyond, the King drove slowly, and in\nsilence, as the little man had directed.\nAll but buried under the big, black sombrero-like felt hat, which it\nwas his whim to affect, in grotesque contrast with the light, loosely\ncut shooting clothes which were his habitual wear, Uncle Bond sat\nlow down in his seat in the car, on the King's left. In spite of\nhis invocation of gravity, gravity remained far from him. Nothing\ncould altogether efface the mischievous twinkle which lurked in his\nspectacled eyes, or blot out, for long, the mocking smile which\npuckered his mobile lips. But the King knew Uncle Bond well enough to\nrealize that he was unusually thoughtful. What was it Judith had said?\nIt was almost as if Uncle Bond had something on his mind. Judith was\nright. The little man, clearly, at any rate, had something that he\nwanted to say.\nIt was not until the car had swung out of the lane, and headed for\nLondon, was sweeping down the broad, and, at this comparatively early\nhour of the morning, empty, Great North Road, that Uncle Bond spoke.\n\"We have not seen very much of you, lately, my boy,\" he remarked.\n\"You have been busy, no doubt. In the Service, you young men are not\nyour own masters, of course. And Judith tells me that they have even\nmade the mistake of giving you--promotion. I have been wondering if\nthat--promotion--is likely to make your visits to us more difficult,\nand so rarer? The increasing responsibility, the increasing demands on\nyour energy, and on your time, which your--promotion--has, no doubt,\nbrought with it, will, perhaps, interfere with your visits to us?\nPerhaps you will have to discontinue your visits to us, altogether, for\na time?\"\nAlthough his own eyes were, of necessity, fixed on the stretch of the\nbroad, empty, sunlit road, immediately in front of the throbbing car,\nthe King was uncomfortably aware that Uncle Bond was watching him\nnarrowly as he spoke. This, then, was the something that the little\nman had on his mind. Suspicion? Doubt? Doubt of him? Doubt of his\nloyalty to his friends? In spite of the little man's suave manner, and\ncarefully chosen phrases, it seemed to the King that the inference was\nunmistakable. It was an astonishing inference to come from Uncle Bond.\nDiscontinue his visits? This, when he had just been congratulating\nhimself on the unchanged nature of his intimacy with Judith, and with\nthe Imps, so unexpectedly, and seriously, threatened, the night before,\nbut so thoroughly and happily, re-established, that morning. Had he not\nmade up his mind that all was to be as it had always been? But Uncle\nBond knew nothing about that, of course.\n\"My--promotion--will not interfere with my visits to you, and to\nJudith, Uncle Bond,\" he declared.\n\"You are sure of that?\" Uncle Bond persisted.\n\"Absolutely certain,\" the King exclaimed, and in spite of his efforts\nto suppress it, a note of rising irritation sounded in his voice.\nThere was a momentary pause.\nThen Uncle Bond chuckled.\n\"Change your gear, my boy. I chuckled! Change your gear,\" he crowed. \"A\nmile or two of real speed will do neither you nor me, any harm, now.\nDid I not say--'Enter emotion!' But I did not say that it would be my\nemotion, did I? You are the hero of this piece. It is for you the slow\nmusic has to be played. I am only the knockabout comedian, useful for\nfilling in the drop scenes. Or am I the heavy father? 'Pon my soul,\nwhen I come to think of it, it seems to me that I am destined to double\nthe two parts.\"\nHe laid his hand on the King's arm.\n\"I like your answer, my boy. It is the answer I expected you to make.\nBut I could not be sure. Human nature being the unaccountable thing\nthat it is, I could not be sure. And now, I have another question to\nask you. And I am the heavy father now. If only I could be grave! If\nyour visits to us are to continue, don't you think it will be, perhaps,\nas well for you to be a little more careful about--the conventions,\nshall I say? You arrived very late, last night. Judith was alone to\nreceive you. Such circumstances are liable to be misunderstood, don't\nyou think? And, although we are all apt to overlook the fact, we are\nall--human. A wise man avoids, for his own sake, and for the sake of\nothers--certain provocations. 'The prudent man forseeth the evil'--but\nthe quotation would be lost on you. A text for my sermon!\"\nThe King had, automatically, let out the car, in response to Uncle\nBond's direction. He applied all his brakes, and slowed the car down\nagain now, on his own behalf. He wanted to be able to breathe, to think.\nThis was the first time Uncle Bond had ever spoken to him in this\nway. The wonder, of course, was that he had never spoken to him, in\nthis way, before. Did the little man know what had happened the night\nbefore? No. That was impossible. Judith would not, Judith could not,\nhave disclosed what had happened to him. It must be his own unerring\ninstinct, his own sure knowledge of human nature, which had prompted\nthe little man to deliver this sermon. This sermon? This generous,\nkindly, tactful, whimsical reproof. How well deserved the reproof was,\nthe events of the night before had shown.\n\"I am sorry, Uncle Bond. I have been very thoughtless,\" he said. \"It\nwill not happen again.\"\n\"Judith and I appreciate your visits, my boy,\" Uncle Bond continued.\n\"It would be a matter of very great regret to--both of us--if we found\nthat we had--to limit, in any way--the hospitality, which we have been\nso glad to offer you. We wish, we both wish, to maintain our present,\npleasant relationship, unchanged. That is your wish, too, I think?\"\nThe King let out the car once again. His emotions, his thoughts\nrequired, now, the relief of speed.\n\"Somehow, I can never bear to think of any change, where you, and\nJudith, and the Imps are concerned, Uncle Bond,\" he exclaimed.\n\"Somehow, I can never think of you, except all together, in the\nsurroundings you have made your own. And that is strange, you know! We\nare all, as you say--human. Judith--Judith is the superior of every\nwoman I have ever met. Her place is, her place ought to be, by right,\nat the head of the procession. And yet, somehow, I can never see her\nthere!\"\nUncle Bond sat very still.\n\"At the head of the procession?\" he murmured. \"Is that so enviable a\nposition, my boy? Ask the man, ask the men, you find there!\"\nHe chuckled then unaccountably.\nThe King winced. It was only one of the chance flashes of cynicism,\nwith which Uncle Bond salted his talk, of course. But how true, and\napposite, to his own position, and experience, the remark was!\n\"And, if the head of the procession is no enviable place for a man,\nwhat would it be for a woman, for a woman with a heart?\" Uncle Bond\nproceeded. \"'Pon my soul, I am talking pure 'Cynthia'!\" he exclaimed.\n\"'Cynthia' has begun to function, at last! That last sentence was in\nthe lazy minx's best style. Judith will have told you that 'Cynthia'\nhas been giving me a lot of trouble lately? You have lured her back,\nmy boy. I thank you! You always attract her. She has a weakness for\nhandsome young men. Her heroes are always Apollos.\"\nHe half turned, in his seat, towards the King.\n\"My boy, I will offer you another piece of advice,\" he remarked. \"It\nis a mistake I do not often make.\" His habits of speech were too much\nfor him. Even now, when he was patently in earnest, the little man\ncould not be grave. \"My advice is this--never attempt to put, never\nthink, even in your own mind, of putting Judith, at the head of any\nprocession. It is not Judith's place. Her place is in the background,\nthe best place, the place that the best women always choose, in life.\n'Cynthia' again! Pure 'Cynthia'! Welcome, you minx! If you ever\nattempt to take Judith out of the background, out of the background\nwhich she has chosen for herself, you will encounter inevitable\ndisappointment, and cause yourself, and so her, pain. And you will\nspoil the--friendship--between you and Judith, which I have found so\nmuch--pleasure in watching. That is not 'Cynthia.' It is myself, plain\nJames Bond. My advice, you see, like everybody else's, is, by no means,\ndisinterested.\"\nThe King smiled at the little man, almost in spite of himself. This was\nthe true Uncle Bond. This was Uncle Bond's way.\n\"I wonder if you are right, Uncle Bond? I am afraid, my own feeling\nsuggests, that you are,\" he murmured. \"And yet, somehow, I am not\nsure--\"\nUnconsciously, he slowed down the car, yet once again, as he spoke.\nThe little man had stirred thoughts in him which required deliberate,\nand careful, expression.\n\"I have not thought very much about the procession, myself, until just\nlately,\" he said. \"But it seems to me, you know, that we none of us,\nmen and women alike, have very much to do with our place in the files.\nI have never believed in chance. And I am not, I think, a fatalist. And\nyet, you know, it seems to me that the procession catches us up, and\nsweeps us along, at the head or the tail, as the case may be, whether\nwe will or no. A man may be caught up, suddenly, into the procession,\nand swept along with it, into some position, which he never expected to\nfill, which he would rather not fill, but from which he seems to have\nno chance of escape. Has he any chance of escape? It is the procession\nthat controls us, I think, not we who control the procession. What do\nyou think? Can a man escape? Can any of us ever really choose our place\nin the files?\"\nUncle Bond chuckled delightedly.\n\"Judith told me that they had been overworking you, my boy. Judith,\nas usual, was right,\" he remarked. \"You appear to me to be in grave\ndanger of becoming most satisfactorily morbid. Liver! Almost certainly\nliver! But about this procession of yours. 'Pon my soul, the figure,\nthe fancy, is not unworthy of 'Cynthia' herself. It would make a\nuseful purple passage. Not for serial publication, of course. We cut\nthem out there. But we put them in again, when the time comes for the\nstuff to go into book form. The procession of life! Yes. The idea is\nquite sufficiently threadbare. The one essential, for the successful\nproduction of money-making fiction is, of course, to be threadbare.\nGive the public what they have had before! But you are interested in\nthe procession, not in the literary market. Can a man, or a woman,\nchoose their place in the files? I say 'yes!'\n\"Once or twice, in the life of every man and woman, I believe, come\nmoments, when they must choose their place in the files, moments when\nthey have to decide whether they will stay where they are, whether they\nwill fight to hold the place they have, whether they will shoulder\ntheir way forward, or whether they will fall out, to one side, or to\nthe rear. All my life, I have been watching the procession, my boy.\nThat is why I have grown so fat! It is many years, now, since I decided\nto step out of the procession, to one side, and I have been watching\nit sweep past, ever since. A brave show! But we have been talking\nglibly of the head and the tail of the procession. Where are they? I\nhave never found them. I have never seen them. All I have ever seen is\nthat the procession is there, and that it moves. But, no doubt, the\nband is playing--somewhere--\n\"But you are young, and they have just given you--promotion! You are\nin the procession, sweeping through the market-place, with all the\nflags flying, and the band, as I say, playing--somewhere. But I, and\nJudith, we are a little to one side, in the background, watching you,\nin the procession, from one of the windows of the quiet, old-fashioned\ninn, at the corner of the market-place, the quiet, old-fashioned inn\non the signboard of which is written, in letters of gold, 'Content.'\nYour instinct will probably, and very properly, prompt you to fight\nfor your place in the files, when the other fellows tread too hard on\nyour heels. But, whether you fight for your place or not, whether you\ncome out at the head or the tail of the procession, wherever the head\nand tail may be, whether you step to one side, or fall out altogether,\nwhatever happens to you, my boy, Judith and I will always be glad\nto welcome you to the inn at the corner, and give you a seat at our\nwindow. You will remember that?\n\"And what do you think of that, as a purple passage, my boy? 'Pon my\nsoul, it seems to me, now, that 'Cynthia' is functioning, she is in\nquite her best vein. I must get back home with her, at once. Pull up on\nthis side of the signpost. I must not advance a foot into Hades, this\nmorning, or I shall lose touch with the minx. She ought to be good for\nfive or six thousand words today. And they are badly needed. The new\nstory is three instalments behind the time-table already. It is the\nvillain of the new piece, who is giving us trouble. Even 'Cynthia,'\nherself, is tired of him, I believe. He is a sallow person, with a\npair of black, bushy eyebrows, which run up and down his forehead,\nwith a regularity which is depressing. Two or three times, in each\ninstalment, the confounded things go up and down, like sky-rockets. He\nlives in a mysterious house, in one of the mean streets, in the new\nartistic quarter, in Brixton. The house is full of Eastern furniture,\nand glamour. That is threadbare enough, isn't it? And I am using back\nnumbers of 'Punch,' for humour.\"\nOnce again, the King let out the car. He knew Uncle Bond well enough\nto recognize that the little man was talking extravagantly now, to hide\nthe note of sincere personal feeling, which had sounded unmistakably\nin his talk of the procession, although he had been so careful to\nattribute it all to 'Cynthia.' It was on occasions such as this, after\none of his sudden flashes of sincerity, that Uncle Bond became most\noutrageously flippant. Nothing but burlesque humour, and grotesque,\nextravagant nonsense was to be expected from him now.\nAt the moment, flippancy jarred on the King. His attention had been\nriveted by the little man's vivid, figurative talk of the procession,\nso peculiarly apposite, as it was, to his own position, and the\nassurance of unchanging friendship, with which it had ended, had moved,\nand humbled him. He did not deserve, in view of his concealment of his\nreal identity, he had no right to accept, such friendship.\nBut Uncle Bond never did the expected thing!\nNow, as the throbbing car leapt forward, and swept along the broad,\nsunlit road at its highest speed, the little man became suddenly\nsilent. A new mood of abstraction seemed to fall upon him. It was\nalmost as if he had still something on his mind, as if there was still\nsomething which he wanted to say.\nSoon the Paradise-Hades signpost, to which the King himself had\nintroduced the little man, flashed into view, on the right of the road.\nThe King at once pulled up the car, well on the Paradise side of the\npost.\nUncle Bond threw off his unusual abstraction, in a moment, and\nscrambled, nimbly enough, out of the car.\nThe little man tested the car door carefully, to make sure that he had\nfastened it securely behind him.\nThen he looked up at the King, with an odd, provocative twinkle in his\nmischievous, spectacled eyes.\n\"If I were you, Alfred, I should fight for my place in the procession,\nif necessary,\" he remarked. \"Fight for your place, if necessary, my\nboy! After all, you are young, and they have just given you--promotion.\nI have a shrewd suspicion that you would not be satisfied, for long,\nby the view from our window, in the quiet, old-fashioned, inn of\n'Content.' You would soon want to alter the signboard inscription,\nI fancy. An occasional glance through the window is all very well.\nIt is restful. It serves its purpose. But a taste for the stir,\nthe bustle, the jostling, and the dust and the clamour, in the\nmarket-place, is pretty deeply implanted in all of us. To be in the\nmovement! It is, almost, the universal disease. A man, who is a man,\na young man, wants to be in the thick of things, in the hurly-burly,\nin the street below. What is there for him in a window view? Fight for\nyour place, if necessary, my boy! And, if you decide to fight, fight\nwith a good grace, and with all your heart. It is the half-hearted\nmen, it is the half-hearted women, who fail. The best places in the\nprocession--whether they are at the head or the tail, and where the\nhead and the tail are, who knows?--like the best seats at the inn\nwindows, in the background, fall to the men, fall to the women, who\nknow what they want, who know their own mind.\n\"But, now, I must walk!\"\nAnd with that, and with no other leave-taking, Uncle Bond swung round\nabruptly, and set off, with surprising swiftness, for so small, and so\ncorpulent a man, straight back along the road.\nAutomatically, the King restarted the car.\nThen he turned in his seat, to wave his hand, in farewell, to Uncle\nBond.\nBut Uncle Bond did not look round.\nThe King glanced at his watch. It was already half past seven. He had\na good deal of time to make up. But he could do it. He opened out the\ncar, now, to its fullest extent. The powerful engine responded, at\nonce, to his touch, and the car shot forward--out of Paradise into\nHades!\nFor once the King was unconscious of this transition. He was thinking\nof the procession, of Uncle Bond, of Judith, and of himself; their\nseats at the inn window; his place in the files. Must the whole width\nof the market-place always lie between them? Must it always be only\noccasionally, and with some risk--the risk he was running now--that he\nstepped out of the procession, and slipped, secretly, into the quiet\n\"inn of Content,\" to look through their window, to stand, for a few\nmoments, at their side? They were in the background. He was at the head\nof the procession. At the head? Who knew, who could say, where the head\nor the tail was? Was the band playing--somewhere? He had never heard\nit. Would he tire of the window view--soon? Was he not tired already,\nof his place in the files?\nFight for his place? Must he fight? A fight was something. The other\nfellows were treading very hard on his heels. But was his place worth\nfighting for? Did he want it? He had not chosen it. It had been thrust\nupon him. The moments of decision, when a man had to choose his place\nin the files, about which Uncle Bond had spoken so confidently, had\nnever come to him. Moments of decision? What could he, what did he,\never decide? In the very fight for his place, which was impending,\nhe would not be allowed to commit himself. The fight would be fought\nfor him, all around him, and he, the man most concerned, was the one\nman who could not, who would not be allowed, to take a side. It was\nall arranged for him. The old Duke of Northborough, the lightning\nconductor, would take the shock! And the result? Did he know what he\nwanted? Did he know his own mind? A half-hearted man! What a faculty\nUncle Bond had for hitting on a phrase, a sentence, that stuck, that\nrecurred. It described him. A half-hearted King. A half-hearted friend.\nA half-hearted--lover.\nBut was it altogether his fault? Was it not his position, his\nintolerable isolation, his responsibility, which, by a bitter paradox,\nwas without responsibility, that had thrown his whole life out of gear,\nand paralysed his will? As a sailor, in his own chosen profession,\nwith responsibility, with the command of men, he had held his own, more\nthan held his own, with his peers. He had had his place, an honourable\nplace, amongst men of the same seniority as himself, and the Navy took\nthe best men, the pick of the country. Yes. He knew what he wanted\nnow. A moment of decision. A moment in which he could be himself. A\nmoment in which he could assert himself, assert his own individuality,\nrecklessly, violently, prove that he was not a half-hearted man, not an\nautomaton, not an overdressed popinjay--\nAt this point, the appearance of a certain amount of traffic on the\nroad, as the car swept into the fringe of the outer suburbs, and\nthe more careful driving which it entailed, broke the thread of the\nKing's thoughts. The inevitable lowering of the speed of the car which\nfollowed, served to remind him anew that he still had a good deal of\ntime to make up, thanks to his loitering with Uncle Bond, if he was\nto be successful in effecting his return to the palace unobserved.\nHis rising anxiety about this now all important matter led him\nthenceforward to concentrate the whole of his attention on his handling\nof the car.\nCHAPTER VII\nIn the outer suburbs, milkmen, postmen, and boys delivering newspapers,\nwere moving from door to door, in the quiet streets of villas. The\ntramcars, and later the buses, which the car caught up, and passed,\nwere crowded with workmen, being carried at \"Workmen's Fares.\" The shop\nfronts, in the inner suburbs, gay in the early morning sunlight, with\ntheir Coronation flags and decorations, were still all shuttered; but a\nthin trickle of men and women in the streets, moving in the direction\nof the railway stations, gave promise already of the impending rush\nof the business crowd. Coronation Day had come, and gone. The public\nholiday was over. Now there was work toward.\nAt the far end of Tottenham Court Road, by which broad thoroughfare he\napproached, as he had escaped from, the town, the King deliberately\nvaried the route which he had followed the night before. Heading the\ncar straight on down Charing Cross Road, through Trafalgar Square,\nand so into Whitehall, he turned, at last, into Victoria Street. It\nwas by the side streets, in the vicinity of Victoria Station, that he\nultimately approached the palace, and ran out into Lower Grosvenor\nPlace. He did this to avoid the neighbourhood of the parks, and\npossible recognition by early morning riders, on their way to and from\nRotten Row.\nLower Grosvenor Place proved, as usual, deserted. In the secluded,\nshut-in mews, behind the tall houses, no one, as yet, was stirring. In\na very few minutes, the King had successfully garaged the car. Then he\nslipped hurriedly back across Grosvenor Place. The road was happily\nstill empty, and he reached the small, green, wooden door in the palace\ngarden wall, without encountering anything more formidable than a stray\nblack cat. A black cat which shared his taste for night walking. A\npurring black cat, which rubbed its head against his legs. A black cat\nfor luck!\nUnlocking, and opening, the door, the King slipped into the palace\ngarden.\nThe door swung to behind him.\nAll need for anxiety, for haste, and for precaution was now at an end.\nIt was only just eight o'clock.\nSauntering leisurely through the garden, the King reached the palace\nwithout meeting any one, on the way. Sometimes, on these occasions, he\nran into gardeners, early at work, a policeman, patrolling the walks,\nor some member of the household staff; but such encounters never caused\nhim any anxiety. Why should not the King take a stroll in the garden,\nbefore breakfast? Had he not been known to dive into the garden lake\nfor an early morning swim, and had not the fact been duly recorded in\nall the newspapers?\nHe entered the palace by the door through which he had escaped the\nnight before, and so, mounting the private staircase, which led up to\nhis own suite of rooms, regained his dressing room, unchallenged.\nThe creation of a certain amount of necessary disorder in his bedroom,\nand a partial undressing, were the work of only a few minutes.\nThen he rang his bell, for which, he was well aware, a number of the\npalace servants would be, already anxiously listening.\nIt was Smith, as the King had been at some pains to arrange, who\nanswered this, the first summons of the official, Royal day.\n\"Breakfast in the garden, in half an hour, Smith,\" the King ordered.\n\"See about that, at once. Then you can come back, and get my bath\nready, and lay out the clothes.\"\nAnother bath was welcome, and refreshing, after the dust, and the\nexcitement of the motor run. Smith's choice of clothes was a new, grey,\nlounge suit, of most satisfactory cut, and finish. At the end of the\nhalf hour which he had allowed himself, the King left the dressing\nroom, and passed down the private staircase, out into the sunlit\ngarden, with an excellent appetite for his second breakfast.\nThe breakfast table had been placed on one of the lawns, in the green\nshade thrown by a magnificent sycamore tree. A couple of gorgeously\nclad footmen were responsible for the service of the meal but they\nsoon withdrew to a discreet distance. The unpretentious domestic life,\ntraditional for so many years, in the palace, had made it comparatively\neasy for the King to reduce to a minimum the distasteful ceremony which\nthe presence of servants adds to the simplest meal.\nA few personal letters, extracted by some early rising member of\nhis secretarial staff, from the avalanche of correspondence in the\nRoyal post bags, had been placed, in readiness for the King, on the\nbreakfast table. One of these letters bore the Sandringham postmark,\nand proved to be from his youngest sister, the Princess Elizabeth, who\nwas still, officially, a school girl. It was a charming letter. With\na frank and fearless affection, a spontaneous na\u00efvet\u00e9, that pleased\nthe King, the young Princess wrote to offer him her congratulations on\nhis Coronation, congratulations which, she confessed, she had been too\nshy to voice in public, the day before. The letter touched the King.\nHe read it through twice, allowing his eggs and bacon, and coffee, to\ngrow cold, while he did so. There was a note of sincere feeling, of\ngenuine affection, of sisterly pride in him, mingled with anxiety for\nhis welfare, in the letter, which afforded a very agreeable contrast\nto the subservience of the Family in general, which had so jarred upon\nhim, at the state banquet, the night before. This sister of his seemed\nlikely to grow up into a true woman, a loyal and affectionate woman.\nShe reminded him, in some odd way, of Judith.\nWhat would the future bring to this fresh, unspoilt, sister of his? \"A\nwoman, a woman with a heart, at the head of the procession.\" Another\nof Uncle Bond's phrases! What an insight the little man had into the\npossibilities of positions, and situations, which he could only\nhave known in imagination, in the imagination which he wasted on the\nconstruction of his grotesquely improbable tales! He must do what he\ncould for this fresh, unspoilt sister of his. That would be little\nenough in all conscience! Meanwhile he could write to her, and thank\nher for her letter. That was an attention which would please her.\nProducing a small, morocco bound, memorandum tablet, which he always\ncarried about with him, in his waistcoat pocket, the King made a note\nto remind him to write to the Princess, in one of the intervals of his\nbusy official day.\n\"Write to Betty.\"\nThen he resumed his attack on his eggs and bacon, and coffee. He did\nnot notice that they were cold. This letter of his sister's had turned\nhis thoughts to--the Family!\nHe was the Head of the Family now. Somehow, he had hardly realized the\nfact before. In the circumstances, it really behoved him, it would be\nabsolutely necessary for him, to try to get to know something about the\nvarious members of the Family. His early distaste for Court life, his\nabsorption in his own chosen profession, his frequent absences at sea,\nhad made him, of course, little better than a stranger to the rest\nof the Family. And, if they knew little or nothing about him, he knew\nless than nothing about them. The Prince had been the only member of\nthe Family with whom he had had any real intimacy, since the far off\nnursery days they had all shared together, the only link between him\nand the others. And now the Prince was dead.\nThis fresh, unspoilt sister of his would probably be worth knowing.\nAny girl, who recalled Judith, must be well worth knowing. And there\nwas Lancaster! Lancaster was now, and was likely to remain, Heir\nApparent. And William? William had looked a very bright, and engaging\nyoungster, in his naval cadet's uniform, the day before. The others?\nThe others did not matter. But Lancaster, and William, and Betty, he\nmust get to know. And now, at the outset of their new relationship, he\nhad a favourable opportunity to take steps in the matter, which would\nnot recur. He could let them know that he was their brother, as well\nas--the King! No doubt, they had their problems, and difficulties, just\nas he had his. He would do what he could, to make life easy for them.\nAfter all, it was quite enough that one member of the Family, at a\ntime, should be condemned to the intolerable isolation, and the dreary,\ntreadmill round of the palace.\nMight he not usefully begin, at once, with Lancaster? He could send a\nmessage to Lancaster, asking him to join him, at his informal lunch,\nat the palace, at noon. Lancaster had always seemed, to him, a dull,\nrather heavy, conventional, commonplace person; but there might be\nsomething human in him, after all. Perhaps, at an informal intimate\nencounter, he might be able to establish some contact with him, and\nget him to talk a little about himself. That would be interesting, and\nuseful. Yes. Lancaster should provide his first experiment in Family\nresearch.\nPicking up his memorandum tablet again, from where he had dropped it on\nthe breakfast table, the King made another note, to remind him to send\nthe necessary message to Lancaster during the morning.\n\"Send message to Lancaster.\"\nThe fact that he was not sure whether Lancaster, or even William, would\nstill be in town, emphasized, in his own mind, his ignorance of the\nFamily.\nAt this point, the gorgeously clad footmen approached the table. One\nof them removed the used dishes and plates. The other placed a stand of\nfresh fruit in front of the King.\nThe King selected an apple, and proceeded to munch it like any\nschoolboy.\nIt was a good apple.\nAfter all, life had its compensations!\nAnd, he suddenly realized now, he was beginning to take hold of his\njob, at last. This decision of his to tackle the Family, to get to\nknow them personally, was his own decision. It was an expression of\nhis own individuality, the exercise of his own will. The thought gave\nhim a little thrill of pride, and pleasure. Perhaps, after all, there\nwas going to be some scope, some freedom, for his own personality,\nin his place in the procession, more scope, more freedom than he had\nbeen inclined to think. His own shoulders, directed by his own brain,\nmight make a difference in the jostling in the market-place. If the\nopportunity arose, he would put his weight into the scrimmage.\nThe King finished his apple, and then filled and lit his pipe.\nThe footmen cleared away the breakfast things.\nSoothed by tobacco, and cheered by the bright morning sunlight, the\nKing leant back in his chair.\nIt was another wonderful summer day. Overhead the sky was a luminous,\ncloudless blue. The sunlight lay golden on the green of the trees,\nand on the more vivid green of the lawn. The garden flower beds were\ngay with masses of brilliant hued blossoms. One or two birds whistled\npleasantly from the neighbouring trees and bushes. A fat starling\nstrutted about the lawn, digging for worms.\nA sense of general well-being stirred in the King, a sense of\nwell-being which surprised him, for a moment, but only for a moment.\nIt was always so, when he had been in Paradise, with Judith. Always he\nreturned to the palace refreshed, and strengthened, with a new zest\nfor, with a new appreciation of, the joy of mere living. Somehow, he\nmust see to it, that his--promotion--did not interfere with his visits\nto Judith, and to Uncle Bond. He must see to it--in the interest of the\nState! He smiled as the words occurred to him. In the interest of the\nState? What would his fellow victims of the State, of the people, the\nold Duke of Northborough, for example, say to that, if they knew? But\nthe words were justified. It was to the interest of the State that\nhe, the King, should obtain, from time to time, the refreshment, the\nrenewed strength, the zest, the sense of general well-being, of which\nhe was so pleasantly conscious now.\nBut, meanwhile, in the interest of the State, he must not, he could\nnot afford to, waste any more of these golden, summer morning moments,\nidling here in the garden. The avalanche of correspondence in the\npost bags, and the official documents, and dispatches, which had\naccumulated, during the last day or two, owing to the special demands\non his time made by the Coronation, were awaiting him in the palace.\nLong hours of desk work lay before him. The thought did not displease\nhim. He was in the mood for work. Here was something he could put\nhis weight into. Here was an opportunity for individual action, and\nself-expression, an opportunity for the exercise of his own judgment,\ndriving power, decision.\nKnocking out his pipe, the King stood up abruptly.\nThen, whistling gaily, an indication of cheerfulness which had grown\nvery rare with him, of late, he crossed the lawn, and re-entered the\npalace, on his way back to duty.\nCHAPTER VIII\nIt was in the palace library, a large and lofty room on the ground\nfloor, with a row of tall windows overlooking the garden, that the\nKing spent his office hours. The library was strictly reserved for\nhis use alone. The secretaries, who served his personal needs, were\naccommodated in a smaller room adjoining, which communicated with\nthe library by folding doors. Although he was compelled to maintain,\nin this way, the isolation which was so little to his taste, it\nwas characteristic of the King, in his dealings with his immediate\nsubordinates, that he should take some pains not to appear too patently\nthe man apart. This was the way they had taught him in the Navy. On\nmore than one \"happy ship,\" on which he had served, the King had learnt\nthat, to get good work out of subordinates, it was expedient to treat\nthem as fellow workers, and equals, as men, although graded differently\nin rank, for the purposes of discipline, and pay. It was in more or\nless mechanical application of this principle, that, still whistling\ngaily, he chose now, to enter the library, not directly, but through\nthe secretaries' room adjoining.\nIn the airy, sunny, secretaries' room, the low murmur of talk, and the\nclatter of typewriters, which seem inseparable from office work, ceased\nabruptly. There was a general, hurried, pushing back of chairs. Then\nthe half dozen men and women in the room rose, hastily, to their feet.\nThey had not expected to see the King so early. After the exhausting\nCoronation ceremony of the day before, and the heavy demands on his\nstrength, which the day, as a whole, had made, they had expected him\nto rest. And here he was, a little before his usual time, if anything,\nbuoyant, and vigorous, and laughing goodhumouredly at their surprise\nand confusion, ready apparently to attack the accumulation of papers\nwhich they had waiting for him.\nWith a genial nod, which seemed to be directed to each man and woman\npresent, individually, the King passed quickly through the room, into\nthe library beyond, opening and shutting the intervening folding doors\nfor himself, with a sailor's energy.\nThe secretaries, men and women alike, turned, and looked at each other,\nand smiled.\nAlthough he was, of necessity, ignorant of the fact, the King had left\ninterested, and very willing fellow workers behind him.\nThe library was almost too large, and too lofty a room to be\ncomfortably habitable. Worse still, in spite of its south aspect, and\nits row of tall windows, the eight or nine thousand volumes, which\nfilled the wire fronted bookcases, which ran round two sides of the\nroom, it always seemed to the King, gave it a dead and musty air. These\nbooks were for show, not for use. No one ever took them down from the\nshelves. No one ever read them. The erudite, silver-haired, palace\nlibrarian, himself, was more concerned with the rarities amongst them,\nand with his catalogue, than with their contents. But the books, musty\nmonuments of dead men's brains, as he regarded them, were not the\nKing's chief complaint. A number of Family portraits, which usurped the\nplace of the bookcases, here and there, on the lofty walls, were his\nreal grievance. A queer feeling of antagonism had grown up between him\nand these portraits. They always seemed to be watching him, watching\nhim, and disapproving of him. The mere thought of them sufficed to\ncheck his good spirits, now, as he entered the library. As he sat down\nat his writing table, he turned, and looked round at them defiantly.\nThe writing table stood as close up to the row of tall windows, on\nthe south side of the library, as was possible. The windows, with\ntheir pleasant view of the sunlit greenness of the garden, were on the\nKing's left, as he sat at the table. Straight in front of him were the\nundecorated, black oak panels of the folding doors which led into the\nsecretaries' room. On his right on the north wall of the library, were\nmany of the books, and three of the portraits.\nFirst of all, there, in the corner by the folding doors, was a portrait\nof his grandfather, in the Coronation robes, and full regalia, which he\nhimself had been compelled to wear, the day before; a strong, bearded\nman, with a masterful mouth, which was not hidden by his beard. A\nKing. Further along, on the right, past several square yards of books,\nhanging immediately above the ornate, carved, marble mantelpiece, in\nthe centre of the north wall, was a portrait of his father, in Field\nMarshal's uniform, with his breast covered with decorations; a man\napart, isolated, lonely, remote, with a brooding light in his eyes. A\nKing, too. Then, past more books, in the furthest corner of the room,\nby the door, came the portrait of his mother, a stately, commanding\nfigure, in a wonderful, ivory satin gown, marvellously painted. A\nQueen. And a hard woman, hard with her children, and harder still with\nherself, where what she had held to be a matter of Family duty had been\nconcerned. And, last of all, in the centre of yet more books, on the\neast wall, behind him, was the portrait of his brother, the dead Prince\nof Wales, a more human portrait this, to see which, as he sat at the\nwriting table, he had to swing right round in his revolving chair; the\nPrince, in the pink coat, white cord riding breeches, and top boots, of\nthe hunting field, which had been his favourite recreation, leaning a\nlittle forward, it seemed, and smiling out of the canvas with the smile\nwhich had won him so much, and such well deserved popularity.\nAll these had borne the Family burden, without complaint. All these had\naccepted the great responsibility of their position, without question,\nand even with a certain Royal pride. They had made innumerable, never\nending sacrifices.\nAnd he? An unwilling King? A half-hearted King?\nNo wonder they disapproved of him!\nThe King swung round, impatiently, in his chair, back to the writing\ntable again.\nAn unwilling King, a half-hearted King, he might be; but, at any rate,\nhe could labour. He could put his full weight into his work. He could\nshow, in his own way, even if it was not the Family way, even if the\nFamily disapproved of him, that he, too, was a man, that he, too, had\nindividuality, force of character, driving power, decision--\nPortfolios, and files, of confidential State documents had been\narranged, in neat piles, and in a sequence which was a matter of a\ncarefully organized routine, on the left of the writing table. On the\nright stood a number of shining, black japanned dispatch boxes, and one\nor two black leather dispatch cases, of the kind carried by the King's\nMessengers. The \"In\" boxes for correspondence, in the centre of the\ntable, were filled with a formidable accumulation of letters. The \"Out\"\nboxes, beside them, looked, at the moment, in the brilliant, morning\nsunlight, emptier than emptiness.\nAn almost bewildering array of labour saving devices, stamping,\nsealing, and filing machines, completed the furnishing of the table.\nThese, the King swept, at once, contemptuously to one side. The\ntelephone instrument, which stood on a special shelf at his elbow, was\nthe only labour saving device he ever used. A plain, and rather shabby\nfountain pen, and two or three stumps of coloured pencil, were the\ninstruments with which he did his work. It was not until he had found\nthese favourite weapons of attack, and placed them ready to his hand,\non his right, that he set himself to deal with the accumulation of\npapers in front of him.\nThe letters in the \"In\" boxes were his first concern. These he had\nmerely to approve, by transferring them to the \"Out\" boxes, ready for\nposting. It was a transfer which he could safely have made, which he\nvery often did make, without reading a single letter. His personal\ncorrespondence was in the capable hands of Lord Blaine, who had served\nhis father, as private secretary, for many years before him. But\nthis morning, in his new determination to find an outlet for his own\nindividuality, the King elected to read each of the letters through\ncarefully. Lord Blaine had acquired a happy tact, in the course of\nhis long experience, in answering the letters, from all sorts and\nconditions of people, which found their way into the Royal post bags,\nwhich was commonly considered beyond criticism.\nNone the less, now, as he read the letters, a conviction grew upon the\nKing that not a few of the courtly old nobleman's phrases had become\naltogether stereotyped.\nOne letter, in particular, addressed to some humble old woman, in\na provincial almshouse, congratulating her on her attainment of a\ncentenary birthday, seemed to him far too formal. The old woman had\nwritten a quaint, and wonderfully clear letter, in her own handwriting\nto the King. Seizing his favourite stump of blue pencil, he added, on\nthe spur of the moment, two or three unconventional sentences of his\nown, to Lord Blaine's colourless reply--\n \"I am writing this myself. I don't write as well as you do, do I? But\n I thought you might like to have my autograph as one of your hundredth\n birthday presents. This is how I write it--\n \"ALFRED. R.I.\"\nLaughing softly to himself the King tossed the letter, thus amended,\ninto one of the \"Out\" boxes.\nThe little incident served to revive his previous good spirits.\nLord Blaine would probably disapprove.\nBut the old woman would be pleased!\nFrom the correspondence boxes, he turned, in due course, to the\nportfolios and files on the left of the table. These contained reports,\nand routine summaries from the various Government departments, copies\nof official correspondence, one or two Government publications, and\ncertain minor Cabinet papers, and they required more concentrated\nattention. He had to make himself familiar with the contents of the\nvarious documents, and this involved careful reading. An abstract, or\na skilful pr\u00e9cis, prepared by his secretaries, and attached to the\npapers, occasionally saved his time and labour; but even these had to\nbe read, and the reading took time. Happily, here, as before, little or\nno writing, on his part, was necessary. An initial, and a date, to show\nthat he had seen the document in question, a few words of comment, or\na curt request for more information, were the only demands made on his\nblue pencil.\nDocuments, and copies of correspondence, from the Foreign and Dominion\nOffices, held the King's attention longest. To him these were not\n\"duty\" papers, as were so many of the others. The place names, the\nnames of the foreign diplomats, and of the Dominion statesmen, and\nadministrators, which occurred in these papers, were familiar to him,\nthanks to the many ports, and countries, the many men and cities, he\nhad seen in his varied naval service. Here and there, in these papers,\na single word would shine out, at times, from the typewritten page\nin front of him, which conjured up, a vision, perhaps, of one of the\nworld's most beautiful roadsteads, or a mental picture of the strong\nand rugged features of some man, who was a power, a living force,\namongst his fellows, in the wilder places of the earth, or a vivid\nmemory of the cool and spacious rooms of some Eastern club house where\nmen, who lived close to the elemental facts of life, gathered to make\nmerry, and to show unstinted hospitality to the stranger. Here he was\non sure ground. Here, he knew, his comments were often of real value.\nHe had seen the country. He had met, and talked with, the men on the\nspot. Frequently, his knowledge of the questions raised in these papers\nwas quite as comprehensive, and as intimate, as that of the oldest\npermanent officials in Whitehall.\nAt the end of an hour and a half of hard and methodical work, the King\nbecame suddenly aware that he had made considerable progress in his\nattack on the accumulation of papers in front of him.\nLeaning back in his chair he touched a bell which stood on the table\nbeside him.\nThe folding doors, leading into the secretaries' room, were immediately\nopened, and a tall, fair, good looking young man, who was chiefly\nremarkable for the extreme nicety of his immaculate morning dress,\nentered the library, in answer to the summons.\nThe King indicated the now full \"Out\" boxes, with a gesture, which\nbetrayed his satisfaction, and even suggested a certain boyish pride,\nin the visible result of his labour.\n\"Anything more coming in?\" he enquired.\n\"Not at the moment, I think, sir. The Government Circulations are\nall unusually late this morning, sir,\" the tall young man replied,\napproaching the table, and picking up the \"Out\" boxes for removal to\nthe secretaries' room.\nThe King was filling his pipe now. He felt that he had earned a smoke.\n\"Bought any cars, lately, Blunt?\" he enquired, with a merry twinkle in\nhis eyes.\nHe had suddenly realized that this was Geoffrey Blunt, the nominal\ntenant of the garage in Lower Grosvenor Place, and the nominal\npurchaser of the car housed there.\nGeoffrey Blunt laughed, and then blushed, as he became conscious of the\nliberty into which the King had betrayed him.\n\"We must organize one of our little incognito excursions, in the near\nfuture, Blunt, I think,\" the King murmured, looking out through the\ntall windows, on his left, at the sunny, morning glory of the garden.\n\"We will run out into the country.\"\nAt the moment, his thoughts were in Paradise. Judith and the Imps, in\nall probability, would be in the hayfields--\n\"You must be ready for a holiday, sir,\" Geoffrey Blunt ventured\nto remark. \"You took us all by surprise, this morning, sir. After\nyesterday, we did not expect to see you, so early, this morning, sir.\"\n\"No. And that reminds me of something I wanted to say,\" the King\nreplied, looking round from the windows, and speaking with a sudden,\nmarked change of manner. \"I can see by the papers which you had waiting\nfor me, this morning, that you people have all been keeping hard at it\nduring the last day or two. I appreciate that. Tell your colleagues, in\nthe next room, that I expressed my appreciation. That is all now. Let\nme see today's Circulations, when they do arrive. I do not want to be\nfaced with an accumulation of papers, like this morning's, again.\"\nFlushing with pleasure at this praise, Geoffrey Blunt bowed, and\nwithdrew, taking the \"Out\" boxes with him.\nThe King smiled to himself as he lit his pipe.\n\"But who is there to praise me?\" he muttered.\nLeaning back in his chair, for a moment or two, he gave himself up to\nthe luxury of the true smoker's idleness.\nBut had there not been something that he had meant to do, in any\ninterval of rest, like this, which might occur during the morning?\nThe morocco bound memorandum tablet, which he produced from his\nwaistcoat pocket, answered the question--\n\"Write to Betty.\"\n\"Send message to Lancaster.\"\nIt was too late to send any message to Lancaster now. A couple of hours\nwas not sufficient notice to give him of an invitation to lunch. He was\nnot intimate enough with Lancaster to treat him in so offhand a manner.\nIt would be an abuse of his new position, a tactical mistake. The lunch\nmust be arranged for tomorrow. Crossing off his original note, he\nscribbled another--\n Lancaster to lunch tomorrow. See him, personally, this afternoon, or\n this evening.\nBut he could write to Betty!\nClearing a space on the writing table, by pushing to one side the less\nurgent documents and papers, which he had retained for subsequent\nattention, he picked up his fountain pen; then, when he had found,\nafter some search, a sheet of note paper sufficiently plain and\nunostentatious, to suit his taste, he began to write--\n _Dear Betty_,\n Your letter this morning gave me great pleasure. I do not know that\n there is very much pleasure in this business of being King--\nBut he got no further.\nThe folding doors facing him were suddenly reopened.\nThen there entered, not Geoffrey Blunt, nor any other member of the\nsecretarial staff, but--the old Duke of Northborough.\nThe King looked up with a surprise which at once gave place to a smile\nof welcome. This was contrary to all etiquette. But he was glad to\nsee the old Duke. And it was in deference to his own repeated requests\non the subject that the veteran Prime Minister had lately consented\nto make his visits to the palace, in working hours, as informal as\npossible.\nPutting down his pipe, and his pen, the King stood up to receive the\nold statesman.\nThe Duke, as if to atone for the abruptness of his entry, paused for a\nmoment on the threshold of the large and lofty room, and bowed, with a\nslightly accentuated formality.\nThe folding doors behind him were closed by unseen hands.\nThen he advanced, into the room, towards the King.\nCHAPTER IX\nAn unusually tall man, and a big man, with a breadth of chest, and a\npair of shoulders, which had made him conspicuous, in every assembly,\nfrom his youth up, the Duke still held himself erect, and moved in a\nbig way. Now, as he advanced into the large and lofty room, the thought\ncame to the King, that here was a man for whom the room was neither\ntoo large, nor too lofty. While he himself was apt to feel lost in the\nlibrary, overpowered by its size, and oppressed by the weight of its\ninanimate objects, the Duke moved as if in his natural and fitting\nsurroundings. The force, the vigour, of the wonderful old man at once\nrelegated the huge room to its proper place in the background. The\neffect was very much as if the library had been a stage scene, in which\nthe scenery had predominated, until this, the moment when a great actor\nentered, and drew all eyes.\nIt was characteristic of the Duke that he should be dressed with\na carelessness bordering on deliberate eccentricity. The roomy,\ncomfortable, sombre black office suit, which he was wearing, looked\nundeniably shabby, and hung loosely on his giant frame. His head\nwas large. His hair, which he wore a little longer than most men,\nsnow-white now but still abundant, was brushed back from his broad\nforehead in a crescent wave. His features were massive, and strongly\nmoulded. His nose was salient, formidable, pugnacious. His mouth\nwas wide. His lips had even more than the usual fulness common to\nmost public speakers. But his eyes were the dominant feature of his\nface. His eyebrows were still black, thick, and aggressively bushy.\nUnderneath them, his eyes shone out, luminous and a clear blue, with\nthe peculiar, piercing, penetrative quality, which seems to endow its\npossessor with the power to read the secret, unspoken, thoughts of\nother men.\n\"Enter--the Duke!\" the King exclaimed, with an engagingly boyish smile,\nas the veteran Prime Minister approached the writing table. \"The Duke\ncould not have entered at a more opportune moment. I was just taking an\n'easy.' Shall we stay here, or go out into the garden, or up on to the\nroof?\"\n\"We will stay here, I think, if the decision is to rest with me, sir,\"\nthe Duke replied, in his sonorous, deep, and yet attractively mellow\nvoice. \"I bring news, sir. As usual, I have come to talk!\"\n\"Good,\" the King exclaimed. \"Allow me--\"\nPlacing his own revolving chair in position for the Duke, a little way\nback from the writing table, as he spoke, he invited him to be seated,\nwith a gesture.\nThen he perched himself on the writing table, facing the old statesman.\nThe Duke settled himself, deliberately, in the revolving chair,\nswinging it round to the right, so that he could escape the brilliant,\nsummer sunshine, which was streaming into the room, through the row\nof tall windows, on his left. His side face, as it was revealed now\nto the King, wrinkled and lined by age as it was, had the compelling,\nmasterful appeal, the conspicuous, uncompromising strength, of an\nantique Roman bust.\n\"I had just begun a letter to my sister, the Princess Elizabeth, when\nyou came in,\" the King remarked, maintaining the boyish attitude, which\nhe could never avoid, which, somehow, he never wished to avoid, in the\nDuke's presence. \"It suddenly occurred to me, this morning, that I am\nthe Head of the Family now. I am a poor substitute for my immediate\npredecessors, I am afraid.\" He looked up, as he spoke, at the portraits\non the opposite side of the room. \"But I have decided that I must do my\nbest in my new command.\"\nThe Duke looked up in turn. Following the King's glance, his luminous,\npiercing eyes rested, for a moment or two, on the portraits.\n\"None of your immediate predecessors were ever called upon to play so\ndifficult a part, as you have to play, sir,\" he said.\nSomething in the Duke's manner, a note of unexpected vehemence in his\nsonorous voice, arrested the King's wandering attention.\nHis boyishness fell from him.\n\"What is it?\" he asked. \"I remember, now, you said you brought news. Is\nit--bad news?\"\n\"No. It is good news, sir. I could not bring you better news,\" the Duke\nreplied. \"But, I am afraid, in spite of all my warnings, you are not\nprepared for the announcement which I have to make.\"\nHe paused there, for a moment, and looked away from the King.\n\"The storm, which we have been expecting, for so long, sir,\" he added,\nslowly, dwelling on each word, \"is about to break.\"\nThe King started, and winced, as if he had been struck.\n\"The storm?\" he exclaimed.\n\"Is about to break, sir,\" the Duke repeated.\nThere was a long, tense pause.\nThen, suddenly, the King laughed, a bitter, ironic laugh.\n\"I have been a fool,\" he exclaimed. \"In my mind, the glass was 'Set\nFair.' I had--forgotten--the storm! I was going to take hold of my job.\nI was going to put my full weight into my work. I was even going to\ncultivate the Family, as I was telling you--\"\nHe checked himself abruptly.\n\"What is going to happen?\" he asked.\nThe Duke drew out his watch, an old-fashioned, gold-cased, half hunter,\nand looked at it judicially.\n\"It is now nearly eleven o'clock. In an hour's time, at twelve noon\nprecisely, a universal, lightning strike will take effect, throughout\nthe length and breadth of the country, sir,\" he replied. \"All the\npublic services will cease to run. The individual workman, no matter\nwhere, or how, he is employed, as the clock strikes twelve, will lay\ndown his tools, put on his coat, and leave his work. Such a strike\nis no new thing, you will say. But this is no ordinary strike, sir.\nAlthough whole sections of trades unionists, up and down the country,\nwe have good ground to believe, have no very clear idea, why they are\nstriking, although many of their local leaders appear to have been\ndeceived into the belief that the strike has been called for purely\nindustrial reasons, we have indubitable evidence that it is designed\nas a first step in the long delayed conspiracy to secure the political\nascendency of the proletariat. A little company of revolutionary\nextremists have, at last, captured the labour machine, sir. It is they\nwho are behind this strike. Behind them, I need hardly tell you, are\nthe Internationalists, and the Communists, on the Continent, ready,\nand eager, to supply arms, ammunition, and money, if the opportunity\narises, on a lavish scale.\n\"Although we have been expecting the storm for so long, this strike\nform, which it has taken, I may confess to you, sir, has come to\nus as something of a surprise. The strike leaders, I surmise, are\nrelying, very largely, on that surprise effect, for their success.\nThey imagine, they hope, no doubt, that they will find the Government,\nelated and thrown off their guard by the success of the Coronation,\nunprepared; that, in the chaos, which they believe must ensue, the\nwhole nation will be at their mercy; that, having demonstrated their\npower, they will be able to dictate their own terms. What those terms\nwould be, sir, there can be no question. Internationalism. Communism. A\nRepublic. That persistent delusion of the fanatic, and the unpractical\nidealist--the Perfect State. Armed revolt was their original plan, sir.\nThanks to the vigilance of our Secret Service Agents, that contingency\nhas, I believe, been obviated. But the Red Flag is still their symbol,\nsir. In the absence of arms, a bloodless revolution appears now to be\ntheir final, desperate dream. They will have a rude awakening, sir. In\nless than twenty-four hours they will be--crushed!\n\"You will remember the alternative, protective schemes, for use in\nthe event of a national emergency, which I had the honour to lay\nbefore you, for your consideration, a few weeks ago, sir? One of those\nschemes, the 'Gamma' scheme, is already in force. At a full meeting of\nthe Cabinet, held in Downing Street, this morning, sir, the immediate\noperation of the 'Gamma' scheme, and the declaration of Martial Law,\non which it is based, were unanimously approved. The military, and\nthe naval authorities are already making their dispositions. By\nthis time, the Atlantic, the North Sea, and the Channel Fleets, will\nbe concentrating. The closing of all the ports, and the blockade\nof the whole coast line, provided for in the scheme, will follow\nautomatically. The military authorities, you will remember, are to take\nover the control of the railways, aviation centres, and telegraphic and\nwireless stations, and support, and reinforce, the police, as required.\nThe Home Secretary assures me that the police can be relied upon\nimplicitly to do their duty. The Chief of the General Staff declares\nthat the Army, regrettably small as it is, is sufficient to meet all\nthe demands which are likely to be made upon it. Of the Navy, there\nis no need for me to speak to you, sir. In the circumstances, I feel\njustified in assuring you, that we have the situation well in hand.\"\nThe Duke stood up. To him, the orator, the practised debater, speech\nalways came more easily, and naturally, when he was on his feet. He\nturned now, and faced the King, towering head and shoulders above him,\na formidable, and dominating figure. When he spoke again, there was an\nabrupt, compelling, personal note in his sonorous voice.\n\"I want you to leave the palace, sir. I want you to remove the Court,\nat once, into the country,\" he said. \"Do not misunderstand me, sir. I\ndo not believe that your person is in any danger. I do not anticipate,\nas I have already indicated, that we shall be called upon to meet armed\nrevolt. In any case, Londoners are proverbially loyal. But there will\nbe rioting, and window smashing, in places, no doubt. Something of the\nsort may be attempted, here, at the palace. In the circumstances, it\nwill be as well, that you should be elsewhere.\n\"In urging you to leave the palace, and to remove the Court into the\ncountry, I have, too, another, and a more important motive, sir,\" he\ncontinued. \"It is, of course, a fundamental condition, a constitutional\ntruism, of our democratic monarchy, that the King must take no side.\nHow far that consideration must govern the King's actions, when his own\nposition is directly attacked, is a question which, I imagine, very\nfew of our leading jurists would care to be called upon to decide!\nBut I attach the very greatest importance to the preservation of your\nabsolute neutrality, in the present crisis, sir. When the impending\nstorm has spent its force, and the danger, such as it is, has subsided,\nthere will be a considerable body of people, up and down the country,\nwho will contend that the Government have acted precipitately,\nunconstitutionally, and with wholly unnecessary violence. In meeting\nsuch criticism, I wish to be able to emphasize the fact that the\nGovernment have acted throughout on their own responsibility, on my\nresponsibility, without any reference to you at all, sir. I do not\npropose to advance, on your behalf, the time-honoured excuse that His\nMajesty accepted the advice tendered to him by his advisers. I propose\nto emphasize the fact that you at once removed the Court into the\ncountry, and took no part whatever in the suppression of the rebellion.\nIn the result, your position will be maintained inviolate, but you will\nnot share in the unpopularity, and the odium, which a demonstration\nof strength inevitably, and invariably, evokes. This is why I said\nthat you have a more difficult part to play than any of your immediate\npredecessors were ever called upon to play, sir. Although the battle is\njoined, and you are so intimately concerned with its result, you will\nhave to stand on one side, and take no part in the conflict. And you\nare a young man, and a high spirited young man. You will resent your\nneutrality.\n\"But I am the lightning conductor, sir! It is my duty, as I see it,\nand I regard it as the honour of my life, to take the full shock of the\nlightning flash, so that the Crown may remain on your head unshaken.\nAnd the Crown will not only remain on your head unshaken. It will be\nmore firmly fixed there than before. In twenty-four, or forty-eight,\nhours, at the most, sir, you will be more surely established on the\nthrone than any of your immediate predecessors.\n\"That is why I said, at the outset, that this is good news which I have\nbrought you, sir; that I could not bring you better news. This is good\nnews, sir. Never have I dared to hope that the battle, which we have\nbeen expecting so long, would be joined, at a time, and on ground, so\nwholly favourable to the forces of law and order. I have no doubt of\nthe adequacy, and the smooth working of the 'Gamma' scheme, in the\nexisting crisis, sir. It will be many years, probably the whole of your\nreign, perhaps a generation, before the revolutionary extremists in\nthis country recover from the overwhelming disaster towards which they\nare rushing at this moment.\"\nIt was then, and not until then, that the King slipped down from his\nperch on the writing table to his feet.\nInstinctively, he turned to the row of tall windows, on his right.\nHe wanted light. He wanted air.\nOutside, in the palace garden, the brilliant morning sunshine lay\ngolden on the green of the grass, and on the darker green of the trees.\nThe whistling of a thrush, perched on a tree near the windows, seemed\nstridently audible.\nBehind him, beside the writing table, the Duke stood, motionless,\nsilent, expectant.\nThe magnetism for which the veteran Prime Minister was notorious, the\nmagnetism which he seemed to be able to invoke at will, had not failed\nhim, whilst he talked. For the time being, he had completely dominated\nthe King. But now, the King's own personality reasserted itself, with\nall the force of a recoil.\nA bitter realization of his own impotence, of his own insignificance,\nwas the King's first personal thought.\nIt was to be as he had feared, as he had always known, it would be.\nThe battle was joined, the fight for his place in the procession was\nabout to begin, in the market-place, and he, the man most concerned,\nwas the one man who could not take a side.\nThe Duke had gone out of his way to emphasize that fact.\n\"I attach the very greatest importance to the preservation of your\nabsolute neutrality in the present crisis, sir.\"\nNeutrality! The most contemptible part a live man could play.\n\"Fight for your place in the procession, Alfred.\"\nHe was not to be allowed to fight.\nThe decision whether he should fight for his place, step to one side,\nor fall out, altogether, to the rear, had been taken out of his hands.\nThe desire for self-assertion, for self-expression, which he had felt,\nso strongly, only an hour or two previously, flamed up, hotly, anew,\nwithin the King. An unwilling King, a half-hearted King, he might be;\nbut to be a nonentity, a man of no account--\nThe very workman, the individual workman, who--in less than an hour\nnow--as the clock struck twelve, would lay down his tools, put on his\ncoat, and leave his work, was of more account than he was!\nIgnorant, and deceived, as he might be, the individual workman, in\nstriking, would be asserting himself, expressing himself.\nAnd he?\nHe could not even strike!\nIf only he could have gone on strike!\nThe fantastic idea caught the King's fevered fancy. It was in tune with\nthe bitter, wilful, rebellious mood which had swept over him. He could\nnot resist the temptation of giving it ironic expression.\n\"It seems to me, if there is one man, in the whole country, who would\nbe justified in striking, in leaving his work, I am that man!\" he\nexclaimed. \"I never wanted, I never expected to have to fill--my\npresent command. To be 'a sailor, not a Prince,' was always my idea. Do\npeople, do these people, who are coming out on strike, and hope to run\nup the Red Flag, imagine that I get any pleasure, that I get anything\nbut weariness, out of--my place in the procession? If I followed my own\nwishes now--I should strike, too! I should be the reddest revolutionary\nof them all. Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity is their war cry, isn't\nit? Those are the very things I want!\"\nThe Duke smiled grimly.\n\"Where will you remove the Court, sir?\" he asked. \"To Windsor? Or to\nSandringham?\"\nThe King began to drum, impatiently, with his fingers, on the window\npane.\nThe Duke's pointed impenetrability, his persistence, irritated him, at\nthe moment, almost beyond his endurance.\nOf course he would have to do as the Duke wished. The Duke was\nthe lightning conductor. He would have to fall in with the Duke's\nsuggestions. His suggestions? His orders! And yet--\nWindsor? Sandringham?\nWindsor and Sandringham were merely alternative cells in the same\nintolerable prison house!\nPerhaps it was the blithe whistling of the thrush perched on the\ntree near the windows; perhaps it was the sunlit peace of the\npalace garden--whatever the cause, the King thought, suddenly, and\nirrelevantly, of Paradise.\nAnd then the irrelevance of his thought disappeared.\nA man was talking beside him.\nIt was not the Duke.\nIt was Uncle Bond.\n\"Whether you fight for your place or not, whether you come out at the\nhead, or the tail, of the procession, wherever the head and the tail\nmay be, whether you step to one side, or fall out altogether, whatever\nhappens to you, my boy, Judith and I, will always be glad to welcome\nyou to the inn at the corner, and give you a seat at our window. You\nwill remember that!\"\nA thrill of exultation ran through the King.\nHere, surely, was an opening, an opportunity, for the self-assertion,\nthe self-expression, which he so ardently desired!\nWhere should he go, now that the time had come for him to step out of\nthe procession, but into Paradise, to Judith and to Uncle Bond, to\nstand beside them, at their window, in the old inn, at the corner of\nthe market-place, the old inn, on the signboard of which was written in\nletters of gold \"Content\"?\nIf he must seek a rural retreat, an asylum, a city of refuge, what\nbetter retreat could he have than Judith's and Uncle Bond's oasis, in\nParadise, where no strangers ever came?\nIn this matter, at any rate, he could assert himself.\nIn this matter, at any rate, he would have his own way.\nSwinging round from the windows, he fronted the Duke, flushed with\nexcitement wholly defiant.\n\"I will leave the palace, at once, as you wish,\" he announced. \"I have\nno alternative, of course. I recognize that. But I shall leave the\nCourt behind, too! Neither Windsor, nor Sandringham, attract me. I\nbegin to feel the need of--a holiday. I shall run out into the country.\nI have--friends in the country.\"\nHe laughed recklessly.\n\"This is my way of going on strike!\"\nAn odd, dancing light, which almost suggested a suddenly awakened sense\nof humour, shone, for a moment, in the Duke's luminous, piercing eyes.\nBut he pursed up his lips doubtfully, \"It is a private, incognito\nvisit, that you are suggesting, I take it, sir?\" he remarked. \"In\nthe present crisis, such a visit would involve--serious risks. But,\nI am bound to confess, that it would not be without--compensating\nadvantages!\" His grim smile returned. \"No one would know where you\nwere. And your departure from the palace, which must not be delayed,\nwould attract little or no attention. If you left the Court behind\nyou, as you propose, you would merely take one or two members of the\nhousehold staff with you, I presume?\"\n\"I shall take nobody with me. I shall go by myself,\" the King declared.\nYes. In this matter, at any rate, he would have his own way.\nThe Duke shot one of his keen, searching glances at the King. Then he\nswung round on his heel, and paced slowly down the whole length of the\nlibrary.\nThe King watched him, fascinated, curious, exalted.\nAt the far end of the room, the Duke paused, turned, and retraced his\nsteps.\nHis first words, as he halted, once again, beside the writing table\nabsolutely took the King's breath away.\n\"I shall offer no opposition whatever to your reckless little\nexcursion, sir,\" he said. \"I surprise you, sir? I hoped to surprise\nyou! But this is no time, there is no time, for--explanations. Reckless\nas your proposal is, the more I think about it, the more conscious\nI become of its many advantages. But, with your permission, sir, I\nwill attach two conditions to your--holiday.\" Again he smiled grimly.\n\"In the first place, I must know where you are going, so that I can\ncommunicate with you, at once, when the need arises. In the second\nplace I will ask you to honour me with an undertaking that you will\nremain in your rural retreat, until I have communicated with you.\"\nThe King could hardly believe his own ears. That the Duke should\naccept, should even express a guarded approval of his rebellion--that\nwas what his reckless proposal amounted to!--was wholly unbelievable.\nIt could not be true!\nA sudden sense of unreality, the consciousness, which had been so\nfrequently with him, of late, here in the palace, that he was living in\na dream, a wild, grotesque, nightmare dream, swept over the King.\nOf all the unreal scenes in his dream, this surely, was the most unreal!\nHe had expected opposition, and argument. What he had wanted, he\nrealized now, was opposition and argument--\nBut he had gone too far to withdraw. And he had no wish to withdraw. At\nany rate he would see Judith. He would see Uncle Bond. He would be--in\nParadise--\nWithout speaking, words at the moment, were quite beyond him, the King\ndrew up his revolving chair to the writing table, once again, and sat\ndown. Picking up the sheet of note-paper on which he had begun to write\nto his sister--how long ago that seemed!--he tore off the unused half\nof the paper, crumpling the other half up in his hand. Then he found\nhis pen, and wrote--\n \"James Bond Esq.,\n   Mymm's Manor,\n     Mymm's Valley,\n         Hertfordshire.\"\nTurning in his chair, he handed the half sheet of paper to the Duke.\n\"That will be my address. I shall stay there,\" he said.\nThe Duke glanced at the paper, and then folded it up neatly, and\nslipped it into his pocket.\n\"You have no time to lose, sir,\" he said. \"It is already nearly half\npast eleven. Within half an hour, just before noon, all civilian\ntraffic, in and out of London, will cease. The police, and the military\nwill be in control in the streets. Barriers will be erected on all the\nroads. Only Government traffic will be allowed to pass. You have time\nto get away, but only just time.\"\nThe King sprang up to his feet, and darted across the room. He was, all\nat once, wild to get away, wild to get away from the Duke, from the\npalace, from himself, from this unreal, grotesque, nightmare life of\nhis--\nBut, half way across the room, he paused, and swung round, and faced\nthe Duke yet once again.\nA sudden, belated twinge of compunction, a whisper of the conscience\nwhich he had all this time been defying, had impelled him to think of\nthe Duke.\n\"Am I letting you down, Duke?\" he exclaimed impulsively. \"After--all\nyou have done for me--I wouldn't let you down for worlds!\"\nA smile, in which there was no trace of grimness, lit up the old Duke's\nrugged, massive features.\n\"Thank you, sir,\" he said. \"You are not letting me down, sir. You can\nenjoy your--reckless little excursion--with an easy mind. But I did not\nlike, and I do not like, your use of that ill-omened word 'strike,'\nsir,--even in jest! Remembering the language of the Service, in which,\nlike you, I had the honour to be trained, I prefer to say that you\nare--proceeding on short leave of absence, shall we say, sir? It will\nonly be a short leave of absence, sir. Twenty-four, or forty-eight,\nhours, at the most. You will do well, I think, sir, to remember that!\"\nIncredible as the whole scene was, there could be no doubt about the\nold statesman's entire sincerity. The King's last fear, his last\nscruple fell from him. In his relief he laughed aloud, lightheartedly.\n\"Call it whatever you like, Duke,\" he exclaimed. \"But, for me, it\nis--my way of going on strike!\"\nAnd with that, he turned, and darted out of the room.\nLeft alone, the Duke remained motionless, for a minute or two. The\nsmile, which the King's impulsive ingenuousness had evoked, still\nlingered on his lips; but his piercing eyes were clouded now, and heavy\nwith thought.\nSuddenly he turned to the writing table, and, picking up the telephone\ninstrument, took down the receiver.\nThe whole manner of the man changed with this decisive little action.\nThere was a curt, commanding, masterful ring in his sonorous voice, as\nhe gave his directions to the operator at the palace exchange.\n\"The Duke of Northborough is speaking. I want Scotland Yard, and the\nWar Office, at once, in that order. You will give me 'priority.' Shut\nout all other calls.\"\nCHAPTER X\nA feeling of light-hearted holiday irresponsibility, such as he had not\nknown for months, for years as it seemed to him, was with the King as\nhe darted out of the library. He raced along the palace corridors like\na schoolboy released from school. The palm and orange tree decorated\nlounge, half vestibule, and half conservatory, from which ran the\nprivate staircase leading up to his own suite of rooms, was his first\nobjective. He had intended to make a wild dash up to his rooms to\nsecure some sort of hat, and the dust coat, in which he usually escaped\nfrom the palace. Happily, now, as he entered the lounge, his eyes were\ncaught by a tweed cap, which he wore sometimes in the garden, which\nwas lying on a side table, where he had tossed it, a day or two ago.\nLaughing triumphantly, he picked up this cap, and crammed it down on\nto his head. Then he darted out of the lounge, through the open glass\ndoor, into the garden.\nIn the garden, the air was heavy with the rich scents of the blossoming\nshrubs and flowers. The brilliant morning sunshine struck the King,\nas he hurried along the paths, with almost a tropical force. In spite\nof the heat, as soon as he was sure that he was securely screened\nby the shrubberies, he broke, once again, into a run. Lighthearted,\nand irresponsible, as his mood was, he was conscious of the need for\nhaste. His running soon brought him, flushed, and panting a little,\nbut in no real distress, to the small, green painted, wooden door, in\nthe boundary wall, at the far end of the garden. Hurriedly producing\nhis keys, he unlocked the door, and swung it open. A moment later, as\nthe door, operated by its spring, closed behind him, he stood on the\npavement of Lower Grosvenor Place.\nLower Grosvenor Place, as usual, was almost deserted. One or two chance\npedestrians were moving along the pavement. Immersed in their own\ndreams and cares, they paid no attention whatever to the King. Higher\nup the sunlit street, a grizzled, battered looking old Scotchman,\nin tawdry Highland costume, was producing a dismal, droning wail on\nbagpipes, in front of one of the largest of the tall houses, in the\nhope, no doubt, that he would be given \"hush money,\" and sent away,\nbefore the arrival of life's inevitable policeman.\nAfter a quick glance up, and then down, the street, the King darted\nacross the road, turned into the familiar cul-de-sac on the other side,\nand so passed into the secluded, shut-in mews at the back of the tall\nhouses.\nNo one was visible in the mews, as the King unlocked, and opened, the\ndoors of Geoffrey Blunt's garage. A minute or two sufficed for him to\nrun out the car. Flinging on the thick, leather coat, and adjusting the\ngoggles, which lay ready to his hand, where he had tossed them that\nmorning, he re-locked the garage doors. Then he sprang up into his seat\nat the steering wheel of the car, and started the engine.\nFor one anxious moment, he feared that the engine was going to fail\nhim; but, next moment, it settled sweetly to its work, and the car shot\nforward, out of the secluded mews, up the quiet, side street beyond,\nand so into Grosvenor Place.\nIn Grosvenor Place, the chance pedestrians who had been moving along\nthe sunlit pavement had passed on, out of sight, still immersed, no\ndoubt, in their own dreams and cares. The grizzled, battered looking\nold Scotchman, in Highland costume, had just succeeded, apparently,\nin extorting his \"hush money.\" With his bagpipes tucked under his arm,\nhe was swaggering along now, in the centre of the road, his ruddy,\nweatherbeaten, wrinkled face wreathed in smiles.\nThe car caught up, and passed the triumphant old blackmailer in a cloud\nof dust.\nA moment later, as he approached Hyde Park Corner, the King decided to\nvary the route which he usually followed. With this end in view, he\nswung the car sharply to the right, down Constitution Hill. At this\nhour of the day, it occurred to him, Park Lane and Oxford Street,\nhis usual route, would be crowded with traffic. By running down\nConstitution Hill, and out into, and along, the Mall he would probably\nsecure an open road, and so save several minutes. And every minute he\ncould save now, might be of vital importance later.\nThe car had a clear run down Constitution Hill. In the Mall, the\nCoronation flags still hung, flaunting and gay in the sunlight. The\nstands, on either side of the road, from which the guests of the\nGovernment had viewed the Coronation procession, the day before, were,\ntoo, still in position. The Office of Works, at the moment, no doubt,\nhad far more important, and urgent enterprises on hand, than the\nremoval of flags, and the dismantling of stands.\nSweeping along the Mall, and under the lavishly decorated Admiralty\nArch, the car ran out into Trafalgar Square, without a check. But here,\nalmost at once, the King had to pull up abruptly. The policeman, on\npoint duty, at the top of Whitehall, had his arm held out against all\neastbound traffic. Irritated by, and chafing under, the delay, the King\nwas compelled to apply his brakes, and run the car into position, in\nthe long queue of waiting vehicles, which had already gathered behind\nthe policeman's all powerful arm.\nA moment later, looking up from his brakes, as the car came to a\nstandstill, he became aware that he had pulled up immediately beneath\nthe equestrian statue of Charles the First.\nHere was an odd, an amusing--a superstitious man might even have said\nan ominous--coincidence.\nHad not the storm which was about to break, broken before, long ago, in\nthis man's reign?\nAnd had not this man been engulfed by the storm?\nThe King looked up at the statue with a sudden flash of quickened,\nsober interest.\nHad not this man, alone, amongst all his predecessors been compelled to\ndrain the poisonous cup of revolution to the very dregs?\nThere had been no lightning conductor, no Duke of Northborough, no\nstrong man, sure of himself, and of his purpose, ready, and eager, to\ntake the full shock of the lightning flash, in this man's day.\nBut there had been. The Earl of Strafford. And Charles--Charles the\nMartyr, did not some people still call him?--had torn his lightning\nconductor down with his own hands. He had failed Strafford. He had\nabandoned him to his enemies. With his own hand, he had signed\nStrafford's, and so, in a sense, his own, death warrant.\nAnd he, himself--if this was an omen?\nHe had not failed the Duke anyway. The Duke had assured him that he was\nnot letting him down. If he believed, for a moment, that he was failing\nthe Duke, he would turn round, even now, and go straight back to the\npalace.\nBut the Duke needed no man's support.\nThere, at any rate, this man, fixed there, high above him, on\nhorseback, in imperishable bronze, against the clear blue of the\nsummer sky, had been more fortunate than he was. This man had never\nknown the bitterness of neutrality, of personal impotence, of personal\ninsignificance. This man had had a part to play, and he had played it,\nnot unhandsomely, at the last, they said. There was a jingle of some\nsort about it--\n \"He nothing common did or mean\n Upon that memorable scene.\"\nNothing common or mean? Not at the last, perhaps. But, before the last,\nin his failure of Strafford?\nStill, limited, narrow, and bigoted, as he was, this man had lived, and\ndied, for the faith that was in him.\nIt had never occurred to him that he could go on strike.\nHe had stood for, he had fought for, he had died for--the Divine Right\nof Kings!\nThe Divine Right of Kings?\nHow grotesquely absurd the phrase sounded now!\nBut was it any more grotesquely absurd than the opposition, the\ncounter-phrases, in praise of democracy, of the mob?\nThe voice of the people is the voice of God.\nThe same grotesque bigotry, the same fanatical intolerance, spoke there.\nHappily people were growing chary of using such phrases. They had been\ntoo often used as a cloak to hide personal prejudices and passions, to\nbe trusted much longer.\nStill, perhaps, the band _was_ playing--somewhere--\nAt that moment, the King suddenly realized that the driver of the\ntaxi-cab, immediately behind him, in the queue of waiting traffic, was\nperforming a strident obligato on his motor horn, which indicated,\nunmistakably, the violence of despair. Looking down with a start, he\nbecame aware, that unnoticed by him in his reverie, the block in the\ntraffic had cleared, that the road lay open before him, and that he\nwas holding up the long line of vehicles behind him, by his absence of\nmind, and consequent delay.\nThe policeman on point duty smiled at him, reproachfully, as he\nsucceeded, at last, in catching his eye, and then waved him forward.\nFlushing with momentary annoyance, at the absurdity of his position,\nthe King hastily let out the car once again.\nThe car leapt forward, swept round the square, and so passed into, and\nup, Charing Cross Road, into Tottenham Court Road beyond--\nThe car was heading due north now, due north for Paradise--\nThe King's thoughts turned naturally and inevitably to Judith, and to\nUncle Bond.\nA difficult, and delicate problem, at once faced him.\nWhat was he to say to Judith, and to Uncle Bond? How was he to explain\nto them his unprecedentedly early, his almost immediate, return to\ntheir quiet haven?\nBut that, he suddenly realized, with a shock, only touched the fringe\nof his problem!\nSooner or later, even in their peaceful retreat, Judith and Uncle Bond\nwould hear that the storm had broken. They would hear that Martial Law\nhad been proclaimed. Knowing that, they would know, Judith with her\nknowledge of the Navy would know, that his place, as a sailor, was with\nhis ship. And that was not all. Had he not given their address to the\nDuke? The Duke would be communicating with him--\nHis real identity would be revealed to Judith, and to Uncle Bond, at\nlast!\nHis incognito would no longer serve him!\nSomehow, it had never occurred to him, at the time, what his giving of\ntheir address to the Duke involved. Not only would his real identity be\nrevealed at last. His intimacy with Judith, and Uncle Bond would be no\nlonger a secret. The Duke had Uncle Bond's address. The Duke would soon\nknow all that there was to be known about Uncle Bond--about Judith--\nYes. He would have to tell Judith, and Uncle Bond, who he was, at once,\nbefore they learnt who he was, from other lips than his.\nWithout knowing it, he had burnt his boats; unwittingly, he had forced\nhis own hand.\nWould Judith and Uncle Bond believe him? Would they resent his\ndeception? Would the shadow thrown by his Royal rank mar the delightful\nspontaneity of their intercourse, as he had always feared it would? It\ncould not be helped now, if it did! But, it seemed to him, that it need\nnot, that it should not. The unwavering friendship, of which Uncle Bond\nhad assured him, only that morning, would surely bear the strain? He\nwould take Uncle Bond at his word.\n\"I have stepped out of my place in the procession, and come to join\nyou at your window, here in the quiet old inn of 'Content.' I want to\nforget the fight in the market-place. Help me to forget it! Let us\nforget the past, avoid looking at the future--what the future will\nbring who can say?--and live, for the time being, in the present.\"\nUncle Bond, and Judith--their astonishment at his real identity once\nover, and their astonishment would be amusing!--would not refuse such\nan appeal.\nAfter all, had it not always been their way, in Paradise, to live in\nthe present?\nJudith and he, at any rate, had always lived in the present.\nJudith! What would she think? What would she say? She would understand\nhis hesitation, his backwardness, his--apparent halfheartedness--now!\nShe would be generous. Judith? Judith would not fail him--\nBy this time, the car was running through one of the more popular\nshopping districts in the inner suburbs. The shops on either side\nof the sunlit road, were still gaily decorated. The pavements were\ncrowded. In the road, there was a good deal of traffic about, and the\nKing had to drive, for the time being, more circumspectly. The stalls\nof an open air market provided an exasperating obstruction. Ultimately\nhe had to pull up, and wait for an opening. This necessity served to\nrecall him completely to his immediate surroundings. It was then,\nwhile he waited, chafing with impatience at the delay, that he first\nbecame aware that the police were abroad in unusual numbers.\nImpassive, and motionless, the police stood, in little groups, here\nand there, in the crowd. The distance between one group, and the next\ngroup, of the burly, blue uniformed men seemed to have been carefully\nregulated.\nA sudden thrill of fear, which was not far removed from panic, ran\nthrough the King.\nWere the police concentrating already in accordance with their secret\norders?\nIt looked very much like it.\nHe glanced hastily at his watch.\nIt was nearly a quarter to twelve.\nWhere were the barriers, of which the old Duke had spoken, likely to be?\nHere, or, perhaps, even further out, on the outskirts of the town,\nalmost certainly.\nAnd he had still to make good his escape!\nHitherto he had never doubted that he would make good his escape. Now,\nwith the police already concentrating, and taking up their position in\nthe streets, he could be no longer sure that he would get away, in time.\nFortunately, at that moment, the road, at last, cleared. The King\nhastily let out the car once again. Then he opened out the engine,\nrecklessly, to its fullest extent. This was no time for careful\ndriving. The powerfully engined car did not fail him at his need.\nSweeping clear of the traffic immediately in front, it was soon rushing\nalong the level surface of the tramway track which led on, out into the\nouter suburbs.\nIn the outer suburbs, the traffic was lighter, and the police were much\nless in evidence. But a convoy of motor lorries, which he rushed past,\nin which he caught a glimpse of soldiers in khaki service dress, added\nfuel sufficient to the already flaming fire of the King's anxiety. At\nany moment, it seemed to him now, he might be called upon to halt, and\ncompelled to return, if he was allowed to return, ignominiously, to the\npalace.\nBut the barrier, drawn right across the road, with its little groups\nof attendant police, and military, which he could see, so vividly, in\nhis imagination, did not materialize. The throbbing car rushed on,\nthrough the outer suburbs, on past the last clusters of decorous,\nred-tiled villas, on through the area of market gardens, where the\ntown first meets, and mingles with the country, on the north side of\nLondon, and so out, at last, on to the Great North Road, unchecked,\nand unchallenged.\nThe broad high road stretched ahead, empty and deserted, in the\nbrilliant noon sunshine, as far as eye could see.\nThe car leapt at the road like a live thing--\nAt last, the familiar, white-painted signpost, the Paradise-Hades post,\nflashed into view on the left of the road.\nIt was then, and not until then, that the King slowed down the car.\nA great wave of relief, which told him how tense his anxiety had been,\nswept over him.\nHe looked at his watch.\nIt was some minutes past noon now.\nAlready, behind him, in the town, the storm had broken. Already the\nblow had fallen.\nBut this was Paradise.\nHe had escaped.\nHe was safe.\nHe was free.\nAll about him lay the sunlit, peaceful countryside. The hedges, on\neither side of the broad, winding road, were white with the blossoms of\nthe wild rose. Beyond the hedges, stretched the open fields, a vivid,\nbut restful, green in the bright noon light, broken, here and there,\nby clumps of tall trees, and rising, in a gradual, gracious curve to\nthickly wooded heights on the skyline.\nA few cattle lay, motionless, on the grass, in the shade of the trees.\nA young foal, startled by the passing of the car, scrambled up on to\nhis long legs, and fled, across the fields, followed, more sedately, by\nhis heavy, clumsy, patient mother.\nOne or two rabbits scuttled into the hedge, with a flash of their white\nbob-tails.\nHigh up, clear cut against the cloudless blue of the sky, a kestrel\nhovered.\nYes. This was Paradise, unchanged, unchanging--\nSoon the familiar turning into the narrow, tree shadowed lane, on the\nleft of the road came into view. Swinging into the lane, the King\nslowed down the car yet once again, partly from habit, and partly\nbecause of his enjoyment of the summer beauty all about him.\nHe had plenty of time now.\nHe laughed recklessly at the thought.\nHe had all the time there was!\nWas he not--on strike--taking a holiday?\nAt the house, at the bottom of the lane, the carriage gate, as usual,\nstood wide open.\nThe King drove straight up the drive, where the rhododendron bushes,\nand the laburnum trees were ablaze with colour, and, round the side of\nthe house, into the garage.\nNo one was visible in the garden, about the house, or in the\noutbuildings beyond.\nIn the silence which followed his shutting off of the engine of the\ncar, he heard the whir of haycutting machines.\nThey were haymaking, of course.\nJudith herself, who, far more than Uncle Bond, was really responsible\nfor the management of the Home Farm, would be at work in the fields,\nholding her own with the best of them, in spite of the clamorous\ndemands of the Imps for play.\nIf Judith, and the Imps had been in the house, they would have run out\nto welcome him by now.\nFlinging off his leather coat, his cap, and his goggles, the King\ntossed them, one after the other, into the car. Then he sauntered round\nthe side of the house, to the front door.\nAll the doors, and windows in the house stood wide open.\nNo one appeared to receive him.\nFor a moment or two the King lingered, irresolutely, on the verandah\nbeside the front door.\nWhat should he do? In all probability, the whole household were at work\nin the hayfields. Should he go and find them there? No. Judith would\nbe astonished to see him. She might betray her astonishment. In the\ncircumstances it would be as well that his meeting with Judith should\nhave as few eye-witnesses as possible.\nBut Uncle Bond would be in. Had he not declared that \"Cynthia\" would be\ngood for five or six thousand words that day? The little man would be\nupstairs, hard at work, in his big, many-windowed writing room. Dare he\nbreak in upon Uncle Bond's jealously guarded literary seclusion? It was\na thing which he had never ventured to do. It was a thing which Judith\nherself rarely cared to do. But, after all, this was an exceptional\nday, if ever there was an exceptional day! Now that he came to think\nabout it, it would be a good thing if he could see Uncle Bond, in his\ncapacity of \"heavy father,\" before he saw Judith. Strictly speaking was\nit not to Uncle Bond, as his host, that his announcement of his real\nidentity, and his explanations, and his apologies were first due?\nWith a sudden flash of determination, in which a semi-humorous, boyish\ndesire to face the music, and get it over, played a large part, the\nKing entered the house.\nCHAPTER XI\nWithin the sunny, airy house there was absolute silence, and perfect\nstillness. The King crossed the broad, square hall, a pleasant retreat,\nwith its gaily coloured chintz covered chairs, and ottoman, its piano,\nits bookcases, and its big blue bowls, full of roses, and passed\nstraight up the glistening white staircase, which led to Uncle Bond's\nquarters on the upper floor. At the head of the staircase, he turned\nto his left, down a short corridor, in which stood the door of Uncle\nBond's writing room. On reaching the door, he paused, for a moment or\ntwo, very much as a swimmer pauses, on the high diving board, before he\nplunges into the deep end of the swimming bath. Then, smiling a little\nat his own nervous tremors, he knocked at the door, and, opening it\nwithout waiting for any reply, entered the room.\nThe writing room in which Uncle Bond spent his working hours extended\nalong the whole breadth of the house. One side of the room, the side\ndirectly opposite to the door, was almost entirely made up of windows,\nwhich commanded an uninterrupted view of the garden, and beyond the\ngarden, of a superb sweep of the surrounding, thickly wooded, park-like\ncountry. The three other sides of the room were covered with a plain,\ngrey paper, and were bare of all ornament. No pictures, no bookcases,\nand no pieces of bric-\u00e0-brac were displayed in the room. This complete\nabsence of decoration gave a conspicuous, and most unusual, suggestion\nof emptiness to the whole interior. None the less, with many of the\nwindows wide open, and with the brilliant, summer sunshine streaming in\nthrough them, the room had a charm, as well as a character of its own.\nAbove all else, it was a man's room. There was space in which to move\nabout. There was light. And there was air.\nUncle Bond was seated, at the moment the King entered, at a large\nwriting table, which stood in the centre of the room, with his back to\nthe door, busy writing.\nThe King closed the door quietly behind him, and then halted, just\ninside the room, and waited, as he had seen Judith do in similar\ncircumstances.\nUncle Bond did not look round but went on writing.\nClearly a sentence, or a paragraph, had to be finished.\nUncle Bond's writing table was bare and empty like the room in which\nit stood. The blotting pad on which the little man was writing, a neat\npile of completed manuscript on his left, and a packet, from which he\ndrew a fresh supply of paper as he required it, which lay on his right,\nwere the only objects visible on the table. No paraphernalia of pen and\nink was in evidence. Uncle Bond worked in pencil. No inkstand, or pen,\ninvented by the wit of man, could satisfy him.\nA small table, in the far corner of the room, on the right, on which\nstood a typewriter, an instrument of torture which the little man\nloathed, and rarely used, a large sofa, placed under, and parallel\nwith, the windows, and another table, on the left, which appeared to\nbe laid for a meal, with two or three uncompromisingly straight backed\nchairs, completed the furnishing of the room.\nThis was a workshop: a workshop from which all the machinery and tools\nhad been removed.\nUncle Bond wrote swiftly. He had a trick of stabbing at the paper in\nfront of him, with his pencil, periodically, which puzzled the King.\nUltimately it dawned upon him that this was probably merely Uncle\nBond's method of dotting his i's, crossing his t's, and putting in his\nstops. This supposition appeared to be confirmed, presently, when, with\na more energetic stab than usual which marked, no doubt, a final full\nstop, the little man finished writing.\nUncle Bond wore, when at work, a pair of large, tortoiseshell framed\nspectacles, which gave a grotesque air of gravity to his round, double\nchinned, clean-shaven face. He turned now in his chair, and looked at\nthe King, for a moment, over the rims of these spectacles. Then he\nsprang up to his feet, snatched off his spectacles, and darted across\nthe room to the table on the left, which appeared to be laid for a meal.\n\"A whole chicken--cold! A salad. A sweet, indescribable, but\nglutinous, pink, and iced. We shall manage,\" the little man crowed,\nas he uncovered a number of dishes on the table, and peered at their\ncontents. \"My dear boy, I am delighted to see you. For the last half\nhour, I have been thinking about lunch, but I disliked the idea of\nfeeding alone. I am, as you have probably already discovered, by\nmyself in the house. Judith and the Imps are picnicking in the hay\nfields. The servants are all in the fields. Judith hopes to cut, and\ncart, the Valley fields today. 'Cynthia' and I have had the house to\nourselves all morning. We have achieved wonders. I told you 'Cynthia'\nwould function today, didn't I? She is at the top of her form. We are\nalready level with the time-table, and she is still in play. But we\nshall need some more knives and forks, a plate or two, and a bottle--a\nbottle decidedly! A light, sparkling, golden wine. A long necked bottle\nwith the right label. I will go downstairs, and forage. You haven't had\nlunch, I suppose?\"\nThe King smiled, in spite of himself.\nThis was not the reception that he had anticipated.\n\"No. I have not had lunch, Uncle Bond,\" he admitted.\n\"Good!\" the little man chuckled. \"You must be hungry. I am. And you\nlook tired. You can pull the table out, and find a couple of chairs,\nwhile I am away, if you like. Glasses--and a corkscrew!\"\nHe moved, as he spoke, towards the door.\nBut, by the door, he paused.\n\"By the way, Alfred, there is a book on the window sill, beside the\nsofa, which may interest you,\" he remarked.\nThen he darted out of the room--\nMechanically, the King crossed the room to the luncheon table.\nThe table was most attractively arranged. No doubt Judith herself had\nseen to Uncle Bond's meal, before she had left the house, with the\nImps, for the hayfields. A bowl of Uncle Bond's favourite roses, in the\ncentre of the table, seemed to speak of Judith's thoughtfulness, and\ntaste. No servant would have laid the table quite like this.\nBeyond pulling the table out into the room, nearer to the windows, and\nplacing a couple of chairs in position beside it, there was really\nnothing that he could do in preparation for the meal, pending Uncle\nBond's return with the additional knives and forks, and plates which\nwould be necessary.\nA minute or two sufficed for this readjustment of the furniture.\nThen the King turned to the windows, attracted by the sunlight, and the\nfresh air.\nHow easily, and naturally things--happened--here in Paradise!\nUncle Bond had accepted his unprecedentedly early, his almost\nimmediate return, without question, or comment.\nUncle Bond, and Judith, always accepted him like that, of course.\nBut, today, it seemed strange!\nThe scene which he had visualized between Uncle Bond and himself had\nnot opened like this at all. He had meant to astonish Uncle Bond, at\nthe outset, by his disclosure of his real identity. He had looked\nforward to astonishing Uncle Bond, he realized now, in spite of his\nnervous tremors, with real enjoyment. It was he, and not Uncle Bond,\nwho was to have dominated this scene. He was like an actor whose big\nscene had failed. Somehow he had missed his cue.\nOne thing was certain. His announcement, his disclosure, of his real\nidentity must be no longer delayed. Somehow he could not bear to think\nof accepting Uncle Bond's joyous hospitality, of eating his salt,\nwithout first confessing his past deception, and receiving the little\nman's forgiveness and absolution. It was odd that his conscience should\nhave become suddenly so sensitive in the matter. His feeling was quite\nirrational, of course--\nBut how was he to make his announcement? It was not the sort of thing\nthat could be blurted out anyhow. He would have to lead up to it\nsomehow.\n\"I am, or rather I was, until twelve noon, today--the King! Now I\nam--on strike--taking a holiday!\"\nHow wildly absurd it sounded!\nSuch an announcement, however skilfully he led up to it, would carry\nno conviction with it. Uncle Bond would not, could not be expected to\nbelieve him.\nSomehow, here in Paradise, he hardly believed in it himself!\nThe fact was his dual life, the two distinct parts which he had played\nfor so long, had become too much for him. Hitherto, he had been able\nto keep the two parts, more or less distinct. Now he was trying to\nplay both parts at once. It was a mental, it was almost a physical,\nimpossibility.\n\"Alfred,\" \"my boy,\" the sailor who had just been given promotion, the\nsailor who served the King, never had been, and never could be--the\nKing.\nHe was a real man, alive, breathing, and thinking, at the moment, here,\nin the sunlight, by the windows.\nThe King whom the old Duke of Northborough addressed as \"Sir,\" the King\nwho lived in the palace, guarded night and day by the soldiery and the\npolice, the King who had, at last, asserted himself recklessly, gone on\nstrike, taken a holiday--he was a mere delusion, a dream.\nBut the real part, the better part, had now to be dropped.\nFate, chance, circumstances over which he had had no control, had\ndecided that.\nYes. \"Alfred,\" \"my boy,\" was gasping for life, taking a last look at\nthe green beauty of the sunlit, summer world, now, here at the windows--\nThe King shook himself, impatiently, and turned from the windows.\nHis position was trying enough, as it was, without his indulging in\nimaginary morbidity!\nAs he turned, his eyes were caught by an open book, which lay on the\nwindow sill, beside the sofa, on his right.\nHad not Uncle Bond said something about a book, a book on the window\nsill, beside the sofa, a book that might interest him? An uncommon book\nthat! He was no reading man, as Uncle Bond knew well. But it might be a\ncopy of the little man's latest shocker--\nWelcoming the distraction, the King advanced to the sofa, and picked up\nthe book.\nIn the centre of the right-hand page of the open volume a couple of\nsentences had been heavily scored in pencil.\nThe King read these words--\n \"Is it not strange so few Kings abdicate; and none yet heard of has\n been known to commit suicide? Fritz the First, of Prussia, alone tried\n it; and they cut the rope.\"\nIt was a moment or two before the King's brain registered the sense of\nthe words.\nHe read the sentences a second time.\nThen he turned, mechanically, to the title page of the book--\n \"The French Revolution, a History.\n \"by Thomas Carlyle.\"\nSuddenly, with the open book still in his hand, the King sank down on\nto the sofa.\nThis could not be chance. This was not a coincidence. This was no\naccident.\nUncle Bond had called his attention to the book--a book which might\ninterest him! It was Uncle Bond's pencil which had scored these\nsentences, so apposite to his own position, so heavily. Uncle Bond\nmust have left the book, open at this page, on the window sill,\ndeliberately.\nThe inference was unmistakable.\nUncle Bond knew who he was!\nAnd that was not all.\nUncle Bond must know something, at least, about the existing crisis!\nA storm of clamorous questions jostled each other in the King's brain.\nHow did Uncle Bond know? How long had he known? And Judith--did Judith\nknow, too? Why had Uncle Bond chosen this particular moment, and this\nparticular way, to reveal his knowledge? Had the little man's uncanny,\nunerring instinct told him that he himself was about to reveal his real\nidentity, at last?\nNo. That was impossible.\nUncle Bond had marked the sentences, and placed the book on the window\nsill, before he himself had entered the room.\nAnd he had had twinges of compunction, nervous tremors, about the\ndeception which he had practised.\nHe laughed contemptuously at himself.\nClearly, it was he himself, and not Uncle Bond, not Judith, who had\nbeen deceived--\nAt that moment, Uncle Bond's returning footsteps, in the corridor,\noutside the room, became audible.\nUncle Bond entered the room carrying a tray which was loaded with\nsilver, and cutlery, glasses and plates, and the longnecked bottle\nwhich he had promised. He shot a shrewd glance at the King, as he\ncrossed the room to the luncheon table; but he set down his tray, on\nthe table, without speaking.\nFor a moment, the King hesitated. Then he sprang up, impulsively, to\nhis feet, and advanced to the table. Holding out the open book, which\nhe had retained in his left hand, towards Uncle Bond, he tapped it with\nhis right forefinger.\n\"You know who I am, Uncle Bond?\" he challenged.\nUncle Bond chuckled delightedly.\n\"I do,\" he acknowledged. \"Get the cork out of that bottle, my boy. I've\ngot to carve the chicken.\"\nCHAPTER XII\n\"A climax is always a difficult business to handle,\" Uncle Bond\ncontinued, sitting down at the table and beginning his attack on\nthe cold chicken. \"It is easy enough to work up to. 'Cynthia' never\nhas any trouble in getting in the necessary punch at the end of\nher instalments. But to carry on, after the punch, to get the next\ninstalment going--that is a very different affair. In nine cases out\nof ten, that gives even 'Cynthia' herself a lot of trouble. My dear\nboy, put down that admirable volume--it is in your left hand!--and, I\nrepeat myself, get the cork out of that bottle! I know you are quite\nunconscious of the fact, but your attitude, at the moment, is most\ndistressingly wooden.\"\nThe King came to himself with a start.\n\"I beg your pardon, Uncle Bond,\" he stammered, blushing like a\nschoolboy.\nLaying \"The French Revolution, A History, by Thomas Carlyle,\" down\non the table, he picked up the longnecked bottle, and got to work,\nhurriedly, with the corkscrew.\nHe was, suddenly, very glad to have something to do.\n\"Fortunately for us, my boy, you and I can control the development of\nthis scheme,\" Uncle Bond went on, busy with the carving knife and fork.\n\"It occurs to me, by the way, that I am destined to play the part of\ngeneral utility man in our--comedy. I can see no immediate opening for\nthe knockabout comedian. A touch of the heavy father may be possible\nlater on. But, meanwhile, explanations are necessary. Obviously that\ninvolves the general utility man in the part of 'Chorus.' Strictly\nspeaking, I suppose I ought to address you in blank verse. I will spare\nyou that. One of the old dramatic conventions about the 'Chorus' it\nseems to me, however, is likely to suit you. 'Chorus' enters solus. You\ncan leave the stage to me--\"\nAt that moment, the cork in the longnecked bottle came away,\nunexpectedly, as is the habit of corks.\nThe King filled the glasses on the table with the light, sparkling,\ngolden wine.\n\"Good!\" Uncle Bond crowed. \"Now you can sit down, and--sink out into\nthe back-cloth. On the other hand, if you prefer to remain on the\nstage, a glass of wine is useful stage business.\"\nThe King sat down at the table opposite to Uncle Bond.\nAt the moment, bewildered and almost dazed as he was, he felt very much\nlike a theatrical super, assisting at a stage meal.\n\"I am giving you a wing, Alfred. No breast!\" Uncle Bond continued,\nproceeding to portion out the dismembered chicken. \"My action is\nsymbolical. This is between ourselves, and outside our stage play!\nThere are not many places where they give you the wing of the chicken,\nare there? You will continue to be given the wing of the chicken\nhere. You will continue to be received here, as you are received\nnowhere else. Our friend Alfred will find no change, in his reception\nhere--whatever happens. You are reassured, I hope? Your worst fears\nare stilled? Good! Help yourself to salad. And try the wine. I can\nrecommend it!\"\nThe King took the plate of chicken which the little man held out to\nhim, and helped himself to salad, mechanically. This commonplace\nroutine of the meal served to steady him. In some measure reassured\nby Uncle Bond's whimsical symbolism, he was relieved to find that he\ncould eat.\nUncle Bond helped himself from the salad bowl in turn, tried the wine,\nand then settled down, happily, to the meal, which he had been so\nunwilling to essay alone. But the play of his knife and fork, energetic\nas it was, did not interfere, for long, with his talk.\n\"And now to resume our comedy!\" he chuckled, in a minute or two.\n\"Between ourselves, my boy, I am enjoying the present situation\nenormously. But 'Chorus' explanations are necessary, and cannot wait.\nTherefore-- 'Enter Chorus!'\n\"I have known who you were almost, if not quite, from the first,\nAlfred. Judith knew you first, of course. Judith recognized you at\nsight. My dear boy, how could you imagine that it could be otherwise?\nHave you ever considered the possibilities of the case?\n\"Judith was born in the Navy. For years she lived in the Navy. She\nmarried into the Navy. Of course, she knew 'Our Sailor Prince.' As\nlikely as not his photograph has adorned her mantelpiece ever since the\nfar-away days when she was a romantic schoolgirl. 'Cynthia's' romantic\nschoolgirls, at any rate, are always like that!\n\"And I myself? Am I not a member of many clubs? 'Alfred York' was\nhardly likely to be an impenetrable incognito with me, was it? Wherever\nyou go, too, although you are so strangely unconscious of the fact, you\ncarry about with you a historic face!\n\"But, even if Judith and I had had no special knowledge, even if we had\nbeen lacking in penetration, it seems to me that we must, infallibly,\nhave recognized you, sooner or later. Have you not been, in recent\nmonths at least, the most bephotographed young man in Europe? I do not\nsuggest that the picture papers are Judith's, or my, favourite reading.\nBut we have a cook. Do you think that we could keep a cook, who can\ncook, here, in the country, if we did not supply her with her daily\ncopy of the 'Looking-Glass'? Sooner or later, it seems to me, Judith\nor I must have taken a surreptitious peep into the kitchen copy of the\n'Looking-Glass,' and so seen, and recognized, our friend Alfred in the\npictured news of the day.\"\nAt this point, the turmoil within the King, surprise, bewilderment, and\nself-contempt, the latter predominating, became altogether too much for\nhim. He quite forgot the necessary silence of the stage super.\n\"I feel a most unmitigated fool, Uncle Bond,\" he exclaimed.\n\"Exit, Chorus!\" Uncle Bond chuckled delightedly. \"Slow music-- Enter\nthe Hero of the Piece! You were about to say?\"\n\"I don't know what I was going to say,\" the King muttered\nuncomfortably, with his eyes on his plate. \"I know what I was going to\nsay before you--took the wind out of my sails. I was all ready with a\nspeech. I had two speeches ready.\"\n\"It is a pity that they should be wasted,\" Uncle Bond remarked. \"Get\nthem off your chest, my boy. They will probably serve more than one\nuseful purpose. Apart from anything else, they will give me a chance to\nget on with my lunch. You have got rather ahead of me, I observe. Take\nwhich ever comes first. The slow music dies away--the Hero of the Piece\nspeaks--\"\nThe King fingered his wineglass nervously. He wanted to put himself\nright with Uncle Bond. He wanted to tell him that he had meant to\nreveal his real identity himself, that he had meant to apologize for\nthe deception he had practised. He wanted to rehabilitate himself in\nhis own eyes.\n\"I was going to tell you--who I am, myself, Uncle Bond,\" he began\nlamely. \"I was going to reveal my real identity at last. I was going to\napologize to you for my deception, and ask for your--absolution.\n\"'I am, or rather was, until twelve noon today--the King! Now I am--on\nstrike--taking a holiday--' That was to have been my first speech!\"\nUncle Bond started, and shot a surprised glance at the King.\nEngrossed in his own thoughts, and still fingering his wineglass\nnervously, the King did not notice the little man's movement.\n\"I hardly expected you to believe me. I did not see how you could\npossibly believe me,\" he went on. \"I counted on astonishing\nyou--astonishing you!--and Judith. I looked forward to astonishing\nyou.\" He laughed contemptuously at himself. \"I thought that your\nastonishment would be amusing. This was to have been my scene, not\nyours. That is partly why--I feel such a fool!\"\nHe was silent for a moment or two.\nUncle Bond made no comment, but plied his knife and fork vigorously.\n\"When you believed me, when you had recovered from your astonishment,\nand had forgiven my deception--I knew you--and Judith--would forgive\nme,\" the King continued, \"I was going to make my second speech. You\nremember our talk, this morning, about the procession? That seems years\nago, now, somehow, doesn't it? In my second speech, I was going to take\nyou at your word about--the procession.\n\"'I have stepped out of my place in the procession, and come to join\nyou at your window, here, in the quiet old inn of \"Content.\" I want\nto forget the fight in the market-place. Help me to forget it! Let us\nforget the past, avoid looking at the future--what the future will\nbring, who can say?--and live for the time being in the present!' That\nis what I was going to say. It seemed to me that you--and Judith--would\nnot be able to resist an appeal like that. Here, in Paradise, we have\nalways lived in the present, haven't we?\"\nUncle Bond put down his knife and fork.\n\"Very pretty!\" he chuckled. \"I can understand your disappointment, my\nboy. There was good stuff in your scene. I am glad we have contrived to\nwork in--both your speeches. They are--illuminating. More chicken? A\nslice of the breast--now? No. Then advance the sweet. And refill the\nglasses. You approve the wine? Good! Once again I resume my part of\n'Chorus.'\n\"As 'Chorus' allow me to recall your attention to Thomas Carlyle, my\nboy,\" he went on, proceeding to serve the sweet. \"I am rather proud of\nthat little bit of stage business. 'Cynthia' herself, I flatter myself,\ncould hardly have hit anything neater. How does the quotation run?\n\"'Is it not strange so few Kings abdicate; and none yet heard of has\nbeen known to commit suicide? Fritz the First, of Prussia, alone tried\nit; and they cut the rope.'\n\"It got you--that quotation, my boy,--didn't it? It was meant to get\nyou. I knew your announcement, your confession, would give you trouble.\nOut of pure good nature--or was it malice?--I anticipated it.\"\n\"But how did you know I was going to make my confession?\" the King\nexclaimed, suddenly remembering his previous bewilderment on the\nsubject.\n\"Thank you, my boy,\" Uncle Bond chuckled. \"I man\u0153uvred, clumsily I\nfear, for that very question. There is, perhaps, something inherently\nclumsy in this device of the 'Chorus.' Hence, no doubt, its banishment\nfrom the modern stage. I did not know, I could not know, for certain,\nthat you would make your confession. But your confession seemed to me\nto be inevitable. Or, if not inevitable, necessary. Perhaps I wished\nto make sure of, as well as help you to, your confession. I must warn\nyou that I have another little surprise saved up for you, my boy. But I\nwill hurry to the end of my explanations. I do so the more readily as I\nam eager to demand an explanation from you, in turn.\n\"Paradise, although personally I am careful to suppress the fact as\nmuch as possible, is on the telephone. Judith finds it necessary to\ntalk to the Stores! This morning, while 'Cynthia' and I were hard at\nit, the telephone bell rang violently. The instrument, by the way, is\nin the pantry. I ignored the summons. I hoped the girl at the Exchange\nwould soon grow weary. She persisted. In the end, 'Cynthia' retired\nhurt, and I descended the staircase.\n\"A wonderful instrument! Not the telephone. The human voice. There are\nvoices which rivet the attention at once--even on the telephone. This\nwas one of them--\n\"'Northborough is speaking. Is that you Bond? Alfred York is\nmotoring down to see you. He is on his way now. You can put him up\nfor twenty-four, or forty-eight, hours, I suppose? If you get the\nopportunity, you can tell him, when he arrives, that everything is\nproceeding in accordance with plan.'\"\n\"You know the Duke of Northborough?\" the King gasped.\n\"Thanks to you, my boy, yes,\" Uncle Bond chuckled. \"Note in passing,\nthat I--with the assistance of Thomas Carlyle--have created an\nopportunity to tell you that--'everything is proceeding in accordance\nwith plan!' But we must really finish this sweet. No more for you?\nAnother glass of wine, then? You will find that the bottle will run to\nit, although those long necks are deceptive.\"\nMechanically, the King filled the wineglasses once again.\nFor a minute or two, there was silence while Uncle Bond made short work\nof the remnant of the sweet which the King had refused to share.\nThis accomplished the little man leant back in his chair.\n\"When Alfred York, the young and reckless sailor, whose friendship\nJudith and I have learnt to value so highly in recent months, first\nshowed an unmistakable desire to establish an intimacy with us, I saw\nno reason why I should--discourage his visits,\" Uncle Bond resumed\nwith a mischievous chuckle. \"Who, and what, our friend Alfred might be\nelsewhere, how he might fill in his--spare time--elsewhere, it seemed\nto me--need be--no concern of ours. These were matters to which he\nnever referred. Judith and I might have our own ideas on the subject,\nwe might even have knowledge which he never suspected; but until he\nspoke, it seemed to me, that there was--no necessity--for us to speak.\nOur friend Alfred obviously valued the hospitality which we were so\nglad to offer him. That was enough for us.\n\"But things happen. The curse, and the charm, of human life in two\nwords--things happen!\n\"When our friend Alfred suddenly became earmarked for--promotion--high\npromotion--I had to admit to myself that the situation was, at once,\nmaterially changed. So long as our friend Alfred was a person of\nonly--minor importance--his visits to us might, it seemed to me, fairly\nbe considered--merely his own affair, and ours. But when he became a\nperson of--the first importance--of the first importance in greater\nissues than he appears, as yet, to have realized, his frequent visits\nhere involved me--in a grave responsibility, to which I could not shut\nmy eyes. A reckless young man, our friend Alfred. He did incredible\nthings. He took amazing risks. I had to reconsider the whole position.\nI will not trouble you with an analysis of my conflicting motives.\nUltimately I took action. I wrote a letter.\n\"It was plain James Bond who wrote that letter--just as it is plain\nJames Bond who is speaking at this moment. Somehow, he seems to have\nlost sight of his part of 'Chorus'! 'Cynthia' did not contribute a\nsingle phrase to the letter. It must have been a good letter, I think.\nIt had an immediate result. Within less than twenty-four hours it\nbrought a very busy, and distinguished man from town down here into our\nquiet backwater to see us.\"\n\"The Duke?\" the King exclaimed.\n\"The Duke,\" Uncle Bond acknowledged. \"Let there be no mistake about my\nposition, at the outset, my boy. I am a partisan of the Duke!\n\"The Duke and I had some talk, but he spent most of his time with\nJudith, and the Imps. Judith--liked him. The Imps--took to him. We\ngave him tea. When he left he was good enough to say that I had given\nhim a pleasure extremely rare in the experience of an old man. I had\nintroduced him to four new friends! He said other agreeable things.\nBut the most important thing he said, perhaps, was that, with certain\nprecautionary measures taken, which he himself would arrange, he saw no\nreason why--the gates of Paradise should be shut on a younger, and more\nfortunate visitor than himself.\n\"My dear boy, I have always liked your reckless audacity. I sympathize\nheartily with you in your distaste for police surveillance. But that\nyou should consistently give the police the slip, and career about\nhere, alone in your car, when the men responsible for your safety\nbelieved that you were fast asleep, in bed, in town--in the present\nstate of the country, the risks, for you, for us, were altogether too\ngreat. Think what our position would have been if anything had happened\nto you! But for some time past, from the day of the Duke's visit to\nus, those risks have been avoided. Scotland Yard have been on their\nmettle. They have never lost sight of you. When I went downstairs, just\nbefore lunch, I found half a dozen plain clothes men making themselves\ncomfortable in the kitchen. They have grown quite at home with us. And\ntoday, they tell me, special precautions are being taken. A battalion\nof the Guards, I understand, is to put a picket line round the house.\nMy dear boy, restrain your impatience! You will not see them. The\npolice have strict orders never to intrude their presence upon you. The\nmilitary, I have no doubt, will have similar orders. From the first,\nthe Duke has been as anxious--as any of us--that you should continue to\nenjoy the full benefits of your incognito, here, in Paradise.\n\"And that brings me, having finished my own explanations, to the\nexplanation which I am so eager to demand from you, in turn, my\nboy. How did the Duke contrive that you should come here, in the\npresent crisis--they told me downstairs that Martial Law has been\nproclaimed!--without betraying the fact that he had been here himself?\"\nAll the King's senses had been numbed by the rapid succession of\nsurprises with which Uncle Bond had attacked him. His capacity for\nwonder had long since been exhausted. It seemed to him now that\nnothing would ever surprise him again. A feeling of utter helplessness\noppressed him. It seemed to him that he was in the grip, that he had\nbeen made the plaything, of an implacable, an irresistible power. But\nUncle Bond's question served to arouse a momentary flash of his old\nself-assertion within him. He had been deceived, he had been managed,\nhe had been fooled to the top of his bent--but, in this matter, at any\nrate, he had asserted himself; in this matter, at any rate, he had had\nhis own way.\n\"The Duke did not contrive that I should come here,\" he exclaimed. \"I\nchose to come here. It was--my way of going on strike.\"\n\"You startled me by saying something like that before, my boy,\" Uncle\nBond remarked. \"What do you mean, precisely, by--your way of going on\nstrike?\"\n\"The whole trouble is a strike. The Labour people have called a\nuniversal, lightning strike from twelve noon, today,\" the King\nexplained impatiently. \"The Duke says a little company of revolutionary\nextremists are behind it all. They want to run up the Red Flag. I\ntold the Duke that if there was one man in the whole country who was\njustified in striking, in leaving his work, it seemed to me, I was that\nman. And I said I would come here. Coming here was my way of going on\nstrike.\"\nUncle Bond leant forward in his chair.\n\"Are you quite sure that the Duke did not contrive that you should come\nhere, my boy?\" he persisted.\nA doubt was at once born in the King's mind. The Duke had offered no\nopposition whatever to his reckless excursion. The Duke had accepted\nhis rebellion. The Duke had encouraged him to leave the palace--\n\"The Duke wanted me to go to Windsor, or to Sandringham, in the first\nplace, I think. But--I daresay he was quite willing that I should come\nhere,\" he muttered.\n\"In the circumstances, you could hardly have a quieter, a more\nunexpected, and so, a safer, retreat,\" Uncle Bond remarked.\nThen he chuckled delightedly.\n\"My Carlyle quotation was even more apposite than I realized, my\nboy,\" he crowed. \"It seems to me that you have done your best--to\ncommit suicide! But your experience will be similar to that of Fritz\nthe First, of Prussia. They will cut the rope. The Duke must be busy\ncutting the rope now--\n\"This strike will collapse, of course--quickly. It must have been an\nunexpected move; a last desperate throw by the foreign agitators who\nhave failed to produce more serious trouble. Everybody, who is anybody,\nhas known, for months, that there was trouble brewing. All sorts of\nwild rumours from the Continent have been current in the Clubs. But\nan attempt at armed rebellion was the common idea. It has been talked\nabout so much that most people, I daresay, have ceased to take it too\nseriously. They will be surprised. But the Duke would not be surprised.\nEverything is proceeding in accordance with plan! Things have a way of\nproceeding in accordance with plan, with the Duke--\n\"What a story 'Cynthia' could make out of it all! 'The King Who Went\non Strike!' A good title for the bookstalls! But the best stories can\nnever be written--\"\nLeaning back in his chair as he spoke, the little man turned away from\nthe luncheon table, and looked out through the open windows, on his\nleft, at the sunlit wooded landscape, beyond the garden.\n\"It is strange, when you come to think of it, that you and I should be\nsitting here, in peace and quietness, my boy, when there is uproar and\ntumult, perhaps, when great events are shaping themselves, perhaps,\nover there, beyond our wooded skyline,\" he murmured. \"Does it not seem\nstrange--to you?\"\nMechanically the King swung round in his chair, and looked out,\nthrough the windows, in turn--\nBut the wooded skyline was not destined to hold his attention for long.\nAlmost at once, his eyes were drawn away, to the sunlit garden below,\nby a charming little interlude which was enacted there.\nBareheaded, and dressed in white, suddenly, round the side of the\nhouse, came Judith, slender and tall, her beautiful vivid face rosy\nwith the touch of the harvest sun. On her shoulder, skilfully supported\nin her upstretched arms, sat Bill, with his eyes closed, nodding his\ncherub's head, heavy with sleep. Beside her trotted Button, animated,\nvivacious.\nJudith was smiling happily, as she crooned in a low, sweet voice some\nlullaby.\nButton sang, too, more loudly.\nIn Button's clear, young voice, the words of the song became audible in\nthe room--\n \"And does it not seem hard to you,\n \"When all the sky is clear and blue,\n \"And I should like so much to play,\n \"To have to go bed by day?\"\nA moment later, tightening her hold on Bill, Judith stepped up on to\nthe verandah and, followed by Button, disappeared from view, into the\nhouse.\nThe King sprang up, and advanced to the windows.\nIn a little while Judith reappeared, alone, in the garden.\nSomehow the King had known that she would reappear.\nThe Imps had had to go to bed by day!\nSauntering across the lawn, Judith headed for the belt of trees at the\nfar end of the garden.\nThe King knew where she was going.\nBeyond the trees, in the furthest corner of the garden, stood a small\nsummer house, which commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding\nlandscape. For the sake of this view, the summer house was a favourite\nretreat of Judith's.\nJudith disappeared, with a final flicker of her white dress, behind the\ntrees, at the far end of the garden.\nThe King turned abruptly from the windows.\nHe was going to Judith--\nAnd then--he remembered Uncle Bond.\nUncle Bond had risen to his feet, and had thrown a white cloth over the\nluncheon table. He crossed the room now to his writing table, sat down\ndeliberately, and picked up his pencil.\n\"You are going to join Judith, in the garden, my boy?\" he remarked.\n\"That is right. Judith will be surprised--and glad--to see you. I\nam about to revert to 'Cynthia.' I have only one thing more to say\nto you--now. Thomas Carlyle! Do not forget in Judith's, or in your\nown excitement, that they will--'cut the rope!' That is certain. You\ncannot afford to forget that fact, in your dealings with any of us, my\nboy--least of all can you afford to forget it, in your dealings with\nJudith.\"\nThe little man began to write.\nThe King opened his lips to speak; thought better of it, and closed\nthem again; and then--hurried out of the room.\nCHAPTER XIII\nIt was an urgent, blind necessity that was laid upon him, rather\nthan any action of his own will, which had hurried the King out of\nUncle Bond's writing room. None the less, now, as he descended the\nstaircase in the silent house, crossed the hall, and so passed out into\nthe bright afternoon sunshine in the garden, he was not altogether\nunconscious of the motives which were driving him, in this strange way,\nto Judith. He wanted to see Judith alone. He wanted to talk to her. He\nwanted to explain things to her. And, most of all, he wanted Judith to\nexplain--things which only she could explain--to him--\nA few minutes of rapid walking led him across the lawn, in amongst the\ntrees, at the far end of the garden. A narrow path ran, through the\ntrees, to the little clearing beyond, in which the summer house stood.\nHe followed this path.\nThe green shade of the trees was welcome after the glare of the\nsunlight on the lawn. A breeze rustled amongst the overhanging leaves.\nHidden away, somewhere, high up amongst the tree tops, a couple of jays\nchattered raucously in the sultry stillness.\nIn a minute or two, the King caught a glimpse, through the trees, of\nthe picturesque, crudely thatched roof of the summer house.\nA moment later, he saw Judith.\nJudith was sitting in a wicker work chair, at the entrance to the\nsummer house, with her hands lying idle, for once, on her lap, gazing\nat the superb panorama of green fields, and wooded heights, which lay\nspread out before her in the sunshine.\nSo intent was her gaze, she did not hear the King's approach.\nThe King halted, abruptly, on the edge of the clearing, and watched her.\nA smile flickered about Judith's lips. The play of thought across her\nbeautiful, vivid face reminded the King of the play of light and shade\nacross some sunny hillside. He had never seen Judith alone with her own\nthoughts, like this, before. A kind of awe stole over him as he watched\nher. And yet, he soon grew impatient, and jealous, of these thoughts of\nJudith's, which he could not share.\nStepping back, in under the trees, he trod, with intention, on a\nbroken branch which lay on the paths at his feet.\nThe snapping of the branch served to recall Judith to her immediate\nsurroundings.\nShe did not start. She turned her head, slowly; and saw him.\nThe rosy flush which the harvest sun had put into her cheeks deepened.\nHer dark, mysterious eyes lit up marvellously.\n\"Alfred--you!\" she cried. \"I was just thinking about you. And I had no\nidea you were so near!\"\nA feeling of guilt oppressed the King. The shining happiness, the\nradiant trust, of Judith's face smote him like a rebuke.\nSlowly, he advanced across the clearing, and halted beside her chair.\nWhat was it he wanted to say? What could he say?\nThen, suddenly, words came to him.\n\"You know--who I am,\" he said.\nQuite unconsciously, he used the same words which he had used with\nUncle Bond; but he used them now with a difference. With Uncle Bond the\nwords had been a challenge. To Judith, he offered them as an apology.\nA shadow obscured the radiance of Judith's face; but her glance did\nnot waver. It was as if she were meeting something for which she had\nlong been prepared.\n\"I have always known,\" she acknowledged.\nA constraint that had no parallel in his experience held the King\nsilent for a long minute or two.\nAt last he forced himself to speak.\n\"I have been here--sometime,\" he began desperately. \"I have\nbeen--upstairs with Uncle Bond. I have just had lunch with him in his\nroom. Uncle Bond has explained--a good many things to me. I saw you\ncome here from the window. I followed you at once. I had to follow you.\nI hardly know why. Was it because there are--things between us which\nonly you can explain?\"\nHe broke off there abruptly.\nJudith knew nothing of all that had happened, of course. Until she\nknew--something of all that had happened--of what use was his talk? If\nonly he could tell her--something of what had happened--she might be\nable to begin to understand the bewilderment, and turmoil, within his\noverwrought, fevered brain. That she should be able to understand, that\nshe should be able to sympathize with him, had become, at the moment,\nhis paramount need.\n\"Things have happened,\" he resumed desperately. \"Things have happened\nthat you know nothing about, I think. Queer things are happening, over\nthere, at this moment!\"\nHe half turned from her, as he spoke, and pointed across the sunlit\nlandscape, at the distant, wooded horizon.\n\"Martial Law has been proclaimed. The Labour people are making trouble.\nThey have called a universal strike. A few of them want to get rid of\nme, and run up the Red Flag. They haven't a chance, of course. The Duke\nis there. I know that you know the Duke! He was ready for them. He will\nbe glad, I think, that they have given him this chance to crush them.\nUncle Bond had a message from the Duke, waiting for me, when I arrived,\nto say that everything was--'proceeding in accordance with plan.' His\nplan!\n\"The Duke wanted me to go to Windsor, or to Sandringham, to be out of\nthe way of possible trouble. I said I'd come here. I told him, that\nit seemed to me, that if there was one man, in the whole country, who\nwould be justified in striking, in leaving his work, I was that man.\nI told him that I'd go on strike too. Coming here was my way of going\non strike. I thought that I was asserting myself. I thought that I\nwas showing that I was a man. All the time I was simply playing into\nthe Duke's hands, of course. The Duke would be quite content that I\nshould come here, I think. He knows that I can't get into any mischief\nhere. He has seen to that! Uncle Bond tells me that there are half a\ndozen plain clothes men in the kitchen. Did you know that? A battalion\nof the Guards is to put a picket line round the house, too. At first\nI--resented the Duke's arrangements. Now, somehow, I don't seem to\ncare--\n\"So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours, I have been\nthrough so much, I don't seem to have any will, any feeling, any\npersonality left. My own thoughts, my own words, my own actions seem\nto me, now--like the disjointed pieces of a jig-saw puzzle, which\nI shall never be able to put together again. I don't know--where I\nam. I don't know--where I stand. I am all at sea. The bottom seems,\nsuddenly, to have dropped out of everything. I have been humoured,\nmanaged, controlled, all through. I can see that. Now, I am--just like\na derelict ship. The rudder has gone. The charts are lost. I am being\ndriven, this way and that, at the mercy of--everybody's will, but my\nown--\n\"Somehow, you are my only hope. Somehow, I feel that you will\nunderstand me--better than I understand myself. I suppose that that\nmeans that I love you. You know that. And I know that you love me.\nThere can be no doubt about that, after last night. And yet, somehow,\neven that doesn't excite me now. It doesn't seem to mean--what I\nsuppose it ought to mean--to me. Why doesn't it mean--more to me? I\nam trying to tell you the truth, so far as I can see it. I am sick of\nmystery. I am utterly weary of deceit. It seems to me, that--our only\nhope is--plain speaking--\"\nAll this time, Judith had remained motionless, and quiescent, in her\nchair. She turned, now, a little towards the King. Her expression was\ngrave, but friendly.\n\"I want you to sit down, Alfred,\" she said quietly. \"Find another\nchair, and bring it out here. When you sit down, I will talk to you. I\nwant to talk to you.\"\nThe King swung round into the summer house, and brought out another\nchair. Placing it beside Judith's, he sat down. Then he fixed his eyes\nupon her face.\n\"I am glad that you have said, what you have said, Alfred,\" Judith\nbegan. \"I have wanted you to give me your confidence, the whole of\nyour confidence, for so long. I have always understood, I think, why\nyou have been silent--about so many things. But I wanted you--to trust\nme. Now--you have trusted me--\n\"I agree with you that the time has come for plain speaking. I am glad\nthat it has come. I will speak as plainly as I can.\"\n\"First of all, you are not a derelict, Alfred. You are more like--a\nship that has not found herself. You know what happens on a trial trip?\nThe ship has not found herself. The Captain, and the crew, have got\nto get to know her. She ships the sea. Bolts and plates stretch and\nstrain. Queer things happen in the engine room. And then, suddenly, all\nin a moment, the ship finds herself, rights herself. You will be--like\nthat. Your trial trip has been run in a storm. You have been plunged,\nat the start into hurricane weather. But you will find yourself, right\nyourself. And, when your moment comes, you will sail the seas with any\ncraft afloat.\n\"But that is--politics! And you, and I, are not really greatly\ninterested in politics, are we? What we are really interested in\nis--ourselves--our own intimacy, our own relationship. When you say\nthat you don't know where you are, where you stand, what you mean, at\nthe back of your mind, is that you don't know where _we_ are, and where\n_we_ stand. I will tell you where I stand. If I tell you where I stand,\nyou will be able to see--your own position. I will speak, as plainly as\nI can, about myself--\"\nJudith paused there, as if she wished to marshal her thoughts, and fit\nthem with words.\nThe King kept his eyes fixed upon her face. His instinct had been\nright. Judith understood him, better than he understood himself.\nAlready, he was conscious that the tumult within him was subsiding.\nJudith, with her clear eyes, and sure touch, would disentangle the\nmingled threads of their strange destiny, rearrange them, and put them\nstraight.\n\"First of all, I want you to understand that I know that there can be\nno change in, no development, no outcome of--our friendship,\" Judith\nresumed slowly. \"And I want you to know that I am--content that it\nshould be so. My life has been full of--much that many women miss.\nI had Jack, my husband. I have the Imps. I have Uncle Bond. And I\nhave--you.\n\"Your--friendship--has become very precious to me, Alfred. When you\nfirst came here, I liked you, I think, because you reminded me of Jack.\nIt was the sea, and the Navy, of course. The sea, and the Navy, mark a\nman, don't they? They give him a certain style, and stamp. But that was\nonly a superficial, surface resemblance, of course. I had not known you\nvery long before I realized that you were quite unlike Jack.\n\"Jack was simple, a boy, a dear. He was a splendid man, physically. At\nsea, he could sail anything that would float. He had no idea of fear.\nHe did his duty. He obeyed orders. He never questioned anything. Life\nto him was always plain and straightforward. He always saw his way,\nlike the course of his ship, clear before him. He never had a real\ntrouble, or doubt. He was happy, even in his death. You know how he led\nthe destroyers into action, and sank an enemy ship, before he went down\nhimself? I--loved him. But I loved him, as I love the Imps. When he was\nat home, on shore, with me, I used to feel that I had three boys to\nlook after--\n\"You are different. Your mind works all the time. You doubt, you\nquestion, everything. You see all round things to which Jack would\nnever have given a thought. Your brain is always active--too active.\nLife to you is always complex, puzzling. You live more, and harder, in\na day, in your brain, than Jack did in a year. It was when I began to\nunderstand what was going on in the brain, behind your tired blue eyes,\nthat I learnt--to love you. Jack had no imagination. You have--too much\nimagination. I loved Jack. But you--you could carry me off my feet--\n\"That is just what happened last night. I want you to understand about\nlast night, Alfred. It is important that you should understand about\nlast night, I think. A good deal of your trouble, of your bewilderment,\nand uncertainty, today, is because of last night, I believe. And it\nmay--happen again.\n\"I have always been very careful with you--until last night. I know\nthat I--attract you. At one time, I was afraid that that might\ninterfere with, that it might spoil, our friendship. But, as I came to\nknow you better, as I came to understand the hold, the control, you\nhave over yourself, I began to realize that it was not you, but myself,\nthat I had to fear. I was very careful. I watched myself. And then,\nlast night, after all, I failed you--\n\"But you had just been Crowned! And, after your Coronation, after all\nthat you had been through, you got away, as soon as you could, to come\nand see me! That in itself was--a tribute--which no woman could have\nresisted, I think. And you were different. Your Coronation has made\na difference, Alfred. And you were wearing the King's colours. You\nremember that? And you talked about the King needing all his friends.\nAnd, somehow, just for the moment, I wanted you to trust me, to give me\nthe whole of your confidence. I have always wanted your confidence. And\nthen--I was afraid. And I took you in to the Imps for safety. And their\ncrowns were there. And I couldn't resist playing with fire. And you\npicked up Button's crown. And I felt all your thought--bitter, ironic,\npainful thoughts. I am much more responsive to your moods than you\nrealize, I think. And I wanted to comfort you. And I looked at you. And\nyou saw what I felt--\n\"It was just as if I had said, all the things which we have always left\nunsaid, wasn't it? It was just as if I had shouted aloud, all the\nthings which we have always been so careful to ignore. It--troubled\nyou--then. It troubles you still. It will be a long time, before I\nshall be able to forgive myself, for what happened last night--\n\"I have always wanted to help you, to serve you, to make things easier\nfor you, you see--not to add to your difficulties. But we have helped\nyou, Uncle Bond, and I, and the Imps, haven't we! It has been good\nfor you to come here, to us, in Paradise, for rest, and quiet, and\npeace, hasn't it? There is an old fairy story about a man who was\nhaunted by his shadow, that the Imps are very fond of, that I have\nalways connected with you, in my own mind. You are haunted by your\nshadow, aren't you? You are haunted by the shadow of your rank, of\nyour position, of your responsibility. But you have always been able\nto forget your shadow here with us--until last night--haven't you? It\nhas always been waiting for you, when you went away in the morning, you\npicked it up again in the lane, on your way back to town, I know. But,\nwhile you were here, you never saw your shadow, until last night, did\nyou?\"\n\"It has always been just like that,\" the King murmured. \"With you, I\nhave always been able to live, in the present moment--\"\n\"It always _shall be_ just like that,\" Judith declared.\nThen she stood up abruptly.\n\"But I am not going to talk any more now,\" she said. \"I must go in.\nThe Imps will be awake by now. But I shan't bring them out here. I\nwant you to rest. I promised the Duke, that I would see that you got\nas much rest as possible, whenever you came here. I--like the Duke.\nHe--cares more for you--than you realize, Alfred, I think. You will\ntry to rest now, won't you? How much sleep have you had in the last\ntwenty-four hours? Three hours, last night? You are too reckless. I am\nnot surprised the King's physician is turning grey. The Duke told me\nthat. You can't stay up on the bridge indefinitely. You will find that\nyou will be able to sleep now--after all my plain speaking! Are you\ncomfortable in that chair? Let me give you this cushion--\"\nShe lingered beside him, seeking to make him comfortable, as a woman\nwill.\n\"I treat you, just as if you were one of my boys, don't I?\" she said.\n\"I know you like it. But I do it--in self-defence.\"\nThe King submitted, passively, to her ministrations.\nThen he caught her hand, and raised it to his lips.\nHis action, like so many of his actions, was quite impulsive. But he\ndid not regret it.\nIn what other way could he have expressed so well, his admiration, his\ngratitude, his renewed trust?\nJudith blushed charmingly.\nThen, suddenly, she leant down over him, and kissed him, lightly, on\nthe forehead.\n\"I kissed you like that, last night, when you were asleep,\" she said,\nwith an odd, breathless, little catch in her voice.\nThen she turned, and hurried away, through the trees, back to the\nhouse,--\nA great drowsiness took possession of the King. He did not resist it.\nHe gave himself up to it gladly--\nHis instinct had served him well. Judith understood him, better than he\nunderstood himself. Judith was right. She was always right. The larger\npart of his trouble, it seemed to him, now, had been, as she said, his\nbewilderment, his uncertainty, as to where he and she stood. Now that\nJudith had defined their position--as plainly as it could be defined\nwith safety--a great burden seemed to have been lifted from his mind.\nJudith understood him. Nothing else mattered. Other things--could not\ntouch him here in Paradise. Other things--could wait.\nHis shadow--\nHalf asleep, as he was already, he sat up abruptly.\nThe bright, afternoon sun was shining full on to the little clearing,\nthrowing no shadow--\nHis shadow was not there--\nLeaning back, contentedly, in his chair, he closed his eyes again.\nAlmost at once, he slept.\nCHAPTER XIV\nA light, butterfly touch on his cheek awoke the King.\nHe had slept so deeply, and so long, it was a minute or two, before he\nfully regained consciousness.\nThen he found himself gazing at Bill's gleeful, cherubic face.\n\"Lazy, lazy, slug-a-bed, Uncle Alfred,\" Bill chanted. \"'Bed by daytime'\nwas over--ever so long ago. We've been making the hay, the whole\nafternoon. And you've been asleep all the time, you poor, tired dear.\nBut mother said we could wake you now.\"\nA sudden tenderness, for the shining innocence of the little fellow's\nsmiling face, gripped the King.\nCatching him up in his arms, he shook him, playfully, in mid air.\nThen he set him down on his feet again, and turning--saw Button, on the\nother side of his chair.\n\"Wonderful harvest weather, this we're having,\" Button remarked. \"But,\nif it's good for the hay, it's bad for the roots. We want rain for the\nroots, there's no denying.\"\nIt was an extremely elderly Button who spoke.\nThe King recognized one of the youngster's habitual quotations.\nIt sounded like the weather lore of old Jevons, the gardener.\n\"It's Coronation weather, you see, Button,\" he said absently.\nButton became all boy, seven-year-old boy, at once.\n\"Were you in the procession, Uncle Alfred?\" he cried. \"Mother told us\nabout it. Did you see the King? Did you wear your sword? Did the people\ncheer?\"\n\"Tell us about the flags, and the 'luminations, and the fireworks,\"\nBill demanded, joining in, in the little hurricane of questions.\n\"Mother says the King rode in his coach. Why didn't he ride on one of\nhis horses? Did he wear his crown in the coach? Is his crown heavy?\"\n\"Mother says the King is quite young. That is funny, isn't it?\" Button\npredominated. \"All the Kings in the fairy stories are old, old men,\nwith long, white beards. Do you think he likes being King? Mother\nsays he has to work very hard, that he can't do just what he likes,\nand please himself, that he always has to think--first of England, and\nnever of himself. That doesn't sound as if he had much fun, does it?\"\n\"Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours?\" Bill enquired.\nBy this time, the King's dormant ironic sense had been most effectively\naroused. He was amused? Yes. But more than one of the youngsters'\ninnocent shafts had reached home.\nAnd Judith was not greatly interested in politics!\n\"First of England, and never of himself?\"\nHad he not always thought--first of himself?\n\"Mother says the King was in the Navy, like you and our daddy, until\nthey told him that he had to be King,\" Button continued. \"Daddy died in\nbattle, you know. But it isn't sad. Mother has his medals. When I grow\nup, I'm to have his sword, and go into the Navy, too. Mother says it's\nthe King's Service. When Bill is big enough, mother says he'll be as\nbig as I am some day, he's going into the Navy, too. He'll be in the\nKing's Service, too. But I'm to have daddy's sword, because I'm the\neldest.\"\nBill scrambled up on to the King's knees.\n\"You will tell us all about the King, and his procession, and the\n'luminations, and the fireworks, won't you, dear?\" he coaxed.\n\"Some day--perhaps I will,\" the King said. \"But it is a long, and a\ndifficult story, and it--isn't finished yet. I don't think the King\nlikes being King, very much, though. Mother is right. He--can't do just\nwhat he likes. He hasn't been King very long--but he has learnt that,\nalready. Perhaps, I don't know, he may learn, if he has the chance,\nin time, to think--first of England, and never of himself. He doesn't\nhave much fun. I know that. His crown is--heavier than he likes. He was\nvery tired of it all, yesterday, I know. He didn't see--much of his own\nprocession. He saw the flags, and the crowds, and he heard the cheers.\nYes. The people cheered! And he bowed, and smiled, and played his part.\nBut I don't think he enjoyed it very much. I think he was--rather\nafraid of it all, in his own heart. He didn't wear his sword. They\nwon't let the King fight, nowadays, you see. He has to let other\nmen--brave men like your daddy--fight for him. He--doesn't like that!\nThat is why it is better to be in the King's Service, in the Navy, as\nyou are going to be, when you grow tall enough, than to be--the King--\"\n\"Didn't they let him sit up to see the 'luminations, and the\nfireworks?\" Bill asked, surprised, and puzzled.\n\"Yes. They let him sit up to see them,\" the King acknowledged hastily.\n\"And there were illuminated aeroplanes over the palace. And \"God Save\nthe King,\" and \"God Save King Alfred the Second,\" in letters of fire,\non all the houses--\"\n\"Here's mother,\" Button announced.\nJudith appeared, advancing through the trees.\nButton ran to meet her.\nBill remained faithful to the King's knee.\nThe King frowned. He understood, suddenly, he thought, why Judith had\nsent the Imps to wake him. The Imps were protection, safety. Judith\nwas right, of course. It was wise of her to take such precautions--in\nself-defence. And yet, somehow, at the moment, he resented her wisdom.\n\"You have had a good sleep, Alfred,\" Judith said, smiling pleasantly,\nas she halted beside him. \"It is nearly six o'clock now. We came, and\nlooked at you, at tea-time, but you were so fast asleep, it seemed a\nshame to wake you.\"\nThe King's resentment fell from him. He felt ashamed of himself. It was\nof him, and not of herself--did she ever think of herself?--that Judith\nhad been thinking.\n\"I feel very much better, thank you. The rest has done me good,\" he\nsaid.\n\"Uncle Alfred has been telling us about the King, mother,\" Button\nexplained. \"He says he doesn't think the King likes being King very\nmuch. He can't do what he likes, just as you said. They won't let him\nwear his sword even, and he can't fight for himself. He has to let\nother people fight for him. I'm glad I'm not King. I'd rather be a\nsailor, and wear daddy's sword.\"\nThe King put Bill down off his knee, and stood up hastily, glad to\navoid, in this way, meeting Judith's glance--\n\"Picaback! Picaback!\" Bill cried.\n\"A race!\" Button shouted.\nIt was the Imps' hour for play.\nAlways, in the evening, between tea and dinner, Judith joined them, in\nthe garden, in a riotous frolic.\nThis evening the King, too, was inevitably, pressed into their service.\nThe King mounted Bill on his shoulders, willingly enough.\nButton claimed Judith as his mettlesome charger.\nThe race, it was decided, should be to the house.\nAnd so, with Button urging Judith forward, and Bill spurring the King\non, remorselessly, with his heels, the race began.\nThe result was, for some time, in doubt.\nUltimately, going all out across the lawn, Bill, on the King, won by a\nshort length.\nWhether Bill, or the King, was the more delighted at this success, it\nwould have taken a very acute observer to judge.\nIn the ensuing hour, the King found himself called upon to play a\nvariety of parts, which would have made exhaustive demands upon the\nresources of the most experienced quick-change artist.\nA Wild Beast in the trees, Man Friday, a Red Indian, a Cannibal King,\nand a Policeman, were amongst his more prominent r\u00f4les. Flinging\nhimself into the spirit of the play, with a gusto which he caught, in\npart, from Judith, he entirely forgot himself.\nThe Imps' laughter rang out, blithe and free, through the garden, and\nabout the house. Whenever their interest, or their energy failed,\nJudith was quick with some delectable proposal, unlimited in resource.\nWith all their unspoilt imagination, Button and Bill were hard put to\nit, at times, to keep pace with the whims of their radiant, laughing\nmother. Judith played with all the abandon of a child, directed by the\nintellect of an adult. To the King this combination was irresistible.\nHe had no thought now apart from the present moment.\nOnce only, were he and Judith alone together. It was in the course of\na wild game of hide and seek with which the play ended. It was their\nturn to hide. Quite by chance, they sought the same cover--a large\nrhododendron bush in the drive. They crouched together, behind the\nbush, side by side.\nJudith was flushed, panting a little, and a trifle dishevelled.\n\"Isn't this fun?\" she whispered, turning to him with shining eyes.\n\"I am ten years old--for the first time,\" the King replied.\nJudith's face clouded.\n\"When you were a boy--was the shadow there already?\" she asked.\n\"I think that it must have been, although I didn't know it,\" the King\nmuttered. \"I expect it was my own fault--but I was lonely. I knew,\nI think we all knew--that we were not like other children. It wasn't\nuntil I went to sea that--I was able to forget that I was a Prince!\"\n\"Poor, lonely, little Prince!\" Judith murmured. \"But when he went to\nsea, he was happy?\"\n\"The sea knocked a lot of nonsense out of me,\" the King replied. \"At\nsea, a man is a man, and nothing else. When I had learnt that, I was\nhappy.\"\nThen the Imps burst in upon them, and the play was at an end.\nJudith drove the Imps before her, into the house.\nFor them--a light supper, and then, an early bedtime.\nThe King made his way into the house in turn.\nIt was time to dress for dinner.\nA rich content, a sense of absolute well-being, was with the King now.\nWas it not always so, when he had been with Judith, and the Imps? The\nbewilderment, the turmoil, and the fever, which had raged within him,\nonly a few hours ago, seemed very far away.\nHere, in Paradise, the present moment was good!\nInsensibly--had Judith contrived it?--he had stepped into the quiet old\ninn of \"Content,\" on the corner of the market-place. He had turned his\nback on--the procession--on the fight in the market-place. He would\nkeep his back turned to them. He would not even risk the window view.\nAlfred, the sailor, was not dead!\nIt was Alfred, the sailor, who entered the house.\nIt was Alfred, the sailor, who passed into his own room.\nHere, a surprise awaited him. Laid out in the room were evening\nclothes. On the dressing-table were familiar toilet trifles from the\npalace.\nAlfred, the sailor, fled.\nIt was the King, who halted, in the middle of the room, and looked\nabout him.\nThis, he realized, must have been the outcome of the old Duke's\nthoughtfulness. The Duke alone could have given the orders which had\nmade this possible. That the Duke should have found time to attend to\nso trivial a matter, time to give orders to a valet to pack a bag, when\nhe was giving orders to maintain a throne--it was almost ludicrous!\nAnd yet, it was like the Duke.\nIt was like the Duke, to remind him, to assure him, in this way, that\nhe, the King, was of importance, that he was being served, well served,\nin small matters, as well as in great. Something of the sort must\nhave been in the old Duke's mind, when he gave the orders, which had\nprovided him, the King, with a dress shirt--and studs!--now, when he\nwanted them--\nNo doubt, some member of the palace household staff, Smith perhaps, had\nbeen sent down, specially, from the palace, with these things, during\nthe afternoon. Like the police, and the military, he would have been\ngiven orders to remain invisible. That was as it should be. A valet\nwould have been out of place in Paradise. Alfred, the sailor, would be\nentitled to a servant, of course. But he would hardly accompany him\non--\"a short leave of absence\"--\nThe King was glad to change.\nHe was glad to think, as he dressed leisurely, that he would appear\nsuitably clad at Judith's table.\nThere is a stimulation in clothes which he was young enough to feel.\nHe was still struggling with his dress tie, when the dinner gong\nsounded.\nCHAPTER XV\nA small, panelled room, on the left of the hall, and on the west side\nof the house, the dining room was bright with the light of the setting\nsun, as the King entered. Late as he was himself, he was surprised to\nfind that only Judith was there to receive him. She was standing at the\nwindow doors, which opened out of the room onto the verandah, gazing at\nthe flaming glory of the sunset sky. Wearing a silver gown, that had a\nmetallic glitter, which gave her something of a barbaric splendour, she\nseemed, at the moment, almost a stranger to the King. But she turned to\nwelcome him with her usual friendly little nod, and smile.\n\"It will be no use our waiting for Uncle Bond,\" she announced. \"He may\nbe here, in a minute or two. Or he may not come for half an hour, or\nmore. 'Cynthia' may have got a firm grip on him, you see. Uncle Bond,\nor perhaps I ought to say 'Cynthia,' hates being interrupted for meals.\nI never wait for him.\"\nSitting down at the foot of the dinner table, as she spoke, she waved\nthe King into his place, on her right, facing the open window doors,\nand the view of the garden, and of the wooded landscape beyond, which\nthey framed.\n\"I hope 'Cynthia' _has_ got a firm grip on Uncle Bond,\" she went on. \"I\nshall have you all to myself, then. You ought to have said that, you\nknow. But you never make pretty speeches. That is why I said it for\nyou.\"\nThe King sat down at the dinner table, and picked up his napkin,\nmechanically.\n\"Are pretty speeches allowed--between us?\" he asked.\n\"Why not? Just for once?\" Judith replied. \"Why shouldn't we play at\nthem, like a game with the Imps? Shall I begin? I will give you an\nopening. Do you like my dress? And my hair? I dressed for you. I know\nyou like me, of course. But there are times, when a woman likes to be\ntold--what she knows!\"\nThe King was surprised, and not a little embarrassed. This was not the\nJudith he had expected. This was not the Judith of the afternoon. This\nwas that other strange, dangerous Judith, of the night before. She had\nwarned him that--it might happen again. True. But he had never imagined\nthat it would happen again, so soon--\nThe entrance of the light-footed parlour-maid, in neat black, who was\nresponsible for the service of the meal, at that moment, covered the\nKing's silent confusion.\nSo long as the maid was in the room only trivial surface conversation\nwas possible.\nThe King compelled himself to play his necessary, outward social\npart. But he was uneasily aware, all the time, inwardly, that Judith\nhad noticed his embarrassment and that she was likely to resume her\nunexpected attack at the first opportunity. His intuition proved\ncorrect; but only partially correct. Judith was quick to take advantage\nof the first of the maid's temporary absences from the room to return\nto more intimate talk. But she struck, at once, a quieter, graver note.\n\"What is it, Alfred?\" she asked. \"Do I trouble you? I am sorry. It was\nselfish of me. I knew that I was playing with fire, of course. But--a\nwoman grows tired of leaving everything unsaid.\"\nHer implied appeal, and her insistence on her feminine weakness--a\nthing unprecedented in her!--moved the King. He felt ashamed of his own\ncaution.\n\"If I had the right to make pretty speeches--\" he began.\nThen he checked himself abruptly.\nWhat was the use of evasion? Had not Judith and he agreed that plain\nspeaking was their only hope? Judith had spoken plainly enough. The\nleast he could do was to speak plainly, too. And, suddenly, at the\nback of his mind, now, were thoughts, which he had never suspected in\nhimself, clamouring for expression,--\n\"But I haven't the right!\" he exclaimed. \"I haven't any right to be\nhere, really. I see that now. I am in an utterly false position. I\nought not to be here. I ought not to have come here, as I have done. It\nwas not fair--to either of us. It was asking too much of--both of us.\nWhy haven't I seen that before? I shut my eyes to it, deliberately, I\nam afraid. It was a mistake. It has been a mistake all through. I have\nbeen absolutely selfish. I have thought only of myself. It is only\nright that I should have to pay for my mistake. But the payment is all\non your side. It has been give, give, give, all the time, on your side.\nAnd take, take, take, all the time, on mine. And I can make no return--\"\n\"The giving all on our side! You have made no return!\" Judith cried.\n\"It isn't true, Alfred. You know it isn't true! But, even if it were\ntrue--a woman loves a man who allows her to give to him.\"\n\"Isn't that just the trouble?\" the King exclaimed, exasperated by the\nconflict of feeling within him into a flash of unusual insight.\nThen the parlour-maid re-entered the room.\nHard on the heels of the parlour-maid, Uncle Bond made his appearance.\nThe little man had not dressed for dinner. He was still wearing his\nusual, loose-fitting shooting clothes.\n\"You will excuse my clothes, I know, my boy,\" he remarked as he slipped\ninto his place, at the head of the table. \"It has taken me all my\ntime to get here at all. I have just had a violent quarrel, upstairs,\nwith 'Cynthia.' I told her that you were here to dinner today, that\nyou were an honoured guest, and that I wished to show you proper\nattention. She told me to get on with my work. I told her that I would\nnot be hag-ridden--that caught her on the raw!--that she was merely my\nfamiliar spirit, not my master. Then I slammed the door on her. And\nhere we are!\"\nIt was difficult to resist Uncle Bond's chuckling good-humour. The King\nfound himself smiling at the little man's characteristic nonsense,\nalmost in spite of himself.\nJudith proved more obdurate.\nJudith appeared to be really piqued by Uncle Bond's entrance. As the\nmeal proceeded, she became increasingly silent. An obtuser man than\nUncle Bond must have become quickly conscious that something was wrong.\nFrom the mischievous twinkle which shone in the little man's sparkling\neyes, the King judged that Uncle Bond was only too well aware of the\ntension that had sprung up, so unexpectedly, between Judith and himself.\nOddly enough, Uncle Bond did nothing to relieve the situation. The\nlittle man was, or affected to be, very hungry. Setting himself, ably\nseconded by the parlour-maid, to make good the courses which had\nalready been served, he confined his attention, almost entirely to his\nplate.\nThe meal went forward, for some time, in these circumstances, with a\nminimum of talk, which was not far removed from dumb show.\nThe broad rays of the setting sun were shining full into the room now\nthrough the open window doors immediately facing the King. In the\nawkward, recurring silences at the table, his eyes turned, again and\nagain, to the window doors, and the superb landscape which they framed.\nField and wood, winding road, and blossoming hedgerow, cottage and\nfarm, lay, peaceful and serene, spread out there, before him, in the\nbright, evening light.\nAnd beyond, beyond it all, lay London.\nWhat was happening there?\nThe question startled the King.\nEngrossed in his own thoughts, absorbed by his own emotions, he had\nentirely forgotten the crisis.\nWas everything still proceeding in accordance with plan? Why had\nhe not heard from the Duke? Had not the Duke said that he would be\ncommunicating with him?\nA sudden impatience with, a new contempt for, himself, swept over the\nKing.\nWhat right had he to be sitting there, in peace and quietness, when\nthere was uproar and tumult, perhaps, when great events were shaping\nthemselves, perhaps, over there, beyond the wooded skyline?\nThe Duke had urged him to leave the palace. The Duke had urged him to\nseek a retreat, an asylum, out of the way of possible trouble.\nAll that was true.\nAnd yet, here again, by his own act, had he not placed himself--in an\nutterly false position?\nThis was not his place!\nIt seemed to be his fate, that he should always do the wrong thing!\nHis worst enemy was, indeed--himself!\nThe meal dragged on, drearily, and interminably, it seemed now, to the\nKing.\nWould it never end?\nAt last, the parlour-maid put the decanters on the table, and withdrew,\nfinally, from the room.\nA moment later, Uncle Bond stood up, glass in hand.\n\"I see no reason why we should not drink our usual toast, Judith,\" he\nsaid. \"On the contrary, I think there is every reason why we should\ndrink it, tonight--\n\"The King!\"\nJudith sprang up, and raised her glass in turn.\n\"The King--God bless him!\" she said.\nThe King had picked up his own glass, mechanically, and half risen to\nhis feet.\nHe set his glass down again on the table, now with a shaking hand, and\nsank back into his chair. Then, hardly conscious of what he was doing,\nhe bowed, first to Judith, and then to Uncle Bond. He could not see\ntheir faces. There was a mist before his eyes--\n\"The King!\"\nTheir usual toast. They drank it nightly, then, thinking of him. For\nthem it had a special, personal meaning. With them it was not only a\npledge of loyalty. With them it was a pledge of affection, too.\nThe King was profoundly moved.\nThen, suddenly, his brain raced furiously.\n\"The King!\"\nJudith and Uncle Bond would not be alone in drinking the toast that\nevening. All over the world, wherever men and women, of the true\nEnglish stock, were gathered together, would not the toast be drunk,\nthat evening, with a special enthusiasm, a special meaning? Not with\nthe special, personal meaning, the special, personal affection,\nwith which Judith and Uncle Bond had drunk it. That was outside the\nquestion. The toast was a bigger thing than any personal affection,\nthan any personal feeling. It was a bigger thing than--any King--\n\"The King!\"\nHad not his own pulse quickened, had not his blood flowed more quickly\nthrough his veins, at the words? They had acted upon him like the call\nof a trumpet. To what?\n\"The King!\"\nWhat did the words stand for? For the biggest things. For England,\nloyalty, patriotism, for ideals of service, personal, and national. No\nman or woman drinking the toast thought and felt precisely as any other\nman or woman standing beside them. But they were all united, all their\nvaried thoughts, and ideals, and emotions were linked together by the\nwords.\nAnd he--the King--was the recognized, the accredited, figurehead, of\nall their varied thoughts, ideals, emotions.\nWas not this the reason, that he might serve as a link between the\nvaried ideals of all his people, that the King, his father, had been\ncontent to live a man apart, isolated, lonely, remote? Was it not for\nthis that his brother, the Prince, had prepared himself, sacrificing\nhimself, never sparing himself?\nAnd he had followed them unwillingly--\nA new resolve, or something as near akin to a new resolve as he dare\nventure upon, in his new distrust, his new contempt, for himself, was\nregistered by the King, at that moment.\nIf the old Duke \"cut the rope\"--and the old Duke would, he must\n\"cut the rope\"--he, the King, would shape the course of his life,\ndifferently--\nIt was not, he realized, that these were new thoughts with him. They\nwere, rather, thoughts which had lurked, until now, at the back of his\nmind, overlaid by that preoccupation with himself, by that thinking\nfirst of himself, which given the chance, given the time, it would be\nhis business, now, to alter--\nThe shutting of the door, behind him, at this point, startled the King\nout of his reverie.\nLooking round, he found that Judith had left the table, and slipped\nquietly out of the room.\nHe turned to his right--and met Uncle Bond's curious glance.\nUncle Bond pushed a cigar box across the table, towards him.\nThe King chose a cigar absently.\nUncle Bond selected a long, and formidable looking cheroot, lit it, and\nthen leaning back in his chair, began to talk.\n\"I would give a good deal to be able to read your thoughts, my boy,\"\nhe remarked. \"Perhaps I can read--some of them! If it were not for the\nbond of friendship between us, I should be tempted to regard you as a\nmost fascinating psychological study. Your position, the circumstances\nin which you find yourself, at the moment are--unique. And you are\nbecoming conscious of that, and of many other things, unless I am\nmuch mistaken. Our little comedy is drawing to its close, I fancy.\nMeanwhile, shall we share our thoughts? Or do you feel that silence is\nas essential, as it is said to be golden?\"\nThe King hesitated, for a moment. His recent thoughts could be shared\nwith no one--not even with Uncle Bond, not even with Judith--\nThen, as he looked up, in his perplexity, his eyes were caught by\nthe landscape, framed in the open window doors, in front of him.\nInstinctively, he fell back upon his earlier thoughts, of what was\nhappening over there, beyond the wooded skyline, of why he had not\nheard from the Duke.\n\"I have been wondering what is happening over there,\" he said,\nindicating the far horizon with a gesture. \"I begin to want to know\nwhat is happening. The Duke said he would be communicating with me, you\nknow. I suppose you haven't heard from the Duke again?\"\n\"No. I have not heard from the Duke,\" Uncle Bond replied. \"But no news\nis good news, in this case, my boy, I am certain. My own idea is that\nthe Duke will send no message until--everything has proceeded 'in\naccordance with plan'--until he has, definitely, 'cut the rope.' Then,\nand not until then, I think we may expect to see him here, in person.\"\nThe King was silent. He was conscious that he would be ready for, that\nhe would be glad to see, the Duke, when he came.\nUncle Bond, with his uncanny, unerring instinct, seemed to read his\nthoughts.\n\"Our intimacy is, I think, nearing its end. Or, if it is not nearing\nits end, it is approaching a time when it will be, inevitably,\nchanged,\" he remarked. \"Ours has been a strange association, my boy.\nBut I am glad to think that it has been as pleasant, as it has been\nstrange. It has been so to Judith, and to myself. And to you? You have\nenjoyed the hospitality which we have been so glad to offer you. And we\nhave been able to do you some service--a greater service, perhaps, than\nwe ever intended, a greater service, perhaps, than you, as yet, realize.\n\"We shall not see as much of you, in the near future, I fancy, as we\nhave done, in the past. Probably, we shall see less of you. Probably,\na time will come when your very welcome visits here will cease\naltogether. But, I am glad to think, you will not be able to forget\nus. We shall always have a place in your memory--a place of our own--a\nplace like no one else's. As the years go by, you will fill a more and\nmore important, a more and more distinguished position. But you will\nnot forget us. You will think of us gratefully.\n\"I want, Judith and I both want, your memory of us to be without\nregret, to be a wholly pleasant memory. A mental oasis, perhaps, of\na kind useful to a man who is condemned to fill a conspicuous, and\nresponsible position--in the procession. There has been nothing in our\nassociation which you, or we, can regret, thus far. Be on your guard,\nmy boy. See to it, that nothing occurs, that any of us need regret, in\nretrospect--\n\"I have fallen into a bad habit of gravity with you, I observe. I seem\nto have taken to obtruding my advice upon you. The Heavy Father! This\nafternoon. And now, again, tonight. I apologize!\n\"And now I must revert to 'Cynthia'! We have had a wonderful day.\nYou always bring me luck. But 'Cynthia,' when she once gets going is\ninsatiable. I shall have to put in two or three more hours, with her,\nupstairs, tonight. We are thousands of words ahead of the time-table\nalready. I shall be able to be idle for weeks after today. But there is\na climax in the offing--a climax, a couple of pages ahead, which cannot\nwait. I must let it take its own course, shape itself, and get it down\non to paper. It never pays to let a climax wait!\"\nThe little man stood up, and leaving the table, crossed the room to the\ndoor. But, by the door, he paused.\n\"Judith, I see, is waiting for you, in the hall, my boy,\" he announced.\n\"She will give you some music, I dare say. If you should happen to want\nme--I am upstairs.\"\nThen he disappeared.\nIn spite of Uncle Bond's announcement that Judith was waiting for him,\nthe King lingered at the dinner table. Somehow, he did not wish--to\nbe alone with Judith again. Was he afraid of her? Or of himself? He\nhardly knew. But he shrank instinctively from the ordeal. It would be\nan ordeal. The consequences, the inevitable consequences, of his false\nposition, of his reckless self-indulgence, were closing about him--\nSuddenly, the soft notes of the piano, in the hall, reached his ears.\nJudith had begun her music, without waiting for him.\nThe King had no cultivated taste in music. The rattling melodies of the\nwardroom piano, or gramophone, were his greatest pleasure. Like most\npeople, where music was concerned, he was merely an animal, soothed or\nirritated, by noise.\nJudith's music was soft and low.\nIt soothed him.\nWell, the ordeal had to be faced!\nFinishing his glass of port, he stood up.\nThen he passed, reluctantly, out of the dining room, into the hall.\nIn the hall, the shadows of the twilight were gathering fast. Judith's\nsilver dress shone, obscurely luminous, in the far corner, where she\nwas seated at the piano. She turned, and welcomed him with her friendly\nlittle nod, and went on playing.\nThe King sat down on the ottoman, at the foot of the staircase. It was\nthe furthest distance that he could keep from Judith.\nJudith played on, passing from one melody to another, playing\nthroughout from memory, odd movements, and the music of songs, all soft\nand low, and all, it seemed, now, to the King, plaintive, sad.\nThe twilight deepened in the hall.\nNeither the twilight, nor the music, brought peace to the King.\nA sense of fatality, a feeling of impending crisis, was with him.\nAnd he was afraid, now--of himself.\nAt last, the music ceased.\nJudith stood up.\nThe King rose to his feet, in turn.\nAnd then, suddenly, blind instinct came to his aid, counselling flight.\nWithout a word, with the briefest possible glance in Judith's\ndirection, he turned sharply round on his heel, and passed quickly up\nthe staircase, to Uncle Bond's quarters.\nHe flung open the door of Uncle Bond's writing room, without knocking--\n\"I have come--to place myself under arrest, Uncle Bond,\" he exclaimed.\n\"I have come--to put myself into safe custody. I can't--trust myself.\"\nUncle Bond, busy at his writing table, laid down his pencil, and turned\nin his chair.\n\"Shut the door, my boy,\" he said. \"I accept the responsibility you\nhave offered me. It is a responsibility which I would have accepted\nbefore--but I did not care to interfere, between you and Judith, until\nit was offered to me.\"\nThe King shut the door.\n\"Fortunately, 'Cynthia' and I have just finished our climax,\" Uncle\nBond chuckled. \"I can blow out the candles, and devote myself to you.\"\nHe blew out the candles on the writing table, the only light in the\nroom.\n\"Sit down, my boy,\" he said. \"Can you feel your way to the sofa? The\nmoon rises late tonight. In this dubious, half light, we may be able to\ntalk--at our ease.\"\nThe King found his way to the sofa, under the windows, without any\ndifficulty, and sat down.\nA dusky veil, which was not darkness, had been drawn over the room,\nwhen Uncle Bond blew out the candles. Outside the windows, there was\nstill a luminous glow in the sky, where one or two stars shone palely.\nA couple of bats fluttered, to and fro, across the length of the\nwindows. Some martins, settling down for the night, in their nests,\nunder the eaves of the house, twittered excitedly--\n\"Shall we talk?\" Uncle Bond asked suddenly. \"I am ready to talk. And\nyet--I have no great faith in words. 'Cynthia' uses them. But plain\nJames Bond has learnt their danger. After all, when an action speaks\nfor itself, why use words? They will probably be the wrong words.\"\n\"I do not think that I want to talk, Uncle Bond,\" the King said slowly.\nIt seemed to him, now, that he had already said enough, perhaps too\nmuch, when he had entered the room.\n\"I am content,\" Uncle Bond said. \"I am not afraid of silence.\"\nSilence, at the moment, was welcome to the King--\nIt was a soothing, sedative silence, which brought with it the first\nhush of night.\nThe King settled himself, more comfortably, at full length, on the sofa.\nUncle Bond neither moved, nor spoke.\nSome time passed.\nAt last, Uncle Bond stood up, and crossed quietly to the sofa.\nThe King was asleep.\nThe little man drew out two or three blankets, from under the sofa, and\nthrew them over the King.\nThen he returned to the writing table, and sat down. But he did not\nrelight his candles, and resume his work. He leant back in his chair,\nin an attitude of expectancy, as if he were waiting for somebody.\nHe had not long to wait.\nIn a minute or two, the door behind him was opened, quietly, and Judith\nslipped into the room.\nJudith halted behind the little man, and stood there, for some time\nin silence, gazing at the King's face, which was dimly visible in the\nlight from the windows.\nAt last, she spoke.\n\"He is asleep?\" she whispered.\n\"Yes,\" Uncle Bond said. \"When you remember the strain under which he\nhas been running, you can hardly be surprised.\"\nThere was a short silence. Then Judith laid her hand on the little\nman's shoulder.\n\"It was--my fault, Uncle Bond,\" she whispered. \"I--failed him. It has\nhappened twice now. Last night was the first time. And tonight--he knew\nthat it was going to happen again. I don't know--how it happened. It\nought not to have happened--\"\n\"It had to happen. It is a good thing that it has happened,\" Uncle Bond\nsaid quietly. \"It was--the necessary climax. I have been expecting it.\nAnd now--it is over--\n\"It was a risk. It was a great risk. It was _the_ risk,\" the little man\nwent on, in a low, meditative tone. \"But I trusted--_him_. It seemed to\nme that he could not fail. He comes of a good stock. The long line of\nmen and women who lived, so that he might live, did not live in vain.\nThink of their restraint, their self-repression, their self-sacrifice--\n\"And we have been able to do him a service, a great service, a\ngreater service than he realizes as yet. We have helped him through\na difficult, and dangerous, period in his life. And you have shown\nhim--of what stuff he is made. Instincts, and impulses, which, in him,\nhave necessarily been insulated, and sternly suppressed, for years,\nhave been brought into play. He knows now--of what stuff he is made.\n\"The future will be easier. I was telling him, tonight, that I do\nnot think that we shall see so much of him, in the future. The time\nis coming when we shall see very little of him, I think. But he will\nnot forget us. He will think of us with gratitude, with deepening\ngratitude, as the years go by. We shall have a place of our own in his\nmemory. And there will be nothing in his memory, that he, or we, need\nregret--\n\"We shall miss him. He has come to fill a large place in all our lives.\nIt has been a strange episode. That he should have wandered, by chance,\ninto our quiet backwater; that we should have become implicated,\nthrough him, in great issues--that is strange. But it is only an\nepisode. And it is nearly over now. And we--and you--would not have it\notherwise?\"\n\"I would not have it otherwise,\" Judith whispered.\nThen she drew in her breath, sharply, as if in pain.\n\"But I have so much, and he has so little,\" she said.\n\"He has--England,\" Uncle Bond said gravely.\n\"And I have the Imps, and you,\" Judith replied.\nThen she stooped down, suddenly, and kissed the little man.\n\"Good night,\" she said. \"I am going straight to bed. I am very tired.\"\nAnd she turned, and hurried out of the room--\nFor some time, Uncle Bond remained motionless at the writing table.\nThe night was very still. An owl called, eerily, from the garden. A\ndog barked in some distant farmyard.\nAt last, the little man rose to his feet, crossed to the sofa again,\nand stood looking down at the King's face which showed pallid, drawn,\nand, somehow, it seemed to him now, old, in the dim, half light.\n\"The band, I think, _must be_ playing--somewhere--\" he muttered.\nCHAPTER XVI\nIt was a night of strange dreams with the King.\nFor endless ages, as it seemed to him, watched all the time by a\nthousand flushed, curious faces, by a thousand eyes, he fled, down\ninterminable corridors, across dark and desolate waste places, pursued,\nnow by the old Duke of Northborough, now by Uncle Bond, and now by\nJudith. His feet were of lead. Time and again, he stumbled, and all\nbut fell. His breath came in panting gusts. He reeled. His brain was\non fire. And yet the chase continued, across continents, through dark,\ndank caves, along a dreary coast line, on the edge of precipices, by\nthe side of angry seas--\nThe horror of it all was heightened by his knowledge that he was being\npursued in error. Some inexplicable, mysterious misunderstanding\nbetween him, and his pursuers, accounted for the chase. They were\npursuing him, hunting him down, mistakenly, full of a desire to serve\nhim, to save him. He could not, he dare not, stop to explain their\nerror to them. To stop was death. And Judith was the most persistent,\nthe most relentless of his pursuers--\nAt last the darkness, through which he fled, was pierced by a blinding\nlight, which played full upon his face, dazzling his eyes. They had\nturned a searchlight upon him, to aid them in hunting him down. All the\nworld would see his fall. He twisted, this way and that, to avoid the\nlight. But his frenzied efforts were all in vain. The light turned with\nhim always, shining full upon his face. Then he fell--\nBright morning sunshine was streaming in through the open windows of\nthe writing room, full upon the King's face, as he awoke. As he turned\nhis head to avoid its blinding glare, he saw Uncle Bond's writing\ntable, bare and empty, save for the candlesticks, in which mere stumps\nof candles remained. Slowly he became conscious of his surroundings.\nFirst he recognized the writing table, than the bare walls, then\nthe room. Then he realized that he was lying on the sofa, under the\nwindows. The blankets which covered him puzzled him for awhile. The\nfact that he was fully dressed in evening clothes puzzled him still\nmore. Then memory was achieved, and he knew--who he was, where he was.\nThrowing off the blankets he sprang up on to his feet, and stretched\nhimself with a sudden access of immense relief.\nIt was good to awake from so terrifying a dream--\nA burst of radiant, childish laughter, outside the room, down below in\nthe garden, drew him to the windows.\nOld Jevons, the gardener, was on the lawn, with Joshua, the equally\nelderly garden donkey, harnessed to the lawn mower. Bill was perched\non Joshua's unwilling back. Button was pulling at Joshua's obstinate\nmouth. And Joshua would not move. Joshua was a capricious animal, with\na temper of his own. To the laughing Imps, his recurring mutinies were\na never failing joy.\nIn the bright morning light, against the green background of the garden\ntrees, the animated little scene had a charm which was not lost upon\nthe King.\n\"If I had a donkey, what wouldn't go,\" Bill chanted.\n\"Wouldn't I wollop him? No! No! No!\" Button carolled gleefully,\nabandoning Joshua's mouth, and converting the nursery rhyme into an\naction song of considerable vigour.\nSuddenly, Joshua succumbed. Lowering his head before the storm, he\nmoved forward.\nOld Jevons, who had been waiting patiently for this capitulation,\nguided the machine.\n\"It's a hard world for donkeys!\" the King moralized at the window.\n\"But, once harnessed, I suppose--one has to pull the machine.\"\nIt was of himself that he was thinking!\nThen Judith appeared in the garden, stepping down from the verandah,\nand sauntering across the lawn.\nThe King withdrew hastily, from the windows.\nHe hardly knew why.\nBut he did know! His clothes, his dishevelled appearance, made him feel\nfoolish. The sooner he could get a bath, and a change, the better. It\nmust be late. It must be nearly breakfast time. Now, while Judith and\nthe Imps were out in the garden, he would probably be able to slip\ndown to his bedroom, unobserved. The servants would be busy preparing\nbreakfast. It must be eight o'clock at least. He must hurry--\nDarting out of the writing room, he passed quickly down the staircase,\nand through the hall, without meeting anybody on the way. As he\nraced along the corridor which led to his bedroom, he noticed, with\nconsiderable satisfaction, that the bathroom was empty. Diving into\nhis bedroom, he snatched up some towels, and his dressing case. Then\nhe hurried back to the bathroom. It was with a feeling not far removed\nfrom triumph that he shut the bathroom door.\nThe cold water of the bath was stimulating, invigorating. A shave\nrestored his self-respect. The last vestiges of his troubled sleep\nfell from him. He was rested, although his sleep had been troubled.\nHe had needed rest. This morning, he was himself again. He was ready\nto face--whatever had to be faced. But not a moment sooner than was\nnecessary. For the time being, he put thought from him, deliberately--\nBack in his bedroom, he found that the grey lounge suit, which he had\nbeen wearing the day before, had been carefully brushed, and laid out\nready for him. The invisible valet had been at work again. He dressed\nquickly. While he was knotting his tie, a point in his toilet that he\nwas particular about, even this morning, from mere force of habit, the\ngong in the hall sounded. He looked at his watch. He had not been far\nout in his estimate of the time. It was just on half past eight. Did\nthey know he was up? Of course they would know. No doubt, even here in\nhis bedroom, he was being carefully, if unostentatiously, shadowed--\nA sound of footsteps outside on the verandah told him that it was\nthere, as usual, that breakfast was being served.\nWell, he had to face them!\nAnd Uncle Bond, if he was there, if he was equal to breakfasting in\npublic for once, might have news--\nThe King stepped out of the bedroom, through the open window doors, on\nto the verandah.\nThe breakfast table had been placed at the far end of the verandah.\nUncle Bond was there.\nJudith was there.\nThe Imps were there.\nAnd so was--the Duke.\nA momentary silence followed the King's appearance on the verandah.\nThen the Imps ran forward to greet him.\n\"We are all to have breakfast together, Uncle Alfred,\" Button\nannounced.\n\"And we've been waiting for you--for ever so long,\" Bill complained.\nThe King caught them up, in turn, and shook them, in mid-air, as was\nhis wont.\n\"We all like your friend very much,\" Bill whispered. \"He's been here a\nlong, long time--quite twenty minutes!\"\n\"He came in a big car, bigger than Uncle's,\" Button supplemented.\nThe King looked at his \"friend\"--the Duke.\nWith his broad shoulders, and great height, the Duke dominated the\nlittle group, at the breakfast table, as he dominated every group,\nwherever he stood. He was still wearing the rather shabby black office\nsuit which he had been wearing the day before. Whatever his experience\nhad been, within the last twenty-four hours, it had not changed him.\nThe formidable, massive features, under their crown of silver hair, the\nluminous, piercing, blue eyes, showed no sign of weariness, no hint\neven of anxiety. The force, the vigour, the look, of the wonderful\nold man were all unimpaired. He was still, as he had always been, the\nstrong man, sure of himself, and of his purpose.\nA sudden, irresistible thrill of relief ran through the King.\nFrom that moment, he knew, for certain, that the Duke had brought good\nnews; that the Duke had \"cut the rope\"--\nThe lightning conductor had not failed.\nThis man could not fail.\nThere was an awkward little silence, as the King approached the\nbreakfast table.\nIt was not that the Duke was at a loss. The Duke could never be at\na loss. The King recognized that. Nor was it that Uncle Bond was\nembarrassed. The King was conscious that the little man was watching\nhim with shining, mischievous eyes. Rather it was that the Duke, and\nUncle Bond, deferred to him, in this silence, tacitly recognizing that\nit was for him to indicate how he wished to be met, whether as their\nfriend, or as--the King.\nOddly enough, it was Judith who settled the question.\nSlipping into her place behind the coffee pot she turned to the King\nwith her usual friendly little nod, and smile.\n\"You have had a good night? You slept?\" she said. \"The Imps were very\nanxious to wake you as usual. But I thought you would like to sleep on\nthis morning. No, Bill. This is Uncle Alfred's coffee. That is right,\nButton. That is Uncle Alfred's chair.\"\nIt was Uncle Alfred, accordingly, who sat down in his usual place at\nthe breakfast table, with his back to the house, facing the garden.\nHis friend, the Duke, sat down opposite to him.\nThe Imps scrambled up on to their chairs, on Judith's right and left.\nUncle Bond presided at the head of the table.\nThe meal began.\nIt was a strange meal, the strangest of the many strange meals which\nthe King had known. The two parts which he had kept distinct for so\nlong seemed now, somehow, suddenly to blend, to mingle, without any\ndifficulty. He was Alfred, the sailor, again. And yet, he was--the\nKing--\nWith the Imps at the table, there was no lack of conversation.\nOnce they had finished their porridge, the Imps were free to talk.\nThey talked. To each other. To themselves. To anybody. To nobody in\nparticular.\nA lengthy dialogue between Bill, and a wholly invisible small boy\ncalled John, who had, apparently, a regrettable habit of grabbing his\nfood, seemed to appeal, in particular, to the Duke, who entered into\nthe play, with an imaginative readiness which the King had somehow\nnever suspected.\nThe birds called cheerily from the garden. The whir of the haycutting\nmachines was audible once again; but they were not so near the house,\nas on the previous day. Clearly the harvest was being gathered in the\nmore distant fields. The sunshine lay pure gold everywhere--\nThe King found himself noticing these things, and registering them in\nhis mind, as if this was to be the last time that he was to sit there,\nin Paradise, enjoying them.\nThe last time?\nIt might be--\nAt last the meal ended.\nFirst of all, Judith rose to her feet, and drove the Imps, armed with\nlumps of sugar, before her, along the verandah, to say good morning to\nDiana's foal in the paddock.\nThen, a minute or two later, Uncle Bond slipped away, unostentatiously,\ninto the house.\nThe King, and his friend, the Duke, were thus left alone, at the table,\nfacing each other.\nA sudden, odd desire to postpone what was coming, whatever was coming,\nbeset the King. Producing his tobacco pouch and pipe, he filled his\npipe leisurely.\nThe Duke betrayed no sign of impatience. A certain large patience,\nit occurred to the King, was, perhaps, the Duke's most pronounced\ncharacteristic.\nThe King lit his pipe.\nThen he looked at the Duke.\nThe Duke smiled.\n\"Your little holiday is over. Your short leave of absence is at an end,\nsir,\" he said. \"I told you, you may remember, sir, that it would only\nbe a short leave of absence.\"\n\"You have come--for me?\" the King asked.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"I am ready to go with you--back to duty,\" the King said slowly. \"There\nis nothing, I think, to keep me here.\"\nThen he stood up, abruptly.\n\"But we can't talk here,\" he exclaimed. \"Shall we walk?\"\nThe Duke stood up in turn.\nTogether, they stepped down from the verandah.\nThe King led the way on to the lawn.\nAt the moment, his desire for movement was paramount.\nThey crossed to the far end of the lawn, and turned, in silence. Then\nthe King took the Duke's arm.\n\"I am ready to hear what you have to say,\" he said.\nThe Duke shortened his long stride, and fell into step with the King.\n\"I am here to ask you to return to the palace, sir,\" he said. \"The\ncrisis is over. The strike has failed. The success of the protective\nmeasures which we judged necessary has been overwhelming. Within an\nhour of the declaration of Martial Law and the operation of the 'Gamma'\nscheme, all the revolutionary leaders of the strike conspiracy were in\ncustody. They are now at sea, on board the _Iron Duke_. I could not\nresist that little pleasantry. The _Iron Duke_ sailed under sealed\norders--for Bermuda, sir. The strike leaders will be interned there.\n\"The police have carried out their orders throughout with a skill, and\na discretion, worthy of the highest praise. The military have been\nwelcomed, with open arms everywhere. So far as we are aware, up to the\npresent, law and order have been maintained with hardly a casualty.\nIt has, in fact, been not so much a battle of the police and of the\nmilitary, as of propaganda, sir. Our control of communications has been\nthe foundation of our success. From the first, by a series of official\nbulletins, we have been able to put the facts of the situation before\nthe whole nation, with a minimum of delay.\n\"There can no longer be any doubt, sir, that we were correct in our\nassumption that the great majority of trades unionists, up and down\nthe country, had been deceived into the belief that the strike had\nbeen called for purely industrial reasons. Once we had succeeded in\nconvincing them, by our bulletins, that they had been betrayed into\nthe hands of a little group of foreign, revolutionary extremists, the\nstrike was doomed. The anger of the deceived trades unionists has,\nironically enough, been one of our few embarrassments. In many parts\nof the country, the military have had to protect the local trades\nunion leaders, many of whom appear to have been as grossly deceived as\nanybody else, from the loyal fury of their followers.\n\"Mark that word loyal, sir! A great outburst of loyalty to you\npersonally, sir, has been the outcome of the crisis. That you should\nhave been subjected to such a crisis, before you had been given any\nopportunity to show your worth, has outraged the whole nation's sense\nof fair play. From all sections of the community, both here at home,\nand in the Dominions, messages of the most fervent loyalty have been\npouring into Downing Street, during the last twenty-four hours. At the\nmoment, you are the most popular man in the Empire, sir. The fact that,\nas soon as I had assured you that law and order would be maintained,\nyou left the palace, and withdrew at once into the country, rather\nthan take any part in the conflict, has greatly strengthened your hold\non the people, sir. You left the palace, and withdrew to an unknown\naddress, in the country, yesterday, sir, until the will of the people\nshould be made known. You will return to the palace, today, sir, on the\ncrest of a wave of enthusiasm, unparalleled, I think, in our history.\"\n\"You want me to return to the palace, with you, at once?\" the King\nasked.\n\"I have no wish to hurry you, sir,\" the Duke replied. \"But the sooner\nyou return to the palace, and the Royal Standard is run up again on\nthe palace flagstaff, the sooner will the existing state of a national\nemergency be at an end.\"\n\"I will come with you at once,\" the King said. \"But first of all--I\nmust take leave of my friends.\"\nHis eyes were fixed, as he spoke, on Judith, who had just reappeared,\nalone, on the verandah.\nThe Duke followed the King's glance. Then he fell back, two or three\npaces, and bowed with the hint of formality by which he was in the\nhabit of suggesting, so subtly, and yet so unmistakably, that he was\ndealing with--the King.\nThe King moved straight across the lawn to Judith.\nJudith stepped down from the verandah, and came slowly forward towards\nhim.\nThey met on the edge of the lawn.\n\"I am going back to town, at once, with the Duke,\" the King announced.\n\"The Duke has come to fetch me. The crisis is over. The strike has\nfailed. But you know that, of course--\"\nHe paused there, for a moment, suddenly conscious of the utter\nineptitude of what he was saying--\nAnd then words came to him, fitting words, words to which, up to then,\nhe had given no thought, but in which all his feelings for, all his\nthoughts about, Judith, so long suppressed, seemed, suddenly, to\ncrystallize, and find inevitable expression--\n\"If thanks were necessary between us, I would thank you for all that\nyou have done for me,\" he said. \"But thanks are not necessary between\nus, are they? Where there is--friendship--there is no need for thanks.\nYou said, yesterday, that you knew that there could be no change in\nour friendship, and that you were content that it should be so. You\nwere right, of course. You are always right. You said what you did\nto reassure me, to relieve my anxiety, to remove the uncertainty\nabout--our position--which was troubling me, although I was hardly\naware that that was my trouble. What you said did reassure me. It did\nrelieve my anxiety. But now, I want to say something, as plainly as I\ncan, to you. It seems to me that what I have to say is--due to you--\n\"If I were merely Alfred, the sailor, of our friendship, I should stay\nhere, now, with you. I should stay with you always. I should ask you\nto join your life to mine. I should ask you to make--Paradise--for\nme, wherever we were. If I were merely Alfred, the sailor, you would\nsay--yes--gladly--\n\"But I am not merely Alfred, the sailor. I am--the King. Alfred, the\nsailor is--dead. Is it his epitaph that I am speaking now? I--the\nKing--am going--back to duty. I am going back to try to take hold of my\njob--in a new way. I am going back, to try to think--first of England,\nand never of myself. I am trying to do that now--\n\"But, before I go, I want to make you a promise. I want to--pledge\nmyself--to you, as far as I can. It will give me--a certain\nsatisfaction--to bind myself to you, as far as I can.\n\"I will never marry--\"\nJudith stood, motionless, beside him, while he spoke. Her beautiful\nvivid face was pale for once, and her dark eyes were troubled, as if\nwith painful thought. But she met his glance without flinching, and her\nvoice, when she spoke, was firm, if low.\n\"I think, I hope, you will marry, Alfred,\" she said. \"But I am glad,\nand proud, that you have said what you have. It was--like you, to say\nit. It is--an acknowledgment--that I shall never forget, as long as I\nlive--\n\"I will give you--a pledge--in return. Whatever happens, you will\nalways be welcome here. Whatever happens, you will always find the same\nwelcome here. You will never find--any changes here. I don't think\nAlfred, the sailor, is dead. I don't think he will ever die--as long\nas you live! For us, here, at any rate, you will always be--our friend\nAlfred!\"\nOnce again, the King was conscious that Judith understood him better\nthan he understood himself. Once again--was it for the last time?--it\nseemed to him that she had explained him to himself. What did all his\ntalk amount to? An acknowledgment of the right, of the claim, that\nJudith had established upon him--that was all.\nThat was all--he could offer to her. That was all--she could accept--\nAs unaccountably, and as suddenly then as they had come to him, before,\nwords failed him.\nAbruptly, he turned from Judith, and hurried away from her, round the\nside of the house--\nOn the verandah, beside the front door, the Duke and Uncle Bond were\nstanding together deep in talk. Uncle Bond was holding the King's coat,\nand cap.\nAs the King approached, the Duke shook hands very cordially with Uncle\nBond, and then stepped down from the verandah, and crossed to a large\nclosed motor car, which was drawn up in the drive near by, with the\nuniformed chauffeur standing stiffly to attention at its open door.\nFor a moment, the King thought of passing Uncle Bond without speaking.\nBut that, of course, was impossible. And yet--what could he say?\nHe need not have troubled himself.\nUncle Bond might distrust, but he never had any difficulty in finding\nwords.\nThe little man handed the King his coat, and his cap.\nThen he spoke.\n\"This,\" he said, with a sweeping gesture which seemed to include the\nsunlit garden, the wooded landscape beyond, the house, and even Judith\nand himself, \"has all been a dream, my boy. But it is now high time\nthat you should awake out of sleep. Your real life is beginning now.\"\nThe King wrung the little man's hand in silence, and then followed the\nDuke to the waiting car.\nThe Duke was already seated inside the car.\nThe King got into the car, and sat down beside him.\nThe uniformed chauffeur, whose keen, clean-shaven face was motionless,\nimpassive, a mask, shut the door, and hurried round to the front of\nthe car, and started the engine.\nA moment later, the car leapt forward and swept down the drive out\ninto, and up, the narrow, tree-shadowed lane beyond.\nCHAPTER XVII\nAt the top of the lane, a little group of Army officers in khaki\nservice dress, who were standing on a strip of grass beside the hedge\non the right, sprang smartly to attention, and saluted, as the car\nswept past them.\nMechanically, the King raised his hand to his cap.\nA moment later, as the car rushed out on to the Great North Road, he\nrealized, with a start, that this salute, and his acknowledgment of it,\nmarked, definitely, his return to duty.\nAlfred, the sailor, was indeed dead.\nIt was--the King--who had raised his hand to his cap.\nInstinctively, he had resumed his place in the procession.\nIt had been just as Judith had said. The shadow thrown by his Royal\nrank had been waiting for him there in the lane, behind him--\n\"That was battalion headquarters, the Coldstreams, Colonel Varney\nWilson in command,\" the Duke explained. \"It is they who have been\nresponsible for your safety, during the last twenty-four hours, sir.\"\nThe King nodded; but made no other reply.\nThe Duke shot one of his shrewd, penetrating glances at the King. Then\nthe old statesman leant far back in his corner in the luxuriously\nupholstered car. He did not speak again.\nThe King was grateful to the Duke for his silence, and for the ready\nunderstanding of his mood which that silence implied.\n\"When an action speaks for itself, why use words? They will probably be\nthe wrong words.\"\nThat was Uncle Bond!\nHe was going back to duty. That was quite enough at the moment. He did\nnot want to talk about it--\nThe car rushed on up the broad, empty, sunlit road.\nAlthough it was still so early in the day, the cattle were already\nlying under the green shade of the trees, in the fields. The hedges on\neither side of the road were white with the blossoms of the wild rose.\nOverhead the sky was a luminous blue, unflecked by cloud--\nThis was Paradise that he was rushing through. This was Paradise that\nhe was leaving. Would he ever return? Perhaps he would. But never with\nhis old recklessness, never with his old lightness of heart. So much\nhad happened. He had been through so much. He had changed. There was a\nheaviness of thought, a deadness of feeling, within him, now, which he\nhad never known before. It was as if he had lost something, lost some\npart of himself, which he would never be able to recover. Was it his\nyouth?\nThe car swept on, smoothly, inexorably, without a check, at a high\nspeed--\nWas his real life beginning now? Uncle Bond again! Had he been living\nin a dream? Had he not often felt that he was living in a dream? a\nwild, grotesque, nightmare dream? But that had always been at the\npalace. Here, in Paradise, it had seemed to him that he was in touch\nwith reality. And now, Paradise itself, and all that had happened\nthere, seemed a dream. High time to awake out of sleep? He would be\nglad to awake. He would be glad to touch the real. But would he ever\nawake?\nThe rushing, throbbing car, the motionless figure of the Duke at his\nside, the broad, winding road, the sunlit, peaceful, countryside,\nhis own thoughts--all these things were the very stuff of dreams,\nfantastic, unbelievable, unreal. His deadness of feeling, his heaviness\nof thought, were dream. His lost youth was dream. This silence? No one\never spoke in dreams--\nAt last the throbbing car slowed down suddenly; then stopped.\nThe Duke was up, and out of the car, in a moment.\nThe King followed the old statesman out on to the road more leisurely.\nAn odd, unexpected turn, this, in the dream, but dream, assuredly still\ndream--\nIt was a vivid little dream scene which followed.\nThe car had pulled up at the Paradise-Hades signpost of all places.\nThat could only have happened in dream--\nA little group of saluting soldiers, and bareheaded civilian officials,\nstood under the familiar signpost.\nHalf a dozen cars were parked in the side road, behind them.\nIn the centre of the main road stood an open state carriage, with a\nteam of six grey horses, in the charge of postillions and out-riders,\nwho were wearing the scarlet coats, and white breeches of the Royal\nlivery.\nA bodyguard of Household Cavalry, whose swords, breastplates and plumed\nhelmets glittered in the sun, were drawn up near by.\nThe King turned to the Duke.\nThe veteran Prime Minister smiled.\n\"This is where you begin your triumphant return to your capital, sir,\"\nhe said. \"A great welcome awaits you, between here and the palace. The\nCabinet were making the necessary arrangements when I left town this\nmorning. You will permit me to follow you to the carriage, sir?\"\nPeople did speak in dreams, then--sometimes--\nMechanically, the King moved slowly along the sunlit road, towards the\ncarriage, followed by the Duke at a distance of some half dozen paces.\nAn extraordinary dream this, amazingly vivid and minute in its detail;\nbut dream, certainly dream. If only he could awake! Where would he\nawake? In the palace? In Paradise? He must awake soon--\nThe King got into the state carriage, and sat down.\nThe scarlet coated footman, who had held open the carriage door, was\nabout to shut it again--when the King missed the Duke from his side--\nA terrifying thrill of loneliness, a horror of his sudden isolation,\nran through the King.\nHe turned hastily.\nThe Duke was standing, drawn up to his full height, with bared head, a\nmagnificent, a real, a vital figure, in this sunlit world of phantom\nshadows, some yards away from the carriage.\nThe King beckoned to him desperately.\nThe Duke was at his side in a moment.\n\"You must not leave me. You must come with me. I cannot face\nthis--nightmare--alone,\" the King said in an urgent whisper. \"I\nshall--lose my reason--if you leave me. I am not sure now, at this\nmoment, whether I am asleep or awake. Do people talk in dreams? You\nseem real. All the rest, everything else is--the stuff of dreams. You\ncannot leave me.\"\nThe Duke waved the scarlet coated footman to one side, and got into the\ncarriage, and sat down beside the King. His mere physical presence,\nhis vitality, his energy, at once steadied the King. For one terrible\nmoment, it had seemed to him that he was falling through infinite\nspace--\nA couple of the cars parked in the side road, beyond the signpost, shot\nforward, and swept on ahead up the main road.\nA momentary bustle, a general movement, at the cross road, followed.\nA curt word of command rang out, and the Household Cavalry wheeled,\nwith the precision of clockwork, into position, in front of, and\nbehind, the state carriage.\nThe scarlet coated footmen sprang up on to their stand, at the back\nof the carriage. The out-riders swung clear into their places. The\npostillions whipped up their horses--\nThe carriage moved forward.\nAs the carriage moved forward, the Duke dropped his left hand on to the\nseat, between the King and himself.\n\"Take my hand. Grip it, sir!\" he said. \"I am real! Do not hesitate,\nsir. We are quite unobserved. A time comes in most men's lives when\nthey need--the grip of the hand of a friend. I am an old man, sir;\nold enough to be your father. When you take my hand, it is as if you\nreached out and gripped your father's hand--\n\"I would have spared you all this, I would have spared you the ordeal\nof the wild enthusiasm which awaits you, a little further on, if it\nhad been possible, sir. But it was not possible. I realized the risks\ninvolved--all the risks, and they are considerable. I counted the\ncost--to you. But the end to be attained far outweighs the price to\nbe paid. The spectacular, the triumphant, return to the palace, which\nyou are just beginning, sir, will do more to consolidate your hold on\nthe people than anything else could have done. The psychology of the\nmob is, and must always remain, an incalculable force; but, with a\nlittle skill, with a little courage, with a little patience, it can be\ncontrolled, it can be used.\"\nThe King hardly heard what the Duke said. But the grip of the old man's\nhand on his was as a rock to cling to. This was what he had wanted;\nsomething tangible, actual, real to hold on to, in this dream world of\nsunlit phantoms which enveloped him. He was no longer alone. With the\nDuke like this at his side, he could face whatever twists and turns\ntheir dream might take. It was _their_ dream, now--\nThe carriage moved slowly forward, but, slowly as it moved, it soon\nentered--the outskirts of Hades--\nIn the outer suburbs, all the scattered, decorous, red-tiled villas\nwere gay with flags, gayer than they had been in that other life, ages\nago, on the Coronation Day. At various points on the road now stood\nlittle groups of people, the vanguard of the thousand, flushed, curious\nfaces, the thousand eyes--\nWith these people, the cheering began, the waving of flags, the wild\nfrenzy.\nThe King felt the Duke's hand tighten on his--\nThe crowd thickened. The little groups became two continuous lines\nof people, on either side of the road, people closely packed in deep\nranks, behind cordons of policemen.\nThe cheering grew in volume, took on a deeper note, became a continuous\nroar--\nAt first, the King smiled, and bowed, mechanically, to the left, and to\nthe right, as he sat in the carriage.\nSoon he found himself standing up, bareheaded, in the carriage, so that\nall the people could see him.\nThe Duke, who had sunk far back into the carriage, supported him from\nbehind against his knees.\nYes. The Duke was there--\nAlways the crowd grew, and the cheering increased in volume.\nIn the inner suburbs, the flags were thicker than ever. Every window\nwas open, and full of flushed, excited, smiling faces. Many of the\nroofs of the shops and houses were black with people. Down below, in\nthe road, as the carriage moved slowly forward, the crowd swayed to\nand fro, in a frenzy of enthusiasm. Flowers fell, thick and fast, in\na multi-coloured rain, in front of the carriage. Here and there, at\nconspicuous street corners, men in working dress tore, or trampled\nupon, or burnt, the Red Flag of the revolutionary--\nIt was a universal outpouring of pent-up feeling, a delirium of\nenthusiasm, without parallel--\nThe King himself could not remain, for long, unaffected. In spite\nof himself, in spite of his determination not to be deceived by the\nchimeras of this fevered, sunlit, daydream, he was caught up on, he\nwas thrilled by, the wild enthusiasm which surged about him. His pulse\nquickened. He trembled where he stood in the carriage--\nAnd then, suddenly, a strange thing happened to him.\nIt was as if scales fell from his eyes, and he could see. It was as\nif some weight that had been pressing upon his brain was lifted, and\nhe could think clearly, sanely. He had been not far from the verge of\nmadness. Now he was himself again--\nThis was no dream. These people at whom he was smiling, these people to\nwhom he was bowing, mechanically, right and left, were actual, real.\nThis roar of cheers meant something. It rang true. It was genuine. It\nwas sincere. These cheers, repeated, over and over again, never ending,\nhad a new, deep, unmistakable personal note, which he had never heard\nbefore. This was no half-hearted, perfunctory enthusiasm. These people\nwere glad to see him. They were cheering--him. And they meant it! They\nwere--his people. And he was--their King--\nA thrill of triumph, an exultation which shook him, from head to foot,\nas he stood in the carriage, ran through the King.\nAnd then it left him, and, in its place, came a sickening chill.\nBut these people, his people, did not know what had happened, what he\nhad done, how lightly he had held them. If they knew the true, the\ninner, history of the last twenty-four hours, would they cheer him\nlike this?\nAll his former impatience with, his contempt for, himself, at that\nmoment, returned to the King.\nWhat right had he to be standing there, smiling and bowing in\nacknowledgment of this wild, this fervent, enthusiasm? He had done\nnothing to earn it. He had forfeited all right to it--\nIt was the old statesman behind him, sitting far back in the carriage,\nwho ought to be standing there, in his place--in the place of\nhonour--in the forefront of--this procession--\nSwinging round in the carriage, the King beckoned, impetuously, to the\nDuke, to stand up beside him.\nFor a moment, the veteran Prime Minister hesitated.\nThen he stood up beside the King, in the carriage, towering head and\nshoulders above him.\nThe King took the Duke's arm.\nThe cheering redoubled--\nAnd so, with the Duke in as prominent a place as the King could give\nhim, as prominent a place as his own, the carriage moved on, through\nthe dust and the clamour, and the wild cheering, into the heart of the\ntown--\nBy this time, the heat, the glitter and the glare, and the frenzied\nenthusiasm which surged all about him, had begun to tell upon the King.\nThe physical strain of it all became almost unendurable, deadening the\nimpressions which for some few minutes had been so vivid, so clear.\nThe thousand, flushed, smiling faces, the thousand eyes troubled\nhim no more. The crowd became a mere blurred, dark, clamorous mass,\nswaying to and fro, on either side of him. Only the Duke remained\ndistinct, individual, standing bolt upright beside him in the carriage,\nimpassive, immovable, a rock to lean upon, physically, and morally, as\nhe smiled and bowed, this way and that, with unseeing eyes--\nHow long the torture of this later stage of their journey lasted, the\nKing never knew. It had become torture now. All sense of time, and\ndistance, and place left him. He had no clear idea of the route which\nthe carriage followed. His body ached from head to foot. The roaring\nof the crowd was a mere whisper to the roaring within his own ears. He\nleant more and more heavily upon the Duke--\nAt last, at the end of an eternity of effort, an eternity of strained\nendurance, the carriage swung through Trafalgar Square, and so passed,\nunder the lavishly decorated Admiralty Arch, into the Mall.\nThe white front of the palace, at the far end of the Mall, was now in\nsight.\nThis sudden, abrupt glimpse of the palace, and the promise of ultimate\nrelease and rest it afforded, served to arouse the King, and revived\nhis interest, momentarily, in his immediate surroundings.\nIn the Mall, the Coronation flags still hung, flaunting and gay, in the\nsunlight. On either side of the road, the stands from which the guests\nof the Government had viewed the Coronation procession were once again\ncrowded with people, whose enthusiasm was as wild, and whose cheering\nwas as loud, as the carriage moved slowly past them, as that at any\nother point along the whole route.\nOne detail in the riot of colour, and the tumult, about him, caught the\nKing's attention.\nThe road was no longer lined by the police, and the military. In their\nplace stood men in every variety of civilian dress, alike alone in\nthis, that every one of them was wearing war medals proudly displayed,\nin the majority of cases on very threadbare coats.\nThe King turned abruptly to the Duke.\n\"Who are these men with medals?\" he asked.\n\"The Legion of Veterans, sir,\" the Duke replied. \"Their old\nCommander-in-Chief raised his hand, and thousands of them fell in,\nat once, all over the country. They reinforced the police and the\nmilitary. There was no need for us to enrol special constables. The\nField Marshal asked that they might be given some post of honour today\nin recognition of their services. It was decided that they should line\nthe Mall here, and provide an auxiliary guard at the palace.\"\nAnd so, guarded now by men whose loyalty had been tried and tested\non a dozen battlefields, the carriage passed up the Mall, and swung,\nat last, through the great central, wrought iron gates, into the\nquadrangle, in front of the palace--\nThe Duke was down, and out of the carriage, in a moment.\nThe King stepped out of the carriage, after him.\nThe Duke fell back, half a dozen paces behind the King, and a little to\none side--\nA massed band of the Guards, drawn up in the centre of the quadrangle\nbegan to play the National Anthem.\nHigh up, on the flagstaff above the palace roof, the Royal Standard\nrose, and, caught by the wind, shook out, at once, every inch of its\nsilken folds.\nAbove the flagstaff a score, or more, of decorated aeroplanes swerved,\nand dived, firing red, white, and blue rockets, a signal seen all over\nLondon.\nThe bells of Westminster rang out joyously, followed by the bells of\nall the city churches.\nFrom the Green Park, on the right, came the sudden thunder of the guns\nof a Royal salute.\nBut louder than the guns, drowning their thunder, the joyous music of\nthe bells, and the music of the band, rose the cheers of the people,\nnear and far, a deep, rhythmical, continuous roar--\nFor a moment or two, the King remained motionless, rigid, in\nacknowledgment of the salute.\nThen he turned sharply to his right, and moved across the quadrangle,\nfollowed by the Duke at a distance of some paces, to the main entrance\ndoor of the palace.\nOn either side of the palace steps, within the doorway, and in the\nhall beyond, were ranged Cabinet Ministers, military and naval\nrepresentatives, and high officials of the Court, and the household\nstaff.\nThe King passed them by only vaguely conscious of their presence, and\nmade straight for the great central, main staircase in the palace.\nHe knew, now, by instinct, rather than by conscious thought, what he\nhad to do.\nHis concern was with the immense crowd round the palace, whose wild\ncheering he could still hear, even here as he ascended the staircase.\nHe must show himself to the people--\nAt the head of the staircase, followed more closely now by the Duke,\nthe King turned into the little withdrawing room, from which the huge\nwindows, above the main entrance of the palace, opened.\nThe windows had been flung wide open.\nThe King crossed the room, and stepped through the windows out on to\nthe stone balcony, above the main entrance.\nA great roar of cheers, a wild waving of flags and hands, from which he\nall but recoiled, greeted his appearance.\nThe Duke halted, behind him, out of sight, just inside the windows--\nFor the next twenty or thirty minutes, save for brief rests in a chair,\nplaced in readiness for him in the little withdrawing room behind\nhim, the King was out on the balcony, bareheaded, in the blazing noon\nsunshine, smiling and bowing in acknowledgment of the wild enthusiasm\nof the crowd.\nThe people were insatiable.\nOver and over again, when he sought to prolong his all too short rests\nin the little room behind him, he was compelled to return to the\nbalcony, in response to the insistent, the tumultuous demands of the\ncrowd.\nOnce or twice, he made the Duke appear on the balcony, at his side. But\nthe people clearly preferred his solitary appearances--\nThe little room behind him gradually filled. A number of the more\nimportant Court officials, and certain privileged members of the\nhousehold staff, gathered there, and stood in little groups, well back\nfrom the windows.\nOnce, as he threw himself into his chair, a tall, distinguished\nlooking, grey-haired man, whom he recognized dully as his physician,\ndetached himself from one of these little groups, approached him,\nheld his pulse for a moment, and then, without speaking, handed him a\nglassful of some colourless stimulant which he drank, although it made\nno impression whatever on his palate.\nLater, back in the glaring sunlight on the balcony once again, he was\nconscious of the help of the physician's draught. His senses were\nquickened. He felt less fatigued. But he knew, as the roar of the\nseething crowd round the palace came up to him once more, that this\nwould have to be one of the last of his appearances. For a little\nlonger, he could hold out, using the factitious energy with which the\nstimulant had temporarily endowed him. Then must come collapse--\nAt that moment, there was a sudden movement down below in the\nquadrangle.\nA man, who seemed to dart out from amongst a little knot of men in\ncivilian dress, on the left, just inside the quadrangle railings, a\nman on whose breast war medals glittered in the sun, dashed across the\nquadrangle, towards the main entrance of the palace.\nThe King watched him idly, curiously--\nSuddenly, the man's right arm swung up, once, twice--\nThen the King felt himself caught up, violently, from behind.\nFlung, bodily, back from the balcony, through the huge open windows, he\nfell, heavily, on the floor of the little room within.\nThe windows were blocked now by a familiar tall figure, by a pair of\nfamiliar, broad shoulders--\nA moment later there were two, short, sharp explosions. Bombs. Then a\ngreat clatter of falling glass--\nThe King was up on his feet, in a moment.\nA great cry of horror went up from the immense crowd round the palace.\nThe King took a step forward.\nImmediately half a dozen strong hands were laid upon him to hold him\nback.\nThere, on the balcony, immediately in front of him, in the litter of\nbroken glass from the huge windows, lay the Duke, motionless, at full\nlength, bleeding from a dozen jagged wounds.\nA madness, a fury, which culminated in a passionate resentment of the\nhands that were holding him back, took possession of the King.\nHardly knowing what he did, he struck out, right and left, savagely,\nviciously, with all his force.\nIn a moment he was free--\nHe stepped out on to the balcony.\nLed by the tall, grey-haired physician, four or five of the Court\nofficials followed him, hard on his heels, picked up the Duke, and\ncarried him back into the safety of the little room within--\nDown below in the quadrangle, another limp, huddled figure was being\nborne, hurriedly, and unceremoniously by red-coated soldiers, whose\nfixed bayonets caught the sun, in the direction of the guardroom, on\nthe right. There was no life in that figure--\nBeyond the palace railings, the maddened, infuriated crowd swayed\nto and fro in great billows of pent-up fury, an ocean of clamorous,\ntumultuous passion, striving to break its bounds, to the accompaniment\nof animal cries of anger, and the confused shouting of a thousand\nvoices.\nThe King took it all in at a glance. A sudden, strange calm, a sure,\nquiet confidence were with him now.\nThe anger of the crowd was hideous, menacing. The line of the military,\nand the police, between the crowd and the palace tossed up and down,\nlike a line of corks on a wild, tempestuous sea. At any moment, that\nline might break, and the infuriated mob would be let loose, with its\nmadness, its lust for blood, its wild shouting for lynch law.\nAnything might happen, at any moment, unless something was done, and\ndone quickly.\nAnd he was the man who must take action--\nWithout haste, surely, and skilfully, the King climbed on to the stone\nparapet of the balcony.\nThen he drew himself up to his full height, and held up his hand--\nHe had no fear. He knew no doubt. He had no anxiety.\nHe knew what he had to do.\nThis was his moment.\nHe had found himself.\nNever again, it seemed to him, at the moment, would he know doubt,\nanxiety or fear--\nFor some time, the wild frenzy of the crowd, down below, beyond the\npalace railings continued unabated. Then some of the people caught\nsight of the bareheaded, slim, incredibly boyish figure, in the\ninconspicuous grey lounge suit, standing on his precarious, windswept\nperch, on the parapet of the balcony. Then others saw him. Slowly, the\nsurge of the crowd slackened. Slowly, the pandemonium died down. At\nlast, the tumult and the uproar gave place to a universal, joyous cry--\n\"The King! The King!\"\nThen a great silence fell.\nThe King dropped his hand to his side, and spoke. His voice rang out\nloud and clear, the voice of a sailor, trained to pitch his voice,\ninstinctively, to carry as far as possible in the open air.\n\"My people\"--the words rose simply and naturally to his lips, thrilling\nhim as he used them--\"this was to have been a day of great national\nrejoicing. It has been turned, in a moment, into a day of great\nnational mourning. I am unhurt, untouched. But a greater man than I,\nthe Duke of Northborough, lies dying in the room behind me. He gave his\nlife for mine.\" His voice shook a little. \"From this moment, I hold my\nlife, a sacred trust, at his hands.\n\"I will say nothing, now, of the madman, whose madness has been used\nas the instrument to strike down an old man, whose long and noble life\nhas been devoted wholly to the best interests of our country. Death has\nalready closed that madman's account. Nor will I speak, now, of the\nmen, whose wild and reckless talk makes such madness possible. Such men\nturn, naturally, to assassination and murder, in defeat.\n\"I ask you, now, not to disturb the last moments of the great man, who\nhas just crowned his long and noble life with the 'greater love,'\nbefore which we all bare and bow our heads, by any retaliation, by any\noutburst, by any demonstration, of the wilder passions against which\nhe always set his face like flint. I ask you, now, to disperse, as\nquietly, and as quickly, as you can, and return to your own homes, the\nhomes which the great man we mourn, within the last twenty-four hours,\nhas guarded from the anarchy of revolution, and maintained in peace.\n\"I know I shall not ask in vain.\"\nA low murmur rose from the crowd, while the King spoke. The people, on\nthe edge of the crowd nearest to the palace, repeated what he said,\nto those behind them. They repeated it again. And so, in this almost\nmiraculous way, something of what he said reached to the furthest\nlimits of the immense crowd, and even spread beyond, through the\nthronged streets of the city.\nThere was a tense, breathless pause, when the King had finished\nspeaking--\nThen the bandmaster, down below in the palace quadrangle, had an\ninspiration.\nHe raised his baton.\nA moment later the massed band of the Guards began to play \"God Save\nthe King.\"\nFor a time, the huge crowd still hesitated. Then some one began to\nsing. Next moment the whole crowd was singing, with a deep volume of\nsound, like the sound of many waters--\n\"Long to reign over us:\n\"God save the King\"--\nOver and over again, the band played the national melody. Over and over\nagain, the crowd sang the familiar words, finding in them, at last, an\noutlet for all their pent-up passions--\nAnd then, suddenly, still singing with undiminished fervour, slowly,\nand quietly, in marvellous order, as if they had been soldiers on\nparade, the people began to move away.\nThe King climbed down from his perilous, windswept perch on the\nparapet, on to the balcony again.\nThen he turned, and passed through the shattered windows into the\nlittle room behind him--\nThey had laid the Duke on the floor of the room. The tall, grey-haired\nphysician stood at the dying statesman's head. All that medical skill\ncould do to ease his passing had been done. Already he was far beyond\nthe reach of any human aid.\nThe brilliant summer sunshine shone full on the familiar, formidable,\nmassive features, deathly white, now.\nThe eyes were closed.\nThe King knelt down at the old statesman's side.\nSome obscure instinct prompted him to take the old man's hand--the\nhand which had done so much for him, the hand which had never failed\nhim,--the hand which had saved him, from himself--\nThe Duke responded to his touch. Feebly he returned his pressure.\nThen, slowly, he opened his eyes, luminous and clear even in death.\nHe recognized the King.\nFaintly he smiled.\nThen his lips moved as if in speech.\nThe King bent down over him.\n\"God--save--the King,\" the Duke muttered.\nNo doubt, the singing of the crowd outside the palace had reached the\ndying man's ears--\nThe King did not speak. It seemed to him that there was no need for\nwords. He felt that the Duke knew all his thoughts. He knew that the\nDuke was glad to have him, now, at the last, at his side.\nIt was a strange moment of deep, and intimate communion between them--\nStrangest of all, there was no sadness in it, now, for the King.\nThis man had done his work. This man had rounded off his life's work,\nwith a completeness, which it is given to few men to achieve.\nThe lightning conductor had taken the full shock of the lightning\nflash, and then fallen.\nFor the future, he--the King--would be alone.\nBut that was a small matter, now--\nIn the presence of this great man's triumphant self-sacrifice, any\nthought of self seemed irreverence--\nSome minutes passed.\nThen the Duke's lips moved again--\n\"We shall not all sleep--but we shall all be changed--in a moment, in\nthe twinkling of an eye--for the trumpet shall sound--and we shall be\nchanged--\"\nThe King bowed his head--\nFor this man, surely, all the trumpets would sound on the other side.\nFor this man--they would crowd the battlements of Heaven to see him\nenter--\nA little later, the physician touched the King on the shoulder.\nThe King stood up.\nThe physician bent down, and straightened the Duke's arms.\nThen he turned, and faced the King.\n\"It is finished, sir,\" he said.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  The King Who Went on Strike\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1940, "culture": " English\n", "content": "E-text prepared by Adam Buchbinder, Josephine Paolucci, and the Online\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n[Illustration: MARIE SALTUS]\n[Illustration: EDGAR SALTUS\nin the Year 1890]\nEDGAR SALTUS: _THE MAN_\nby\nMARIE SALTUS\n... \"_even the weariest river\nWinds somewhere safe to sea._\"\nPascal Covici \u00b7 Publisher\nChicago\nCopyright 1925\nPascal Covici \u00b7 _Publisher_\nCHICAGO\n_To the Ego using the personality_,\nEDGAR SALTUS\n_Peace and Progress_.\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\nMarie Saltus, Edgar Saltus                       _Frontispiece_\n      Father of Edgar Saltus.\n   At Two Years of Age, sitting on the Lap of His\n        Mother, Eliza Evertson Saltus.\n  Sixteen Years of Age.\nFac-simile of Document given to Marie Saltus              116\nFac-simile of Letter sent to Marie Saltus                 128\nFac-simile of Telegram sent to Marie Saltus               214\n  The Daughter of Edgar Saltus, and Her Little Son.\n  Sitting at the Table on which her Husband wrote\n  his Books, burning Incense before a Siamese Buddha,\n  and meditating on a Stanza from the Bhagavad-Git\u00e2.\nFOREWORD\nWithout the explanation of reincarnation, the riddle of Edgar Saltus would\nrival that of the Sphinx. Super-developed in some things, correspondingly\ndeficient in others, he presented an exterior having the defects of his\nfinest qualities, suffused with complexes and contradictions.\nAmusements and interests looked upon as pleasurable by the many, bored him\nin the extreme. With likes and dislikes shared and understood by few, he\nlived in a world of his own. This world was inhabited by creatures of the\nimagination--delightful beings--too delightful to be real, who, having the\nmerit of being extinguishable at will, never remained to bore him.\nTo write a proper biography one should have perspective. It is lacking\nhere. That in itself makes the writing difficult. Many of those associated\nwith Mr. Saltus' life are incarnate, and not all of them are willing to be\ndragged into the limelight of publicity by the point of the pen.\nWhere it will not offend, names are given. Where the possibility of\nannoyance suggests itself, initials only are used. It circumscribes one\nmore than a little.\nA brief hundred years should elapse between the passing of an interesting\npersonality and the putting into print of his life. It would follow here,\nbut for the fact that so many mythical and malicious tales have been\ncirculated about Edgar Saltus since his death that the necessity for giving\nthe facts, good, bad, and indifferent, and putting an end to the weird,\nwild, and fantastic stories seems urgent.\nFrom an article published in The Bookman one would believe the astonishing\nfact that Mr. Saltus made a practice of sitting \"on a sort of baldachined\nthrone dispersing cigarettes ten inches long and reading Chinese poetry.\"\nFrom the same source it was stated that he had a \"salon, and was attended\nby some lady of his choice--not necessarily the same.\" As a final kick it\nwas stated that he dyed his moustache.\nEvery newspaper in the country reprinted the article. What they did not\nreprint was a letter from me (in The Bookman also) denying the fabrications\nand giving the truth.\nIn a foreword of appreciation to a bibliography of Mr. Saltus' books, I was\nfortunately able to blue pencil the following, before it saw the darkness\nof print: \"Edgar Saltus, neglected and alone, died in an obscure\nlodging-house in the East Side of New York.\" The author is a delightful man\nwriting out of the fulness of his admiration. He put in only what he had\nbeen told.\nEvery day brings in new and wilder tales than the preceding one. They are\nso fantastic they would be amusing, were they not tragic.\nIf the public is sufficiently interested to pass along and embellish these\ngrotesque stories, will they not be equally interested to know the truth?\nWhen the writing of this biography was first attempted, an effort was made\nto give the life of Edgar Saltus without using the uninteresting \"I\" and\n\"me.\" The effort failed. So much of his life had been silhouetted against\nmy own for over twenty years, that any attempt to remove the background\ninjured the picture, and it was reluctantly put back there.\nIn giving many of the high lights and incidents of Mr. Saltus' later life,\nthe desire has been to speak only of those in which he was the dominating\nfigure. Many amusing events in which he was somewhat subsidiary, have been\nin consequence omitted.\nWith the desire to keep my personality in the background as much as\npossible, it is brought forward only when needed to throw some incident or\ncharacteristic of Mr. Saltus into relief.\nIt is a painful process to tear the veil from one's life and write fully\nand freely--almost brutally at times, with the heart's blood. Less would be\nuseless. One must tell all or nothing.\nA few years ago we had skeletons. Every respectable family had\none--sometimes two. They were locked in cupboards, or carefully put away in\nbureau drawers with lavender and old laces. When spoken of, it was in\nwhispers and with profound respect. All that has changed. With the new\npsychology nothing is hidden. Everything must be aired in the light. One\nmay be behind anything but the times. That is fatal.\nThat Edgar Saltus was unable to hit it off with two charming and cultured\nwives does not reflect on either of them. On the contrary. No normal woman\ncould live with him for a week without friction. By normal, I refer to the\nwoman who as a rule does the things that are expected of her, leaves undone\nthose she is not expected to do, and has plenty of health in her.\nThe very fact that a woman was in the main like others, irritated Mr.\nSaltus. It was enough for any one to say to him, \"It is considered the\nproper thing to do this or that,\" to send him into a rage. No act was too\nerratic or too independent to please him, provided it revealed and\ndeveloped the individuality of the doer.\nAs he looked upon sports of all kinds as outlets for primitive egos,\namusements also, unless draped with interesting psychological problems,\nand gatherings of humans as an abomination and a stench to his nostrils,\nmost women, in spite of the charm of his manner and the brilliance of his\nmind, would find little in common with him.\nA boy at heart, adoring tricks, games and fairy stories, he did not want to\nbe recalled to the things of earth. Impractical as he was, he could not\nendure practical people, accepting the blunders and forgetfulness of one\neven less so than himself with patience and grace. If five minutes before\nthe dinner hour I would rush home and say:\n\"Too sorry dear, but I forgot to order anything for dinner. There is\nnothing in the house\" (it happened more than once, but his reply was always\nthe same)--\n\"Never mind, little puss. Thank God your mind is in the clouds--not in the\nkitchen. Let's go around the corner.\"\n\"Around the corner\" meant to a tiny place called the Cozy frequented by\nColumbia students. Fortunately it was only a few yards from our home.\nWhat he could not forgive was stupidity, and the desire to please Mrs.\nSmith and Mr. Jones and wonder what the neighbors would or would not think\nabout things. This, however, he was never called upon to endure.\nOnly a person fundamentally the same and sharing his peculiar dislikes\ncould have had a chance of success. A woman less temperamental and\nhigh-strung than himself would yield anything for peace. Yielding to Mr.\nSaltus was fatal. A mental ascendency on his part, no matter what the\ncircumstances, and the beginning of the end was in sight.\nThere is a rather pathetic side to his biography. During the writing of it,\nMr. Saltus seems to have been at my elbow all the time, a highly amused and\nalmost disinterested critic. The writing of a biography had been a joke\nbetween us.\nAsked by him once if I felt I had been in any way the gainer for my\nexperiences of life with him, and what I would do in the future to keep my\nmind occupied if he passed on, I answered:\n\"Enormously the gainer. I could start a home.\"\n\"Would you make it into a training house for husbands--or turn it into a\nzoo?\" he inquired.\n\"Neither. 'The Saltus Shelter for Scoundrels' would be the result. A sign\nin the window would inform the world that the superintendent, Marie Saltus,\nwas a post-graduate on scoundrels.\" (It was a sobriquet Mr. Saltus was fond\nof applying to himself.) \"It will be a wonderful home. Here is the first\nrule. 'Do all the things you ought not to do. Leave undone all the things\nyou should do. All the comforts of home assured.'\"\nMr. Saltus laughed, and added:\n\"Never pick up anything. Drop cigars and cigarettes on the floor. It will\nimprove the carpets. Find fault with everything. Swear and make a row\nwhenever you can.\"\nTo that I added that the waiting-list would be so long that the old\nscoundrels would be fighting among themselves to get in. The idea amused\nMr. Saltus very much. Every day or two he would come up with a new\nsuggestion.\n\"See here, Mowgy, I have another rule for the old scoundrels. Having served\nsuch an apprenticeship with me,\" he said, \"you will have the home\noverflowing in a week. Draw the line. Take no one under seventy-five and\nhave tea with them only on Sundays in August.\"\nThe Saltus Shelter for Scoundrels became a pet theme. A diet was drawn up\nfor the inmates by Mr. Saltus, and a course of reading outlined. The\nby-laws grew and were embellished.\nThis was during the last winter of his life, when failing health kept him\nindoors much of the time. To take him out of himself, it became necessary\nto supply food for the imagination.\n\"Suppose you became ill and you had to leave the old scoundrels to their\nfate? What then?\" he inquired one day.\n\"That is provided for. If the Saltus Shelter is shattered, I will sit down\nand write your biography.\"\n\"That will fall flatter. No one will read it,\" he said.\n\"Yes, they will. I will call it. 'The Annals of Ananias.' It will be your\npunishment for having written 'Madame Sapphira,' and people will fall over\nthemselves to read it, for I will tell the worst.\"\nHe took notice of that.\n\"Wow! Wow! Will you tell about the time I got a piece of chocolate when I\nthought I was securing an opera glass, and how I threw it away, hitting a\nbald man on the head?\"\n\"Of course. Didn't I say the worst?\"\n\"Surely you won't mention the time I kicked the dog and smashed up the\ncut-glass?\"\n\"Yes, I will, and how you played the hose on poor Jean, and all the other\ndemoniacal things you have done.\"\nAt that he would say, \"Wow--Wow,\" again, but the idea amused him, and\nscarcely a day passed without inquiries about the biography.\n\"You won't tell the worst really, will you, Mowgy? You will not mention the\ntime I got squiffy, or the time I pretended I was a crazy man and miawed in\nthe trolley car?\"\n\"When I say everything, I mean everything.\"\n\"Then you must tell about the time in Paris when you tried to murder me,\nand when, mistaking a strange man for me, you wrote him such a villainous\nletter.\"\n\"Concerning these you are safe. There is too much about myself in those\nincidents to interest people. Like C\u00e6sar, the good will be interred with\nyour bones.\"\n\"No one will believe there could have been such a demon. They will say the\nremarkable thing about it is that you have survived.\"\nWe joked about it a great deal during the winter, Mr. Saltus suggesting\nincidents to be included or omitted.\nWhen after his death one publisher after another urged me to give them a\nbiography, I did not know whether to laugh or to weep.\nCould I? The words we had said repeated themselves. His wistful spirit\nseemed to stand at my side--laughing. He could take a joke on himself so\nwell.\nDuring the writing of it he has seemed to be beside me--amused, but caring\nless, if anything, what any one might say or think about it. It was all\ntrivial.\nWhen engaged in writing a book it was Mr. Saltus' custom to sharpen dozens\nof pencils and have them at hand. Writing rapidly, he would discard one\nafter another as they became dull, till the last was reached. These he\nsharpened again, and started in to repeat the process. After his death I\ncollected a box full and kept them. It is with the same pencils that these\nwords are being written. They have come straight from his hand to mine. His\nemanations seem to have permeated them.\nIt has not been an easy task, but it is truthful. The worst, as well as the\nbest, has been given. His friends will find that the eager and aspiring\nspirit they admired was even bigger than they knew.\nTo the verdict of any human he was--and still must be--indifferent. It did\nnot touch him in the flesh. It cannot reach him in the spirit. To him at\nthe last one thing alone mattered, through the sum total of his life's\nexperiences--the ability to know himself, and knowing that self to\nco-operate with his evolution. To turn from the illusory to the\nillimitable, seeking only the way; that was what mattered.\nRealizing at the last that all the wisdom of the world could be epitomized\nin a single sentence, he found strength in that. \"He attaineth peace into\nwhom all desires flow as rivers into an ocean, which, being full, remaineth\nunaffected by any.\"\nEDGAR SALTUS, THE MAN\nCHAPTER I\nFrom the very beginning Edgar Saltus was none of the things that he\nappeared to be and a hundred that no one ever suspected. Having a nature\nwith a curious complex of the super-feminine, Edgar Saltus took unto\nhimself a prerogative usually assigned to it, and, snipping off a few\nyears, gave the date of his birth to \"Who's Who,\" as 1868.\nLate in life, when confronted with the family Bible in which the date had\nbeen correctly set down, and with a photograph of himself as a baby on\nwhich his mother had proudly recorded the same, he admitted, reluctantly it\nmust be confessed, that he had juggled things a bit. In those days births\nwere not recorded as they now are.\nHis irritation at the detection being construed as shame over his act, he\nlaughed. The annoyance was at himself for omitting, when he had the chance,\nto knock off a few more objectionable years. The glorious gift of seeming\nas young as he looked had been offered by fate, and lost.\nAs a matter of fact Edgar Saltus was born in New York City, some time\nduring the night of October 8, 1855.\nWhen, later in life, he became interested in occultism, and the possibility\nof having an astrological chart was suggested, there was no one living who\ncould tell him the exact hour. Trivial as it may seem, he would have given\nmuch to ascertain it. The Libra qualities assigned to those born in October\nwere all his. This fact made him keen to know how they would be modified or\nincreased by that of the sign rising at the hour of his birth.\nIt delighted him to brush aside many annoying happenings with the remark\nthat all Libra people were volatile, evanescent, and often irritable; were\nborn so, and could not escape their limitations. Upon these occasions he\nwould end up with the statement that however objectionable the sign, it was\nless so than that of Scorpio rising with the Sun in Taurus (which was\nmine). That, he declared, only a philosopher could understand and hit it\noff with. He had a splendid ally in the stars.\nEdgar Saltus had the good fortune, or the bad luck, as one looks at it, to\nbe born the son of a brilliant father. Francis Henry Saltus not only\nbrought into being the first rifled steel cannon ever made, but perfected a\nnumber of other inventions as well. For this he was decorated by almost all\nthe crowned heads of Europe. Queen Victoria knighted him and presented his\nwife with a marvelous Indian shawl. He was given the Legion of Honour of\nFrance, the Order of Isabella the Catholic, of Spain--the Order of Gustavus\nVasa of Sweden, and the Order of Christ of Portugal. For having chartered a\nship, loading it with provisions and sending it to the starving people of\nthe Canary Islands during a famine, he was given the inheritable title of\nMarquise de Casa Besa by the King of Portugal as well. The title, however,\nhe never used.\nFrom Solomon Saltus back to the time of the Emperor Tiberius, the men of\nthe Saltus family appear to have left a mark either of gore or glory upon\ntheir generation. Francis Henry Saltus did not purpose to do less. An\nomnivorous reader, a student and a philosopher, with some queer twists to\nhis curious mentality, he passed on the lot--twists included--not only to\nhis son by a former wife, Francis Saltus Saltus, named after himself, but\nto the little Edgar as well.\nConcerning Francis Saltus Saltus, volumes might be written. A genius, and\nambidextrous, he could write sonnets with one hand and compose operas with\nthe other. Without instruction he could improvise on any musical instrument\nand learn any language with equal facility.\nHe did all this as a bird sings, joyously, and with so little effort that\none was appalled at his genius. A clearer case of subconscious memory never\nexisted. He learned nothing, but he remembered everything. To know where he\nhad acquired it and how would be interesting.\n[Illustration: FRANCIS HENRY SALTUS\nFather of Edgar Saltus]\nHis ability was supernormal, yet anything once written (he never made a\nrevised copy) was tossed aside--fait accompli. A new thought or a fleeting\nmelody called him elsewhere.\nWhat he lacked was the concentration, the patience, the sustained interest\nin his creation, to go over his work, rearrange, polish and put it into\nshape to live. Details were deadly. What he had written--he had written.\nWith an indifference proportionate to his genius, he yawned--and lighted a\ncigarette.\nThat lack was tragic. It meant a niche in the gallery of \"might have beens\"\ninstead of the high place in the Hall of Fame, where he really belonged,\nand where, had he but condescended to care, he could have flamed as a\nvolcano in active eruption.\nFrank was in his sixth year when little Edgar made his d\u00e9but. These four,\nFrancis Senior and Junior, with Edgar and his mother, constituted the\nfamily.\nA descendant of a line of illustrious Dutch admirals, Eliza Evertson, after\ntwo rather unhappy love affairs, married Francis Saltus. She had passed her\nfirst youth. Brave she must have been, to risk her happiness with a\nbrilliantly eccentric husband, and take upon herself the upbringing of his\neven more erratic son.\nUntil Edgar was seven the experiment was fairly successful. Eliza Saltus,\nwitty, quick at repartee, and interestingly sarcastic, took her place in\nthe \"family party\" which constituted the social set in those days. New York\nwas a small place. Everybody who was anybody, knew everybody else.\nTall, fair, and distinguished looking, wearing his honors and decorations\nas lightly as a boutonniere, Francis Saltus was a splendid foil for the\nbrunette beauty and vivacious spirits of his wife. During these early years\ntogether they traveled a great deal, and the problem of peace did not\npresent itself. Eliza Evertson was a person not easily submerged. In a\nlarge home in West Seventeenth Street, none too cheerful at best, filled\nwith massive Italian furniture of carved olive wood, these four struggled\nfor a time to keep together and form a family.\nOf those early years Mr. Saltus always told with sadness--how his mother\nfought against the influence of Frank, who, even at pre-adolescence,\nevinced many of the peculiarities and angles which developed rapidly with\nthe years.\nResentful over the father's preference for his first-born, the little Edgar\nbecame the idol of his mother's heart, giving to her his deepest affection\nin return. Francis Saltus' pride in the elder son outweighing every other\nsentiment, he could see no fault in him, in spite of his habit of getting\nup when he pleased, eating at odd times, composing on the piano at two a.\nm., or bringing all kinds of queer people to the house at any hour of the\nday or night.\nWhether or not the stepmother exercised the tact which would have oiled the\nmachinery of things, one cannot know. Good mothers are seldom\nphilosophers. The fact that Frank was over-indulged and given plenty of\nmoney by an adoring father, who scarcely noticed her own small son, must\nhave hurt her independence and pride. That she could see only his faults,\nand nothing of his genius, cemented the bond between the father and Frank\nas nothing else could have done. Blond, handsome, debonair, Frank Saltus\ncharmed as he breathed. Only his stepmother was impervious to his\nfascinations.\nThe little Edgar combined the Greek features of his father and half-brother\nwith the dark eyes and olive coloring of his mother. High-strung, timid,\nand so nervous that a slight hesitancy marred his speech at times, the\nchild lived in fear of offending his father by a refusal to repeat his\nmother's warnings against Frank, and the fear of enraging his mother by his\nunwillingness to repeat his father's comments.\n[Illustration: EDGAR SALTUS\nAt Two Years of Age, sitting on the Lap of His Mother\nELIZA EVERTSON SALTUS]\nThe battle-ground of a ceaseless conflict between his parents, the boy\ndeveloped a quality negative in one sense, dangerous in another. He was\nafraid to repeat anything of a disagreeable nature or admit an unpleasant\ntruth. Forced to the wall he avoided truth,--made a jest of it if he could,\nor, as a last resource, denied it pointblank. It is the fear of danger and\ndiscord and the hanging back from it that injures. On the firing-line death\nmay be in waiting, but fear has fled.\nTo get the right slant on Edgar Saltus' life as a whole, this early\ntraining--or lack of it--must be taken into consideration. This almost\nphysical disability to tell the truth, if that truth were disagreeable, was\nequaled by his inability to bear pain. At any excess of it he fainted. It\nfollowed him throughout life. Rarely did he get into a dentist's chair\nwithout fainting.\nWith so many charming and endearing qualities, an understanding needing no\nwords, a tenderness greater by far than that possessed by most women, one\ncan but speculate as to what a rare and radiant being he would have been\nminus the handicap concerning truth, which, with all its ramifications,\npenetrated and disintegrated much of his life and the lives closest to\nhim.\nUnable to make a go of it as a family, divorce in those days being looked\nupon as disgraceful, Francis Saltus took his first-born abroad, while Edgar\nwas sent to St. Paul's School at Concord, New Hampshire. Never again did\nthey attempt to live as a family. During vacations young Edgar went to his\nmother. An occasional call on his father was all that was required of him.\nAccording to his own account he was always at the foot of his class and not\npopular. Uninterested in sports, abhorring all forms of \"get together\"\nsocieties, living very much in a world of his own imagining, he was as\ninconspicuous as he was unhappy. Slightly undersized, slim, straight, and\nwell-proportioned, with his clear-cut features, dark oriental eyes, and\nolive skin, he looked and felt out of place in a western world,--as perhaps\nhe was.\n[Illustration: EDGAR SALTUS\nSixteen Years of Age]\nGirls took to him on sight, wrote to him, sent him locks of their hair, and\nsuggested meeting him. His first flirtation was with a girl from New Haven.\nThat her name was Nellie was all he remembered of the episode.\nDuring the summer vacations he had a succession of flirtations. A dip into\nthem would be like turning a page of \"Who Was Who\" a generation ago. One\nirate father, thinking he had called too often upon his young daughter, put\nit to him straight.\n\"Young man, you have made yourself very much at home in this house. What\nare your intentions?\"\n\"To leave,\" he replied quickly, as he made for the door.\nAnother occasion was more complicated. This time it was the girl herself, a\ngirl he had vowed to work and wait for forever if necessary. Suggesting\nthat they omit the waiting and do the working upon their respective\nparents, the girl persuaded him to elope, very much against his will. It\nwas the last thing he wanted. To love and run was far more to his fancy.\nLetting drop the fact of what they contemplated where it would percolate\nquickly, he drove off with the bride-to-be in a dog-cart.\nDuring this drive his wits got to working. At one parsonage after another\nthey stopped, young Edgar getting out and inquiring at the door, only to\ndrive on again. After an hour or so the girl's father overtook them. The\nelopement was off; the would-be bride in tears. Instead of inquiring for a\nclergyman to marry them, he had very politely inquired the way to the next\nvillage.\nA danger escaped is always a ready theme for conversation, and it amused\nhim more than a little to tell of this episode with the comment:\n\"No woman could drag me to the altar, I could slide like water through a\ncrack and vanish.\"\nSo he could. A more ingenious man at evading anything he disliked never\nexisted. While agreeing with every appearance of delight, he was concocting\na clever escape. He always managed to slip through, as he said.\nOf his father and brother he saw but little during these years. The latter\nhad to his credit a volume of verse, \"Honey and Gall,\" and half a dozen\noperas, one of which he had conducted himself.\nOn the table near my hand is a copy of \"Honey and Gall,\" an original, bound\nin green. On the fly-leaf in Frank's characteristic hand is written:\n     With the love and good wishes of his most affectionate\n     brother,\nNo resentment there. A spirit of love, tolerance, and interest is exhaled.\nIn the book are many marginal notes in the same handwriting. Changes,\ninterpolations, and corrections emphasise the beauty of the lines. The pity\nof it is that they were put there too late, but the soul of the author\nstares one in the face. Between the pages pressed flowers rest, souvenirs\nof shadow or sunshine. During the years the paper has not only become\ndiscolored but has reproduced the outline of the blossoms. The book is\nlike a living thing, so close does it bring the author. Emanations of his\npersonality rise from the pages like perfume, compelling the sympathy and\nunderstanding he needed so uniquely.\nOne poem especially--\"Pantheism\"--tears the veil from his Greek features,\nrevealing an Oriental in masquerade. Neither pagan nor Christian in the\naccepted sense, the musk-scented mysticism of eastern philosophy rises from\nit like incense. Out of place in the conventional environment of New\nYork,--subconscious memory rising to the surface of his waking\nconsciousness, he writes of other lives and loves, and anterior\nexperiences,--putting his deepest and most profound beliefs into words. No\nother poem in the book strikes the same chord, or has as many marginal\nnotes by the author.\nToo handsome, too much sought after by women, too well supplied with money\nto have an incentive to work, he sank into something of a psychic stupor.\nHe knew nothing of the feminine as revealed by mother, sister or wife. To\nhim, alone and misunderstood, Silence offered her arm. Silence is a dynamic\nforce but it offers peace. One can but hope that he was given his full\nshare.\nBrilliant, handsome, with a manner irresistible to women, Frank Saltus was\nreaching the high noon of his life. So facile was his pen, so limitless the\nscope of his erratic genius, that young Edgar sank into the shadow of him.\nTragically pathetic is the fact, that, despite the superabundance of his\ngifts, he failed to bring any one of them to the perfection that could have\nmade him immortal. There may have been philosophy even in this.\nAmong the other poems in the volume is one to his most intimate\nfriend,--Edgar Fawcett. This friendship not only lasted his lifetime, but\nwas stretched to include the younger Edgar, whose close association with\nthe poet continued until the latter's death.\nIn spite of their real admiration and regard for Fawcett, both Edgar and\nFrank Saltus enjoyed teasing and tormenting him enormously. His vulnerable\nplaces were so much exposed. Though timid with women, nevertheless he\nfancied they were in love with him. With inimitable skill, Frank Saltus\ncomposed letters purporting to come from passionate young heiresses who\nwere in love with him. One especially wrote frequently and at length.\nFawcett not only answered them, but, rushing to his rooms, read them aloud\nto Frank. More letters followed.\n\"What am I to do,\" he asked, \"when women persecute me like this? Even you\nhave not received such letters as mine.\"\nThe brothers agreed with him. While pretending to be annoyed by them\nFawcett was really living in rapture. Nothing like it had brushed against\nhis life before. As fast as the letters were sent out, did Fawcett come in\nto read them to their creator. It began to pall. One could not keep on\nwriting them indefinitely. Something had to be done. The heiress who could\nnot live without him threw out vague hints of suicide. Hectic and\nharrowed, Fawcett came to Frank's rooms and burst into tears. After that\nthe letters ceased. Fawcett could not be comforted. Some helpless and\nbeautiful being had died for love of him. This incident became the episode\nof his life, and he passed over without knowing the truth.\nAccording to Mr. Saltus, there was something charming and childlike about\nEdgar Fawcett. A rejected manuscript sent him into hysterics. He kept an\naccount book, alphabetically arranged. If you offended him, a black mark\nwent against your name. If you pleased him, a mark of merit was\nsubstituted.\nFrom an old note-book of Mr. Saltus is copied the following: \"Edgar Fawcett\nhas to pay higher wages to his valet than anyone else, because he reads his\npoems to him.\" In another place is written: \"Idleness is necessary to the\nartist. It is the quality in which he shines the best. Be idle, Fawcett.\nLet others toil. Be idle and give us a rest.\"\nNone the less the brothers had an affectionate admiration for him. Edgar\nSaltus dedicated \"Love and Lore\"\n             Edgar Fawcett.\n    Perfect poet, ... perfect friend.\nCHAPTER II\nHis school days in the States over, Edgar Saltus went abroad with his\nmother for an indefinite time. Europe became their headquarters during what\nmust have been the most constructively interesting part of his early life.\nHeidelberg, Munich, the Sorbonne, and an elderly professor supplementing\ncertain studies did their best for him. At an age when the world seemed his\nfor the taking, with brilliant mind, unusual physical attractiveness, the\nability to charm without effort, and sufficient means, his path was if\nanything too rosy.\nThe pampered only child of an adoring mother, he had only to express a wish\nto have it gratified. He became selfish and self-centered as the result.\nHis motto was \"Carpe diem,\" and he carefully contrived to live down to it.\nDuring a summer in Switzerland without his mother Mr. Saltus met a charming\nyoung girl of semi-royal birth, whom we will call Marie C----, and eloped\nwith her. Her furious family followed, overtaking them in Venice. As she\nwas unable, because of her exalted station, to be married by a priest\nwithout credentials and permission, the ceremony had been omitted for the\nmoment. That complicated matters. Marie was whisked off to a convent,\nwhere, the year following, she died. As usual the woman paid. Meanwhile, a\nyoung and charming Venetian countess did her best to console the explorer\nin hearts.\nOn the heels of this episode came his mother. Funds were stopped, and to\nthe chagrin of the countess who had braved disgrace, her charmer was taken\nback to Heidelberg.\nWith an insight and interest almost paternal, the old professor who had\ntutored him at times gave Mr. Saltus a lesson he never forgot. Realizing as\nhe must have that the youth had a quality of fascination seldom\nencountered, a quality likely to lead to his early ruin if not\ncircumscribed, he assigned himself the job. Taking him to an exhibit where\nwax figures representing parts of the human body in different stages of\ndisease were set up for a clinic, he let it do its work.\nIllness, ugliness, unsightliness of any kind, had a horror for Mr. Saltus.\nIt was an intrinsic part of his inner essence. That exhibit nearly did for\nhim. It made him ill for a week,--the most profitable illness he ever had\nin his life. Never in his wildest and least responsible moments did he have\nan affair with any woman other than of his own class.\nA student of the classics, with Flaubert sitting on the lotus leaf of\nperfection before his eyes, it soon became the desire of his heart to meet\nsome of the great ones of letters. Even then the young Edgar was trying his\nhand at it.\nThrough the friendship of Stuart Merrill, a young American poet living in\nParis, he had the supreme bliss of being presented to Victor Hugo. The\nanticipation of it alone made him tremble. It was to him like meeting the\nDalai Lama in person. Reverently he approached the great one repeating, as\nhe did so, the Byzantine formula, \"May I speak and live?\"\nThe magnificent one condescended to permit it. From a great chair which\nresembled a shrine and in which he looked like an old idol, he deigned to\nspeak to his admirer. Mr. Saltus left his presence with winged feet.\nThe author of \"Po\u00e8mes Antiques,\" Leconte de Lisle, was another to whom the\nyouthful aspirant was on his knees. Through Stuart Merrill again he was\nadmitted to Olympus.\n\"You are a church. You have your worshipers,\" he told the poet. Leconte de\nLisle listened, or pretended to listen, with indifference. That attitude of\nhis appealed as much to Mr. Saltus as his poems. It was the way genius\nshould act, he reflected.\nAnother meteor crossing his orbit was Verlaine. It was at the Caf\u00e9 Fran\u00e7ois\nPremier that they met. Shabby, dirty, and a little drunk, he talked\ndelightfully as only poets and madmen can. He talked of his \"prisons\" and\nof his \"charity hospitals,\" quite unaffectedly and as a landed proprietor\nspeaks of his estates. One of these Edgar Saltus visited. It was an\nenclosure at the back of a shop in a blind alley, where he had a cot that\nstood not on the floor, for there was no floor, but on the earth.\nOf Oscar Wilde and Owen Meredith, he had at that time only a peep in\npassing. His particular chums were the Duke of Newcastle and Lord Francis\nHope. Among the interesting personalities with whom he became friends was\nthe Baron Harden Hickey. In what way he became a Baron was never elucidated\nto Mr. Saltus' satisfaction. Poet, scholar, and crack duelist, his sword\nwas as mighty as his pen. At my hand is a book of his called \"Euthanasia,\"\nand inscribed in his writing are the words:\n             From his extravagant admirer\nHarden Hickey had ambitions. One of them was to found a monarchy at\nTrinidad and rule there. He was nothing if not original. The post of Poet\nLaureate he offered to Edgar Saltus. Owing to the intervention of the\nPowers, the project failed. Harden Hickey killed himself. Such friends in\nany event were not commonplace.\nDeciding at last that he must have some kind of an occupation, his mother\nhaving on his account drawn liberally from her principal, Mr. Saltus\ndecided to return to the United States. Once there he entered Columbia Law\nSchool. Terse, clear, and versatile with his pen, the law seemed more or\nless to beckon. Plead he could not; owing to his acute nervousness and his\nslight hesitancy of speech that was out of the question. The uninteresting\nbut necessary technical side of the law could alone be his. In some\nclimates and altitudes Mr. Saltus' speech became almost a stammer. In\nothers it vanished. Never was it unpleasant, and many thought it rather\nfascinating. People affected him in this way. Most of them got on his\nnerves, and the peculiar hesitancy followed, while with those to whom he\nwas accustomed, he could talk for hours without a trace of it. Even as a\nyouth his disinclination to meet people, his horror of crowds, and his\ndesire to be alone a great deal were becoming marked characteristics. So\nalso was the quality he had developed as a child, the increasing inability\nto face a disagreeable issue.\nDuring his life in Germany, Schopenhauer had been his daily food. From his\nangle religions were superstitions for the ignorant and credulous. They\noffered nothing. With Schopenhauer came Spinoza. Between them the Columbia\nstudent became saturated like a sponge.\nAt intervals Mr. Saltus had tried his hand at verse as well as prose. A\nsonnet written in Venice and published afterward under the title of\n\"History\" was among his first. Timidly, almost apologetically, he took it\nto his brother Frank.\n\"Splendid! Better than anything I ever did,\" was the unexpected praise. \"I\nwrite more easily, but it is too much fag for me to polish my work. You\nare slower, but you scintillate. Go in for letters. It is your place in the\nscheme of things.\"\nThus encouraged, and by the brother who was the flame of the family, Edgar\nSaltus took up his pencil in earnest. Fundamentally, both Edgar and Frank\nSaltus were alike. They seemed to be oriental souls functioning for a life\nin occidental bodies, and the clothes pinched. Neither could endure\nroutine, nor could they tolerate the prescribed and circumscribed existence\nof the western world. It was difficult to internalize in an environment\nboth objective and external. They were subtle, indolent, exotic, living in\nworlds of their own, as far removed from those with whom they brushed\nelbows as is the fourth dimension.\nFrank let himself go the way of least resistance, without effort or desire\nto fit in with his environment. Having traveled everywhere, and exhausted\nto its limit every emotion and experience, bored to tears with the world\noutside of his imagination and finally even with that within, he\nstimulated what remained with alcohol and drugs. As the mood took him he\ncomposed, tossing off sonnets and serenades like champagne, carelessly and\nwithout effort, a Titan with the indifference of a pigmy. What he might\nhave been, had he forced his furtive and fertile fancy to grapple with the\ntedium of sandpaper and polish, only an extension of consciousness could\nreveal.\nWriting of him in those days James Huneker said:\n\"He had the look of a Greek god gone to ruin. He was fond of absinthe and I\nnever saw him without a cigarette in his mouth. He carved sonnets out of\nsolid wood and compiled epigrams for Town Topics as a pastime. He composed\nfeuilletons that would have made the fortune of a boulevardier. He was a\nruin, but he was a gentleman. Edgar Saltus was handsome in a different way,\ndark, petit maitre.\"\nOf Frank Saltus' multiple love affairs one alone cut deep enough to leave\nan imprint. Under the title \"To Marie B--,\" he wrote one of his best\npoems.\nCuriously enough, the name Marie had been that of Edgar's first and\nunfortunate love. So convinced was he that no one with that name could\nsurvive close association with a Saltus, that from the first hour of our\nacquaintance he refused to call me by it, using a contraction I had lisped\nas an infant in trying to pronounce Marie, Mowgy. It was the last word he\nspoke on earth.\nThe son of a brilliant father and brother of a genius, Edgar Saltus was\nmade conscious of his supposed inferiority by the world at large. To his\nmother, in spite of her indulgent idolatry of him, must be given the credit\nthat he, too, did not sink into an apathy and dream his life away. The\nworst side of his brother's character was held always before him, as well\nas his inability to earn anything with all his talents, and the fact that\nhe, Edgar, was an Evertson as well as a Saltus was used effectively. As far\nas she could she fought the soft, sensual streak in his nature, the\noriental under its mask. Too late to grapple with his fixed habit of\navoiding the ugly, unpleasant, and the irksome, she hammered in the lesson\nof dissipated talents and a wasted life. So well was this done that Edgar\nSaltus, to use his own words, \"By the grace of God and absent-minded\nprofessors,\" managed to take his degree as a Doctor of Law.\nWith that in one pocket and a sonnet in the other, he cut loose to have a\nlittle fling before starting in for a career at the bar. That career never\nmaterialized.\nWith a mother always a part of the upper ten, he was soon submerged by\nballs, receptions, and festivities. His ability to fraternize being limited\nand superficial and the necessity for a great deal of solitude fundamental,\nit was not long before the desire to express himself with his pen\nreasserted itself, and a number of sonnets was the result. Few knew\nanything of the hours he put in pruning, polishing, and sandpapering them.\nAlbert Edwin Shroeder, a friend reaching back to the Heidelberg days, knew\nthe most, but even with him Edgar Saltus was reticent about his work. It\nmay be mentioned in passing that Shroeder was an intimate friend of Frank\nSaltus, as well. His admiration for the brothers expressed itself in many\nways. Among Mr. Saltus' effects are letters from him and some books. On the\nfly-leaf of one is written, \"To the Master from his servant A. Shroeder.\"\nOn another, \"To the unique, from one who admires him uniquely.\" This\nfriendship lasted until Mr. Shroeder's death.\nOther intimate friends were Clarence and Walter Andrews. Of his escapades\nwith them Mr. Saltus was never weary of telling, the tendrils of their\nfriendship being long and strong. Of those who knew him in these halcyon\ndays Walter Andrews alone survives. Sitting at my side, as he very\ngraciously offered to do, he drove with Mr. Saltus' only child, his\ndaughter, Mrs. J. Theus Munds, and myself, to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery and\nsaw the ashes of his oldest friend returned to the earth.\nNot fitted by nature for the cut and dried, the literal and the precise,\nlonging more and more to express himself in writing, he let the law linger.\nHaving already several stories to his credit, the possibility of making\nletters his profession appealed strongly to Mr. Saltus. Money in itself\nmeant nothing to him. It went through his hands as through a sieve. To be\nfree from rules and routine, free to express himself, that alone mattered,\nand that, despite the inroads made into their capital, he could do.\nLaw books were consigned to the trash baskets. Paper and pencils took their\nplace, and it was not long before the results took on a golden hue.\nAt that epoch, his star rising to the ascendent and Fame flitting before\nhim as a will-o'-the-wisp urging him on, he met one of New York's most\nbeautiful young matrons--Mme. C----. An American herself of old\nKnickerbocker stock, married to a nobleman, she represented youth, beauty,\ncharm, and position, added to which she had a brilliant mind.\nA serious love affair resulted. Vainly did Mrs. Saltus urge her son to\nmarry and settle down. Vainly did the family of Mme. C----warn her of\npossible perils ahead. So handsome in those days that the papers referred\nto him as the \"Pocket Apollo,\" so popular that girls fought for his favor,\nMr. Saltus had a triumphal sail through a social sea as heady as champagne.\nFrom his own account and a diary of Mme. C----'s found after his death, the\naffair must have cut deep. Quoting from it one reads:\n\"Edgar called to-day. There is no one like him in the world. He is the\nunique. I adore him to madness.\"\nAgain one reads:\n\"Edgar is the center of my being. Never can I cease to love him. That is\ncertain. But should he ever cease to love me--? It is unthinkable. I cannot\ncontemplate it--and live.\"\nOnce again:\n\"They tell me that this cannot go on. I have children. Oh, my God! Can I\ntear him out of my heart--and live?\"\nThere is no doubt whatever but that the devotion was very sincere on both\nsides. It ended, nevertheless, owing no doubt to the fine qualities of Mme.\nC----, who, putting the happiness of others before her own, went abroad and\nlost herself there for a time.\nProud, arrogant, accustomed to having his own way at any cost, selfish and\nself-centered as the result of his indulgent childhood, during which he had\nnever exercised the least self-control, it was a new experience to Edgar\nSaltus. Taking what he wanted when he wanted it and because he wanted it,\nwithout the least thought of others, save perhaps his mother, he had built\nup on his weaknesses, in ignorance of, and not recognizing, his strength.\nThe affair of Mme. C---- hurt.\nLittle wonder it was that when a pretty and petite blonde girl swam into\nthe maelstrom of his environment, he made a grab for her. Pert and\npiquant, her face upturned in the waltz, he whispered the lines beginning:\n\"Helen, thy beauty is to me\" ... following it up as only he could. In\naddition to her own attractiveness, Helen Read had a father who was a\npartner of J. Pierpont Morgan. She was no small catch, and there were many\nout with fishing tackle and bait.\nOn the surface it looked like an ideal match. All the gifts of the gods\nwere divided between them. Besides, every one approved of it. That in\nitself should have warned them of disaster.\nThe year 1883 turned a new page, Edgar Saltus breaking into matrimony and\ninto print almost simultaneously. Houghton, Mifflin and Company having\nagreed to bring out his translation of Balzac, the horizon opened like a\nfan. The microbe of ink having entered into his blood, he conceived the\nidea of putting Schopenhauer and Spinoza before the public in condensed and\nepigrammatic form. To their philosophy he determined to add his own. \"The\nPhilosophy of Disenchantment\" and \"The Anatomy of Negation\" began brewing\nin the caldron of his mind.\nA note-book in which is condensed material for writing these books is\nperhaps the most interesting bit of intimate work Mr. Saltus left behind\nhim, revealing as it does an Edgar Saltus unknown and unsuspected by the\nworld. In it is no man giving out savories and souffl\u00e9s with both hands,\ntaking the world as a jest, a game, and an amusement. It reveals the\nserious and sober student, hiding behind a mask of smiles, subtleties, and\ncynicism; the soul of a seeker, a soul very like that of his brother Frank.\nSo out of tune was it with its environment, so little understood, and so\nlittle expecting to be, that wrapping itself in a mantle of impenetrability\nand adjusting its mask, no one knew what existed behind it.\nThe note-book itself is most characteristic of Mr. Saltus. In it are\nsonnets many of which have been published,--notes for his work,--drafts of\nletters he expected to write,--quotations from various sources and\nepigrams of his own and others jumbled together. Some of these are written\nwith his almost copper-plate precision, and the rest jotted down late at\nnight, perhaps after he had dined and wined well. These are mere scratches,\nwhich only one familiar with his hand could decipher.\nYouth flames from a leaf on which he has written:\n    A.M., Ph. D., K.S.K., etc., etc., etc.\nThe pomposity of this amused him very much during his later years. The\nfollowing quotations reveal what has been referred to as his oriental soul\nfloundering in the dark, seeking expression in a language new to his\ntongue. Taken at random a few of the quotations are as follows:\n\"There are verses in the Vedas which when repeated are said to charm the\nbirds and beasts.\"\n\"All that we are is the result of what we have thought.\"\n\"Having pervaded the Universe with a fragment of Myself,--I remain.\"\n\"Near to renunciation,--_very near_,--dwelleth eternal peace.\"\nAs material for a book on agnosticism it is amusing,--his agnosticism being\nin reality only his inability to accept creed-bound faiths. The quotations\nare proof, however, that germinal somewhere was an aspiration for the\nverities of things. Unable to find them, the ego drew in upon itself,\nclosing the door. Behind that door however it was watching and waiting with\na wistful yearning. Years later, after reading one stanza from the Book of\nDzyan, it flung open the door and emerged, to bathe in the sunlight it had\nbeen seeking so long.\nAt the bottom of the page of quotations from the Git\u00e2 is a footnote: \"True\nperhaps but utterly unintelligible to the rabble.\"\nIt was not long after his marriage that turning a corner he saw Fame\nflitting ahead of him, smiling over her shoulder. The newspapers began to\nquote his witticisms, as for example:\nHostess--\"Mr. Saltus, what character in fiction do you admire most?\"\nSaltus--\"God.\"\nHis books, considered outrageous to a degree, began to sell like hot cakes.\nTo quote again from a newspaper clipping of that day:\nDepraved Customer--\"Do you sell the books of Edgar Saltus?\"\nVirtuous Bookseller--\"Sir, I keep Guy de Maupassant's, The Heptameron, and\nZola's, but Saltus--never.\"\nEdgar Saltus was made.\nCHAPTER III\nTo go back a little. It was shortly after his marriage to Helen Read that\nthe conventional trip to Europe followed. Added to the selfishness which\nthe circumstances of his life had fostered abundantly, Edgar Saltus had a\nnumber of odd and well developed twists. Illness in any form was abhorrent\nto him, contact with it unthinkable, and even to hear about it\nobjectionable. When his young wife suffered from neuralgia--a thing which\nnot infrequently happened--he put on his hat and walked out. The idea of\nschooling himself to bear anything he disliked was as foreign as Choctaw.\nHigh-tempered, moody, impatient to a degree seldom encountered, and with\nthe preconceived idea that he was entirely right in everything, he set sail\non the matrimonial sea. Two episodes will make clear why the shoals were\nencountered so soon. Realizing then how oblique had been his angle, the\nstory of his life must be thrown forward, as they say in filmdom, to 1912\nand then back again to the earlier episode.\nWe were traveling in a _wagon-lit_ from Germany to Paris. After he had\ntucked me in for the night I noticed that Mr. Saltus had removed only his\ncoat and his shoes, and was going to bed practically clothed. That alone\nmade me take notice. We had not been married long at the time, but I was\nacquainted with his habits. Better than any human I ever knew, he loved to\nbe _en neglig\u00e9e_. He could slide out of his clothes and into a\ndressing-gown like an eel.\nThis extraordinary behavior was further emphasized when, in spite of his\nhatred of speaking to people, servants especially, I heard him whispering\nat the door to the guard. At such radical conduct, I asked what it was all\nabout. His reluctance to answer made me even more insistent. With his\ncleverness at evasions and his agility at inventing explanations off the\nbat, he put me aside with the suggestion that he had asked for more\ncovering. Knowing his ways and his wiles backward and forward, I laughed.\nExplain he must. Then he said that we would be crossing the frontier in the\nearly hours of the morning, and, as it would be necessary for him to get\nout and open our luggage for inspection, he had remained dressed. Realizing\nthat it was difficult for me to sleep under any conditions, and fearful\nlest I be annoyed by it, he had told the man not to knock, but to come in\nquietly and touch him instead. It was consideration for me, nothing else.\nThe explanation apparently covered everything. Drawing up his blankets he\nsaid, \"Good-night.\"\nInstead, however, of the usual deep breathing to follow, presently I heard\nhim laughing, laughing heartily, and trying to suppress it. When questioned\nhe could only say:\n\"If Helen could see me now! Good Lord!\"\nWhen he had repeated it three or four times, I sat up and told him he could\ntell the worst. This is what he said:\n\"When Helen and I were traveling this same route and we realized that the\nfrontier meant getting up in the night and the horrors of the customs, I\nsuggested that she be a sport, and toss up a coin to see which of us should\ntake on the job.\"\n\"Horrors!\" I interjected. \"How could you even think of such a thing?\"\n\"How could I? There you have it. How could I? I did, all the same. We were\nboth young and healthy. I didn't see why my sex should be penalized. We\nthrew, and it fell to her.\"\nAnother \"Horrors\" came from the opposite bed. \"But of course you did not\nlet her when it came to the scratch? You remembered that you were supposed\nto take care of her?\"\n\"What I remember only too well is that I did let her do it. She spoke\nFrench beautifully and she did it quite uncomplainingly. What a brute I\nwas! I cannot believe that I was ever that sort of being.\"\n\"Suppose we toss up now?\" I suggested.\nMr. Saltus laughed. \"You! Why, little Puss, I would sit up all night with\njoy, rather than have you wakened. You go out and attend to the customs!\"\nHe laughed again. \"If Helen could see me now! What a hell of a life I must\nhave led her!\"\nThe other episode occurred during the last years of his life, when we were\nliving in the apartments where Mr. Saltus died. His bed-room and study were\nat the end of a long hall, removed from the noise of the front door, the\nelevator, and the telephone, where he could work in quiet.\nUninterrupted quiet was a vital essential to him. Distractions of any kind,\nno matter how well meant or accidental, sent him into hysterics and ended\nhis work for the day, and he begged me never to speak to him unless the\nhouse was on fire. Sometimes through carelessness I did interrupt him as he\nwent from his study to his bed-room, asking him a question or telling him\nof something which had occurred, but when working in his study he was left\nin peace.\nOne morning, however (it was while he was writing on \"The Imperial Orgy\"),\nsomething happened which at the moment seemed so vital, that, impulsively\nand without realizing what the effect would be, I burst into his study\nwithout warning and started to tell him.\nThe effect on him was of such a nature that the errand was forgotten. With\na yell like that of a maniac, Mr. Saltus grabbed his hair, pulling it out\nwhere it would give way. Still screaming, he batted his head against the\nwalls and the furniture; and finally giving way utterly, he got down and\nhit his head on the floor.\nNone of it was directed against me--the offender, yet no woman could have\nbeen blamed for running out of the house. Ten minutes later, when he had\nbeen put to bed like a small boy, given a warm drink, and had an electric\npad applied to his solar plexus, his one request was that I sit beside him\nand read extracts from the \"Git\u00e2.\"\nHis action was pitiful, tragic.\n\"Poor child! No one but yourself could understand and put up with such a\ndemon,\" he said. \"I should be taken to the lethal chamber and put out of\nthe way. And yet I could not help it.\"\nThe realization that he, an old man then, a student of Theosophy, the first\nprecept of which is self-restraint, could have given way as he had, hurt\nhim cruelly. Understanding and sympathy brought him to himself rapidly.\nOtherwise he would have been ill.\nMr. Saltus was an unconscious psychic. With those he loved he needed no\nexplanation of anything. He understood even to the extent of answering\none's unspoken thoughts many times. So psychic was he, that his\ndisinclination to be in crowds or meet many people came from the fact that\nthey devitalized him, leaving him limp as a rag. When writing a book, as he\nhimself often expressed it, he was in a state of \"high hallucinatory\nfever,\" giving out of his ectoplasm very much as a materializing medium\ngives it out in a s\u00e9ance, to build up a temporary body for the spirit.\nIt is a well-known scientific fact that any interruption during the process\nof materialization causes repercussion on the body of the medium, the\nvelocity being such that illness, if not insanity, may result.\nWhile creating a book, Mr. Saltus was in very much the same condition, the\nfiner forces of his etheric body being semi-detached from the physical. He\ncould not help it any more than he could help the color of his eyes.\nLacking discipline and self-control from his youth, he could not, after his\nformative years, coordinate his forces so as to grapple with this\nlimitation effectively.\nDuring an interval of reading the \"Git\u00e2\" on this occasion he told me the\nfollowing:\n\"In the early days when I was first married to Helen Read, I was writing on\na novel. She had no idea how interruptions affected me--nor did I realize\nmyself how acute anything of the kind could become. I was in the middle of\nan intricate plot. Helen, who out of the kindness of her heart was bringing\nme a present, opened the door of my study and came in more quietly than you\ndid. Before she could open her mouth to say a word, I began to scream and\npull at my hair. Rushing to an open window I tore the manuscript, on which\nI had been working so long, into fragments and threw them into the street.\nWhether she thought I had gone suddenly insane and intended to kill her,\nshe did not stop to say. When I looked around she had fled.\"\nFor a girl reared in an atmosphere of conventional respectability, as they\nwere in those days, it must have been an insight into bedlam. Once again he\nmade the remark:\n\"If Helen could see me now, I would seem natural to her. My next life is\napt to be a busy one, paying my debts to her and to others.\"\nIn view of all this, and of the flirtations he kept up on every side, she\nmust have had a tolerance and a patience seldom encountered.\nAfter Balzac and \"The Philosophy of Disenchantment\" and \"The Anatomy of\nNegation\" were off the press, novel after novel fell from his pen, and the\nnewspaper articles quoted previously were appearing. In \"A Transaction in\nHearts\" Mr. Saltus put some of his own experiences, but so changed that the\npublic could not connect him with the plot. His literary bark was launched\nand under full sail. He could touch the garment of Fame, and the texture\nwas soft and satisfying.\nOne of his novels was dedicated to E--R, his mother-in-law Emmaline Read.\nAnother to V. A. B. was to his friend Valentine (or Vally) Blacque. E--W\nwas to Miss Edith son, who later in life became the wife of Mr. Francis H.\nWellman, a genius in his own field. Shroeder and Lorillard Ronalds were\nremembered as well.\nDuring a summer abroad Mr. Saltus conceived the idea of writing \"Mary\nMagdalen.\" The circumstances connected with it are interesting. He was\ndining in the rooms of Lord Francis Hope one evening. Oscar Wilde was\nanother guest. After their liqueurs and cigars the latter sauntered about,\nlooking at some of the pictures he fancied. One representing Salome\nintrigued him more than a little. Beckoning to Mr. Saltus, he said:\n\"This picture calls me. I am going to write a classic--a play--'Salome.' It\nwill be my masterpiece.\"\nNear it was a small picture of the Magdalen.\n\"Do so,\" said Mr. Saltus, \"and I will write a book--'Mary Magdalen.' We\nwill pursue the wantons together.\"\nActing on the impulse, Mr. Saltus took rooms in Margaret Street, Cavendish\nSquare, where, within walking distance of the British Museum, he could\nstudy his background for the story.\nMornings spent in research, afternoons in writing, with a bite of dinner at\nPagani's in Great Portland Street, made up his days. There were\ninterruptions, to be sure. One of them was a girl named Maudie, who lived\nsomewhere in Peckham. She joined him now and again at dinner. Asked to\ndescribe her, he said he had forgotten even her last name, but remembered\nthat he had written of her, \"She had the disposition of a sun-dial.\" This\nmay have assisted to keep him in a good humor.\nMany years later Mr. Saltus took me to see the rooms he had occupied during\nthis time, with their queer old open fireplace, great four-poster bed,\ncanopied on all sides, and the old desk at which he had spent so many happy\nhours. Working hours were happy hours to him, always. He had a sentiment\nfor the place, and once when I was in London alone I stopped there, taking\nhis old rooms for a time, and visiting the landmarks associated with that\npart of his life. That I should do this touched him profoundly.\nDuring the writing of \"Mary Magdalen\" he met many interesting people. Among\nthem was Owen Meredith, then British Ambassador to France. In connection\nwith him a rather amusing incident occurred. Dining one evening at the\nhome of Lady B----, Mr. Saltus was vis-a-vis with Owen Meredith. In the\ncourse of the dinner the hostess gave the poet a novel, and asked him to\ntranslate an epigram on the fly-leaf which was written in Greek.\nLooking at it he said:\n\"My eyes are not what they once were. Give it to our young friend here,\"\nmeaning Mr. Saltus.\nThe passage that had stumped him stumped Mr. Saltus as well, but he refused\nto be caught. Glancing at it, he exclaimed:\n\"It is not fit to be translated in Lady B----'s presence.\"\nAt that both the rogues laughed.\nIn a monograph called \"Parnassians Personally Encountered,\" Mr. Saltus\ntells of this episode, as also of his meeting with other celebrities of the\nday. Of Oscar Wilde he saw a great deal. The rapid-firing battery of his\nwit, his epigrams, which gushing up as a geyser confused and astounded the\ncrowd, enchanted him. At the then popular Caf\u00e9 Royal in Regent Street,\nWilde and himself, with a few congenial men, spent many an evening.\nThere was much in the mental companionship of Mr. Saltus and Wilde which\nsharpened and stimulated each, making their conversation a battle-ground of\naphorisms and epigrams. According to Mr. Saltus, in spite of his abnormal\nlife, Wilde's conversation, barring its brilliancy, was as respectable and\nconventional as that of a greengrocer. Neglecting to laugh at a doubtful\njoke tossed off by one of his admirers, he was asked somewhat sarcastically\nif he were shocked.\n\"I have lost the ability to be shocked, but not the ability to be bored,\"\nwas the reply.\nVulgarity sickened him. Vice had to be perfumed, pagan, and private to\nintrigue him. His conversation was immaculate. Many incidents concerning\nWilde are given in Mr. Saltus' monograph, \"Oscar Wilde--An Idler's\nImpressions.\" They give a new slant on his many-sided personality. One\nepisode is especially illuminating.\nWith Mr. Saltus, Wilde was driving to his home in Chelsea on a bleak and\nbitter night. Upon alighting a man came up to them. He wore a short jacket\nwhich he opened. From neck to waist he was bare. At the sight Mr. Saltus\ngave him a gold piece, but Wilde, with entire simplicity, took off his own\ncoat and put it about the man. It was a lesson Mr. Saltus never forgot.\nCHAPTER IV\nThe next vital experience in Mr. Saltus' life was his divorce from Helen\nRead. Hopelessly unsuited to be the husband of any woman who expected to\nfind a normal, conventional and altogether rational being, his marriage\nwith her was doomed to failure from the first.\nFrom his rooms on Fifth Avenue, at a large Italian table of carved olive\nwood (the same table on which I am writing these lines), he turned out\nnovels like flapjacks, entertaining his acquaintances in the intervals.\nAmong the friends of the first Mrs. Saltus was a girl belonging to one of\nthe oldest and best families in the country. Spanish in colouring, high\nbred in features, a champion at sports and a belle at the balls, she was\nsufficiently attractive to arrest the attention of a connoisseur. Owing to\nher friendship with his wife, she saw a great deal of Mr. Saltus also.\nTheir acquaintance, however, had begun many years before, when as a youth\nin Germany he had met the girl and her family. Too young at that time to\nthink of marriage they had been semi-sweethearts.\nIt was only to be expected, then, that his side of the story was put\nforward with all the cleverness of a master of his craft, and what man, no\nmatter how much in the wrong, does not consider himself much abused? In\nthis case, he gained not only a sympathetic listener, but an ally.\nTea in his rooms perhaps,--a luncheon in some quiet and secluded restaurant\nto talk it over, and tongues began to wag. That wagging was more easily\nstarted than stopped. It gained momentum. Before it reached its height,\nMrs. Saltus brought an action for divorce, naming her one-time friend as\none of the co-respondents. Willing to agree to the divorce, provided the\nname of the girl was omitted, Mr. Saltus struck the first opposition of his\nlife. Bitter over her friend's \"taking ways\",--forgetting perhaps that\neven in court circles the American habit of souvenir hunting had become the\nfashion,--she may have thought a husband superior to a bit of stone from an\nhistoric ruin, or a piece of silver from a sanctuary. Possibly in those\ndays they were.\nMany years later, when asked by Mr. Saltus as a joke, what I would do, in\ncase some woman lured him from our fireside, I read him the account of a\nDenver woman, who, hearing that her husband was about to elope with his\ntypist, appeared at the office. She was on the lookout for bargains. Facing\nthe offenders she agreed to let them go in peace with her blessing, if the\ntypist would promise to provide her with a new hat. Hats were scarce and\nexpensive. Husbands, cheap and plentiful, were not much in exchange.\nCommenting on it the paper said, \"The woman who got the hat, was in luck.\"\nThis episode and the newspaper article about it occurring many years later,\nthere was nothing to suggest the idea to the first incumbent. Besides,\nbeing the daughter of a many times millionaire, she was probably well\nsupplied with hats.\nAt this time, Edgar Saltus was at the height of his fame. The newspapers\nreeked with the scandal. There were editions after editions in which his\nname appeared in large type. To protect the name of the alleged\nco-respondent Mr. Saltus fought tooth and nail. However much he had been at\nfault in his treatment of Helen Read, his intentions now were to be\nchivalrous in the extreme, to protect the girl who had been dragged into\nsuch a maelstrom.\nEvery witticism he had sent out was used against him. His amusing reply\n\"God\", spoken of previously, became a boomerang. Having once been asked\nwhat books had helped him most, he replied \"My own.\" From that joke a\ncolossus of conceit arose.\nThe history of that suit was so written up and down and then rewritten, as\nto be boring in the extreme. After a great deal of delay, of mud-throwing,\nand heart-breaking, the name of her one-time friend having been withdrawn,\nand all suggestion of indiscretion retracted, a divorce was given to Helen\nRead. She was a free woman again,--free to forget, if she could, the hectic\nexperience of marriage with a man fundamentally different from those who\nhad entered her life.\nAfter the divorce Mr. Saltus threw himself into his work. \"Mme. Sapphira\"\nwas the immediate result. Aimed at his first wife, in an attempt to\nvindicate himself,--with a thin plot, and written as it was with a purpose,\nit not only failed to interest, but reacted rather unpleasantly upon\nhimself. His object in writing it was too obvious.\nIt was his custom in those days to begin writing immediately after his\ncoffee in the morning. That alone constituted his breakfast,--a pot of\ncoffee and a large pitcher of milk, with a roll or two or a few thin slices\nof toast. Cream and sugar he detested. Accustomed to this breakfast during\nhis life abroad, it was a habit he never changed. The same breakfast in\nthe same proportions, was served to him until his last day.\nWriting continuously until about two p. m., he would stop for a bite, and\nthen go at it again until four. Hating routine and regularity above all\nthings, his copy alone was excepted. It was his habit to write a book in\nthe rough, jotting down the main facts and the dialogue. The next writing\nput it into readable form, and on this second he always worked the hardest,\ntransforming sentences into graceful transitions,--interjecting epigrams,\nwitticisms and clever dialogue, and penetrating the whole with his\npersonality. The third writing (and he never wrote a book less than three\ntimes) gave it its final coat of varnish. Burnishing the finished product\nwith untiring skill, it scintillated at last.\nPoetry came more easily to him than prose. He had to school himself at\nfirst to avoid falling into it. On his knees before the spirit of Flaubert,\nhe pruned and polished his work.\nAt four, it was his custom to go for a walk Never interested in\nsports,--walking only because he recognized the necessity for keeping\nhimself in physical trim, it was Spartan for him to do something he\ndisliked, and to keep on doing it. Pride kept him on the job. The \"Pocket\nApollo\" could not let himself go the way of least resistance. Shortly\nbefore this time his brother Frank, who, at the last, had become a physical\nwreck, had passed on. Outwardly this appeared to affect Mr. Saltus but\nlittle. In reality it touched the vital center of his hidden self. A\nphotograph of Frank Saltus on a Shetland pony, against which the child\nEdgar was leaning, hung in the latter's room forever after. The likeness\nbetween them is striking. It is the only picture extant of Frank as a\nchild.\nNot long after the divorce, and while he was still much in the limelight,\nMr. Saltus met at a dinner party a married woman,--a Mrs. A----. Well\nknown, wealthy, once divorced and the heroine of many romances, she took\none look at the \"Pocket Apollo\", and decided that she had met her fate.\nDuring this time Mr. Saltus had become engaged to Miss Elsie Smith, a\ntalented, charming and high-bred girl belonging to one of the oldest New\nYork families, and expecting to marry her the following year, he was not\nseeking an affair. Seeking or not the affair followed him, and was the\ncause, indirect but unmistakable, of the wrecking of what might have been a\nhappy life with his second wife. Quoting Mr. Saltus, it began in this way.\nThe day after the dinner, while serving tea in his rooms to his fianc\u00e9e, a\nknock came at the door. That was unprecedented. No one was better\nbarricaded against intrusion than he. Not only were lift men and bell boys\nwell paid, but instructed in a law more drastic than that of the Medes and\nPersians. It was to the effect, that the people he wanted to see he would\narrange to have reach him. Others who called,--no matter whom or what their\nerrand--were to be told that he was in conference with an Archbishop. If\nthey still persisted, they were to be told that he was dead.\nThis fancy of his continued throughout life, as attendants in the Arizona\nApartments must well remember. Nothing angered him more than infringement\nof these rules. Unless summoned, no servant--no matter what the\noccasion--dared to approach him.\nBy what guile, subterfuge or bribe Mrs. A---- had turned the trick, Mr.\nSaltus had forgotten. After repeated knocking he decided to go to the door,\nwhich he did, with hell-fire in his eyes, as his fianc\u00e9e stepped behind a\nportiere.\nDetermined to throttle the intruder he flung open the door. Cool and fresh\nas a gardenia Mrs. A---- walked in. It was an awkward moment. In that\ninstant he no doubt remembered some of the careless compliments of the\nnight before. Going up to him, Mrs. A---- looked into his eyes and said:--\n\"I love you, and I have come to tell you of it. Dine with me tonight.\"\nThat was more awkward still. Even his ingenuity was taxed. Kissing her\nhand, telling her that she had dragged him from the heroine of a novel so\nabruptly that he was not normal, and promising to dine with her that\nevening, he bowed her out. No one else could have managed it so cleverly.\nThe lady of the first part then reappearing he laughed. Telling her that\nhis promise to Mrs. A---- was the only way of sending her off, he sat down\nat once and wrote her a letter, saying that it would be impossible for him\nto dine with her after all. This he gave to his fianc\u00e9e, asking her to send\nit by a messenger on her way home.\nIt was well done. Knowing that his mail was bursting with letters from\nlove-sick women,--knowing also that no scrap-book, however large, could\nhold the letters, locks of hair and photographs, that poured in on him\ndaily, and accepting it as a part of a literary man's life,--she accepted\nthis as well. They laughed over the episode and brushed it aside.\nAs a matter of fact Mr. Saltus played fair. He did not go to dine, but as\nsoon as he was alone, he sent another note less formal than the first,\nasking Mrs. A---- to return the former note unopened, and saying that\nthough dinner was impossible, he would give himself the pleasure of calling\nafterward.\nThis he did, and it turned the scales of his life. Questioned next day by\nhis fianc\u00e9e as to whether or not he had changed his mind and gone to\ndinner, he denied it vigorously. After that both ladies were invited for\ntea, great care being taken, however, that they should never meet again.\nThe following summer Mrs. A---- with a party of friends went abroad. Mr.\nSaltus joined them, safe in the knowledge that his fianc\u00e9e was away with\nher family, where, being decidedly persona non grata, he could not be\nexpected to follow. The summer passed and again he joined Mrs. A---- and\nher friends in Cuba. Spring saw him in New York again. A year had elapsed,\nduring which he saw his fianc\u00e9e occasionally and Mrs. A---- often.\nFrom two letters written by Mrs. A----, which, used as book-marks, were\nfound between the leaves of an old novel after Mr. Saltus' death, a love\nthat counted no cost--passionate and paralyzing--oozes from the pages. \"How\ncould I live if you should cease to love me?\" was asked again and again.\nCease he did, however. There are those so constituted that they can drift\nout of an affair so gradually that it is over without any perceptible\ntransition. It was that way with Edgar Saltus. Mercurial to a degree,\neasily put off by something so slight no one else would have been\nsusceptible to it, when he was done--he was done. As he himself expressed\nit, he could not \"relight a burnt-out cigar.\"\nThat affair over, he remembered the ring he had given and the girl to whom\nhe was engaged. In spite of living in a social world poles apart from Mrs.\nA----, and in spite of absence and travel, rumors of the affair had\nfiltered to his fianc\u00e9e. Straightforward herself, scorning subterfuge as\nweakness, she asked him to tell her the truth. With righteous indignation\nMr. Saltus denied it in toto, declaring it was an invention intended to\ndiscredit him in her eyes. It was in this that he made the mistake of his\nlife.\nTalking it over with me years afterward, he admitted that had he told her\nthe truth, loving him as she did, she would probably in the end have\nforgiven him. It was the streak of fear--fear of a moment's unpleasantness,\nwhich he might have faced then and there and surmounted--which was his\nundoing. Taking the easiest way for the time being, he reiterated his\ndenials.\nIn glancing over the scenario of Edgar Saltus' life, this act, at the\npinnacle of his popularity and fame, may in the region behind effects have\nset in motion forces which tore the peplum of popularity from him, and in\nspite of his genius pushed him into semi-obscurity at the last.\nHis denials accepted, and there being no reason for delay, he married Elsie\nSmith in Paris in 1895. It should have been a happy marriage, the two\nhaving sufficient in common and neither being in their first youth. Its\nrapid failure is therefore all the more pathetic.\nGoing from Paris to the south of France, the first mishap was that of\nbreaking his ankle. Unable to stand pain, Mr. Saltus fainted three times\nwhile it was being set. That rather disgusted his wife. This accident led\nto their first misunderstanding, when, in answering a telegram from Mrs.\nSaltus Sr., news of the accident was excluded. Unwilling to hear anything\nof an unpleasant nature himself, Mr. Saltus was equally unwilling to tell\nany one he loved of a disagreeable episode. The memory of his early life\nand training was at the bottom of this, and from one aspect it was a most\nlovable quality.\nAsked by Mr. Saltus why she had spoken of the accident, his wife replied\nthat she had but told the truth. At this Mr. Saltus flew into a rage,\ndeclaring, as he used to put in his copy, \"Truth must be pleasant, or else\nwithheld.\"\nThe incident was slight, but that which followed was not so. He being\nunable because of his ankle to get about freely, and wanting some\ncigarettes from a trunk, Mrs. Saltus volunteered to get them. She got the\nshock and surprise of her life as well. Carelessness over his personal\neffects was a characteristic of Mr. Saltus'. That carelessness was his\nundoing upon this occasion. Beside the cigarettes lay a letter from Mrs.\nA----. His wife read it. There and then she knew she had married him as the\nresult of a fabrication. A scene followed. Furious at his detection, Mr.\nSaltus upbraided her for reading a letter not intended for her eyes. It was\nthe beginning of the end.\nIn one of Mr. Saltus' note books is the copy of a letter sent to his wife\nshortly after the episode:\n     To be quite candid with you I cannot be candid. I\n     cannot write to you as I used to do. I no longer know\n     what you will keep to yourself, what you will repeat,\n     nor yet how you will distort my words. The flow of\n     confidence is checked. An artery has been severed....\n     If reading has given you any idea of what a battle is,\n     you will remember that in the excitement of danger men\n     may be shot and slashed and not notice their wounds\n     until the fight is at an end.\n     Not until I got here did I realize what you had done in\n     telling your mother you had married me under\n     compulsion. Then I discovered that during the fight\n     which I had entered single handed for your sake, I had\n     been shot--shot from behind, shot by you.\n     There has been a great change in the weather, from\n     being very hot it has become quite cool. I hope you are\n     well and enjoying yourself.\nThe letter speaks for itself. In the same note book are entries made during\nthe same time:--\n    Problem:--\"Which is harder; for a woman to live under\n    the same roof with a man whom she detests, or for a man\n    to live under the same roof with a woman who detests\n    \"Every day she invents some new way of being\n    disagreeable.\"\n    \"Love should have but one punishment for the\n    wrongdoer,--that is, forgiveness.\"\n    \"Injuries are writ in iron,--kindnesses scrawled in\n    sand.\"\nAgain November 13th.\n    \"Elsie having told me:--\n    1. That I can ask nothing of her.\n    2. That her affairs are no concern of mine.\n    3. That hereafter she will give no orders for me:\n    We lead separate lives,--but into my life I open\n    windows. Against her own she closes doors.\"\nOne cannot at this day know or judge the inner ethics of it all. Mr.\nSaltus' side only has been poured into my ears. One thing, however, is\ncertain. Mrs. Saltus, who suffered deeply at his hands, considered herself\nmore than justified in all that she did.\nThe fool blames others for the tragedies of life. The sage blames no one.\nHe knows that everything which happens is but the result of causes beyond\nhis control. He learns from suffering and defeat. With Epictetus he says\n\"We should wish things to be as they are.\"\nCHAPTER V\nReturning to the United States with his wife, Edgar Saltus took an\napartment in the Florence in East 18th street, where, on an upper floor,\nhis mother had lived for some time. Though their relations were strained to\nthe breaking point, a link held them. Mrs. Saltus expected to become a\nmother in the autumn of 1897.\nIt was at this juncture that Mr. Saltus thought of journalism. His\npopularity as a novelist as well as his exchequer had dwindled. This was\ndirectly due to his divorce, the fighting of which had been expensive both\nin coin and character. Journalism held out a hand. A literary man should,\nhe believed, be able to tackle anything with his pen.\nThe New York Journal, as the American was then called, gave him his first\nassignment. It was to go to Sing Sing prison and, seeing a murderer\nelectrocuted, write it up from his unique angle. That, for a man who could\nnot hear about a cut finger without shuddering! It might have been a\nknock-out the first day. All night he fought with himself. To refuse the\nfirst assignment meant having the door of journalism shut in his face. To\ngo and faint at the sight, might mean worse.\nWith characteristic ingenuity he mapped out a plan. \"Go to Sing Sing\nprison? With pleasure.\" Imagination being one of his greatest assets, he\nsat up all night picturing and then writing the scene, taking a new slant\non it, peppering his copy with witticism and metaphors; and the work was\ndone. One might suppose he had supped on electrocutions.\nStuffing the copy in his pocket he went,--went to the death house, and in\nspite of his trembling legs, went with the officials near the chair itself.\nThen he closed his eyes. Next morning his article appeared, the editor\ncomplimenting him; \"Edgar Saltus only could have seen so much in so\nlittle,\" he said.\nThereafter he was launched as a journalist, writing Sunday specials almost\ncontinuously. With this, and with Collier's Weekly, for which he edited a\ncolumn called The Note Book, and a history which he was compiling for\nCollier's also, Mr. Saltus' working hours were ten out of the twenty-four,\nand his output greater than at any time since he had flowered into print.\nWorking continuously when indoors, taking his meals at the old Everett\nHouse, then on the upper corner of Union Square, he lived in a world of his\nown, accepting things as they were.\nWriting of him at that time Town Topics said:--\n\"Time deals gently with Edgar Saltus. In spite of his arduous literary\nlabours he is the same Edgar he was fifteen years ago. Slick, dark, jaunty.\nHe has not taken on flesh and preserves the slim youthful shape of years\nago. Tripping up the Avenue a day or two ago in his new straw hat and blue\nserge suit it was hard to believe that he was not a summer man of this\nyear's vintage. How does he do it? Concerning his work a pretty woman once\nsaid to him, 'Mr. Saltus, I never know what construction to put on your\nbooks.' 'Put the worst,' was the author's reply.\"\nThe following summers he spent with his mother at Narragansett Pier. Second\nonly to Newport in that day, it was a most fashionable resort. Smartness\nand beauty vied with each other not only in Sherry's Casino but in the\nlarge hotels which no longer exist. The smart set absent from Newport were\nto be found at the Pier. Bar Harbor excepted, there was no where else to go\nand swim--in the swim.\nAt this epoch, in addition to his fame as a novelist and journalist, Mr.\nSaltus added that of being a Don Juan and a Casanova rolled into one, with\na bit thrown in for good measure. They paled beside the reputation\nenveloping him. A whisper followed his footsteps. It was to the effect that\nnot only had his first wife been glad to escape with her life but that his\nsecond was but waiting the psychological moment to follow suit.\nYoung girls were warned against being seen with him. Elder women had to be\nrestrained from flinging themselves in his way. When he appeared in the\nCasino, he at once became the center of interest. This was understandable,\nfor he was startlingly handsome. A few years over forty,--his thick black\nhair parted in the center,--his chiselled features emphasized by the tilt\nof his head,--his small moustache twisted to a hair,--he gazed upon the\nworld through eyes of pansy purple, which, while contemptuous, were\nsaddened by all that he had suppressed in silence. Slight, scrupulously\nturned out, a walking stick always in his hand, he stood in relief against\nthe other men at the Pier--an Olympian in a world of mortals.\nA connection of my family,--a childhood playmate of my cousins, and a\ncompanion in youth of my eldest half-brother, Mr. Saltus was hurled into my\nlife by a huge wave. We were in bathing at the time.\nSpending that summer at Narragansett with my brother, happy in the vacation\nfrom school, where I misused the time for practicing music in scribbling, I\nimagined myself an embryonic Ouida. In the circumstances a Ouidaesque hero\nseemed worth bothering with.\n\"Here, Edgar,\"--my brother caught Mr. Saltus by the arm--\"disabuse this kid\nof the idea that she can learn to write.\"\nMr. Saltus turned, but a wave was quicker. It took him like a top, spinning\nhim around and around, depositing him finally at my feet. He attempted to\nrise. The undertow thought otherwise. With his accustomed facetious\nflattery, he asked:\n\"What do I get for lying at the feet of a child?\"\n\"A kick,\" was the reply, action following the words.\nOur introduction was effected. Going up on the beach we sat down on the\nsand. It was a brilliant July morning.\n\"So you think you would like to write, Bambina? Don't. Take fatherly\nadvice. A woman's sole duty in life is to charm and do nothing. Only old\nscoundrels like myself should work. Behold the result.\"\n\"You were badly brought up,\" he was told.\n\"How would you have tackled the job?\" he inquired.\n\"Taking you down would have suited me much better.\"\nThat amused him. He laughed.\n\"Of course. It is only from babes like you that age learns now-a-days. How\nis it that you are the one of your family I meet last?\" He hesitated.\n\"No--not last,--for I seem always to have remembered you. Long ago you\nclosed a door and left me in darkness. Now you open it again and smile. You\nshould never do anything but smile,--and yet you have--oh, I don't know\nwhat! You take me back to Rome--back and back through lives and lives--if\nsuch were true.\"\nI hastened to reassure him.\n\"Such things are true, surely. From the time I was able to think at all, I\nremembered many events from former lives. I have no recollection of knowing\nyou, however.\"\n\"But you believe that you lived before? I'll tell you what I have never\nmentioned to any one. From an agnostic it would not ring true. If I have\nwritten anything which will live it is 'Imperial Purple.' The reason is\nsimple. If there is anything in your theory at all, I lived in Rome. I was\nan eye-witness of the killing of C\u00e6sar. The story of it ran off my pen.\nText books were needless. I wrote as I remembered, and truth penetrates.\nLater I tried to write of Greece, and failed. It was mechanical. There was\nno subconscious memory to help me. A pretty theory,--that is all. When a\nbee dies it ceases to hum.\"\nJoining my brother and myself Mr. Saltus lunched at the Casino. Later in\nthe afternoon, overtaking us on the road with his bicycle, he joined us\nagain. So satisfied and overbearing was his exterior, so arrogant his\nveneer, that it was with difficulty one could penetrate it and see the\nover-indulged and pampered little boy, full of fun and longing to\nplay,--sympathetic and full of sentiment, hiding the best beneath the\nworst,--fearful of being misunderstood,--of being his real self. Coming\nface to face with a little girl more pampered and self-willed even than\nhimself gave him a shock.\nThat evening, a woman friend of my brother's making a fourth, we were Mr.\nSaltus' guests for dinner at the Casino. In those days Sherry's old Casino\nwas a fairyland of fashion, beauty and smartness. It presented a brilliant\nscene at that moment.\nIn faultless evening clothes, his dark colouring emphasized by the expanse\nof shirt front, Mr. Saltus looked what he may have been,--an Oriental,\ntrying to adapt himself to a foreign environment. He was, on the contrary,\nsilhouetted against it.\nDinner over, my brother took his friend to watch the dancing. We were\nsupposed to follow. At Mr. Saltus' suggestion, however, we turned and went\nto the upper turret of the Casino. From there we stood and looked down upon\nthe panorama below. It was an interesting sight. At tables shaded by\nimmense coloured umbrellas made visible by multiple electric lights, the\nmurmur of well turned out men, talking to beautiful women, rose like the\nhum of bees.\nThe orchestra, which was unusually fine, muted their violins with the\nplaintive strains of the Liebestod. Mr. Saltus could not tell one note from\nanother, nor could he play on any musical instrument, but he had an ear as\nsensitive to the slightest discord as a composer's. The Liebestod spoke a\nlanguage he understood. That language was mine also. It spoke even more\nclearly to me,--saturated as I had been with Wagner and the various motifs\nof his masterpieces since babyhood. Music moved me profoundly.\nWhen he turned at last, it was to see tears in my eyes. He said nothing.\nThere is that in silence which is more forceful than words. That also was\na language he understood. The orchestra ceased. The hum began again, but\nfrom a far distant ball-room there filtered the faint but unmistakable\nnotes of \"Love's Dream After the Ball.\" July twilights are long. Still\nsilent, we watched a sky of coral and jade melt into a night spattered with\nstars.\nA school girl, with little knowledge of men save that gleaned from Scott\nand Ouida, it was no wonder that at his first words I had the surprise of\nmy life.\nIn true Ouidaesque style Mr. Saltus took a fold of my gown in his hand,\ndropped to his knees, and kissing it said:--\n\"All my life I have been a rudderless ship seeking harbour. Now I am home.\nI come a weary and sinful pilgrim to knock at the portals of paradise.\"\nIndignant in the belief that I was considered too young to be treated as an\nequal,--regarding him, in spite of his extreme beauty, as too old to be\nthinking seriously about the future, I received his words with a blaze of\nanger. A hasty and dignified exit was called for. That, however, was not\neasy to make. His back against the gate, Mr. Saltus went on talking. He\nsaid a great deal and he said it well.\nOnly that morning a woman sitting on the veranda of the hotel where we were\nstopping, had entertained the other old women who were knitting, with the\nrecital of Mr. Saltus' life and his misdeeds. One remark constantly\ninterjected had amused me:--\n\"He boasts that every novel he has written has been dug from a woman's\nheart.\"\nThis I threw at him like a bomb. He took it standing. He had to stand to\ncontrol the gate which was the sole exit from the turret. Thereupon, and in\nspite of my efforts to go, he told me the story of his life in brief,\npouring it out as rapidly as he could, admitting his mistakes and wrong\ndoing,--confessing three-fold the iniquities which had been put to his\ndiscredit by the public. Carrying it up to date, he admitted that though he\nwas under the same roof with his wife, he was not living with her, and\nthat he wanted to be free to start life over again.\n\"You are so young, I can almost bring you up,\" he said.\n\"Bring me up, indeed!\" I exclaimed. \"You will dig no experience out of my\nheart. The shadow of your personality shall never cloud my life.\" That\nseemed such a fine phrase at the time. Still indignant and fearful of being\nconsidered an ignorant child, I became silent. That was the way a Ouida\nheroine should act.\nDisregarding both my silence and my resentment, Mr. Saltus went on\ntalking:--\n\"I don't like your name. It means sorrow, and every Marie who has\nencountered the Saltus family has suffered from it. You shall be the\nexception. I will use the name you invented when as a baby you tried to\npronounce it,--Mowgy. That is your name, and being such a pert little puss\nI will add that for good measure,--Mowgy-Puss. Now what animal will you\nattach to me?\"\nWhile speaking, Mr. Saltus had released his hold on the gate. He was\nanxious to know what animal I would assign to him. Afterward he confessed\nthat he had expected me to say a lion. That would have pleased him too\nwell. Distracting his attention from the exit, I moved nearer to it.\nAnswering \"A skunk!\" I emphasized it with a sudden bolt through the gate\nand rushed down stairs to the Casino.\nAn avalanche overwhelmed us there. Our absence having become prolonged, my\nbrother, with Archibald Clavering Gunter, who warned him of my danger with\nevery step, had searched not only the Casino but the sands. There was a\nheated scene. The friendship of years snapped like a wish-bone, and I was\ndragged back to the hotel.\nThere it might have ended,--would probably have ended, and the biography of\nEdgar Saltus have fallen into other hands than mine to write, but\nwell-intentioned friends and relatives assisted things so super-abundantly,\nthat what might have died a natural death took on new life and flourished.\nForbidden to speak to Mr. Saltus under penalty of being sent home to my\nfather, it became at once an interesting romance. The following morning\nthere was not a dowager in the hotel unacquainted with my misdeed, and none\nomitted to add their warning and advice. Hearing of the adventure, and that\nI was taking a land-slide to perdition and was hell-bent, friends called to\nwarn and save me. Dear old Gunter with genuine kindness of heart came also.\n\"I am a very busy man just now,\" he said, \"but if you are determined to\nlearn how to write, and will wait till I get this novel off my mind, I will\ntake you in hand and see what I can make of you.\"\nEveryone did their duty. The only one not offering advice was the hotel\ncat. Not permitted for a moment to leave my brother's side I seemed safe\nand secure. It was all in the seeming, for Mr. Saltus was a very ingenious\nman. The early afternoon papers from New York used to reach the Pier about\nthree, boys taking them to all the hotels on the front. One stopped at\nours. We were sitting on the veranda at the time, my brother buying a paper\nas usual. With a knowing wink the newsboy shoved another into my hand.\nWhile every one else was reading I unfolded it. A note from Mr. Saltus fell\nout. It suggested that after I was supposed to be in bed that evening, I\nslip out, go down a back staircase and meet the writer at a place on the\nbeach he designated. It was urgent. It was more. It suggested that if I did\nnot appear he would drink himself into delirium, and then come to the hotel\nand have it out with my brother.\nYouth is credulous. I met him at the place suggested. After that the\nnewsboy served as a postman. Letters came and went. There was a thrill in\ndoing it under their noses. It came out at last, however. I was returned to\nmy father minus a character and the family warned to watch me very closely.\nSo fate went on weaving its web, and the karmic links of anterior lives\nreached out, binding our destiny.\nCHAPTER VI\nAutumn came, and the paw of the tiger that destiny is, reached out. It was\na paw of velvet, however. I was called to the telephone one afternoon to\nspeak to my violin teacher. Such a call was not unexpected. It had all been\narranged beforehand, and it was Mr. Saltus saying \"Hello!\" None of the\nfamily had seen my violin teacher or heard his voice. All they knew was\nthat I practiced many hours a day. The arrangement worked to perfection. If\nI went off for my lessons a little earlier than necessary, it was\nunnoticed. The bicycle was useful also, being considered a healthful and\nneeded exercise. I was encouraged to ride every afternoon, and Mr. Saltus\nand I would meet on the Riverside for a chat.\nBarring his little daughter, Elsie, of whom Mr. Saltus was exceedingly\nfond, he made no mention of his family life, nor did I. This was in\npre-flapper days. The world was very old-fashioned. Bachelor girls and the\nrights of the individual were not talked about, or even thought of. Strange\nas it may seem in this emancipated era, any friendship between a married\nman and a young girl was looked upon not only as disgraceful, but\nimpossible.\nWe talked it over. Realizing that while he remained under the roof with his\nwife, he owed her more than he could ever pay, realizing too that any\nindiscretion of mine must react upon a greatly beloved father, I closed the\nepisode--or thought I had.\nWithin a few days after this Mrs. Francis Henry Saltus, Mr. Saltus' mother,\ncalled and invited me to tea at her home. There, at least, one would be\nfree from censure. Other invitations followed and were accepted.\nIf there was a being on earth whom Mr. Saltus truly loved it was his\nmother. His deference to her and his solicitude for her were beautiful. It\nwould have been tragic otherwise, considering how her entire life had been\ndevoted to him. He was her little boy even then,--naughty, perhaps, but her\nidol. As a matter of fact his mother understood him as little as others\ndid. Love, however, is somewhat psychic. She never took his atheism\nseriously. Many a time she would interrupt some of his remarks to say:--\n\"This is not the real Edgar. It may take time, but he will come out of it\nall at the last.\"\nMr. Saltus often referred to this when, as she predicted, he did \"come out\nof it.\"\nSo frequently was I a guest in his mother's drawing-room that it was\ndifficult for my family to debar Mr. Saltus from our home. His interest in\nmy father's library being accepted as evidence of his fitness, he was\npermitted to call. Better, they thought, for me to receive him under their\nroof than meet in secret, where unpleasant construction might be put upon\nit.\nLike the proverbial camel, his nose once safely in the tent of the enemy,\nthe rest followed. He was accepted as a friend of the family.\nNo one could enjoy a joke more readily than Mr. Saltus' mother.\nQuick-witted, clever at repartee, she was delighted when any one had the\ntemerity to brave her son and give him back tit for tat. While I was having\ntea with them one afternoon Mr. Saltus outlined what he thought should be\nmy study for the next few months, ending with the remark that a slip of a\ngirl did not know what was good for her.\nUnhesitatingly came the reply--\"A slip will not be instructed by a snip.\"\nMr. Saltus was slightly undersized for a man. The remark rather hurt him,\nbut his mother burst into a laugh. From that day until his death he was\nSnipps or Snippsy to me always. So fond did he become of the name that he\nused it almost entirely when writing or speaking of himself. Upon\noccasions, when annoyed at something he did I used the name of Edgar, he\nwas hurt and indignant and could not be himself again until the other name\nwas restored. Adopting from me a child language I always used with my pets\nhe would say:--\n\"I be a good Snipps! (imitating a dog begging); I'm old dog Tray--ever\nfaithful.\"\n\"Associating with a child has put you back where you belong,\" his mother\nonce said to him. \"You are nothing but a bad little boy, grown up.\"\nStrangely enough, it was not so much a romantic attachment as fundamental\nqualities in common, that made possible the bond between a young girl and a\nmiddle-aged man. In meeting a temperament like his own, but in exaggerated\nform, it meant not only a common language, but an uncommon thing on his\npart,--that of revealing to himself his high-strung nervous excitability\nand absent-mindedness in the mirror of those qualities in another. In\nattempting to soothe the nerves of another, he forgot his own. In\nremembering to pick up handkerchiefs, gloves and purses, dropped under\nchairs and tables and forgotten, he gradually began to look after and take\ncare of another even more helpless in that respect than himself.\nWith a girl, never popular at school, because of her desire for silence\nand solitude, having more interest in reading than in games, he felt\nhimself to be absolutely at home. As I was looked upon as abnormal and\nunnatural even by my family, the understanding and sympathy of such a\nbrilliant man, with a wealth of information on every subject under heaven\nat his finger-tips, turned him into my Alma Mater.\nAbout this time an incident occurred which was not only characteristic of\nMr. Saltus' weakest side, but so far-reaching in its effects that no\nbiography would be complete without it.\nAdmiring letters from women were his daily diet. As a rule he ignored them.\nAt one time I started to make a scrap-book of them for him, calling it The\nDollymops Daily. When a week or so would go by without bringing in a fresh\nbatch of them, Mr. Saltus was told that his stock was going down and that\nhe should have a care to his moustache.\nAmong these letters was one from England, from a Dorothy S----. With it was\nthe photograph of a high-bred and pretty girl. Her letter was different\nfrom the average one. Mr. Saltus answered it, and a correspondence began\nbetween them. Knowing of him only through his stories and articles in the\nnewspapers, in ignorance that he was not only a married man but a father as\nwell, she assumed that he was neither, and she wrote him to the effect that\nshe was sure he was her affinity, and all the rest of it.\nThat was the time to have eased off, but Mr. Saltus did not. Her letters\ninterested him. She was too far away to cause him inconvenience, for the\nmoment at least, and material for stories might result.\nAnswering again he brushed aside the possibility of future unpleasantness,\nand sent her an inexpensive ring. The girl took this very seriously.\nReplying to his vague compliments, she formally accepted him and sent him a\nring in return, which he brought up to me as a joke.\nVainly was he blackjacked and scarified by me in her behalf. The affair\namused him. Having let her assume that he was an unmarried man, he would\nnot face the momentary unpleasantness of writing her the truth and putting\nthe matter straight, at the price of a little humiliation.\nHorrified, however, at the way she had taken it, and fearing possible\nresults, he wrote to her saying that he was en route to South America on an\nassignment for a newspaper, and hoped it would end there. Far from it.\nAfter several unanswered letters, the girl's mother, having ascertained in\nsome way that he was still in New York, sent him a note by registered mail\ntelling him that her daughter, always delicate, had gone utterly to pieces\nover his silence, and asking the reason of it.\nThe more involved it became the less inclined was Mr. Saltus to face it,\nconfess the truth and admit that he had replied for amusement only. No\namount of hammering at him could make him realize that he was playing with\nthe affections of a human being who might suffer in consequence. It had\nbeen only a diversion to him. He could not see why it should not be the\nsame to her. Weeks passed. Another letter from the mother saying that the\ngirl had gone into rapid tuberculosis and was in the south of France, again\nurged him to write her. This last appeal sent Mr. Saltus almost into a fit.\n\"For God's sake tell the truth and have it over with,\" he was urged again\nand again. It seemed to be beyond him. What he had begun only as an\namusement, without a thought of harm, had developed into a monster waiting\nto devour him.\nWhen he finally answered the letter it was to say that he was in the\nbankruptcy court, utterly penniless, and, in the circumstances, thought it\nbest to drop out of her life.\n\"Now,\" he said, \"they will not think me worth following up.\"\nAfter that the letters ceased and he heard nothing more, and it was several\nyears before the d\u00e9nouement occurred.\nOn the heels of this episode came a crushing grief. Mrs. Francis Henry\nSaltus, Mr. Saltus' mother, died, very suddenly. The shock stunned him. It\ntook him into a realm hitherto unknown--even unthought of, and it was long\nbefore he could readjust himself to life.\nEven in his grief his strong strain of indifference to values, custom or\ncommon-sense kept to the fore. From the pot-pourri of his deep love for his\nmother, lack of attachment to material things, united with oriental\natavism--he insisted that the body of his mother be buried with all her\nlarge and valuable jewels upon it, as the Egyptians surrounded the Ka with\nall the trappings and trifles of life.\nThere is no danger in giving out this fact. The exact spot where Mrs.\nSaltus is buried (unmarked by a stone, for Mr. Saltus did not believe in\nsuch things) is known only to myself and to the cemetery authorities. It is\nsome little distance from the cemetery in which the ashes of her son now\nrest. Unfortunate it is, that one he loved so deeply could not have been\nburied in the same plot.\nFrom the shock of this death Mr. Saltus' health went to pieces, and the\nfollowing spring saw him off to Europe. I was abroad also that year, but in\nanother part of the continent, and it was months before we met again.\nOn this trip, however, Mr. Saltus made one of the few acquaintances\ndestined to last until the end of his life. Among those at the Captain's\ntable, and seated next to him, was a Miss G----. Young, beautiful, and\nbelonging to one of the best families from whom Ambassadors had been\nchosen, nimble of tongue and optimistic of spirit, she did much to drag him\nfrom the extreme depression into which he had been submerged by his\nmother's passing.\nSpiritual, unselfish, always thinking and doing for others, she represented\na type of woman never encountered by him before. She saw the best in him\nand ignored the worst. To penetrate the depths of his depression, finding\nan agnostic hard soil to saturate, she finally persuaded him to go and\nconsult a medium. With the open mind which Mr. Saltus always had, he agreed\nto do so, and, upon his return to New York in the autumn, he sought out\nand went to a Margaret Stewart, a woman celebrated in her day as a\nremarkable psychic.\nWhat she told him was rather upsetting to the firm philosophy of his life.\nIt suggested possibilities. Not only did he receive a curiously\ncharacteristic message, purporting to come from his mother, but certain\nthings concerning his home life and his future were predicted. These\npredictions included myself, and were to the effect that Mr. Saltus would\nultimately be enabled to marry me and have his happiest years late in life.\nHe lost no time in rushing up to my home with this news.\nAssuming at first to \"pooh-pooh\" spiritualism as moonshine, his interest\nnevertheless increased. On the lookout for frauds, yet hoping as well to\nget something concrete to tie to, he went from medium to medium and from\ns\u00e9ance to s\u00e9ance. Critical, curious and cautious, unwilling to accept the\nphenomena presented, he was yet more unwilling to give up the quest.\nAfter months of experimenting along these lines, his decision, based on\nwhat he had both seen and heard, was that though the major part of it was\nfraudulent,--and the identity of the entity giving the message open to\nquestion,--there was proof, to his mind at least, of the persistence of\npersonality after death. That granted, a larger question presented itself.\nAccepting life to be continuous, the bee did not cease to hum as he had so\nlong affirmed. On the contrary,--the belief in reincarnation became almost\na necessity. The pros and cons of this subject with all its ramifications\nwere thrashed out. Mr. Saltus hated arguments. He would agree with any one\non any subject rather than expend the energy to controvert them. On this\nsubject, however, he reversed himself.\nReminding him of what he had told me about Rome, we talked it over from\nevery angle. It intrigued his imagination more than any subject on earth.\nIt was at this time that Mrs. Saltus and himself, having lived separate\nlives under one roof to little purpose, disagreed further. Mr. Saltus\nwanted her to divorce him. Thinking perhaps that she had suffered\nsufficiently at his hands and having had enough of matrimony, she had no\ndesire for the divorce or for further experiments. Besides, there was the\nlittle girl--Elsie.\nLoving her devotedly, although children in general bored and annoyed him\nbeyond expression, Mr. Saltus used to quote her childish prattle with\npride. A pussie cat became a 'puff-tat' because of her, and it was her tiny\nhands which until then had held them together.\nAn incident aggravating the estrangement caused Mrs. Saltus to take the\nlittle girl, and leave the apartment. Incidentally, she left his life\nforever. Nothing can be said to put Mr. Saltus in the right in this affair.\nThat wrong was not deliberate, however. He would not have harmed a hair of\nher head on purpose. It was the result of the one weak link in his\ncharacter. As a matter of fact Mrs. Saltus had been too indulgent and\nforgiving. These qualities, charming in themselves, gave a temperament\nsuch as his, an exaggerated latitude to develop the domineering and\nirritable nature inherent in him.\nThe wonder is not that Mrs. Saltus left him. It is that she remained so\nlong. They never lived under the same roof again. Deciding that the moment\nhad come to press his desire for divorce, Mr. Saltus followed,--found her\nand asked for it. His wife saw in it nothing desirable for her, and\nrefused. Possibly she did not need a new hat, or had not heard of the\nDenver woman's method of getting it. She had agreed to his many wishes for\nthe last time.\nMoving from the Florence, Mr. Saltus took what remained of the old Italian\nolive-wood furniture, belonging to his early home in Seventeenth Street,\nand his books, and took an apartment in the Park Madison, around the corner\nfrom the Manhattan Club. This club had been a semi-home to him for\nyears,--a general headquarters both to write in and to receive letters, and\nit offered quiet and good food as well.\nMoving on short notice, his belongings were tossed into the apartment any\nwhich way, to be put into order later,--a later which never arrived. With a\nfew books in book-cases and more piled in various corners of the\nliving-room, the latter semi-covered by draperies which were never put to\nuse again, and various pieces of clothing he did not need on top of this,\nhe started in to create a new atmosphere in which to work.\nThe apartment was small and his furniture was massive. The vital essential\nwas there however, for it faced the south and he had the sun all day.\nPermitting the maids only to make up his bed,--forbidding them under the\nmost direful threats to attempt any cleaning or dusting of the place, lest\nsome valuable paper or manuscript be lost or mislaid, he managed 'By the\ngrace of God,' as he himself expressed it, to get on somehow.\nThough only a step away from the Manhattan Club, few knew where he lived.\nIn later years, with the same desire to conceal his residence, lest some\none invade his privacy, he gave the Park Madison, 25 Madison Avenue, as his\naddress. The building had been torn down then, so he was safe in giving it,\nand no one but those he chose to tell had the faintest idea where he lived.\nDoor-men and bell boys of the Park Madison were bribed and threatened as\nbefore, never to let any one into his apartment or even to admit that he\nlived there. No hermit could have enjoyed better seclusion.\nCHAPTER VII\nThe material for \"Historia Amoris\" having been put into shape for use, Mr.\nSaltus began to study along a new line. Puzzled and confused as to what he\nreally believed, he agreed to study the sacred books of the East. None were\nomitted,--the Zend-Avesta, the Upanishads, the Vedas, the Mahabharata--with\nits jewel the Bhagavad-Git\u00e2,--the Egyptian Book of the Dead,--the Talmud\nand the Koran.\nBetween their leaves he found a new world. Thereafter he was forever\ndigging for jewels,--which when found dazzled him with their beauty. With\nthe enthusiasm Balboa may have felt at discovering an unknown ocean, Mr.\nSaltus went up the heights to the Garden of God, steeping himself in the\nperfume of occult and esoteric lore. Subconsciously, he had found food for\nhis soul.\nRushing uptown to my home he would explain as soon as admitted:\n\"I have unearthed a gem. Listen.\"\nThen the ideas and ideals of beauty I had so often put before him were\nhanded back to me. Seeing them in print had made them real and impersonal.\nThe Git\u00e2, which hitherto he had but dimly and imperfectly understood, after\nthat epitomized the double-distilled wisdom of the world to him.\nOne phrase from the Egyptian Book of the Dead moved him profoundly and made\nhim think along a new line. It referred to the soul in the Court of Amenti,\npleading for admission to the heaven world. \"I have not talked abundantly.\nI have not been anxious. I have harmed no heart. No one have I made weep.\"\nThe last phrase cut.\n\"Pre-suppose,\" he would say, \"that your dream of reincarnation is true. My\nGod! What a debt would confront me next life! I hope it is all a myth.\"\nIt was at this time that the effects of his careless letters to the English\ngirl came home with a shock. Rushing up to my house one evening, white and\nshaken with emotion, he said that a young man had called to see him at the\nManhattan Club, just as he was finishing dinner. After introducing himself\nas a brother of Dorothy S----, he told Mr. Saltus that the girl had, after\nhis last letter, gone into a decline and died. He himself was not only ill,\nbut in want, with a wife to take care of. After exhausting every effort to\nget employment in the States, he had reluctantly turned to the man he\nconsidered an enemy with a debt to pay.\nMr. Saltus was horrified. Put on the rack by me in no uncertain\nfashion,--realizing at last that what had been play to him had been a\ntragedy to another, he found that phrase from the Book of the Dead\nrepeating itself. Like an embodied thing it walked by his side during the\nday and sat on his pillow at night, whispering in his ear during the hours\nof darkness, \"Behold me! I am your work.\"\nNeedless to say that the brother and wife were looked after not alone by\nhim, but by my family as well. Scourged by the episode Mr. Saltus suffered\nkeenly. I suggested to him after a time, more or less with a view to lift\nhis mind from depression, that I would assist him in selecting and\ncondensing notes on the vital points of the sacred books of the East. Mr.\nSaltus decided that he could compress them into a single volume. \"The Lords\nof the Ghostland\" was created in the world of thought. The actual writing\nof it took a comparatively short time. The preparation and condensing of\nthe material spread over years.\nAmong Mr. Saltus' peculiarities was an almost prenatal fear of dogs. His\nmother had been terrified at them, and his childhood had been spent not\nonly without pets of any kind, but filled with fear of them. As he grew\nolder he became rather fond of cats, but the dog complex remained. Cats\ncould be patted, petted and put down. Dogs on the contrary growled, and had\nbeen known to bite,--it being somewhat uncertain whether they would do one\nor the other--or both.\nWhen taking his walks Mr. Saltus would go to the extreme edge of the\nsidewalk to avoid a dog, if happening to be alone he had no one to\ninterpose between him and it. Argument on the subject was useless. There\nwas but one way of reaching him effectively. This was to ignore his fears\nand act as though they did not exist.\nOur house was never without pets, nor were they confined to any particular\nspot. Drawing-room chairs were theirs or not as they fancied, and wagging\ntails greeted the incoming guests. No exception was made of Mr. Saltus, and\nno pet put aside to make place for a pampered human. When he came, he had\nto take things as he found them, pets included.\nWhen I was taking a dip into Eliphas Levi, the phrase \"Libertines love\ncats\" jumped from the page. The ammunition was too good to be lost. Every\ntime his fear of dogs cropped out, this quotation was hurled at him like a\nbomb. It did its work most effectively. Timidly and reluctantly at first,\nMr. Saltus began to make overtures. The dogs, with unerring instinct\nscenting his concealed antagonism, refused to be friends. That hurt more\nthan a little, but it helped. The substratum of his early training began to\ncrumble as his interest in animals and occultism increased.\nTaking a phrase from the Book of the Dead, Mr. Saltus decided on the\neuphonious title \"Lords of the Ghostland.\" The writing of that volume\nmarked his transition from materialism to the realization that there were\nhigher realms of thought as yet unexplored by him. The new book was\nbuilding up on the ruins.\nAt the time he began writing the book I went abroad.\nBelieving that upon his taking the initiative and seeking a divorce, Mrs.\nSaltus would strike back and secure it herself, Mr. Saltus brought a suit\nagainst her, asking at the same time for the custody of his little\ndaughter. This act being looked upon with disapproval by my family, and his\nfriendship as more dangerous than dynamite, the ocean was hailed as a\nsplendid moat between a skilled sheik and a young girl. It meant another\nsummer abroad for me.\nMr. Saltus was in a state of collapse and despair. He could neither work\nnor sit still.\n\"The anchor of my life is being torn up,\" he exclaimed. \"I cannot go on and\nlive.\"\nDuring the time which had elapsed since the summer in Narragansett Pier he\nhad drifted away a great deal from his old friends. Barring Miss G----,\nwith whom he dined every Sunday and saw frequently, Bob Davis, who was too\nbusy to give him much time, and James Huneker were his only friends. The\ninfluence of Miss G---- had done much to make Mr. Saltus' viewpoint on life\nhappier. She enjoyed the stimulus of his mind, and with unselfish kindness\nshe introduced him to those who could further his interests and made her\nhome a place where he could bring his mending and his difficulties. Her\natmosphere was one of peace, and he sorely needed it.\nThat atmosphere was lacking in my home. Tolerated only because he was\nregarded as less dangerous within than without, he was offered neither\nmeals nor mending. From me he received not peace but the sword, and that\nsharpened and thrust into vulnerable places. His copy was criticised, his\nviewpoint scorned, and his personality put under a searchlight that left\nhim seared and shaken.\nIn spite of all this the diet must have been full of vitamines, for he was\nloth to relinquish it. As he himself used to put it, \"Many of the prisoners\nreleased from the Bastile returned there of their own free will, so\nwretched were they in a world to which they had become unaccustomed.\"\nThe fact that I was really going abroad staggered him. Imitating a cat I\nhad at the time, he walked about the drawing-room exclaiming, \"Miaw! Wow!\nWow! Poor Snippsy goes crazy. Oh Wowsy wee! Wowsy wee!\" To be wowsy was the\nlast word of sadness in the vernacular of cats.\nHis suit for divorce failed. Mrs. Saltus, obviously aware of his motives,\nsaw no reason to fall in with them, and the attempt was not calculated to\nreflect credit on himself. The newspapers were none too kind. Any man who\ntries to divorce his wife is unpopular. Neither fish nor fowl, married nor\nfree, his position was an ambiguous one, calculated to involve others in\npossible complications. Friends were not backward in throwing the worst\nlight and the blackest possibilities upon the screen.\nThis was in 1903. In those old days children did not bring up their parents\nin the way they do now,--taking the center of the floor and holding forth\non their right to go to the devil in the way which pleases them best. Young\ngirls were supposed to skim lightly over the friendship of quasi-married\nmen. Extraordinary as it may seem in these days, it was not considered\nproper at all. That prejudice was shared by my family.\nComing to the house the evening before I sailed, so unnerved that he could\nnot speak for tears, Mr. Saltus put a sheet of paper in my hands. So\nunusual was it that the original is reproduced on the next page. It\nread:--\n     25 Madison Avenue.\n     In the event of my death I direct that Marie F. Giles\n     shall have full possession in, and power over, my\n     remains. I further direct that said remains be\n     cremated, and the ashes given to the said Marie F.\n     Giles.\n\"There,\" he said, \"I have written this in triplicate. One copy is in the\nTrust Company, and one in the hands of my attorney. It is like death--like\ndying rather, to have you where I cannot hear your voice. If I survive, it\nwill be because I am convinced that nothing but death can separate us. If I\ndie--swear that you will keep my ashes and have them buried with yours.\nHusbands may come and go--but I am an eternal part of you.\"\n[Illustration: Fac-simile of Document given to Marie Saltus]\nThe paper, combined with what he said, touched me profoundly. It seemed\nsuch a hopeless muddle. Only the belief that sorrow and adversity are the\nsoil in which the soul grows, offered consolation, and at the time even\nthat seemed meager. No one reaches the Land of Promise save on feet weary\nand blistered by scorching sand--for always it is surrounded by desert. In\nthat emptiness and silence the ego finds the strength, poise and power to\nendure. We are all taken into the desert at one time or another. That alone\nwhich matters is what we bring back.\nThe following day Mr. Saltus was among those who saw me off. That\nleave-taking brought him to a realization of the verities and the\nnon-essentials, as nothing else could have done. Letters followed like\nsea-gulls. They punctuated the days and haunted the nights.\n    My darling child:--(Mr. Saltus wrote)\n    It was so dear of you to have left for me a letter. To\n    have left two. I could have kissed the postman. You are\n    the sweetest child in the world. That is it, you see.\n    You have made me love you so that I am helpless and\n    hopeless without you. I am trying to be brave and work,\n    but no Puff-tat and all work is like death.... I do so\n    hope that you are happy though missing your Snipps a\n    little. You won't forget me--Mowgy? It would do for me\n    if you should. There have been days without\n    number--nights without end--when I would give everything\n    the world can offer for a touch of your blessed hand in\n    mine and for the sound of your angel voice, my darling.\n    God bless and keep you, little girl. Always I am waiting\n    and working for you. It must not be in vain.\n    All my love always. Your\n\"Lords of the Ghostland\" took on shape very slowly. Mr. Saltus seemed\nunable to focus his mind on anything. Well he knew that the relatives with\nwhom I was stopping abroad had lined up a lot of eligibles,--many of whom I\nalready knew. They ranged from an Italian Prince, with a time-worn title\nand a moth-eaten tumble-down palace, to an English millionaire of recent\nvintage. They were a job lot, accumulated to offset and counteract his\ninfluence. Anchored and handicapped by a wife and child and a reputation\nnone too immaculate, he saw his position with clarity, and he wrote:--\n    My own darling:--\n    There is no little Mowgy any more. No little Puff-tat to\n    miaw and to say 'Quicksy' when you wanted anything. I\n    say it now. For God's sake return quicksy or poor Snipps\n    goes under. I do so hope you are happy, but don't drink\n    champagne or dine alone with men. Remember that you are\n    only a child,--my child, and should anything separate us\n    it would be as if a bullet had been put through my head.\n    Should anything happen to me you need blame yourself\n    only for having made me love you so absolutely. Hell has\n    no more horrors than those in which I am groping now. If\n    I can only get the syndicate running properly and the\n    divorce. I have said I will yield everything but\n    alimony.\n    Then, dearest, we can go to London and take the little\n    house in Brook Street you told me of. I am ill,--too ill\n    to work any more. Don't let anything or anybody come\n    between us unless you want my death. Others can give\n    you everything--everything but understanding. Trust the\n    man to whom you are the center of the universe.\nCareful and painstaking in the writing of letters to editors and friends,\nMr. Saltus invariably wrote to me on a yellow copy pad and in pencil. In\ntwenty years the writing against the tinted background has become\nindistinct, but, poor as it is, a fac-simile of one of his letters will be\ngiven. The sheets on these pads were large, and as a rule his letters\ncovered ten or twelve of them. For the sake of brevity only the shortest\nare quoted, and these not in full.\nThese letters which poured in several at a time on every steamer, rose as a\nsmoke between the eligibles and himself, as he expected them to do. He\nseemed to need me so badly. Above and beyond every other sentiment he\ninspired was the desire not only to protect him from the outside\nworld--that was simple--but to protect him against the greater danger:\nhimself and his weaknesses.\nDisregarding the wishes and plans of those with whom I was stopping,\nNovember saw me on the Celtic en route for New York.\nThe following spring found things in statu quo. \"Lords of the Ghostland\"\nwas no nearer completion and Mr. Saltus as far from free as before. Another\nEuropean trip was arranged for me. I was to sail on the Celtic early in\nMay. Once again Mr. Saltus was disconsolate, and as before the \"wows\" and\nlamentations began. Toward the last however he appeared to accept it with a\ngreat deal of philosophy. Among the crowd of \"well wishers\" at the boat\nwith arms full of fruit, flowers, pillows and sweets, was Mr. Saltus. He\nhad said good-bye the night before with surprising calmness. The lessons of\nthe Git\u00e2 seemed to have been absorbed at last.\nBefore any of the others left the boat, he got up, made a gracious and\nformal farewell and went away. That was as it should be. Family and friends\nwere delighted to see him go.\nHalf an hour later, as the boat was making its way down the bay, from\nsomewhere behind my deck-chair a faint but unmistakable 'miaw' pierced the\nvibration of the propeller. I turned. Cap in one hand and steamer rug in\nthe other, there stood Mr. Saltus, smiling at my bewilderment.\n\"I am the cat who came back,\" he said laughing, \"and I am going to sit at\nyour side and purr for a whole blissful week, and the future can take care\nof itself.\"\nThough it carried conflict and confusion into the party with me, one cannot\nbe ejected from a ship for effrontery. The weather was perfect, the water\nlike glass, and the sunshine uninterrupted. Mr. Saltus was so carefree and\nhappy that he romped and played like a child. He would attempt to hide and\nthen jump out from an unexpected place. He pretended to lose my books and\nfind them in queer corners. He played hide-and-seek and would run up the\ncompanion-way like a boy, saying he was going to catch me by the ankles.\nUpon reaching London however he found himself de trop again. From the home\nof Lady C----, where I was stopping, to his hotel in Victoria Street one\ncould walk without fatigue. A taxi could make it in five minutes. With the\nexception however of a few formal dinners Mr. Saltus was not urged to\nconsider himself at home there. On the contrary, he was given to understand\nthat his presence was a decided embarrassment and that free from his\ninfluence I would probably annex one of the eligibles, who, outclassing\nhim, he was told, in name, money and position, were always pushed to the\nfore.\nAll this he knew, but what was more important, he knew me, and the others\ndid not. Hunting up his old rooms in Margaret Street, Cavendish Square, he\nre-engaged the suite he had occupied years before while writing \"Mary\nMagdalen.\" Announcing that he expected to remain all summer, he put in his\nmornings at the British Museum studying cuneiform.\nWhat Mr. Saltus did with his mornings did not concern Lady C---- in the\nleast. She was determined however that the balance of his time should be as\nharmless. Months before we had planned to spend our summer in Germany that\nyear. In order that he should not conflict with these arrangements, a\nfortnight later saw us all in Homburg. For reasons of finance Mr. Saltus\nwas unable to follow. He could write however, and he could send wires, and\nhe did both rather continuously. After one of the eligibles joined our\nparty he frequently wrote twice a day.\nIt was in Paris during the end of August, that he crossed our orbit again.\nWe were stopping at the Elys\u00e9e Palace Hotel, and he at the St. James and\nAlbany. I had advised him of our plans in time.\nHowever unwelcome he had been before, it was hospitality compared to the\nhostility he encountered then, when members of the Diplomatic Corps, King's\nMessengers and the younger sons of the nobility were welcomed. The absence\nof money and the existence of a wife combined to put him in the category\nof undesirable things. It was an unpleasant situation all around.\nTo thrash it out every day was too much of a fag. It was easier to say\nnothing and do as one pleased, and Paris is wonderfully adapted to teas and\nt\u00eate-\u00e0-'t\u00eates.\nThe autumn found me in London with Lady C---- again, and Mr. Saltus in his\nold rooms in Margaret Street once more. Sitting at the table where he had\nwritten \"Mary Magdalen\" he tried to work as before, but the Muse had fled.\nIt was during this time that he first met Mr. G. F. Monkshood, who, under\nthe name of Hatchard, embellished Piccadilly with a fascinating and unique\nbookshop. Monkshood it was who had brought out a small volume called \"Wit\nand Wisdom of Edgar Saltus.\" In it were compiled epigrams, phrases and\nquotations from all of his earlier books. The subtle compliment pleased Mr.\nSaltus very much. He had encountered so little appreciation. Mr. Monkshood\nand himself were congenial souls. In the funereal shelter of the Blenheim\nClub they drank and dined and devoured one another. Added to his other\naccomplishments, Mr. Monkshood was a poet. Verses written to \"The Lady of\nthe Opals\" and signed by himself have smiled for years from a scrap-book of\nmine.\nThe knowledge that he must return almost immediately to the States\nstupefied Mr. Saltus. He was like a man who had been sand-bagged. He could\nnot speak of it without breaking down, and yet he had not the means to live\nthere in idleness. He used to refer to this time as his crucifixion. We\nhave to suffer terribly before we can learn how not to suffer at all. That\nlesson from the Git\u00e2 we could see the beauty of and the necessity for, but\nwe had not acquired it then. On the fly-leaf of \"The Light of Asia\" Mr.\nSaltus had written, however, \"The swiftest beast to bear you to perfection\nis suffering.\"\nThe week before leaving was the hardest for him. He did not want to talk.\nHe could not, in fact. Riding on the tops of 'busses to the extreme limits\nof London in all directions was his only diversion. Time and again we spent\na whole afternoon on one in silence.\nIn the middle of September Mr. Saltus left for the States. When he finally\ngot on the boat train for Southampton he was like a man starting for\nSiberia for life. One thing alone comforted him. I agreed to leave Lady\nC---- in a few weeks and take over his old rooms in Margaret Street. It\nseemed to him that some emanations of his personality persisted there, and\nhe wanted to think of me in his old haunt.\nOnce more letters eight and ten pages long came on each steamer, and Mr.\nSaltus hated to write letters. Sometimes there were cables of over a\nhundred words. The hopelessness of it all was acute. From every angle it\nwas going around in circles and getting nowhere. One always returned to\nwhere one left off. Disgrace--even destruction lurking on one side: on the\nother, the necessity for cutting him out of my life like a cancer.\nUpon his return he wrote:--\n    My dear darling Mowgy:\n    It is like death,--like dying, rather, to be here\n    without you. I said it would be like prison, but it is\n    worse. The sky is as blue as your own dear eyes. The\n    weather is absolutely tropical. Were you here there\n    would be pleasure in mere existence. But you are not\n    here, my darling, and I seem to be able to be conscious\n    only of that,--only that my little girl is far, far\n    away. I have heart for nothing. Yesterday I passed the\n    Astoria, and at the knowledge that there was no chance\n    of seeing you there, tears came to my eyes. Never can I\n    enter the place until you return, and now when will that\n    be? I think you would agree to come very soon if you\n    could realize what all this means to me. From the time I\n    kissed you last up to this moment I have done nothing\n    but plan for your return. From that time up to now, not\n    for an instant have you been absent from my thoughts. It\n    is not merely that I love you, dear; I cannot live\n    without you. Do you remember you asked me what I\n    should do and how I should act were I to lose you? I\n    told you I did not know. But, dear, I know now. It is\n    not wholly for that reason that I want you back. It is\n    first because I am so anxious and worried about you;\n    second because I can do better for you here. Without you\n    it will be as though I were dying by inches. But with\n    you here I can work and I can win. I rather thought that\n    I should have a line from your mother, but there was\n    nothing. My father, by the way, who is here at the\n    Murray Hill Hotel, will not outlive the winter, or it\n    may be another month or two. Then, dear, in all the\n    world I shall have not a relative,--not a tie. There\n    will be only you. You alone, dear, whom I love alone in\n    all the world. Come to me on the Oceanic,--cable me that\n    you will and then not even death shall part us,\n[Illustration: Fac-simile of Letter sent to Marie Saltus]\nLetters like this poured in by every steamer. One did not know what to do\nor how to act. His pathetic words swam before my eyes and interposed\nbetween myself and the eligibles. In January Mr. Saltus fell ill--or said\nhe was ill. His letters and cables became incoherent. Then they ceased. A\nnote came to me from the physician who was attending him. In it he asked if\nI could tell him if Mr. Saltus had any relatives or friends who could be\ncalled upon. He painted a pathetic case. From his letter the delirium\ntremens looked up and leered.\nThe letter had its effect. Mr. Saltus followed it up with a cable saying\nthat he expected to die. That was too much. Advising my family from\nLiverpool of my intentions, and cabling him at the same time, I sailed.\nMr. Saltus met me at the pier. He was looking pale and thin, but in no\ndying condition. It was the old story over again. There was no unpacking of\ntrunks for me however. I was off again to Mexico City in a few weeks and he\nwas alone as before, to continue going around in circles which ended where\nthey began.\nCHAPTER VIII\nThere is nothing more delightful than travel, but roaming the world like a\nPeer Gynt is not the same thing. Amusing at first, it finally gets on the\nnerves,--and living in trunks for years is highly disorganizing. The\nletters which followed me to Mexico City from Mr. Saltus said that his\nfather was going downhill rapidly.\nNever close to his younger son in any sense, during his last days, however,\nFrancis Saltus turned to him more and more, relied on him and was comforted\nby his presence. While Mr. Saltus' letters threw out hints of coming to\nMexico, where he hoped the New York Journal would find some work for him to\ndo,--his father's unwillingness to have such a distance between them, and\nthe real necessity for his presence within telephone distance, put an end\nto that. Letters of introduction were sent by him, however, to his old\nfriend Eli Goddard, who was then living in Cordova, and to his\nbrother-in-law, Prince Poniatowski. Their visits to the home of my cousins\nwere duly recorded and sent to him, but they failed to keep him in a\ncheerful mood.\nHowever, the home,--the understanding, and the unselfish interest of Miss\nG---- did much to keep him from moods and melancholy. No woman Mr. Saltus\nknew up to that time was a more uplifting influence than she. Calm,\ndependable, her feet well on the earth, her emanations were sweet and\nsoothing. The occasions on which Mr. Saltus saw his young daughter were\nholidays to him. To take her to the Plaza Hotel for tea and a chat was\nenough to brighten an entire week for him.\nOf Bob Davis, Mr. Saltus saw quite a bit during this time. He is one of the\nfew men whom Mr. Saltus really loved.\n\"Bob,\" he used to say, \"is unique. There is no one like him. He stimulates\nme like champagne.\"\nMany were the lunches and dinners they had together. Mr. Davis was\nparticularly fond of apple pancakes. Whenever he came to the Manhattan Club\nthey were ordered for his especial benefit, and Mr. Saltus used to address\nhim when writing to him as \"Your Highness, The Duke of Apple-Pancake.\" He\nwas lunching with Bob Davis when one of his peculiarities crept out. A\nnumber of letters and telegrams were brought to him. Never by any chance\ndid Mr. Saltus open letters unless from the postmark or the handwriting he\ncould be sure from whom they had been sent. That was not all,--he had to be\nequally convinced that they contained no unpleasant news. Letters in\nunknown handwriting were consigned unopened to the trash basket. If he\nhappened to be in his rooms when sorting them, and one or more were in the\ndoubtful class, they were tossed into a bureau drawer to be considered\nlater. In this way he lost not only cheques but many interesting\ncommunications. People who wrote to him must have gone on wondering why no\nreply was ever forthcoming. They will know now.\nLetters from editors were unmistakable. They could be identified from their\nenvelopes. My writing, and that of his closest friends, he could take in at\na glance. Why take chances on the rest? What he did not know could not\nworry him. There was serenity in an unopened letter. Any unpleasantness in\na note, however slight it might be, upset him to such an extent that he\ncould not concentrate his mind or write a line of copy that day.\nOn the occasion of this luncheon with Bob Davis, Mr. Saltus took in his\nletters at a glance,--decided that there was nothing he cared to take a\nchance on, and picking them up unopened he tore the lot into fragments. In\ntelling of it he said:--\n\"Bob always thought I was a bit queer. Now he must be certain that I am\nquite mad.\"\nThis habit, instead of decreasing, grew with the years. He had a horror of\nopening letters of any kind for some time before he died,--the courage of\nyouth having left him. After his death, his daughter and I spent two\nafternoons going through one of his old trunks and some bureau drawers.\nHundreds of unopened letters, many with special delivery stamps on them,\nwere opened, read and destroyed by us. Several of them contained cheques\nyears old. It was incredible to his daughter that any one could have kept\nthem unopened during so many years. It was a fancy to which I had become\naccustomed. He had not kept them because he was interested in them. He had\nbeen too much occupied and too indifferent to destroy them.\nSpring came, and the summer followed. Quoting from a letter of his, Mr.\nSaltus wrote:\n     \"There is green on the trees and the joy of springtime,\n     but there is nothing in my heart but despair. When is\n     this nightmare to end? When you were in Margaret Street\n     I could picture you. I was a part of it all. Now it is\n     chaos. Letters from Mexico City, from Orizaba and\n     Cuernavaca, and the devil knows where, tell me that\n     you are surrounded by beauty,--the beauty of living\n     things. Colour you say is the consciousness of nature.\n     Only the consciousness of desolation and despair is\n     The rainy season is the time to leave Mexico. Joining a\n     party, among whom was a friend of Eli Goddard's, a very\n     charming Spaniard, and still moving on like the\n     Wandering Jew, I went north through Los Angeles and\n     Santa Barbara to San Francisco. Spaniards are very\n     gallant. In writing of this one I perhaps emphasized\n     him overmuch. Telegrams of worry and warning followed.\n     A fortnight after I reached the St. Francis Hotel a\n     wire from Mr. Saltus read:--\"My father died yesterday.\n     Leaving for San Francisco next week. Eternamente.\nA small inheritance from his father making finances less of a\npre-occupation, Mr. Saltus was free to go and come as he pleased. It was in\nJune when he appeared at the St. Francis Hotel. Even there the shadow\nfollowed. He was not welcomed by our little party. With an indifference\nand high-handedness almost amusing, Mr. Saltus turned not only the tables\nbut the chairs upon them. He treated them like dirt, refusing to dine and\nfinally even to speak to them. Between the lot I was like the Biblical baby\nwith two mothers, minus a Solomon in the background.\nAn amusing and characteristic episode happened when he had been there but a\nshort time. There was--and I believe is--a funny little restaurant in San\nFrancisco called Coppa's. It looked like a spoonful of old England dropped\nthere by mistake. Quaint mottoes, sketches and epigrams--the souvenirs of\nartistic and satisfied souls--decorated the walls. The Cheshire Cheese is\nsomething of a first cousin by comparison. Here, Jack London, Anna\nStrunsky, now Mrs. William English Walling, and other celebrities used to\ndine and linger. In that city of bohemian caf\u00e9s this little place stood\nalone.\nMr. Saltus hated restaurants. For some reason, the nearness of so many\npeople perhaps, they got on his nerves. In any event, restaurants put him\non edge to such an extent that he invariably quarrelled not only with the\nwaiters, but with those who were with him, if they objected to his manner\nof carrying on. For this reason, it was something of a penance to go into a\nrestaurant with him. To include him in a party going to Coppa's, one had\nfirst to proceed as follows:--\n\"If you go, will you be a good Snipps and not fight with the waiters?\"\n\"I'll be a good Snipps. I'll take what you tell me and be thankful.\"\n\"Will you wear your muzzle and not jerk at the lead?\"\n\"I'm old dog Tray--ever faithful.\"\n\"Old dog traitor--ever faithless you mean. I know your tricks, but come\nalong then.\"\nHe came. Coppa's was almost full, but by some turn of the tables we found\nourselves seated in the center of the room. That was enough to start Mr.\nSaltus off. Restaurants were bad enough at best, even in a secluded\ncorner. In the middle of a room of closely packed tables--? He began as\nusual.\n\"It's far too crowded. Mr. Me doesn't want to stay. Let's leave the others\nand go somewhere else.\"\nThe muzzle as well as the menu was ignored and forgotten. When Mr. Saltus\nbegan to growl it was preliminary only, but I knew the signs--knew, too,\nwhat might be expected to follow.\nAs he ceased speaking a sudden cramp took possession of my right foot, and\nmy exclamation of surprise distracted his attention for the moment. It was\nmy turn to growl. A low shoe was kicked off during the growling and the\nmeal began. All at once a sympathetic cramp in the other foot compelled his\nattention to be directed to me again while the remaining shoe was removed.\nIt may be mentioned in excuse that it was the fashion to wear ridiculously\nhigh and narrow shoes at the time.\nWe had gone as far as the soup, which Mr. Saltus was sipping mechanically.\nAs the meal progressed my difficulties did also. Try as I might, the\noffending shoes could not be forced on my feet again. Then the fun began.\nDistracted by it all, Mr. Saltus accepted chicken and salad unmurmuringly,\nin forgetfulness of his surroundings.\n\"You will have to sit here until every one goes or some one can fetch you a\nlarger pair of ties.\" This remark was from one of our conservative friends,\nand it met with the approval of the others. Mr. Saltus was becoming restive\nagain by this time.\n\"Not at all,\" I answered. \"It's unfortunate to be sure, but get up and go I\nshall in my stocking feet. There is no law making shoes obligatory,--and\nbesides, the people in this place are bohemians.\"\n\"All the more reason not to imitate them,\" was the reply.\nThat was enough to make the crowded little restaurant a most enchanting\nplace to Mr. Saltus. Tables and people became non-existent to him. I was\ngoing to defy the lot, and that delighted him to such an extent that good\nhumour covered him like a garment. He even smiled at the waiters. Any show\nof independence on my part, provided it did not conflict with him, was a\ntreat. Half rising in his seat he exclaimed:--\n\"Right you are, Mowgy. What the devil do you care for a pack of\nnincompoops?\"\nThe anguish of the others in the party at being seen leaving a restaurant\nwith a shoeless girl amused and delighted him. It could have been done\nquietly and unnoticed but for his love of a joke. Our friends were\nsufficiently horrified as it was, but for the d\u00e9nouement they were quite\nunprepared. Realizing their discomfiture and revelling in it, Mr. Saltus\nmade a dive under the table. That was not uncommon, for, knowing my habit\nof letting gloves, handkerchiefs and pocket-books fall from my lap\nunnoticed, he had trained himself to look. That was the old dog Tray, as he\ncalled himself. When he reappeared upon this occasion it was with the\noffending shoes held before him as a votive offering, and leading the\nprocession he carried them through the restaurant into the street. Queer\npeople with odd fancies were no novelty at Coppa's. This however was an\ninnovation. Some one started clapping, and with one accord the roomful of\npeople took it up. I was laughing, but our friends were scarlet with rage.\nWe hailed a passing taxi.\n\"What the devil do you care what people think?\" Mr. Saltus exclaimed.\n\"Sheep and swine follow, but you cannot make either of Mowgy,--thank God.\"\nAfter that pleasurable and ingratiating episode he was not tormented by\ninvitations from my friends. It was too bad that Anna Strunsky was not in\nthe restaurant that evening, for she would have been amused. We had the\npleasure of meeting her not long after this and were enchanted with her\ncleverness and charm.\nMr. Saltus' interest in spiritualism had flagged. Hearing that Miller, the\nmaterializing medium, was holding s\u00e9ances in San Francisco, he determined\nto go. This we did. Bold in a restaurant, or when he was crushed in a\ncrowd, where a blow from him frequently prefaced a word, he was a child\nwhen encountering phenomena of this kind. Sitting silent and almost sullen\nin a corner, he shrank within himself,--keen to see, hear and investigate,\nyet frightened as a baby in the dark. Miller seemed to affect him more than\nothers had done.\n\"I'm frightened,\" he said. \"If a spook should come and ask for me,--you\nanswer it.\"\nWith clenched and clammy hands he sat and shivered, and when a form\npurporting to be that of his mother appeared and gave the name of Eliza\nSaltus, he whispered to me:--\n\"Speak.\"\n\"Speak yourself,\" I said. \"I refuse to play the part of a phonograph all\nthe time. It is for you, not me, that the spirit is here.\"\nThe shimmering form came closer. It almost brushed Mr. Saltus' knee. He\nshut his eyes and reiterated imploringly:--\n\"Speak, Mowgy! For God's sake speak to it!\"\nThe shadowy form had held together as long perhaps as it could. The\nectoplasm may have given out or his condition of mind influenced it. In any\nevent the form flickered. With his eyes still closed Mr. Saltus clutched me\nby the arm:--\n\"Has it gone?\" he whispered.\nAs he spoke the form flickered again and went out. It was a long time\nbefore he wanted to go to a s\u00e9ance again.\nDuring his stay in San Francisco he was guest of honour at the Bohemian\nClub, and he met there many interesting people. A brief visit to\nCarmel-by-the-Sea brought his Californian trip to a close. The State\ninterested him. He liked the quiet,--the almost perpetual sunshine, and\nabove all, the absence of convention and the freedom enjoyed by everyone.\nIt was with regret that he left the sunshine and the silence to chafe under\nthe vibrations and noise of New York.\nOnce again pathetic letters raced across the continent. He had no home and\nno anchor. Mrs. Saltus and his daughter were living permanently abroad. His\nhours with the latter had been his oases in a desert of loneliness. Now,\nbarring Miss G----, Dr. Kelley and occasionally Bob Davis, he had almost no\nfriends. Upon reaching New York he finished a series of articles on Russia,\nfor Munsey's Magazine which later formed the basis of his \"Imperial Orgy.\"\nIn the late autumn the failing health of my father recalled me to New York.\nMr. Saltus was finishing the last chapter of \"Lords of the Ghostland.\" No\nother book he ever wrote was strung out over so long a time, or took so\nmany hours of research. He brought the manuscript to my home, returning the\nnext day for the praise and patting on the back he felt that he deserved.\n\"What do you think of it?\" he asked. The small boy always appeared at such\nmoments.\n\"The King of France and twice ten thousand men,--rode up a hill and then\nwent down again,\" was the reply.\n\"What do you mean? Is there no climax?\"\n\"Just that. You take the reader from protoplasm to paradise,--you lead him\nthrough labyrinths, mazes and mysteries, and leave him just where you\nstarted. If you cannot give the reader a ladder give him a straw,--but give\nhim something.\"\nWe are all tenacious with the children of our brain, Edgar Saltus\nespecially so, but in this instance he took the criticism willingly. That\nlast chapter he re-wrote four times, amplifying the idea of the continuity\nof life and the possibility of reincarnation, which he referred to as the\n\"supreme Alhambra of dream.\" What he offered then was not his belief, but a\ntheory and a suggestion. The last chapter curiously enough was the part of\nthe book receiving the highest praise from the critics, who with one accord\nsaid that he had struck a new and exalted note. A few years later he was\nwringing his hands because he could not re-write \"Lords of the Ghostland\"\nin the light of what he then knew. Over and over again he lamented this\nfact.\n\"If I had not been so pig-headed,--so dense. Having the chance to turn out\na masterpiece,--a thing that would have lived,--I passed it by. I saw only\nin a restricted circle, when had I but looked up, a limitless horizon of\nwonder and wisdom stretched before me.\"\nCHAPTER IX\nIn the spring of 1907, the death of my father left me a nervous and\nphysical wreck. Though never close friends, and knowing quite well of his\ndisapproval, Mr. Saltus admired his splendid intellect and broad vision.\nThere are those who make tragedies out of trifles, and others to whom most\nevents however important mean nothing at all. To the latter, when touched\nby an overwhelming grief, the world and everything in it become as shadows\non glass.\nBecause of his sensitiveness and his super-susceptibility to suffering, Mr.\nSaltus was sympathetic to a degree. He had begun to see the beauty of\nservice, and during that time he devoted himself to my family in every way\nthat he knew how.\nThe autumn found me in California again, a nervous wreck, and so ill with\nacute gastritis, that death seemed but hiding around the corner. With an\nelderly friend of the family I always addressed as Aunt, and whose\ninterests made it necessary for her to live in California for a time, we\nwent from place to place, settling for the winter in a bungalow at Coronado\nBeach. If one must die, why not peacefully and pleasantly in the sunshine?\nNovember brought Mr. Saltus to the Coronado Hotel. He had been mapping out\na plot for \"Daughters of the Rich.\" San Diego and Coronado enchanted him.\n\"My _next novel_ shall open here,\" he exclaimed.\nSo it did. The opening chapter of \"The Monster\" introduces the reader to\nthe Hotel del Coronado and the bay.\nThe bungalow occupied by us was none too large for two women and a maid. It\nhad however a large attic room. Mr. Saltus gave it one look, and, in his\nown words, \"miawed at the door and begged.\" It looked the background for a\nscribbler, with odd nooks and corners to hide manuscripts and curious old\ntables to write on. Once seen, nothing would do but he must have it. He\ndeclared that a djinn who lived there specialized in helping old scoundrels\nto scribble. I added that a horrible hourla lived there as well and that he\nmade a practice of changing men into horned toads. (Horned toads are\nplentiful in Coronado.)\nAll this made him very insistent. California had always appealed to Mr.\nSaltus. It offered a _special inducement_ then, for under the laws of the\nState a divorce could be secured for abandonment. He thought that a man not\nworth changing for a hat was not worth keeping at all, and after a year's\nresidence he could take the initiative in the matter,--hat or no hat. An\nattorney was consulted and retained. California was to be his home for a\nyear at least.\nIn the circumstances Mr. Saltus was very anxious to settle down. He had\nwandered so much, and he was tired of it. A few trunks in an apartment\nhotel cannot be called a home. His popularity as a novelist had waned.\nPublic opinion was against him, not only because of the publicity\nincidental to so many divorce suits, but because there had grown up and\naround him the belief that he was a free-thinker and lover, irritable and\nerratic,--a man who had few friends and a multitude of enemies.\nHowever little he let all this affect him on the surface, Mr. Saltus was\ntoo acutely sensitive not to feel it, and it cut deep. Like a wounded\nanimal seeking shelter, his one desire was to get as far away as he could\nfrom a world which, knowing but little of his real self, criticised and\ncondemned him. To come in contact only with the things of nature and of\nbeauty,--to live in the sunshine far from the haunts of men and the sordid\nstruggle of a great city, was to him the ideal.\nIn view of all this, and after much cajoling on his part, and his constant\nreiteration that for three females,--one old, one ill and one\nnegligible,--a handy man about the house was a necessity, he was accepted.\nThe prospect of Mr. Saltus being handy with anything but a pen or a knife\nand fork was remote. None the less, the attic shortly became his habitat,\nthe djinn and the hourla his familiar spirits, and the plot of \"The\nMonster\" began fermenting in his mind.\nIt was a new world to the man accustomed for years to the limelight of\npublicity, and the diversions of a metropolis, to live for months on a\nnarrow strip of sand, ministering to the wants of an elderly widow and an\ninvalid, who at best could walk only a short three minutes to the sands at\nthe ocean front, and spent most of her time resting in a hammock.\nIt must be said of him however that he came to the scratch with flying\ncolours. Unaccustomed as he had been in his youth to look upon anything\nother than \"Will it please me or will it not?\" he began to put in practice\none of life's most difficult lessons,--unselfishness. In his desire to\nserve another and quite unconscious of the result, he began to build up\nsome of the qualities in which he had been deficient so long. Having\nconstituted himself a handy man and old dog Tray, in a place where servants\nare scarce as rubies, he kept burning and replenished the fire in the\nliving-room. He also, in spite of the hours spent in using his eyes to\nwrite, would read aloud to the invalid whenever he was requested.\nStrangely enough he was extremely happy in doing these things. Although the\nHotel del Coronado was only a five minutes' walk from the bungalow it\noffered no attraction to him. Barring a daily dip in the ocean and the\noccasional necessity for going over to San Diego, he could not be persuaded\nto leave the grounds.\nWinter wore away, and with the approach of spring the invalid emerged from\nthe shadow of death; and old dog Tray remained at his post. Among Mr.\nSaltus' most marked characteristics were two fears,--that of losing his\nluggage and getting some contagious disease. In neither case could any\namount of reasoning touch him. The luggage complex put him to no end of\ninconvenience at times. When trunks could not be taken in a taxi, he\nfrequently insisted upon driving with the express-man to the railway\nstation. Then fear put out tentacles. Would the luggage be put on the\ntrain? If it was, would it be carried past its destination? Every railroad\njourney found him wandering like an earthbound spirit between his seat and\nthe luggage van. It was a form of obsession. Many a time he would greet me\nin the morning with the announcement:--\n\"I had a terrible nightmare last night. What do you suppose it was?\"\n\"That you had lost your trunks,\" was the first and usually the correct\nreply.\n\"Yes, I had lost them. They dematerialized and I was wandering through the\ntrain and express vans till I went mad. Then I awoke. It was awful.\"\nToward the end of his life, when Theosophy had done its work for him, and\nhe realized that all possessions are anchors and encumbrances, this fear\nbecame modified,--but he never quite overcame it. It was the same with\ndisease, or rather contagion. Having a horror of all forms of illness, he\nhad the subconscious idea that if there was anything to be caught he would\nbe in for it.\nWhen in his last days he was so desperately ill with gastritis, he looked\nupon it as karma striking him in the face for shrinking as he had from\nothers. Myself excepted, he rushed from people who were ill as from an\nearthquake.\nThis particular spring an epidemic of bubonic plague broke out in San\nFrancisco. It was supposed to have been carried there by rats from China.\nAs cats eat rats they also came under the ban of suspicion. The newspapers\ndripped with it. Mr. Saltus read them with horror. Ships from San Francisco\nmight dock at San Diego. He had more nightmares. Behind him as he sought\nhis lost luggage an army of rodents followed. There was no talking him out\nof it. The plague with all its attendant complications was hovering above\nus.\nCoronado has a large winter colony as well as permanent residents,--eastern\npeople who come in for the season and take houses. Their departure often\nmeans a number of homeless and discarded cats. Mr. Saltus was shocked by\nthe cruelty of this. One of the vagrants with particularly long whiskers\nand a piteous miaw I had nicknamed \"Jean Valjean.\" Where he slept was his\nown secret, but where he ate was usually out of my hand. When not referring\nto him by his name, Mr. Saltus called him \"the table boarder,\" and he\nconcerned himself not a little over Jean's well being.\nRumours of the bubonic plague changed that in an instant, and Jean became\novernight the dangerous carrier of the most deadly germs, unfit for the\nsociety of humans and to be driven from the door. It was too ridiculous for\nargument. To have yielded an inch to Mr. Saltus in such a thing would have\nforfeited my mental ascendency forever, an exceedingly bad thing for him in\nevery way. Had he been yielded to less during his formative years it would\nhave been a blessing both to himself and to others, and would have made\npossible a little yielding to him in later life. As it was, it was\nhazardous to give in, even if he had a certain amount of right on his side.\nWhen he had none, it was suicidal.\nLaughing at his fears, ridiculing the idea of poor Jean carrying the\nplague, and assuring him that demons and devils were particularly immune, I\nrefused to accept his hallucination about the cat. He was told to attend to\nhis work and his writing, and not interfere with the running of the house.\nDiplomacy was one of Mr. Saltus' strong points. He appeared to agree with\nme. Coming around the corner of the piazza the following afternoon however,\nwhen supposed to be on the sands, I was in time to see him with the hose in\nhis hand, the nozzle turned so as to send a straight and powerful stream of\nwater. This he was playing on Jean, who, terrified at such unlooked-for\nhostility in place of his usual plate of food, let out piteous howls and\nfled up a eucalyptus tree.\nHell has no fury like a woman defied. Dropping the hose when he saw me Mr.\nSaltus turned,--but he had no chance to escape or explain. Seizing the\nnozzle I let him have it full in the face, and as he ran I followed,\nsoaking him through and through till he got out of range. It was a tense\nmoment. Swearing and raging, he shook himself and fled to his attic room.\nWhen he emerged, an hour later, it was with suitcases in his hand.\n\"After treatment like this I am going to the Hotel del Coronado, and I will\nsend for my trunks. Never in my life have I been subjected to such an\nindignity. Here I am,--growing grey in your service and less than a stray\ncat in your eyes.\"\n\"Good-bye and good luck,\" I answered. \"If having led two unfortunate women\na devil's dance hasn't taught you anything you are hopeless. Had one of\nthem played a hose on you ages ago, I would not have been obliged to now.\nDon't come back for your trunks. I will send them.\"\nThat took him off his feet entirely. He had in mind a scene in which, after\nrepentance and apologies on my part, he would graciously consent to forgive\nme. Incidentally it would mean the banishment of Jean. Dismissed in that\nway, there was nothing for him to do but go. With a suitcase in either hand\nhe started for the hotel. Years later he told me that he had put his\nsuitcases on the sand, and sitting down on one of them, had taken stock of\nhimself. For the good part of two hours he sat there, till the sun dropping\nbehind Point Loma, and the chill which followed, reminded him of the\npassing of time. A man can do a great deal of thinking in two hours.\nMeanwhile, from the tiptop of the highest of trees poor Jean sent out\nfrantic appeals for help and rescue. However easy it is for cats to climb\ntrees, getting down is different. They have been known to starve to death\nin one. When dishes of dainties and fish failed to dislodge him more than\na limb or two lower, we realized that it was impossible for him to get\ndown, and the maid announced that the sun was setting and the rapidly\nvanishing twilight called for speed. The highest kind of an extension\nladder was borrowed and opened to its utmost capacity. It barely reached\nthe limb below the one to which the frightened cat clung. The slender\nladder, swaying somewhat more than was comfortable as one ascended, the\ntall tree and the dark combined, were not tempting. Several small boys\nstarted up very bravely but came down less so. Not one of them got half-way\nto the top, although I kept raising the price for valour till it reached\nfive dollars, and the terrified Jean increased his appeals for help. There\nseemed to be no alternative. Putting on my riding breeches I was starting\nup the ladder when a voice as pitiful as Jean's cracked the silence.\n\"My God, Mowgy, come off that ladder!\"\nMr. Saltus pushed me aside and started up. He had never been on a ladder\nbefore. With his teeth set and three women doing their best to steady it,\nhe finally got to the top, and by stretching his arm to the utmost caught\nJean by the tail, and dropped him--not, as he intended, into my arms, but\non the top of my head.\nThe episode was closed. The cat was saved, and by the following morning the\nbubonic scare _transformed_ itself into a comedy. Descending from the djinn\nand the hourla of the attic, Mr. Saltus greeted me with the following\nlimerick:--\n    On the sands where a blonde girl was stopping\n    To the rescue of Jean she came hopping,\n      Waved the hose in the air--\n      And said \"I don't care,\n    If I do get my Snippsikins sopping.\"\n\"There,\" he said, \"is an example of an anap\u00e6st. If a sprinkling can produce\nthis, next time I will turn out an entire poem. There's nothing like water,\nand plenty of it, to make genius grow. Give Jean a saucer of cream. No\nskimmed milk for this.\" Mr. Saltus laughed and resumed, \"You are the first\nfeminine thing to face me and put me to rout--My hat's off to you.\"\nI laughed at this, it seemed so ridiculous.\n\"Let me tell you a story,\" he went on. \"There was before your day a\nprize-fighter,--a powerful fellow,--six feet of brawn. He could knock\nanyone into a cocked hat in the first round. Even his friends were rather\nafraid of him. One day a delegation of them went to his house to suggest a\nnew fight. His wife was opposed to this. She wanted him to accompany her on\na vacation. It was she who met the friends at the door, and told them\ndefinitely that her husband was going to take a rest and would not consider\ntheir offers. They turned away, but one of the party,--a Peeping Tom sort\nof a chap, crept back, and looked in through a crack in the shutters. What\nhe saw was a revelation. The prize-fighter was emerging from under the bed.\nThe frail scrap of a wife was standing in the center of the room, with one\nslender finger upraised. Shaking this she said, 'Stay where you are till\nthey are a safe distance off. I'll kill you if you come out before.'\"\nThis story, whether he made it up or not, amused Mr. Saltus enormously, and\nwhen thereafter, entering into the spirit of it, I would put up a finger,\nit never failed to make him laugh like a boy. The playfulness which had\nbeen inhibited so long had full fling now, and he adored to have me pretend\nI was going to chastise him for something, declaring, as he afterward put\nin his copy, \"When a woman ceases to quarrel with a man she ceases to love\nhim.\" With his almost uncanny intuition he got the motive underlying every\nact.\nIt was during this spring that the framework on which Mr. Saltus afterward\nbuilt \"The Gardens of Aphrodite\" grew. Much of it was written when sitting\nin the rose garden under a palm tree, the offending Jean purring at his\nfeet. Notes on which he constructed \"Oscar Wilde,--An Idler's Impression,\"\nwere gathered together as well, and reminiscences used in \"Parnassians\nPersonally Encountered\" were jotted down and put into shape to use.\nThere was something soothing and yet stimulating in the song of the surf on\nthe sands, reaching him as it did through the branches of acacia trees. In\n\"the enchanted garden,\" as he called the small green handkerchief-like\npatch of grass, Mr. Saltus evolved, co-ordinated and put in shape the\nmaterial from which he drew largely ever after.\nA few weeks later he was en route for New York, to break up such home as he\nhad there and return to the coast with his things, having decided to make\nCalifornia his home indefinitely. A ranch in the middle part of the State\nwelcomed me. It was a heavenly spot,--no neighbors within miles, and plenty\nof animals and flowers for company.\nFrom that ranch came two little creatures,--one particularly, destined to\nhave a larger place and a greater influence in Mr. Saltus' life than most\nof the humans he encountered. Taken from their respective mothers at an\nage when their eyes were just open, so young that they had to learn to lap\nby nibbling my fingers dipped in milk, Fifi the kitten and Toto the\nshepherd dog puppy were annexed from a neighbor, and given to one ready to\nshield them with her life.\nIn the late summer these little ones with Auntie and myself were settled\nagain. This time it was in a large house in Los Angeles with a delightful\ngarden, situated in what was then the extreme upper limit of the city.\nBeyond it were vacant fields. Hollywood was in the distance. It was taken\nwith a view to giving Mr. Saltus a bed-room with study adjoining in a wing\nof the house, off by itself, and shortly after we moved in, he joined us.\nMr. Saltus was not an easy, if an interesting man to keep house with.\nRinging of the telephone sent him almost into hysterics. Trades people and\nservants talking under his windows incited him to murder.\nThe sound of a vacuum cleaner was the last straw. Waving his arms like a\ndervish he would appear in working attire,--hair on end, light blue flannel\nshirt open at the neck, and make what I called a few \"cursery remarks.\"\nLate in the afternoon only, when he left the house for his walk--he did not\ncare what transpired during his absence--could the maid get in to make up\nhis rooms. Even then he accepted it because he was compelled to submit. His\nstudy was as closely guarded as a Bluebeard's den. No one entered it--and\nno one wanted to, for cigar butts and ashes were the rose-leaves scenting\nhis sanctum.\nWhen working on a novel Mr. Saltus was living in another world. He knew\nwhere his things were, but no other, unless possessed of second sight,\ncould have hazarded a guess. Under cigar butts, half burned cigarettes,\npiles of manuscripts, note-books and pencils, which were scattered all over\nthe floor, anything might be hidden, and often was. Until he had finished a\nnovel or other prolonged work, any attempt at clearing up would have been\nfatal, not only to himself but to the sanity of the one who did the\ncleaning. With the knowledge that most literary men were \"litterers\" the\nroom was divested of anything which could be injured before it was turned\nover to him.\nUnfitted for housekeeping both by temperament and inclination, and having\nnone of the responsibility of it, I could look on and laugh. In later years\nthe laugh was not quite as spontaneous.\nIn spite of the extreme untidiness of his study, Mr. Saltus was\nscrupulously particular about his person, changing his linen several times\na day after a tub and a shower. In fussing over his linen he was almost as\nfearful as over losing his luggage or getting a disease. Whenever the\nlaundryman was late in arriving he was sure that it was lost forever. His\nworry was not so much over replacing the things, as over the fact that to\ndo so he must go into a shop. Linen and luggage fears arose from the same\ncause.\nThe laundry terror persisted also until the end of his life. All these\npeculiarities must have been trying to normal women. He recognized it\nhimself fully, and used to say:--\n\"I'm a panicky pup, and I know it; and only a pampered puss could put up\nwith me. If she should turn me out I'd go 'round and 'round in circles like\na mad dog till some one took me to the pound and dropped me in the lethal\nchamber.\"\nCHAPTER X\nDeprived of pets as he had been during his childhood, Mr. Saltus responded\nto his new playmates in a surprising way, taking over their education, as\nhe called it, from the first. Fifi was taken into the inner recesses of his\nstudy to serve as a paperweight. Rigging up a tight-rope in the garden, he\ntaught her to walk on it, to stand on her hind legs, play ball and jump\nthrough a hoop.\nWhen his eyes became tired with writing he amused himself hour after hour\nplaying with his new toys. With his fancy for alliterations Fifi became\n\"Pasy's pride and pleasure Puss.\" In the album of snapshots are many of\n\"E---- and his angels,\" as I called them.\nThen a sad thing happened. From eating some poisoned meat put out for\ngophers by a neighbor, both little creatures became violently ill, and in\nspite of the best doctors and care, Fifi died. I did not mourn alone. Mr.\nSaltus wept like a baby and could not write a word for days. Until the end\nof his life he kept referring to her, imitating the inflection of her miaws\nwhen deprived of sardines, of which she was inordinately fond.\nAfter this the puppy came in for all the attention. During her recovery\nfrom the poison she was brought up to sleep on the foot of my bed,--a habit\nshe saw fit never to change, for she slept there for the rest of her life.\nWith a patience little expected from him, Mr. Saltus taught her to run a\nyard or two in front of him so that he could watch her, and taught her to\nwalk on her hind legs and various other accomplishments. With the training\nand understanding of her, the fear of dogs left him. He began to pat\nstrange animals on their heads and take an interest in work in their\nbehalf. The puppy, Toto, went with him for walks as soon as she was able to\ntoddle on before him, but she usually returned in his arms.\nThe reason for entering so fully into his habits and association with this\nlittle being is because, like a thread of pure gold, she was woven into the\nfabric of his existence from the first, becoming at the last one of the\nmost vital considerations of his life.\nDuring a brief stay in Pasadena the year before, I had made the\nacquaintance of a Mr. and Mrs. Colville. The former was an exceptional\ncharacter, combining the enthusiasm of a scholar and the erudition of a\nsage. He was a critic, a philosopher and a Theosophist. His wife was, and\nis, one of the noblest and most selfless beings on earth.\nThis acquaintance was passed on to Mr. Saltus. From the moment he saw them\nthey exercised a profound influence on his life. Inclined as he was to take\nthe tempo of his likes and dislikes from me, his immediate admiration for\nthese two was exceptional. The occultism to which he had hitherto listened\nwith rather indifferent ears took on new interest. He bought \"The Ancient\nWisdom,\" by Annie Besant, the \"Secret Doctrine,\" and a number of other\nTheosophical books. What was more, he studied them.\nThe little bungalow of the Colvilles in Pasadena became a kind of magnetic\npole. To discuss higher metaphysics and occultism with the husband, and\nobserve its practical application by his wife, constituted a treat. Mrs.\nColville could tear Mr. Saltus to pieces. She could put her finger on the\nweak links in his character, suggesting methods by which they might be\nstrengthened with unerring intuition. He not only accepted it with the\nsimplicity of a child, but he thanked her for it. Never in his life had he\nmet a woman of her kind before, and he loved her for her selflessness and\nthe poise she radiated. His confidence and trust in her were such that on\nthe day preceding his death he urged me to write to her and ask her to take\nhim into her meditations. With all that may be said against Mr. Saltus by\nhis critics, the fact of his not only recognizing, but immediately\nresponding to spiritual greatness justified the confidence put in him by\nmyself when a child. It proved beyond question, that with a different early\nenvironment and training, he would have developed the splendid qualities\nlatent until the end of his life.\nWork upon \"The Monster\" was under way at this time, and over his books Mr.\nSaltus was very much like a mother with her child. He might suggest that a\nnovel of his own was full of flaws,--but woe to the outsider who ventured\nto criticise so much as a comma in its construction. It gave him perhaps\nthe shock of his literary life, when, after a discussion, Mrs. Colville\nsaid to him:--\n\"You are a brilliant man,--an artist and a stylist. You are a poet, an\nhistorian and an essayist; but a novelist--never. Your psychology of humans\nis oblique, your plots improbable when not impossible, and your characters\nink.\"\nIn moments of wrath I had flung the same words in his face and been told,\n\"Ignorance, when it speaks, speaks loudly.\"\nInstead of the explosion I expected, it took Mr. Saltus off his feet. He\nsat down. His affection and admiration for the Colvilles could not be\ncalled in question after that, and he began at once to take stock of\nhimself seriously.\nThe lease of the house we were occupying having expired, another one on\nGrand View Street off Westlake Park was taken. The beauty of this little\npark, and the pleasure of sitting out under the palm trees, book in hand,\nToto lying at his feet, soothed and relaxed Mr. Saltus amazingly. The idea\nof rewriting \"The Monster\" and weaving Theosophy into it suggested itself.\nMrs. Besant spoke in Los Angeles at this time and we attended a private\nlecture. He heard her speak many times again in London in the Queen's Hall,\nbut from that first glance he declared her to be in his estimation the most\nwonderful woman incarnate on earth to-day. \"The Monster\" was put aside in\norder that he might have more leisure to study Theosophy.\nMr. Saltus was now in his fifty-fifth year, and for the first time he\nbegan to show symptoms of breaking. Extreme irritability with attacks of\ngiddiness were followed by periods of depression. His Theosophical studies\nhelped him to keep his poise. The physician who was consulted gave no cause\nfor alarm. He said that Mr. Saltus was undergoing certain physiological\nchanges and that he must abstain from prolonged mental work. A rough draft\nof \"The Monster,\" including a certain amount of Theosophy, was in hand, so\nhe said he would do no more creative work for a time.\nThat time was a long one. Mr. Saltus never did any entirely original work\nagain. His creative faculty became semi-detached from his work in a desire\nto study. He wrote several novels after the lapse of years, but each of\nthem was elaborated and improved from central situations he had used before\neither in novels or in short stories. In many of these, as in \"Lords of the\nGhostland,\" Mr. Saltus felt that he had not made the most of his material,\nand the desire to re-write, amplify and do justice to the subject in a new\nand big way was tucked away in a corner of his mind. During the last years\nof his life, when the necessity for finding forgetfulness of the physical\nwas paramount, the opportunity to use this material presented itself.\nAt the end of that summer we went on to Warner's Hot Springs. Mr. Saltus\nwas left at loose ends, and he went to a hotel, hoping to join us again\nwhen we decided on a house for the winter.\nWhile we were at the Hot Springs Mr. Saltus met a young girl, Miss S----.\nSo weird, wild and fantastic are the stories which have been circulated\nabout her, so malicious and untrue, that in justice to all, a plain\nstatement of the facts is called for. It was during this stay at Warner's\nHot Springs that a letter from Mr. Saltus referred to meeting a young girl.\nSo seldom did he meet anyone sufficiently worth mentioning that I was\ninterested. In the letter he said that he had been introduced to a girl,\nMiss S----, who reminded him very much of myself. This was, he explained,\nnot only because of her features but her nature, which was highly\nemotional, and that she adored animals to such a degree that I would find\nin her a kindred soul. I was much interested and wrote him that I would\nlike to meet her.\nMr. Saltus' next letter was from San Francisco, where, at the request of\nthe Examiner, he had gone to write up the Portola Festival. His next\nletter, however, was from Los Angeles again, giving the news that the Los\nAngeles Examiner had retained him to write a series of editorials to boom\nSouthern California. Urging us to return, he said that he could not work\nwithout a background and was like a man without arms or legs. Telegrams and\nlong distance telephone messages followed.\nSoon afterward we took a house in Los Angeles again, centrally located in\nwhat was then a fashionable location in Pico Heights, and Mr. Saltus got to\nwork at once. It was neither sustained nor creative like that of writing a\nnovel. It consisted in compiling information and statistics and presenting\nthem in entertaining and acceptable form. The final draft of \"The Monster\"\nwas done and ready for the typist. The compiling of material for two-page\neditorials each week kept him so occupied that his usual afternoon walks\nwith Toto were shortened or neglected altogether. All his life he had\nwalked a great deal. It was his way of keeping fit. With the physiological\nchange in his constitution his desire to walk decreased, and the beginning\nof the breakdown began without either of us suspecting it. An inveterate\nsmoker always, he then consumed almost twice as many cigarettes a day as\nbefore,--strong Cuban ones of the most insidious kind. This, too, was\npaving the way for the obscure and deadly disease which later gripped him\nlike a vise.\nUp to the time of going to California to live, Mr. Saltus' life had, in\nspite of its colourfulness, been more or less sad. There was a wistfulness\nin his eyes,--a reaching-out for something stronger than human ties to\nbuild on. The note-book to which I have previously referred, and which he\ncompiled for writing \"The Philosophy of Disenchantment\" and \"The Anatomy of\nNegation,\" was filled with quotations from the Git\u00e2. This meant something\ndeeper than copy to him. Upon meeting Mr. and Mrs. Colville, the inner\nyearning which had been inhibited so long became suddenly objective, taking\non the concrete form of study along esoteric lines.\nAll this time he was studying \"The Secret Doctrine,\" going over each stanza\nslowly, thoughtfully, weighing each word and its meaning--searching for\ngold.\nHe burst into my room one day without knocking,--a thing he never omitted\nto do. I realized that only an internal earthquake could have caused such\nforgetfulness. Throwing a book into my lap, he sank into a chair and\nexclaimed:--\n\"Blind,--blind and conceited ass that I have been! All my life I have been\nsearching for truth. Now I have found it. Life's problems are over.\"\nTaking the book from my hand he said:--\n\"Listen to this. 'Said the Flame to the spark, thou art myself,--my image\nand my shadow. I have clothed myself in thee,--and thou art my vahan, until\nthe day be with us, when thou shalt re-become myself,--and others\nthyself,--and me.'\"\nHe read the stanza three times very slowly, his emotion so intense that\ntears stood in his eyes. At that moment he touched the highest pinnacle of\nhis life. It was his Mount of Transfiguration. As soon as he was\nsufficiently master of himself to speak, he said:--\n\"Let me send your name and my own this very day to Adyar to join the\nTheosophical Society?\"\nI had never been affiliated with organizations or cults,--my understanding\nof the occult having been more or less born with me and intuitive rather\nthan academic; but, delighted at the unfolding of his higher nature, I\nagreed at once to his suggestion.\nHe saturated himself with Theosophy as one might with a disinfectant after\nlong exposure to infection. From that hour he was another being; his\nperception of values and his attitude toward life became readjusted. The\npolarity of his angle on everything shifted, and the axis of his being,\nresponding to the change, swung back to its real home. It was like melting\nthe ice of Spitzbergen and restoring to it the tropical beauty and verdure\nit once enjoyed. In this way Mr. Saltus became imbued with the magnitude of\nhis discovery--or rather his recovery of it.\nIt has been said by his critics, that, in becoming a Theosophist, Mr.\nSaltus stepped down from the Olympian heights, became mundane, and did not,\nas I have suggested, ascend the Mount of Transfiguration. Constructive\ncriticism of any description is helpful, but it is open to question whether\nor not this touches the crux of the matter. The fact that his imaginative\nfaculty became somewhat transmuted into channels not wholly literary, gives\ncritics this chance.\nIt has been said that I persuaded him to become a Theosophist. Nothing is\nfurther from the truth, for, while I believed much that is called\nTheosophy, I had scarcely dipped into a book on it, and our chats on these\nlines had been more or less personal, one saying to the other, \"Perhaps we\nwere brother and sister or twins in our last life,\" suggesting various\namusing combinations of relationship.\nI never tried to persuade him to accept anything. It would have been not\nonly foolish and futile, but would have defeated its purpose.\nThough his acceptance of it came suddenly, it was the culmination of remote\ncauses, too deep for either his critics or his friends to see.\nIt has been said also of Tolstoi that when he turned to religion he turned\nfrom greatness. This may be true in a sense. It resolves itself into the\nquestion \"What is greatness?\" That Mr. Saltus' keen interest in occultism\nover-shadowed and coloured every act and thought of his life thereafter,\nis undeniably true; but what it took from him in one sense it gave to him\nin another. It gave him what he had been unconsciously seeking,--the\nability to build up a series of sequences in his mind, and in the\nacceptance of them to find peace. Peace and progress were his pole stars.\nWho can say how little or how great are such objectives? If any change took\nplace in his creative potentialities, it was because he deliberately\nallowed it.\nFrom that hour a new world opened before his eyes, a world of endless\nvistas,--of delightful study and research,--of new thinking, reconstruction\nand regeneration, Mr. Saltus' one lament being:--\n\"Why has it taken me so long?\"\nDestroying the finished copy of \"The Monster,\" he set about rewriting it\nentirely from his new viewpoint, and thereafter until the day of his death\nhe wrote nothing untinged by the philosophy that had become an essential\npart of his consciousness.\nThis new and complete distraction was a godsend, for Mr. Saltus was far\nfrom well and he was inclined to be terrified over the least symptom of\nanything out of the common. Abstract reading and study took him out of\nhimself and bridged many an hour with pleasure and profit.\nComing in the house one day Mr. Saltus said:--\n\"When I was down-town I charged a box of sweets on your bill.\"\n\"Did you?\" I replied. \"Since when have you developed the taste?\" Puddings\nand candies of any kind he had always avoided.\n\"They were not for myself but for the young girl, Miss S----, I wrote you\nabout. She is now connected with the Library and I see quite a little of\nher, for I go there often to get books and collect data for my articles.\nHaving been educated abroad she speaks French like a native, and being\nunusually intelligent she has helped me a great deal.\"\nOccupied as I was at the time with organizing a theatrical entertainment\nfor the benefit of The Los Angeles Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to\nAnimals,--having to see and secure all the talent, I put off an invitation\nto bring her to the house for tea or to dine until the affair was over.\nUnfortunate omission! More unfortunate yet was my remark:--\n\"Remember Dorothy S----.\"\nThat was an episode Mr. Saltus wanted least of all to be reminded of. It\nsealed his lips more effectually than cement. When a few weeks later I\ninquired about his friend, he said that she had moved and that he had no\nidea what had become of her. Moved she had, but only a block or two. Once\nagain his inability to face anything holding the remotest possibility of\nunpleasantness tangled him in an unnecessary deception.\nDuring the holidays a telegram announcing the death of Mrs. Saltus in Paris\nreached him. This was only a few days before the preliminary papers in the\ndivorce were to be issued.\nIn all justice to Mr. Saltus it must be said that he sincerely regretted\nthe final separation came this way. It hit him between the eyes. From his\nnew angle on life,--his belief that, reincarnation being a necessity, he\nmust meet every ego he had in any way wronged and pay his debt to each,\nappalled him. However much he had attempted to justify himself in the past\nhe did so no longer. The sudden passing over of one so closely connected\nwith his early life--to whom he realized that he had never been all that he\nshould--struck home. He went about the house softly and silently, passages\nof the Git\u00e2 penetrating him like flame and steel.\nHis first impulse was to go East to meet his young daughter upon her return\nfrom abroad. The memory of her had become a beautiful dream to him. From\nthat dream he was most anxious to awake and enjoy the reality. Her mother's\nwishes had been very explicit in the matter. She left the little girl to\nthe guardianship of an aunt, with provisions in her will calculated to\ncurtail the young girl's best interests in case her father took her. Over\nand over we thrashed the matter out between us. He had the law of the land\non his side.\nPersuaded at last that the only restitution he could make the mother for\nanything she had endured because of him, was through the child, he wrote\nhis daughter asking her desire in the matter. Upon her replying that she\nwanted to carry out her mother's wishes, much against his will, Mr. Saltus\nyielded.\nThere was another thing he yielded also. Against my firm refusal to go to\nthe altar or the courthouse until a proper time elapsed, he talked in vain.\n\"Contending with you is like biting into granite,\" he said with annoyance,\n\"and my poor teeth are being worn away.\"\n\"It is harder to be the granite,\" I told him. \"I would be so much happier\ntransformed into pliable putty.\"\n\"Why not try it for a pleasant change?\" he inquired.\n\"Because, for your sake, I cannot. You are not granite to me,--you are a\npiece of marble out of which I am trying with chisel in my hand to release\nthe something concealed there.\"\n\"Your chisel is sharp and the process is a painful one.\"\n\"So it is,\" I admitted, \"and I do not know to which of us it is the more\nso. Shall I put it down and rest?\"\nMr. Saltus smiled.\n\"No, little Puss. You are the instrument of karma. Keep on chiseling. You\nbelieve in me, and if you think there is something worth while, awaiting\nrelease--do not falter. Only the one who sees it can set it free.\"\nCHAPTER XI\nMade irritable by the state of his health, accentuated by the delay in his\nplans, Mr. Saltus was in a mood to fly off at a fleabite. One does not\nrealize the underlying cause of things at the time they occur. It takes\nperspective to throw them into relief.\nLos Angeles, which never does anything by halves or in a small way, was\nundergoing one of its periodical hydrophobia scares. As a matter of fact,\nthis disease is almost non-existent in the State of California. No matter\nabout that. Some poor half-starved, beaten and abused animal driven to\nextremity had turned in self-protection upon a tormentor, and the cry went\nup that a mad dog had bitten a child. That was enough. The papers, always\non the lookout for a sensation, took it up, piling on the agony, till in\ntwenty-four hours they had created a monster out of a myth.\nResults showed how slight after all has been man's evolution from ignorance\nand brutality. All unmuzzled dogs were ordered to be shot in the streets on\nsight. Civilised England would believe such a thing possible in equatorial\nAfrica only. Protests were powerless. The people having been worked into a\nfrenzy of fear, it was not easily allayed. What followed is too harrowing\nto be told. Had a few fanatical humans, and the owners of the unmuzzled\ndogs been put painlessly and permanently out of the way, real justice would\nhave been served. Our Toto, guarded every moment night and day, was the\nexception. The incinerators were kept working all the time disposing of the\ninnocent and helpless victims of madmen.\nBecause of these conditions several stray dogs were given temporary shelter\nunder my roof, and kept on a veranda giving off of my bed-room, situated on\nthe second floor. A passing policeman could not reach up to them and they\ncould wag their tails in safety.\nHow it happened, if ever known, I have forgotten,--but it happened. One of\nthe dogs, a bull-terrier, managing to slip from the veranda and through my\nbed-room to the hall, went down stairs on an exploring expedition. Coming\nin that evening with his latch-key Mr. Saltus met the dog at the front\ndoor. The animal, grateful for food and protection, came forward to take a\nsniff of the intruder and ask his intentions. Had Mr. Saltus spoken to him\nand gone on naturally, as one belonging there should have done, there would\nhave been no trouble. His old fear of dogs gaining momentary ascendency,\ncombined unfortunately with his annoyance at having so much attention\ndiverted from himself. Without a word he gave the dog a kick. According to\ncanine philosophy a man having the right to be there would not have done\nsuch a thing. That act settled his status. The terrier caught him by the\nleg and made his protest felt, in his desire to protect the one who had\nrescued him.\nThere was no uncertainty of Mr. Saltus' intentions then. Screaming and\ncursing, he tore up to my sitting-room.\n\"One of your damned dogs has taken a slice out of my leg.\"\nThe story of the dog and his deviltry was told between vituperations. He\nwas done for. Hydrophobia was sure to develop before morning. The dog must\nbe sent to the pound at once. As I have said before, there could be no half\nway in dealing with Mr. Saltus. Had he been sympathized with in the least,\nit would have been fatal. It was a nerve-racking affair. Useless was the\nattempt to put it to him from any angle other than his own. Not only had he\nbeen badly lacerated, but outrageously treated by me in that his demands\nwere not immediately acted upon. Refusal to see in him a martyr, piled\nfaggots on the flame of his wrath, and vowing that either the dog or\nhimself should leave the house that night, he threw the challenge in my\nface.\nThere was no need to repeat it. A telephone was on the table near my hand.\nI called a taxi, telling them to be at the house in half an hour. After\nthat inferno was let loose. Nothing more outrageous was included in the\nannals of crime.\n\"Here I am,--growing grey in your service,--turned into the street. I am an\nIT,--a THING,--my individuality has been submerged. You have grafted all\nyour ideas upon me, moulding me into your likeness. I am not allowed to\nthink.\"\n\"If you are moulded in my image it's a devilish botch I have made of it.\nHad you been moulded into something human a little earlier in life, you\ncould not have wrecked existence for the two women rash enough to take your\nname. I have escaped with my sanity,--thank God. Now go.\"\nStorming and swearing at the way he was abused, Mr. Saltus disappeared,\nreturning after fifteen minutes with a suitcase in either hand. The dogs\nsat in a row to watch him go.\n\"I'll come back for my trunks and my books to-morrow,\" he told me, \"and I\nwould like to know your plans for the future.\"\n\"Inasmuch as they no longer include yourself they cannot interest you,\" I\nsaid. \"When you leave this house you leave my life forever.\"\nIt was hard to say that to one who, however inflammable and vituperative on\nthe surface, was at heart only a very much spoiled and frightened little\nboy, long accustomed to giving orders and carrying things with a high hand.\nA reversal of the order took him out of his bearings. Only a profound\nunderstanding of his nature made the success of the experiment possible.\nSlamming the door behind him he left the sitting room and went down stairs.\nThe taxi was waiting. Reaching the garden he turned to look back at the\nhouse, only to see the shades drawn down, the lights in my sitting room go\nout, and hear my voice through the French windows saying:--\n\"Come, my lambs! Come, Toto! You are all that I have in this wicked\nworld.\"\nAfter that there was silence. Then came a hum of voices from outside and\nthe taxi drove off. With a fair certainty of what the d\u00e9nouement would be,\nI kept on a wrapper and lay down on the sofa to rest. Nearly an hour\npassed. Then the dogs on the veranda began to bark. This said volumes. It\nsaid in dog language that some one was entering the house. Soon after there\nwas a creaking noise in the hall. Then silence again. Sniffing a friend,\nToto, who slept in my room, went to the door and whined.\n\"Come back,\" I called; \"there must be a burglar in the house. I will\ntelephone to the police.\"\nAfter that announcement there came a gentle tap on the door, and a voice\nwhispered:--\n\"Please let me in for a moment. I want to speak to you once more.\"\nSwitching on the lights I opened the door, and Mr. Saltus came in.\n\"Forgive me, little girl,\" he said. \"I'm a devil. I'm all you say I am, but\nI have not wrecked your life, Mowgy. If I am less to you than a dog you\nnever saw till yesterday I have failed,--totally failed. All the same I\nhave never wanted anything but to see you smile. Try me again.\"\nBy that time there were two of us weeping, with Toto jumping up upon us\nlicking our hands; taking on, as she did, our vibrations as might a\ndelicately constructed instrument.\nThe following day I went to Mr. Saltus and said:--\n\"I'm dreadfully sorry over what occurred last night, and while there is no\npossible danger I want you to have your wound attended to.\"\n\"Don't worry over that,\" he said. \"I had it cauterized this morning.\nAnyway, it did its work. That poor dog was trying to protect the house. He\nand I are on the same job and we will make friends.\"\nThey made up, and to such an extent that when after a few days a home was\nfound for the stray, Mr. Saltus had to be persuaded to let him go.\nNeither Mr. Saltus nor those nearest to him realized that his nervous\nsystem was undergoing a change. Had this been recognized, the episode which\nfollowed would in all probability never have occurred. Mention of it is\nmade because a great deal was said about it at the time, it being given out\nthat Mr. Saltus had tried to kill me. This episode, unpleasant as it is,\nmarked the last time that he ever lost control of himself.\nIt began in the dining-room after dinner while Mr. Saltus was enjoying his\nusual cigar. Some chance remark,--a hasty answer, more fuel, and the fuse\nwas fired. Once again he was an It,--a Thing,--a submerged _entity_,\ndeprived of his child and acting as a nursemaid to dogs. The more I tried\nto soothe him the more vehement he became. Distressed beyond words Auntie\nleft the room and went upstairs, declaring that she would pack her things\nand leave the house the next morning, and that we could fight it out and\nfind each other out,--she was done. Repeated efforts to calm him had only\nthe contrary effect. To leave him alone for a time seemed the only\nsolution. Picking up the leash to fasten it to Toto's collar, with the idea\nof going for a walk while Mr. Saltus cooled down, was misunderstood by him.\nSeizing a carving knife from the serving table, and pulling the leash\nsuddenly out of my hands, he dragged Toto behind him into the butler's\npantry and locked the door. It was the cook's evening off. From his place\nof security he announced that he was going to cut Toto's throat and then\nhis own. Turning on a faucet so that the water would trickle ever so\nslightly and suggest the dripping of blood, he became silent.\nHad I argued or pleaded with him one cannot know what the result would have\nbeen. Silence on my part,--silence absolute and unbroken,--was the only\ncourse. A more horrible half-hour than that, Dante and Goya together could\nnot have imagined. At the end of that time the door opened and Mr. Saltus,\nwith Toto wagging her tail behind him, reappeared. Relief at knowing that a\ntragedy was averted was such that I could only sink into a seat. Thereupon,\npossibly because I had said nothing, Mr. Saltus picked up tumblers and\ndecanters from the sideboard and smashed them against the walls like so\nmany eggshells, still vowing that he was going to kill himself. While in\nthe pantry he had, instead of cutting his throat, consumed a whole bottle\nof gin. That strengthened his arm and his courage.\nTo leave him in such a condition would have been brutal. To remain was\nhazardous, for he brandished the knife and went on screaming. The night\nwore on, and the effects of the gin began to change their character.\nDeciding the time had come for a determined stand, I went up to him, and\ntook the knife out of his hand. In his amazement at my effrontery he\noffered little resistance, although he still screamed of his wrongs. It was\nno time to argue. Neighbours hearing the racket telephoned to the police\nthat a lunatic was in the house and was trying to kill some one. An officer\nwas sent to the door to inquire. That had a sobering effect. Kicking the\nbroken glass out of his way Mr. Saltus finally decided to go to his room.\nBy this time the sun was rising (not setting) upon his wrath.\nAt noon I went to consult our friend Dr. Hazeldine, a metaphysician as well\nas a physician, and he returned with me to the house. Mr. Saltus, he said,\nwas in a very critical condition. Unable to eat, thrashing about in his bed\nlike a spirit in torture, he presented a tragic picture, and the doctor\ndecided to remain at the house until he could bring him around. This he\ndid; but when the bringing was accomplished, bag, baggage and dog, I left\nthe house, and saying \"Good-bye forever,\" went down to San Diego.\nThat was more effectual than the visit of the police had been, knowing as\nhe did that threats were not in my line. Letters and telegrams followed\nlike shadows of sin. They were answered, but in no way to offer\nencouragement. Clearly and firmly he was told that his conduct justified\nmuch that had been said against him, and though two women had escaped with\ntheir lives and sanity a third would be walking into a padded cell and\ntaking on a life sentence voluntarily.\nThe reaction on Mr. Saltus was serious. He became really ill and his\nletters frantic. A novice still in Theosophy, accepting its theory of life,\nbut ignoring its personal application, this lapse of his acted like an\nauger. It cut its way into the center of his consciousness, and in the\nrealization of his failure, there was stimulated the dormant aspiration to\nre-create himself. A page from one of his letters is indicative of this:\n\".... _De profundis clamavi._ Don't make me die insane. In writing to you I\nhave said everything that a human being can. If there was an assurance\nunexpressed it was through no fault of mine. Your answer was that your\nfaith in me is shattered. I once said that if you had a child by a negro I\nwould forgive you and console you too. Yet your faith in me is shattered.\nChild----child,--you are not to blame. If after all my love and care of\nyou, you could write me that, it is because I have in the past betrayed the\nfaith of other people. No,--you are not to blame. You are my own hands\nstriking me in the face. As I measured it to others it is meted now to me.\nI may be your cross but you are crucified to me, and death alone can tear\nthe nails from your hands. Even then it will leave the stigmata.\"\nIt was a difficult situation to cope with, for what he said was quite true.\nThe ties which bind one to another are spun out of threads like\ncobwebs,--so gossamer in texture, so frail and unsubstantial, that they\nseem a thing one can brush aside with a touch. They are so fine,--they\nappear to have emerged from nothing,--a memory, an incident, a sorrow\nshared and forgotten,--but they persist. Delicate as they are, they are\nspun from the center of one's being. Turned, twisted and plaited by the\nhand of fate, they become cables of steel. Reason may tell one they can be\nbroken, but the soul knows better. Nothing in life can tear them completely\nasunder.\nIt was one of these frail threads which held now. Stronger ones by far,\nfashioned during the years, were there, but they fell apart. It was the\nfrailest one which persisted. On the walls of memory was a picture. It was\nthat of a man sitting on the top of a 'bus, sad and silent at the thought\nof returning to the States in a few days. It was early evening and we were\ngoing out to the extreme end of London,--Muswell Hill,--to compel\ndistraction from the thoughts which pressed upon him from all sides. The\n'bus was crowded, and we could not get a seat together. Mr. Saltus' however\nwas directly behind my own, so we could talk to one another. Going up the\nhill toward Islington the 'bus swayed a bit, and I found myself swinging\nfrom side to side. In so doing a slight pull seemed to come from behind.\nLooking down I saw that Mr. Saltus was leaning forward and holding a piece\nof my frock in his hands. He was unaware that I noticed it, nor did we ever\nrefer to it later. It was such a little thing. Nothing worth speaking\nabout, but it was his hand on the fold of my frock that held,--had held\nduring the years, and held now.\nWhen he wired that he was following to San Diego I was silent and let him\ncome. It was then he realized how totally alone he was in the world, and\nhow dependent also. My home was broken up and we were both wanderers.\nThough we were living at different hotels and I refused to discuss the\nmatter with him, Mr. Saltus' conversation was directed to me through Toto.\n\"Come here, Toto,\" he said. \"I didn't really hurt you, did I? I'm not\nalways a devil. I have intervals of goodness. Go 'woof, woof' to Mummy and\ntell her I will go and die if she throws me into the ashcan.\"\nThis was followed by a series of \"wows\" and the remark:\n\"Don't give Snippsy up to the dog-catchers. Snippsy likes to be a\nsubordinate entity. He isn't happy otherwise.\"\nHe was miserable and sincere, but self-preservation is a difficult thing to\nfight. The upshot of it was that Mr. Saltus agreed to go East for a month\nor two, leaving me in California to get my nerves in shape again. He was on\nprobation, or, as he expressed it, \"saved from the pound.\"\nIt was horrible to see him go, and yet we both needed perspective, being\ntoo excited to act or even think sanely, as the episode over Toto had made\nclear. Two highly temperamental people, no matter how devoted to one\nanother, act and react at times to their mutual disadvantage.\nStanding beside the Los Angeles Limited, which was to take him back via\nChicago, Mr. Saltus slipped an envelope in my hand. Upon opening it a\nletter enclosing a poem fell out. That poem, under the title of \"My Hand in\nYours,\" was published later.\nAs Mr. Saltus discovered on the train, our minds had been working along\nsimilar lines, for I had slipped letters in various pockets in his coats\nand others in satchels, to cheer him at intervals on the return trip.\nCHAPTER XII\nTo New York Mr. Saltus went, returning to San Diego in less than three\nmonths. He was still thin and nervous and had done no writing at all. In\nthe interval, the penetrating influence of his philosophy had done its\nwork, and he was taking the matter of his own evolution seriously.\nAllusions to Jean or the incident of the broken glass, were like burning\nraw flesh.\nIt was mid-winter when he returned, but no one would have suspected it from\nthe June-like sunshine and roses. Taking long walks with Toto, with whom he\nloved to play hide-and-seek, he would go off for hours, resting in Balboa\nPark on the return trip.\nIn speaking of this afterward to Miss G----, she said that Mr. Saltus had\nlooked so ill upon his return to New York that she thought he was in for a\nnervous breakdown. In the circumstances, the peace and quiet of San Diego\nwere very restful to him.\nThen the question of the future presented itself again, and he asked:--\n\"When are you going to absorb me?\" That was the way he jestingly put it.\nAnd then he asked:--\n\"Where shall we live?\"\n\"California or London,\" I told him. \"If one could combine the attractions\nof the two,--the climate of the former and the culture and comfort of the\nlatter, heaven would not seem so vague a place. Take your choice, but New\nYork--_jamais!_\"\nMr. Saltus hated New York also,--hated clubs, although one had been more or\nless his headquarters for years. The old members of it were all dead, and\nhe was not a man to make new friends. Barring the convenience of a club it\nwas a horror to him. It was then agreed that he should return to the East,\narrange his affairs and meet me in Montreal, where we would take the leap\ninto matrimony and sail to England direct.\nAn incident occurred toward the end of March, shortly before Mr. Saltus\nleft for New York, which indicated, more than anything else, how radical\nhad been the change in him. We were invited for tea at the home of a\nfriend, Mrs. Butler. As her home was at a distance from the center of the\ncity it was decided that I should take a trolley, while for the benefit of\nthe exercise, Mr. Saltus would walk with Toto. Before separating however,\nhe accompanied me to the fifth floor of a shop, where I made a few\npurchases. Reaching the street I left him with the assurance that he would\nrejoin me again in twenty minutes at Mrs. Butler's house. Toto, as usual,\nwas a few feet in front of us, and, as it afterward developed, was unaware\nof the exact spot where we divided forces. It was over in a minute. I\njumped into a trolley and disappeared.\nMrs. Butler's was reached. The twenty minutes doubled and redoubled, yet\nlook as one might no sign of man or dog could be seen. That something had\nhappened,--to the dog most likely,--seemed probable. It was a tense\nwaiting. The rapid twilight of the south was closing like a fan, when,\nsilhouetted against the distant skyline, a pygmy, preceded by an animated\ndot, developed into a man and a dog.\nIt was a tale with no wag that he poured into my ears.\n\"When you left and jumped into the trolley,\" he said, \"I became suddenly\naware that I was alone. Toto had vanished. Inquiries were futile and\nfruitless. No one had seen her. She appeared to have dematerialized in a\nflash. I went to both the hotels and to all the places where we were in the\nhabit of stopping. The result was the same.\"\n\"And what then?\"\n\"I stood in the middle of the street and wowed. I was sure that Totesy Babe\nhad been killed or stolen. It was horrible. I could not face you alive.\"\nIt would have taken courage without a doubt.\n\"What did you decide to do,--run away?\"\n\"No,--I thought of that, but to run, meant out of your life. To return\nwithout Toto would amount to the same thing. It was a case of 'Which way I\nfly is hell.... Infinite wrath and infinite despair.' There was no\nalternative but the Bay for me. Living, even if I remained in your life,\nToto would have stood forever between us. Dead, you would think kindly of\nme and mourn for me also. It was the lesser evil.\"\n\"And then?\"\n\"It seemed too bad to be true. A last hope remained. Returning to Marston's\nwhere we had separated, I questioned the door man. Yes, he had seen a black\nand white dog going in alone over an hour ago. The elevator man came next.\nHe had let a dog off at the fifth floor, supposing she accompanied a\ncustomer. The mystery became less opaque. Toto was sitting under the\ncounter where she had seen you last. The shop was closing and the\nassistants were puzzled what to do, as she refused to move and bared her\nteeth when any one came near her.\"\nThere was no faking his seriousness. Mr. Saltus was in a state of collapse.\nThe way he reacted to this episode made whole the broken glass, and put a\nsponge over the incident forever.\nIn a week or so, arrangements being made for us to meet and be married in\nMontreal, he returned to the East. The Montreal idea had merits. As we had\ndecided to live under British laws it was as well to be married under them.\nMr. Saltus' former matrimonial knots had been tied in New York and Paris.\nHe wanted to try a new place for luck. Owing to his divorce from Helen Read\nhe could not be married in New York State in any event. Besides, he wanted\nto avoid a thing which loomed like a menacing monster in his\npath,--publicity. The newspapers had been none too lenient over his first\noffense. With the attempt to secure a divorce from his second wife, all the\npast had been resurrected and flung in his face in none too complimentary a\nway. His imagination visualized the headlines over a third marriage.\n\"Saltus Lures Third Victim to the Altar.\" \"Bluebeard Put to Blush.\" \"At the\nClose of a Misspent Life Saltus Takes Third Wife to Nurse Him in His\nDeclining and Reclining Years.\"\nSpring merged into summer. Letters from Mr. Saltus, then in New York,\ninquiring when we should meet in Montreal, suggested also that we should\nsail from there direct to England.\nAn incident occurring at this time was so vital and far-reaching in my\nestimation that an indefinite postponement of our marriage seemed the only\nsolution. I wrote him to that effect,--wrote also that I contemplated a\ntrip to China and the far East. This was not done on impulse or in anger,\nand knowing that I was not given to threats, and that my reasons were\nsubstantial, Mr. Saltus took it like a death-blow. Four days journey apart,\nhe was powerless to get to me before I could carry it into effect.\nTelegrams stormed in. Though upsetting in the extreme, they were\nunanswered. Self-preservation lifting its head again, suggested retreat. It\nwas a mirage however. A preservation excluding him would have been\nmomentary only, for wherever I might hide I knew he would find me if he\nspent his life in the search. The hand holding the fold of my frock held it\nstill. His last telegram, so characteristic that it is given here, broke\ndown my resistance:--\nMiss Marie Giles,\nThe Woodward,\nLos Angeles, California.\nAm wiring fifth time. If you have any affection for Snipps don't let it be\nin vain. Try send some helpful message, only send it quick. If not Snipps\ngoes under. This is the last despairful cry of love and grief eternal. God\nbless you little girl.\nE.\n[Illustration: Fac-simile of Telegram sent to Marie Saltus]\nThat broke me up entirely. A wire that I would start for Montreal at a\ncertain date, was followed by my arrival there. Mr. Saltus was at the\nstation. He was still thin but looking better. With a foresight scarcely to\nbe expected he had arranged everything for our accommodation at the Windsor\nHotel, dog included, and an application had been sent to the Board of\nAgriculture and Fisheries to take Toto into England. Over the details of\nour marriage however he had struck a snag. It was our desire to have the\nceremony performed in the Roman Catholic Church, a form in which I had been\neducated. The ritual of the Church appealed very strongly to Mr. Saltus, as\nhe believed it contained not only all the beauty and mysticism of the\nancient mysteries but to his mind all the beauty and truth of Christianity\nas well. Owing to technicalities over his first marriage, and some\nuncertainty regarding baptism, this was found to be impossible. It was a\nsevere disappointment to us both. A civil marriage was then decided upon.\nThat, too, was out of the question. The Province of Quebec being under\necclesiastical law, we appeared to have struck an impasse, and a trip to\nToronto seemed inevitable.\nIt was the middle of August and the heat was frightful. I told Mr. Saltus\nto make any arrangements he pleased provided I did not have to run around\nmyself.\nThe following day he came up to me in Dominion Square, where I was sitting\nfor a breath of air, reading a detective story, with Toto lying at my feet.\n\"Come along,--we are going to get married,\" he said, \"and we have only time\nto walk to the church comfortably.\"\nMr. Saltus was never behindhand when he had decided to go anywhere. When\nstarting to catch a train one could be sure that an hour at least would be\nspent at the station, while he walked restlessly to and fro fuming at the\nslowness of the clock.\n\"Let me go to the hotel to change my frock, and get rid of this detective\nstory,\" I said.\n\"Change nothing. Come along as you are. You can put on all the frills after\nyou cremate me,--if you have the courage to try it again.\"\nHe began pulling on my arm. It was nothing if not casual. After all, Toto\nwas not concerned over our looks, and there was no one else but the\nclergyman, to whom we were complete strangers. Up Dorchester Street we\nsauntered. We were half an hour ahead of time as it was. Mr. Saltus fumbled\nin his pocket and brought out a ring. That was the most amusing and least\nexpected part of it all. Time and again he had expressed himself on the\nsubject of wedding rings with scorn. To him they appeared to be symbols of\neternity between people for whom an eternity of misunderstanding was at\nthat moment beginning. His views were my own. No symbol of servitude would,\nI had often remarked, weigh down a finger of mine. He handed it to me in\nsilence, and in silence I looked at it, an unobtrusively thin band of gold\nwith our initials, and the date and the word \"Eternamente\" inside. Smiling,\nI returned it and said nothing.\n\"It's going to hurt me cruelly if you won't wear it,\" he said at last. \"I\nknow I have made fun of such things, but this is my last wedding, and this\nis different. It means something more than I supposed a marriage could.\" He\nbroke off and inquired, \"By the way, what are you going to do with Babe\nwhen we get to the church?\"\nToto was trotting along a few feet in front of us.\n\"Take her to the wedding, of course. She can sit between us.\"\n\"However lightly you may be taking this, it's a serious affair to me,\" he\nsaid, \"and much as I love her I don't think it the thing to take a dog into\na church.\"\n\"What isn't the thing for her isn't the thing for me, either,\" he was told.\n\"You can have both of us, or neither. Speak up.\"\nWe walked on a bit, and then looking at each other we began to laugh.\n\"I'll put on your symbol of servitude and Babe goes to our wedding,--what\ndo you say?\"\n\"Right-O,\" Mr. Saltus agreed with a laugh. \"It's the usual thing,--a mother\naccepting life-long punishment for the sake of her child.\"\nWe were at the door of the church then. Dr. Scott, who was substituting\nthat summer at the American Presbyterian Church, met us with his witnesses,\nand giving the dog even a more cordial welcome than ourselves, performed a\nbrief ceremony. Only when it was over did we realize that the detective\nstory was still in my hand. It is to be hoped that Dr. Scott believed it a\nprayer book.\nUnexpected events rearranged our plans. We did not sail from Montreal, but\nsix weeks later I went from New York, and Mr. Saltus joined me in London in\nJanuary. Thereafter during the next two years Mr. Saltus crossed and\nrecrossed the ocean as if it were a ferry, living in an apartment hotel\nwhen in New York and when in London wherever I happened to be stopping.\nIt was in the spring of 1914 when upon returning from a winter in Algeria\nand joining Mr. Saltus on the return route, I agreed to try the experiment\nof housekeeping. A maisonette in Nevile Street, Onslow Gardens, was the\nresult of our search. For two such absent-minded and non-observing people,\nimpatient of petty details, to attempt anything practical was braver than\nwise. English servants do not venture suggestions unasked. There were meals\nwhen I remembered to order them. Sometimes there was too much, and more\noften nothing at all. On these occasions it was convenient to live between\nthe Brompton and Fulham Roads. I was always apologetic and distressed when\nwe had to go out for a meal, but Mr. Saltus' remarks were invariably the\nsame:--\n\"I hate practical women. Any fool can feed my body. I never expected you to\ndevelop into a housekeeper and I would hate you if you did. Smile and be\nyourself.\"\nThere are not many men who would say that--on an empty stomach. A\ncook-housekeeper came to our rescue at last. Mr. Saltus was writing a\nseries of articles for Harper's Bazaar at the time,--ultra-feminist\narticles. They were called \"The Reflections of Floraline Schopenhauer.\" The\nwriting of them amused and interested him very much. It was not creative\nwork. It was a new figure on which to drape the ideas, witticisms and\nepigrams he had stored up in a note-book; and they were amazingly clever.\nIn discussing them and women in general, I remembered his friend of the Los\nAngeles days and said:\n\"Did you never hear what became of that clever girl? It's queer that you\nlost all track of her.\"\n\"No,\" he said, \"I believe she went to France to live.\"\nThe subject dropped there. With his obsessing fear of the possibility of\nunpleasantness, added to the memory that he had denied all knowledge of her\nwhen in San Diego, he would not, or could not, face the fact--simple\nenough if he had not complicated it for himself--that the friendship had\ncontinued. He might have told me that he had seen her again in New York and\ncoached her a bit in writing, where, with her clever pen and unusual\nability, she had forged ahead into a position of great responsibility.\nHaving once more the comfortable background of a home, Mr. Saltus took up\nhis studies in occultism, spending hours in the Theosophical Library in\nTavistock Square poring over the \"Pistis Sophia.\" That again opened up\nvistas and visions of a far-reaching character. From the Theosophical\nHeadquarters it was but a step to the British Museum, and the holy of\nholies where rare books are loaned to responsible students within the\nenclosure. This spot was always the Mecca toward which Mr. Saltus\ngravitated.\nLeaving our apartment about eleven o'clock each morning, he would take a\n'bus to Piccadilly Circus, and walk the rest of the way to Museum Street.\nOn the return trip he walked all the way, trying to get in better physical\ntrim through exercise.\nComing home one day he made the first allusion to the twinges in his legs\nwhich increased rapidly in both inconvenience and pain.\n\"I'm getting to be a good-for-nothing old scoundrel,\" he announced at\ndinner one night. \"I, who used to walk from Los Angeles to Hollywood with\nease, am in for something. I cannot understand what causes the pain and\ndiscomfort in my legs. I'm ready for the ashcan. You will never get a hat\nfor me.\"\n\"Don't you believe it. If you have any fears concerning your value I will\nget up a sale and auction you off.\"\n\"I don't want to be auctioned off. Men are scarce in England and a fat\nwoman might bid me in. Even if you want to get rid of me, Babe wants me.\"\n\"Neither you nor Babe need distress yourselves. Your absence will not be\nprolonged. The fat woman will drop you back on the door-step as damaged\ngoods and I can auction you off all over again. It will be an endless\nprocedure.\"\nJoking with me was a diversion that Mr. Saltus loved. We were always living\nwith imaginary people concerning whom he would ask hypothetical questions.\nOne was as follows:--\n\"What would you do if a fat woman came in with a bag in her hand, and tried\nto put me in it and take me away?\"\n\"'Madame,' I would say, 'if you are trying to steal my little Snippsy, let\nme assure you, that though men may be scarce, hats are more so. A smart\nautumn model in exchange is my price.'\"\nAt that Mr. Saltus would exclaim:--\n\"I would not go. I would scream and bite her, and she would be glad to let\nme drop.\"\n\"Not at all,\" I always replied, \"for I would tell her that you have been\nexpecting hydrophobia all these years and it has at last shown itself.\nThen she would carry you off to the lethal chamber with all speed.\"\nThat remark always called forth a series of \"Wows\" in various keys. This\nstory with variations was gone over and over, and as a rule was followed by\none from me. Mr. Saltus was disappointed when it was not.\n\"What would you do,\" I asked, \"if, upon going into your study you found a\ngiant elemental sitting at your desk tampering with your copy?\"\nWoe to the typist who had the temerity to change even a comma in Mr.\nSaltus' work. It was enough to incite him to murder.\n\"I would go mad,--seize the elemental and my vibrations alone would tear\nhim to atoms.\"\n\"But suppose he was an all-powerful elemental,--a black magician, and he\nsaid that he was going to edit everything you wrote in the future?\"\n\"Then,\" Mr. Saltus always said, \"I would rush to the window, open it and\njump out into the fourth dimension in the akasha.\"\nThe episode of the elemental ended there till the next telling. So much of\nMr. Saltus' life had been sad and unsatisfying that the desire to dip for a\ntime into make-believe was soothing and diverting to him. It was a region\nin which we spent many an hour.\nCHAPTER XIII\nDuring his stay in London, a year before, Mr. Saltus had made the\nacquaintance of a friend of mine,--a very remarkable woman, Mrs. M----, a\nlady of foreign birth and high social position, married to a Britisher.\nUnique as a mother, untiring in the service of humanity, and possessing\nextraordinary supernormal powers, she gave him, firsthand and from personal\ninvestigation, information and understanding of so unusual a character,\nthat Mr. Saltus regarded the privilege of knowing her as an unmerited\nblessing. She gave him also a curious old talisman--a tiny Rosicrucian\ncross that had once belonged to a world-renowned occultist. So frail and\nworn had it become by centuries of use, that twice it had been backed with\ngold to hold it together. It was the last earthly possession his hand\nrelinquished in death.\nFiguratively and literally, Mr. Saltus sat at Mrs. M----'s feet and\nabsorbed what she gave him. Her influence on his life was more vital and\nfar-reaching than that of any other human he ever met.\n\"Triple ass that I was,\" he said over and over again after he met her. \"I\nsent out 'Lords of the Ghostland' when I knew nothing. Had I but waited\ntill now I could have written a masterpiece. Instead of that I turned out a\nskeleton,--no meat, no truth, no insides.\"\nThis fretted him constantly.\n\"If I live long enough,\" he said, \"I will undo 'The Philosophy of\nDisenchantment' and 'The Anatomy of Negation,' as well as 'Lords of the\nGhostland,' and epitomize all I have digested into a single volume and call\nit 'The History of God.' Then I will sing my _Nunc dimittis_, go to Adyar\nand put my pen at the service of Mrs. Besant.\"\nIt was a far step for the man who had once written, \"There is no help here\nor anywhere.\" Years of study, reinforced by the chastening effect of\nthinking for another less practical and more highly strung than himself,\nhad done much for him, but the increasing application of Theosophy to his\ndaily life had done more. As far as he could, he made himself\nover--recognizing and combatting his weaknesses with heroic courage. Though\nthe remnants of his fundamental fears remained and cropped up at unexpected\ntimes and places, they were modified to a remarkable degree. One could not\nanticipate them however, and occasionally they led to rather amusing\nresults.\nIt was after a prolonged period of insomnia and a nervous breakdown,\nsuper-induced by circumstances entirely unconnected with Mr. Saltus, and\nafter I had been in bed for weeks, that one of these lapses occurred. He\nwas an angel during this trying time, rushing up to Covent Garden daily to\nget me peaches (a luxury in England) and taking his meals on a tray at my\nbedside, after which he read aloud to me as long as I cared to have him do\nso. It was after a peaceful evening passed in this way, that one of his\nfears reappeared for a moment, and in such a way that one with less\nunderstanding of his psychology would have been very angry.\nMr. Saltus' bed-room opened off my own, and it was our custom to leave the\ndoor ajar in case I should need something during the night. He was asleep\nand I was resting when a low \"woof\" came from the foot of my bed. Another\n\"woof!\" and then a growl followed. Toto was trained to be quiet and did not\n\"woof\" without cause. I sat up and listened. Light footsteps were audible\nfrom the drawing-room down stairs. I waited a moment or two to make sure,\nand then, speaking quite naturally but loudly enough to waken him, I\nsaid:--\n\"Get up, Snippsy. I think there are burglars down-stairs.\"\nWhat followed was enough to frighten even the most hardened criminal. With\na blood-curdling shriek, Mr. Saltus sprang from his bed, and slamming the\ndoor between our rooms locked it,--locking as well the other door giving\non to the hallway. So unexpected was it, and so sudden, that it took me a\nmoment to realize that instead of going to the rescue, he was, as he\nafterward admitted, curled up in bed, with the covering pulled over his\nhead.\nSomebody had to do something. Getting out of the bed I had not left for\nweeks, with Toto leading the way, I turned on the drawing-room lights from\na switch, and tottered down stairs. The intruder was quite harmless,--a man\nwho occupied a tiny pied-\u00e0-terre on the ground floor. He had mislaid his\nmatches, and being on a friendly footing with us had, as he thought, come\nup noiselessly to help himself from our smoking-stand.\nWhen with shaking legs I managed to get up the stairs again, Mr. Saltus met\nme on the landing. He had gained control of his nerves and was coming down\nto look after me. It was my hand which locked the door between our rooms\nthat time, after calling him a \"spineless jellyfish,\" an epithet which he\nhad heard many times before and which always called forth the same\nreply:--\n\"Were our spines of the same rigidity we would have killed one another\nyears ago.\"\nNone the less Mr. Saltus was none too keen for me to ask those of our\nfriends who dropped in for tea, if they wanted to hear how he routed the\nburglar. How ever the telling of this affair sounds, it was not the result\nof fear in the accepted sense of the word. It was a condition of Mr.\nSaltus' nerves only.\nA day or so later, a specialist having been called in to see me, he\nsuggested that pernicious an\u00e6mia might be aggravating my illness, and that\ntransfusion of blood might be necessary. Mr. Saltus bared his arm in an\ninstant, insisting that no time be lost and that his blood and no other be\ntaken. It was however found to be a wrong diagnosis. Brave he always was,\nwhen there was no sudden impact on his nervous system.\nMr. Saltus loved London, the city, the life and the people. He loved even\nthe greyness of it,--loved the British Museum and the parks, but most of\nhis old friends had passed on. One interesting figure silhouetted against\nthe background of England,--one whom Mr. Saltus had known until then only\nthrough correspondence,--was T. P. O'Connor, M.P. Having seen quite a bit\nof him, and most pleasurably, the previous winter in Algeria, our first\nouting after I was able to be about, was to have tea on the Terrace at the\nHouse of Commons with him.\n\"I've read everything you have written,\" he told Mr. Saltus with a\nhandshake.\n\"That you have survived it is the more amazing,\" Mr. Saltus answered.\nTea and time were consumed and forgotten. They were at home with each other\nin a moment, and Mr. Saltus was enchanted by \"Tay Pay's\" wit and charm.\nThey laughed and chatted like two boys in a tuck-shop.\nIt was upon returning from the House that afternoon that Mr. Saltus\ncomplained again of the pain in his legs.\n\"I walk less and less easily each day,\" he said. \"What can be coming over\nme? Am I going to be paralyzed?\"\nA physician was consulted the following day, and a liniment prescribed, but\nthe pain went on increasing. A few days after, and while Mr. Saltus was\nmuch depressed over his condition, we were invited to a dinner, which he\naccepted. Barring myself, the guests were all celebrities of various\nkinds,--playwrights, authors, actors, musicians and lecturers, with Mr.\nSaltus the visiting comet. It was not until the taxi was at the door to\ntake us that he announced:--\n\"Mr. Me, won't go.\"\nThere were no extenuating circumstances to excuse him, nor did he attempt\nto find or fake them. Past experience had shown him how transparent they\nwere to me.\n\"I'm not up to the mark. I'm incapable of being a rapid-firing battery of\nwit, wisdom and epigrams,\" he announced.\n\"You should have realized your limitations sooner,\" I said, \"for you\ncannot evade a dinner at the twelfth hour, when you are the guest of\ndishonour as well. We are already late. It's outrageous.\"\n\"Outrageous or not, I'm not going. You never do anything that is expected\nof you. Why should I? The less people see of me the better they will think\nof me. You must go and get me out of it as well as you can. Take a leaf out\nof my book and invent something.\"\nThat was too much.\n\"I won't have to invent, to tell them you are a lunatic resting from a\nlucid interval. No wonder there is no stampede for your work. You wrap\nyourself in impenetrability and expect the world to be clairvoyant. It\nwon't do. I will be Balaam's ass no longer. You must bray for yourself.\"\nHis braying was the usual \"Wow! Wow! Please extract poor Snippsy. He'll\ntake Totesy Babe for a walk in Kensington Gardens every day and be such a\ngood boy ever after. Why do you care how I treat others? I'm always old\ndog Tray to you.\"\nWhat could one do with such a man? He had to be taken \"as is,\" the way they\nlabel goods on bargain counters, or not at all. I could have insisted, and\ntaken him willing or not, for more than he disliked being dragged out\nagainst his will did he hate to have me seriously provoked with him. But\nwhat would have been the use? He would have gone had I insisted, but\nacquitted himself in such a way that his absence would have been\npreferable.\nThis was not the first time that such a thing had occurred.\nWhen I was living in California he had refused to come to the dining-table\nin my own house, and gone to bed while the guests were arriving. Fate was\nagainst him, however, in that instance. I invented a fairy tale to cover\nhis absence and all would have been well, but while the maid was passing\ncoffee in the drawing-room Mr. Saltus remembered a bottle of gin in the\npantry. No one answering his ring, he slipped down the back stairway to\nsecure it, and tripping, fell down the entire length, with such a thud that\nguests as well as servants were in doubt if a burglar or an earthquake was\nresponsible. With one accord they rushed in the direction of the sound and\ndiscovered him in extreme neglig\u00e9e, to his even more extreme embarrassment.\nThis was an episode he did not like referred to, but upon this second\noffense it was dragged out again in all its details!\n\"No white woman should have married you,\" I exploded, \"and I have only\nmyself to blame with two sad examples to warn me. Good-night.\"\nIt was no rare treat to appear at a dinner of celebrities after the guests\nwere seated, minus the star who was my sole reason for being included, and\ntake it as if I were lapping up cream. To be casual was no joke. I entered\nwith the remark, that, being an assemblage of egos answering to the\nclassification genius, they alone could appreciate the temperamental\nspells of unknown origin afflicting the species--and be tolerant to a\nfellow in crime. To sit down and pretend to enjoy it topped the treat.\nA fortnight later saw us at the Granville Hotel, Ramsgate, for the week\nend. As he had been there less frequently than myself, and knew fewer\npeople, some one referred to Mr. Saltus as \"Mrs. Saltus' husband.\" That\namused him enormously.\n\"They have me in my proper place here,\" he exclaimed. \"They know I am a\nsubordinate entity.\"\nA greater surprise was, however, awaiting him when a child on the sand\ncalled out:--\n\"Look,--there is Toto's Papa!\"\nThat sent Mr. Saltus into a fit of laughter. He always enjoyed a joke on\nhimself so much. The sea air which is supposed to induce sleep was our\nreason for going to Ramsgate, but even sea air handicapped by the noise of\nslamming doors and loud talking in the halls, seemed useless. I complained\nof this before going to my room, and Mr. Saltus said that he would speak\nto the manager of the hotel and see what could be done about it.\nThe following morning, upon going out with the dog, I almost fell over Mr.\nSaltus. He had sat on a chair with his back against my door all night in\norder to urge those who passed to be quiet. That offset the incident of the\nburglar and the dinner with interest, yet he did not feel that he had done\nanything exceptional. He was himself,--that was all. The latent sweetness\nand unselfishness in his character developed along lines uniquely his own.\nHe was an entity who could not be taken apart and analyzed. He had to be\naccepted as a whole or not at all. He had his weaknesses,--they were near\nthe surface and but imperfectly concealed. He had also a nobility, a\nfineness and a greatness of soul I have never seen equalled by any human,\nat any time, anywhere.\nA day or two later the world was shaken by the word _WAR_. Rumours of it\nhad been in the air for some time,--not a world war to be sure, but a\ncivil one in Ireland. Leading Home Rule members of Parliament had been in\nnightly conference with the Prime Minister, and from what our friend \"Tay\nPay\" had let drop, we anticipated anything but what eventuated. No one in\nunprepared England dreamed of war. The idea was too bizarre, too theatrical\nto be true. Everyone was talking about it, but no one really believed it\npossible, except perhaps those few who, having an extension of\nconsciousness, could penetrate the veil of the seeming of things.\nMr. Saltus with myself was in a cinema, when, during an interval between\npictures, there was flashed upon the screen the message, \"Great Britain\nsends ultimatum to Germany.\" The audience, spell-bound at first and silent,\nlet out an enthusiastic \"Hurrah!\" Mr. Saltus gripped me by the arm and\nwhispered:--\n\"If this is true it means not only a world war but the breaking up of our\nhome here, and my return to the States, for it may last for years, and no\none knows how the stock market may jump and whether ruin camps on the\ndoor-step.\" (What little Mr. Saltus had was in stocks and bonds.)\nBritish as he was in sympathy and inclination--wishing, as he had said many\ntimes, that karma would bring him back next life as an English country\ngentleman,--Mr. Saltus threw himself into the spirit of what followed, in a\nway that no one could have foreseen. Countermanding the orders given the\nmaid never go to his room unless the house was on fire, he told her to\nbring the morning papers at whatever hour they were delivered, which was\nusually before seven, and thereafter during the day to take up all the\nextras she could secure. \"Floraline Schopenhauer\" was put aside, and a\nsonnet, \"Caligula Germanicus,\" was the immediate result.\nThe summer advanced, and so did the march toward Paris. Then, in common\nwith all Americans in England, he began to rage against the United States\nand its apparent apathy. His inability to do anything was irksome. To\nstand on the balcony giving off of our drawing-room and watch the first raw\nrecruits march past, made it difficult for him to restrain himself. With a\nUnion Jack fastened to Toto's collar he would go out for his usual walk in\nKensington Gardens, and come back raging at his uselessness. Backed by a\nwife proud of her British ancestry and growing more and more indignant each\nday at the United States Government, Mr. Saltus finally decided to become a\nnaturalized British subject. Incidentally, this was what Henry James did a\nlittle later on. That he did not take out these papers (which, had it been\ndone, would have saved me a series of unpleasant incidents) was owing to\nthe fact that such small possessions as he had were in the United States,\nand that, writing for the magazines and newspapers published in New York,\nhe was dependent on the good-will of the American public. It was taking a\nchance to swap countries during a war. A blacklisting of his work was\nwithin the possibilities.\nAt the beginning of the war people were seen in restaurants and theatres a\ngreat deal. The slogan \"Business as usual\" meant the keeping alive of their\nmorale. That phase of it passed Mr. Saltus unnoticed. Not half a dozen\ntimes during his life in London did he go out of an evening. They were all\nalike, prefaced by a short walk to give our dog some exercise, followed by\nan hour or two of studying the Quabala. Such a life would have been not\nonly deadly to the normal woman, but would have sent her rushing to Reno.\nSo seldom was Mr. Saltus asked by me to go anywhere, and so certain was he\nthat if asked it would be worth while, that he never questioned where I was\ntaking him. Like the little boy who when he was good was very good indeed\nand when he was bad was horrid, Mr. Saltus took the hurdle from one to the\nother at intervals. It was about seven to five, the balance, however, being\nin his favour.\nAmong his mental twists was a very pronounced one. Willing enough to\nentertain now and again provided the people were interesting, he was\nunalterably opposed to having anyone, no matter who, sleep under our roof\nfor even a single night. Strangers irritated him, and friends if they\nremained too long did so as well. One incident shows how embarrassing it\ncould become at times.\nAmong my friends was a beautiful and talented girl, Miss H----, who lived\nin the country, and for whom Mr. Saltus had expressed much admiration. She\ncame up to London one afternoon. It was in the early days of the war, when\nhotels and boarding-houses were packed with Americans waiting to sail for\nhome. In these circumstances she could find no place to stop; and, knowing\nwe had a maisonette of some size, she called me on the telephone and asked\nif I could put her up for the night, suggesting very considerately that she\nwould occupy the chesterfield in the drawing-room on the floor below our\nsleeping rooms. Well acquainted with Mr. Saltus' peculiarities, I would\nhave invented an excuse, but his admiration for her had been so often\nexpressed that I believed she would prove the exception, so, deciding to\nchance it, I told her to come. Upon his return from a walk I told him what\nhad occurred. The clouds gathered. Didn't I know that no one, princess or\nqueen, would be welcome to stay over a night? His house was his castle. To\neveryone else he had to be Edgar Saltus, the author. With me only could he\nbe Snippsy and take his comfort. Argument sent him into a rage. Told at\nlast that she positively must come, he ran upstairs and packed his\nsuitcases.\n\"If she comes I go to a hotel.\"\n\"That is impossible,\" I told him. \"She would have gone to one herself if\nshe could have secured a room anywhere. The poor girl only asks to sleep\ndown stairs in the drawing-room.\"\n\"If I can't get a room I'll sleep on a park bench or the ground. It's\nsummer and it won't kill me. The men at the front have much worse.\"\nThere was no bluff about it.\n\"Call her up,\" he urged, \"and tell her I am a lunatic whose worst mania is\nkilling people in their sleep.\"\n\"It's likely that she would believe a tale that wagged like that, and she\nwould hate you forever afterward.\"\n\"What the devil do I care?\" he screamed. \"Let her hate all she likes\nprovided she stays away.\"\n\"Call her yourself,\" I said, \"and tell her so. It's your funeral, not\nmine.\"\nStraight to the telephone he went and did so, not in the language he had\nused to me. It was apologetic and diplomatic in the extreme, but it let her\nknow very definitely that she could not come. She did not come, and she\nnever darkened our door again; and there is very little doubt in my mind\nbut that she regarded me as the culprit and Mr. Saltus as the scapegoat\nforced to do an unpardonable act. She probably concluded upon thinking it\nover that I looked upon her as more dangerous than the woman with the sack\nshe had heard us joke about, and that I was afraid she might carry him off\nmore effectually.\nI had let Mr. Saltus turn himself out of the house when we were in Los\nAngeles because a principle was involved and the life of a defenceless\nanimal jeopardized. There was no question of that in this case, for humans\nspeak or shriek their need; besides, Miss H---- was a very charming girl\nand had other acquaintances in London.\nSo Mr. Saltus slept in peace under his own roof and the chapter was\nclosed.\nCHAPTER XIV\nOn the heels of this episode was one of another character. Among Mr.\nSaltus' many charming qualities was an especially endearing one. With\npersons he loved, the passing of years seemed to leave no trace whatever,\nand he could see no difference in their personal appearance. In his eyes,\nuntil the hour of his death, I remained the fragile and impertinent child\nto whom he had stretched out his hand on the sands of Narragansett Pier,--a\nhelpless and impractical creature in a world of scheming scoundrels.\nIn his eyes I had not a fault. It was not that he was in ignorance of my\nlimitations and undesirable qualities; these he saw with clarity, but he\nbelieved that every virtue had its negative aspect as well,--the defects of\nits qualities, as he expressed it,--and to divert or eliminate these was to\nimpair the desirable attributes behind them. In consequence any\nshortcomings of mine were regarded as indications only of the most\nsuperlative virtues, and not to be tampered with. No woman could ask more\nof a man than to accept her limitations and incapacities as evidences of\nher extraordinary worth. This hallucination was a pleasing one, but it had\nits negative side as well. Nothing could convince Mr. Saltus that every\nmale creature was not laying plans to entice me away from him. The fact\nthat for long periods at a time I was not only ill, but looked too frail to\nattract anything more than sympathy, counted for nothing. The fact that the\nmajority of men could not run fast enough from a woman possessing my\ndefects was unconvincing to him. Over and over he was told that the\nqualities which attracted him would antagonize the average man from the\nstart. He was still convinced that I was a fragile and unsuspecting child\nin a world of vultures and demons. It must be said, however, that Mr.\nSaltus was too much of a philosopher ever to ask me to do or to omit\nanything. My freedom of action was limitless and his trust absolute, and he\nnever questioned any of my actions except as a joke.\nAmong our acquaintances was a Turkish diplomat, T---- Bey. Occasionally, as\nis the custom in England, I had tea with him or he with us, and now and\nagain I went with him for a walk in the Gardens. The fact that he looked\nenough like Mr. Saltus to be a twin brother had first called him to my\nattention. He was perhaps ten years younger, but they looked about of an\nage.\nBesides the fat woman and the elemental, there was another joke we had\nrehearsed for years. It was as follows, and leads directly to the incident\nconcerning T---- Bey.\n\"If you had not been such a black devil I would not have fancied you,\" I\nused to tell him.\n\"I'm not a black devil. I'm a good little slavey.\"\n\"No,--you're a little dark E\" (making a pun on his name), \"and your\ncomplexion is your stock in trade.\"\n\"I thought it was my wheedling ways?\"\n\"No, indeed! And if I ever disappear, look about for a man a shade or two\ndarker than yourself and miaw around the neighborhood.\"\n\"Any man darker than I will have a touch of the tar brush.\"\n\"Perhaps you have a bit yourself. Remember, an ancestress of yours came\nfrom Port Royal, Jamaica. I have often suspected the worst.\"\nThis joking always amused him so much that when en route to Africa the year\nbefore I had written him saying that it was with delightful anticipations I\nneared the home of his ancestors. That letter brought the query, \"Which,\nmonkeys or blacks?\" To which I replied that they would be \"high\nmonkey-monks of some kind.\"\nMuch as he enjoyed this chaffing with me, T---- Bey stuck somewhat in his\nthroat when I joked about him. Accustomed to his habit of\nnon-interference--for, as he remarked, \"Dogs can be trained, but cats have\nto have their own way in everything\"--I was amazed when he said:--\n\"If you don't mind, and can see your way to it, I would rather you did not\ngo alone to restaurants with T---- Bey.\"\n\"Of course not if you prefer,\" was my immediate reply. It was a trivial\nmatter, too unimportant for discussion. An hour later, however, when going\ninto the Ritz for tea with some friends from the country, I found T---- Bey\nwas included. That was quite all right. What was not so was the fact, that\nwhile tea was being served an urgent telephone call made it necessary for\nmy friends to leave at once. T---- Bey and I were left alone having our tea\ntogether. To get up and go, no matter what the excuse, would have been an\ninsult. There was nothing to do but to remain and explain the circumstances\nafterward to Mr. Saltus. That explanation was never given or asked. As we\nwere finishing our tea Mr. Saltus walked into the room, saw us, and coming\nforward smiling with outstretched hand asked if he might join us. This he\ndid, chatting all the time as delightfully as he could. Being asked by\nT---- Bey if he knew I was in the Ritz, he answered lightly, but with an\nunderlying meaning:--\n\"My _intuitions_ about Mrs. Saltus are uncanny. If she has as much as a\nheadache I know it. If she is perplexed I feel it, and if she is vexed with\nme without giving a sign of it, her vibrations tear me to pieces and I\ncannot endure it.\"\nOn the way home I started to tell him how it had all come about, but he\nstopped me short.\n\"Leave explanations to strangers,--love understands. That you were there\nafter what you said this morning, is in itself proof that it was\naccidental.\"\nHe would not listen to a word and the subject dropped then and there. It\nwas perhaps because of his laxity in this respect that my regard for truth\nwas adamant. It was in consequence characteristic of Mr. Saltus to avoid\nany discussion with me in which I might be forced to ask:--\n\"Do you want to hear the unvarnished truth?\"\n\"No--no, varnish it,--varnish it, if it will hurt, which truth is more than\nlikely to do. I would rather hear pleasing lies, even if I cannot believe\nthem.\"\nThat was Mr. Saltus in the raw. He could not face truth, if either to hear\nit or to tell it was likely to cause pain or unpleasantness. Running\nparallel to this peculiarity was another, oriental in its courtesy, unusual\nin its application,--his attitude of deference toward me. Asked by T. P.\nO'Connor to express his views on a subject he had not considered until that\nmoment he said:--\n\"Have you asked Mrs. Saltus what she thinks?\"\n\"No,\" said T. P., \"I'm asking you. It's your angle and opinion I want.\"\n\"My opinion is a zero. I haven't considered the subject at all. Ask Mrs.\nSaltus for hers. After this we will be sure to discuss it, and whatever I\nmay say off hand, I am sure to accept her views in a week or two anyway.\nAsk her now, it will save time.\"\nNot only was his attitude highly deferential but most embarrassing at\ntimes. Upon one occasion I was asked by a foreign diplomat how it felt to\nlive with a genius. Before I could reply Mr. Saltus took us both off our\nfeet by cutting in:--\n\"Don't ask the poor girl something she does not know, and cannot answer. If\nyou want to know about living with a genius, ask me.\"\nThe diplomat's understanding of English was imperfect, and this was too\nmuch for him. He may be still trying to decipher the reply.\nDuring the years Mr. Saltus had become an adept with animals. Through his\naffection for Toto he had absorbed their psychology. It was he now who\nrushed into the street to pick up a horse's feed-bag and restore it to its\nplace. Seeing an injured cat near Museum Street, and being unable to get\nany one to help him, he discarded an armful of books and, calling a taxi,\ncarried the victim in his arms to the Cat Shelter at Camden Town.\nWith autumn came the query, What and where? The war had been gaining\nmomentum. Obviously it was unwise to remain too long away from the base of\nsupplies. Certain also it was that if we tore up our home, taking\neverything back to the States, it would mean remaining there. With one of\nus remaining in England a home might be resurrected. It was in consequence\ndecided that Mr. Saltus should return to New York, and rejoin me after\nthings looked a bit clearer. The pain in his legs increased so that he\nwalked less and less each day, but when he saw how it worried me he\npretended that he was getting better and had never been as well in his\nlife. In his anxiety to spare me and his desire to avoid telling\ndisagreeable things he made a frightful mistake. Had I known the truth,\nnever would I have let him return alone.\nLeaving England was always a tug at his heart-strings. He was reluctant to\nput an ocean between us and reluctant to turn his back on possible service.\nLittle did either of us dream, however, that he was leaving his beloved\nBritish Museum for the last time. In Waterloo Station once more, the\nstation in which he had said so many \"good-byes,\" we said au revoir again.\nUpon his return to New York Mr. Saltus took rooms near the Manhattan Club\nand began to write a few articles on the origin of the war. Since \"The\nMonster,\" he had attempted nothing of a sustained or exhausting character.\nIt was not long before his letters became filled with anxiety over the\ndistance between us, and he began to write--jestingly, to be sure--of acute\nindigestion, which, gripping him suddenly and sharply, had dropped like a\nvulture out of the air. As he expressed it, \"Karma has me, not by the\nheels, at last, but by the solar plexus first.\" Added to the distress in\nhis legs, which he finally admitted, were these attacks, so sharp and\nsevere that after the slightest exertion he had to sit down faint from the\npain. Had the war been over he was in no condition to take a journey. Miss\nG----afterward told me that he had greatly minimized the seriousness of his\ncondition in writing me of it. Still his hope of returning to England\npersisted. The letters which followed me to Scotland, Ireland and back to\nEngland again were full of it.\nBarring the little apartment in Washington Heights where Miss S---- made\nhim welcome, offering such assistance and comfort as she could, and Miss\nG----, who suggested physicians and did all she could for his benefit, he\nwent nowhere and saw no one. Had I known of the kindness and assistance so\nfreely given by Miss S----, it would have relieved my mind concerning him.\nUnfortunately it was only after his death that I was able to thank her for\nall this.\nBy 1916 Mr. Saltus realized his condition better, and reading between the\nlines of his letters I offered to return. Passage was taken, but because\nof the unrestricted submarining the boat was at the last moment withdrawn.\nOwing to the censor, cables as well as letters were delayed. The worry of\nit all made Mr. Saltus go down hill rapidly. In connection with this an\nincident occurred which affected Mr. Saltus horribly, and through no fault\nof either his or mine. It is so touching, so indicative of his finest\nsweetness and most endearing qualities, that it is not out of place here.\nDuring the summer of 1913 we had met a very interesting Hindu of exalted\nposition. A mutual interest in occultism drew us together, and thereafter\nhe became one of our play persons, Mr. Saltus teasing me with the remark:--\n\"When you elope with I----, it will give me an excuse for following you to\nIndia, and India is the Mecca of my dreams.\"\n\"If it comes to the worst and you can see it no other way, I will do my\nbest to accommodate you,\" was the usual reply.\nOne can joke over a matter face to face, but war and distance give it\nanother complexion. In a letter of mine, solely to amuse him, I mentioned\nthat I had been out for tea with I----, and ended with the remark, \"So\ndon't give up your hope of India.\"\nIt was Mr. Saltus' custom as well as my own to write in the upper left-hand\ncorner of our letters, \"via Mauretania,\" or via this or that fast boat, in\norder that our letters would go the speediest way. Owing to the censor they\nwere delayed at best, and then arrived five or six at a time. After this\nletter with the joke concerning I----, I wrote again almost at once, with\n\"via Mauretania\" in the corner as usual. Repairs being necessary, this\nparticular boat was withdrawn for a fortnight, and my letter stupidly held\nover till its next crossing. All of this neither of us knew. What Mr.\nSaltus did know was that ten days went by without a line from me: a thing\nso unprecedented that it bowled him over completely. During this time I\nwent down to Brighton for a week, which delayed my next letter, and caused\nthe cables which came from him to be opened, delayed, and reopened, before\nreaching me, for resorts on the sea were under special scrutiny. Hearing\nnothing from his cables, Mr. Saltus sent others to two friends, neither of\nwhich were delivered, as the friends happened to be in France at the time.\nWhen these finally reached me in a bundle I was both horrified and\novercome. Rushing to the cable office I sent the following: \"No one but\nSnipps. Written constantly. At Brighton for the weekend. Eternamente.\nMowgy.\" This I believed would set his mind at rest. Worse was to follow.\nAfter being held for some time the cable was not only returned to me, but\nit was discovered that I had omitted to register as a foreigner, and I was\nregarded with a certain amount of suspicion. Snipps, Mowgy, and\nEternamente, were not English words, and I was required to explain them. It\nwas a terrible mess. In the meantime a letter came from Mr. Saltus. So\nextraordinary is it,--so unlike the letter of the average male,--that its\nwords are burned into my heart. That letter alone lifted him beyond and\nabove the majority of his sex. After telling of his anxiety and the absence\nof letters it reads as follows:--\n\"... Do not think I am scolding you--and don't let me worry you either. I\nam not physically ill. I have only had a shock, and that prevents me from\nworking. A few days ago I wrote you that I supposed I had not heard because\nthe ships were delayed by storm and fog. Well, I waited hopefully. The\nstorm passed, the fogs lifted and the ships came in. No letter. That was\nthe shock, and was horrible. I cabled to the Brunswick, cabled also to the\nAmerican Express and to Miss F----, and received no reply. My eyes look\ndreadfully, all blurred and red. I am not ill, but I might just as well be.\nI don't know when I will have the courage to look in my letter box. You\nwill never know how horrible it is to look in and find it empty. It is as\nthough I had a crack over the head, and a blow in the stomach. But there,\nlittle kit-cat, provided you are not hurt or ill no matter about me.\nAnyway, God willing and God grant it, I will get an answer to this. In\ncabling say only, \"Well, and safe, Mowgy.\" Don't send it deferred rates,\nfor every hour of waiting is agony. It ought to reach me on the second by\nnoon. If it doesn't? Well, Mowgy, then in that case remember this. Always,\nwhatever you do or omit, I shall love you just the same. Always whatever\nyou do I will forgive it. You are my little world and will be until the\nend. And just this, my darling: try and write that you forgive me for\nanything I have done or said which I ought not to. Remember that you are my\nall and that you can always return to me without thought of censure on my\npart. My little girl--if I could only stop crying. E.\"\nThis incident upset me frightfully. It proved that Mr. Saltus must be in a\ncritical condition mentally, to be imagining such wild and impossible\nthings, and that he needed care. There was still no sign of the war coming\nto an end, and whether or not a home in England would be advisable under\nthe changed conditions was open to question, for we were suffering acutely,\nnot only for food, but for light, heat and other necessities.\nRisking the submarines and the unforeseen, I sailed for the States. Mr.\nSaltus met me at the dock. Lack of exercise had made him too stout by far,\nhe looked puffy, and every few feet he had to stop, for between the pain in\nhis legs and the flatulence he was in bad shape.\nHe took me to the Hotel Broztel in East 27th Street, not only because it\nwas only around the corner from his rooms, but because he had ascertained\nthat our dog would be welcome there.\nMr. Saltus' usual method of assuring Toto's reception was an amusing one.\nGoing to the office of the hotel, wherever we happened to be, he would say\nto the room clerk:--\n\"I want to know if there is any objection to children?\"\nHe was of course assured that there was none.\n\"But my child is not like other children,\" he would say. \"She has a fancy\nfor running about in the organism of a dog. That is all there is of dog\nabout her,--the rest is far more human than yourself.\"\nAt that stage in the conversation the man at the desk would begin looking\naround to see if there was a keeper with him, and if help could be obtained\nquickly. When this uneasiness became apparent, I would stroll up with Toto,\nwho, putting her paws on the desk, woofing and going through her paces,\nwould so intrigue the room clerk that he would forget Mr. Saltus and decide\nthat the crazy owners of such a clever creature could be accommodated.\nIn connection with hotels and Toto, Mr. Saltus had an original way of\nputting our names on the register. It savoured of sarcasm and a slap at me\nin the bargain, but he always insisted that it was neither, and insisted\nupon the following:--\n    Mrs. Edgar Saltus and Dog     New York City\n         Edgar Saltus             New York City\nCHAPTER XV\nIt was during my stay at the Hotel Broztel that an incident occurred, small\nin itself, but so characteristic of Mr. Saltus that it is included in order\nto show his many-sidedness. As I have said before, Mr. Saltus and I when by\nourselves never chatted in rational English. From the early days of our\nacquaintance, when for the first time he was brought in contact with pets,\nhe adopted as his own, and never relinquished, the baby language in which I\nalways addressed them, and it became ours. He not only delighted in using\nit, but the vocabulary increased after he took it over. This is easily\naccounted for when one realizes the muted days of his early life, so filled\nwith dread and discord, when he was afraid to play like other children,\nafraid to say anything, and with no outlet in the way of pets, on which he\ncould expend his natural playfulness and lavish his love.\nIn writing of our various conversations, the language which we invariably\nused when alone has been omitted, for the reason that it would be difficult\nto understand, and that the deciphering of it would confuse and delay the\nmeaning. In my estimation it added to Mr. Saltus' charm and was a key to\nthe simplicity of his real nature, but to the public it would appear\ntrivial, if not absurd. One incident, however, is amusing.\nComing into my rooms one day, Mr. Saltus exclaimed:--\n\"What drivelling fools some men make of themselves! Here I have been for\nten minutes at the Manhattan, trying to get you on the telephone. The wires\nwere crossed, and I had to listen to drivel of the most nauseous kind\nbetween a man and a woman. He, anyway, should be shot. A woman may be\nforgiven for twaddle--but a man never.\"\n\"What did they say?\" I asked.\n\"Oh--the man kept calling her honey-bunch, cutikins, and lollypop. It was\nrot of the worst kind. Then she replied, calling him sugar plum and tootsy\nwootsy and tiddley-winks. Lord, what fools some people make of themselves!\"\nHe went out on some business after a while. Later in the day my telephone\nrang. It was Mr. Saltus on the wire. Here is the conversation which\nfollowed:--\n\"Miaw, Miaw, little Puss.\"\n\"Miaw.\"\n\"Little fur smoothed down and little taily waving in the air?\" (I was\nalways supposed to be a Persian kitten.)\n\"Miaw.\"\n\"Wants to lap up keemy and nibbst fish at the Prince George for your\ndin-din?\"\n\"Miaw!\"\n\"Baby Totesikins love her Pasy and want din-din also? Lift her up to\nanswer.\"\n(Toto lifted in my arms to the telephone, long practice having made her\nadept.)\n\"Baby wants nice bickies?\"\n\"Woof! Woof!\"\n\"Loves, Pasy?\"\n\"Woof.\" (Toto put down.)\n\"There, little Puffikins, Snippsy orders nice din for both. Says he good\nold dog Tray. Says he satisfactory scoundrel.\"\nLaughter.\n\"What are you laughing at?\"\n\"At drivel of the most nauseous kind between a man and a woman. He at least\nought to be shot.\"\nLaughter from the other end.\nNever until that moment had Mr. Saltus realized what our conversation must\nsound like to an outsider and an uninitiate. It brought us both up with a\njerk. Thereafter Mr. Saltus wrote \"tolerance,\" and, underlining the word,\nadded it to a list he had made.\nDuring the time Mr. Saltus had been alone in New York, one of his greatest\ndistractions and relaxations was taking his daughter Elsie, a d\u00e9butante,\nfor tea or for luncheon. Tall, graceful, oriental in colouring like\nhimself, he not only admired her for her beauty but enjoyed her new and\nrefreshing angle on life. Chatting with her was both restful and\nstimulating to him. In one sense she was a complete stranger to him, having\nlived apart for so many years. In another, she was so close that everything\nconcerning her, no matter how slight, was of profound importance. As he had\nno near relatives and saw nothing whatever of his many cousins, she\nrepresented the only tie of blood in the world.\nThe circumstances were unfortunate. Living with a sister of her mother's,\nwho, obviously, could not be expected to welcome him with outstretched\narms, she met her father as a rule in restaurants. That was formal and less\nconducive to intimacy than seeing a parent in moments of rest and\nrelaxation. Accepting this as the inevitable result of things, Mr. Saltus\nlooked forward to the time when in a home of her own he would feel free to\nvisit his daughter early, often and informally, and reach the bedrock of\nher very charming self. This seemed about to be realized, when, soon after\nher d\u00e9but, she became engaged to one of the finest, most dependable and\naltogether delightful of men,--J. Theus Munds,--and a date for the wedding\nwas set.\n[Illustration: MRS. J. THEUS MUNDS\nThe Daughter of\nEDGAR SALTUS\nAnd Her Little Son]\nAny idea of going to the wedding reception was beyond Mr. Saltus' wildest\ndreams. Added to his abhorrence of crowds and festivities he was too ill\nfor such an affair. A look into the church was the most he was capable of.\nHad father and daughter understood one another better, what followed need\nnever have happened. Invitations were sent to us--but for the church only.\nCards to the reception were omitted. A whip lash across his face would have\nhurt Mr. Saltus less. It bowled him over. Nothing would have induced him to\ngo in any event, but the knowledge that he, her father, was purposely\nomitted was a knife in the back. Appreciating why his presence would have\nbeen not only unwelcome but an embarrassment, he expected others to have\nunderstood that he would have looked upon the invitation as an act of\ncourtesy only.\nVainly I tried to put it before him as I saw it, explaining and extenuating\nthe omission. It failed to have the desired effect. Mr. Saltus took it that\nI, too, was turning against him. It was a hopeless muddle. Had his daughter\nbeen older at the time, and more experienced, and had she known him better,\nit could have been avoided so easily. Had she gone to him explaining the\nsituation, he would not only have urged her to omit him but entered\nsympathetically into her viewpoint. The invitations were not sent out by\nher, and she could not, without directly offending her aunt, have given one\nover her head. Acting as many another has when in doubt, she did nothing\nand was silent, believing that in the years to come it would be explained\nand made right between them. Mr. Saltus never overlooked it. Not until he\nlay in his coffin and that closed forever, did she come under the same roof\nwith him again.\nThe following winter Mr. Saltus just escaped pneumonia, and was weakened by\nits effects, so we decided to try housekeeping again. It was a brave\nventure. He wanted his meals when he wanted them. A set time for anything\nirritated him beyond endurance. Handicapped by a wife who frequently forgot\nthat the ordering depended upon herself, and who was lost in abstract space\nwhen she should have found her way to the grocers or even to the telephone\nin time, it was beginning under difficulties.\nHaving a fancy for the atmosphere of Columbia University, which was his\nAlma Mater, we took an apartment in The Arizona, 508 West 114th Street,\ndirectly opposite the oval. It savoured of the country out there, adding\nthe convenience of being between Riverside Drive and Morningside Park,\nwhere, his increasing lameness permitting, Mr. Saltus was able to go and\nrest. With the realization of his age and infirmities his desire to get\naway from the world increased by leaps and bounds, for not only did he wish\nto avoid people, but he even disliked to have them know where he lived.\nLong accustomed to being taken for my father, that did not trouble him.\nBut walking painfully with a stick, and stopping at intervals to take\npeppermint for the acute indigestion, which attacked him when in motion,\nhumiliated him intensely. The sympathy in the faces of those who passed\nhim, a sympathy sometimes expressed in words, was more agonizing even than\nthe pain. In order to keep his home a secret retreat, where, like a wounded\nanimal, he could hide in silence, he continued giving the Manhattan Club as\nhis address.\nWhile formerly Mr. Saltus had enjoyed having me take a walk with him, he\nnow avoided it. Toto only was permitted to accompany him.\n\"My God,\" he would exclaim when questioned, \"I may be a cripple, but I am\nnot blind. I can see what people are thinking--'That poor girl tied to an\nold derelict!'\"\nRidiculous as this was, Mr. Saltus could not be persuaded out of it. For\nthe same reason he refused to get into a street car with me. To sit, and\nlet me stand beside him, as might happen if the car were crowded, was a\nchance he did not mean to take.\nSpecialists diagnosed his trouble as Reynous disease, an affliction most\nunusual in this part of the world,--of slow growth, but leading inevitably\nto a wheeled chair. The prospect appalled him. My father had been confined\nto one for many years, and Mr. Saltus knew what it meant.\n\"Karma has taken my legs from under me,\" he exclaimed again and again.\nI invented cases of cure for him, but in my absence one day he consulted a\nphysician, who had not been coached in the matter, and he told him the\ntruth. The blow was terrific. Realizing that he must keep his mind occupied\nor go under, he started to write \"The Paliser Case.\" The plot was not new.\nIt was \"The Perfume of Eros\" in a new frock. He was not writing so much to\ncreate as to fight the constant pain in his legs. His condition was an\nembarrassing one to his pride. When the pain attacked him, he had to sit\ndown there and then, or fall down. To be compelled to rest on copings,\ndoorsteps or curbstones, as the case might be, was tragic, and yet it was\nmore tragic to remain a prisoner in the house. My mother gave him a small\ncamp chair, and this upon occasions he took with him in case of\nemergencies.\nOne specialist after another was called, for between the indigestion and\nhis legs, he was in perpetual torture. Rebellious at first, at what seemed\na tragic and trivial end to his eventful life, Mr. Saltus brought his\nphilosophy into concrete use, realizing that the lesson of patience was\nwhat he needed most, and was now in a position to acquire. With the\nacceptance of his afflictions as karma, and adjusting his mind to the idea\nof the wheeled chair, it lost its power to hurt him. Removing from my\nbureau a card I had stuck in the glass, he put it in his. It was a\nquotation from the Git\u00e2, which read:--\"Taking as equal pleasure and pain,\ngain or loss, victory or defeat, thou shalt not incur sin.\" From that hour\nhe complained no longer, although complications and sorrow piled on in\nrapid succession.\nBefore telling of them, another incident should be given in its proper\nsequence. In giving some of Mr. Saltus' clothes to a tailor for pressing, a\nletter fell out of one of the pockets. It was a note from his Los Angeles\nfriend Miss S----, of whom he had told me that he had lost all trace. Sent\nfrom abroad, it was directed to the Manhattan Club. It was not the simple\nnote or the friendship which angered me at the moment, but his stupid and\nneedless denials regarding it. Although I knew, better than anyone else\ncould have done, how impossible it was for him to face momentary\nunpleasantness, this was too much. I went to him and said,\n\"Well, Snipps, you are a clever prevaricator, but in this you have been a\nplain ass. A spineless jellyfish must give place to it. Judas and Ananias\ncombined could take lessons from you with profit. Here you are ready to\ncross the river Styx and take the remnants of a misspent life into\nAvitchi.\" (The lower astral plane. Its lessons and condition were a subject\nwhich tormented Mr. Saltus more than a little. Darkness always appalled\nhim, and he dreaded detention there.)\nIt was a cruel thrust on my part, said on the impulse of the moment. Mr.\nSaltus went white to the lips.\n\"That you can say such a thing over nothing!\" he gasped. \"I could not risk\nthe reminders of Dorothy S----, which you would have treated me to had I\ntold you.\"\nHis usual comeback about the \"subordinate entity\" and the \"submerged It,\"\nfailed him then. The lower astral plane with all its horrors, then\nuppermost in his mind, was recalled by my chance remark. He went off into\nhysterics, of so serious a nature that it ended by his going to bed.\nComplicating his other disabilities was heart trouble, and he was taking\nnitroglycerine at the time. There was nothing to do but put a sponge over\nthe incident and make light of it.\nThis I did, so convincingly that a few days later he began to call:--\n\"Little Anny feels ill,\" or \"Little Anny wants to come in and sit down\nbeside you,\"--\"Anny\" being his abbreviation for Ananias.\nIt is a pity that Mr. Saltus was never frank with me over this friendship.\nKnowing my faults and limitations as no one else could, he knew also that\nsmallness was not one of them, and that bigness and fineness on his part\nalways engendered in me the desire to meet it in kind.\nHad he but told me how greatly Miss S----had ministered to his comfort\nduring my absence in England, when he was ill and alone,--how she had\noverseen his mending, and, studying the needs of a dyspeptic, had prepared\nmeals for him in her little apartment many a time, I would have been\nsympathetic.\nMiss S---- came into Mr. Saltus' life shortly after his illness in Los\nAngeles, to which I have referred, and at the moment when he was turning\nfrom the material to the spiritual. The understanding of occultism, which\ncame to him in a blinding flash, was such that he could think and talk of\nlittle else. Miss S----, whose unusual personality and fluid mind rendered\nher susceptible to new impacts, was very much interested in what he told\nher along these lines. As she has put it to me since Mr. Saltus' death, \"He\ncame into my life like a Buddha, bringing enlightenment.\"\nWith thirty-five years' difference in their ages, and meeting him only when\nhe was past middle life, she saw in him a great teacher--and he saw in her\na rarely sensitive soul full of possibilities.\nThese potentialities were developed after Miss S---- went to New York, and\nsoon placed her in a position of importance and responsibility.\nShe could not see in Mr. Saltus, as I did, a being who step by step had\nmounted a ladder of light on the rungs of his dead selves. She saw only\nthe finished product, for the process of refinement, by which his greater\nqualities had been separated from the lesser, covered a long period of\nyears.\nSome of those who read this biography will say that Mr. Saltus may have\nbeen glad to escape at times from a home where animals were given so much\nattention. This remark has in fact been made to me by those who can judge\nonly from the surface of things. The fabric of this criticism is, however,\nless substantial than moonlight. During the latter years of Mr. Saltus'\nlife much of Miss S----'s time was spent abroad. When Mr. Saltus saw her,\nas he did frequently during her intermissions in New York, he but left his\nhome environment to go into a similar one. High-strung, nervous and\ntemperamental, Miss S---- had the animal complex as strongly as I. Her\napartment was never without one or two pets whose comfort, well being and\nhappiness were her constant pre-occupation. Had he found these conditions\nunder his own roof unpleasant, he would not have gone out of his way to\nduplicate them elsewhere.\nNot long after Mr. Saltus' death, Miss S----and myself visited the\nBide-a-Wee Home for Animals, of which I was a director. On our return home\nwe noticed a poor lost cat trying to cross the street through densely\ncongested traffic. With one accord we stood still, holding our breath, our\nhands clenched in agony, till the cat reached the further side in safety.\nOur reactions were not only immediate, but identical.\nI make no attempt to go into the whys and wherefores of it all, nor do I\noffer an explanation. The facts are as I have stated. An elucidation of\nthem is work for a psychiatrist.\nCHAPTER XVI\nToward the end of 1918, and after a short and unexpected illness, our Toto,\nwho had walked beside us for over ten years, passed over. To write of it\neven now is acute pain. The loss was like that of an only and uniquely\nbeloved child. We were stunned, and in spite of my philosophy I went to\npieces as I had never done in my life. It was over this heart-breaking\nevent that Mr. Saltus displayed his extraordinary qualities.\n\"I wish you would have little Totesy's body cremated and her ashes kept and\nmingled with mine,\" he said.\nAstonishment brought the reply,\n\"I never realized that you loved her so deeply.\"\n\"Nor did I until now, but it is not only that. Husbands may come and go,\nbut there can never be but one Toto,\" he said. \"With whom do you wish to\nbe buried?\"\nI was silent.\n\"There, you have answered me,\" he said after a pause. \"I am sure you are\nplanning to be buried in the Dogs' Cemetery in Hartsdale. Do as I ask. Let\nToto's ashes and mine be mingled,--then, no matter where you go or what you\ndo in the future, yours too will rest with mine at the last.\"\nHis wishes were carried out, and the ashes of the little being we loved so\ndeeply are mixed with his own. Under a modest head-stone on which is\nengraved his name and the word \"Eternamente,\" but a few feet from the\nmonument covering the remains of his brother Frank, their ashes rest\nwaiting to include my own.\nThis death cast a profound sadness over us. From comparative health, I went\ninto a state of collapse and prolapsis such as I had never suffered before.\nToo ill and too indifferent even to speak, unless absolutely necessary,\nour apartment became a place of silence. It was the most awful winter of\nour lives, but to his credit it must be said that Mr. Saltus not only never\nuttered a complaint but pretended all the time that his legs were rapidly\ngetting better.\nAn unfortunate lease chained us to the depressing surroundings. It scourged\nMr. Saltus' very soul to see me in such a condition and be powerless to\nhelp, for all he ever asked of me was to smile. When I could not do that,\nhis world became night. He would sit beside my bed, the foot of which was\nelevated to an uncomfortable degree, and chat at length and delightfully on\nthe interesting mysteries of antiquity in his effort to divert my mind.\nIt was then he started on \"The Imperial Orgy.\" Taking some articles he had\nwritten for Munsey's Magazine years before as a base, he undertook, with\nthe aid of some up-to-date books and notes he had gathered together during\nthe years, to make a volume. Writing was not as easy as it had once been.\nIt required an effort he had never before experienced. Added to this, he\ntook on a new job. For a man of letters it was an extraordinary thing.\nUnacquainted with any detail of housekeeping, hating the petty,\nuninteresting trifles necessary to it, it was a far step for him to\nundertake ordering the meals and going to market. Upon occasions when for\none cause or another the maid failed to appear of a morning, he even made\nmy tea and toast and brought them to my bedside.\nAll the time he pretended to have a fancy for this. The shops on Amsterdam\nAvenue in the immediate vicinity of our apartment got to know him well. Now\nand again he would come in and say:--\n\"I went into a shop around the corner and a young lady jumped into my arms,\nlicked my nose and tickled my ear with her tail. Don't tell me I am not a\nwinner with the women.\"\nI had to smile at that. The \"young lady\" was an Angora cat who embellished\na shop in the neighborhood. To the amusement of her owner and the\ncustomers, she would jump on Mr. Saltus' shoulders as soon as he appeared,\nand, wrapping herself about his neck like a scarf, would purr loudly. That\ncat pleased him enormously, and he was never tired of telling me about her.\nIt was her purr which made him a constant patron of the shop.\nMr. Saltus had a profound interest in the enigmas of the past, and knowing\nI was keen also, he would sit on the foot of my bed and chat for hours\nconcerning the Gates of Babylon, the astrological orientation of the\nPyramids, Tyre, Carthage and the Incas. He was at his best during these\ntimes,--profound, epigrammatic and cynical by turns. The pity of it is that\nhe had no audience but myself. He could have held any assemblage\nspell-bound for any length of time.\nIt was at this sad time, and during my breakdown which followed, that Mr.\nSaltus gave fullest expression to the understanding, sympathetic and tender\nside of his nature. These qualities he always possessed in a superlative\ndegree, and they were the leaven which made him unique among men. So\ncertain was I always of his attitude toward me, that it was my habit to run\nto him with a cut finger or an obsolete word. Whatever the case, my needs\nwere answered immediately.\nWhen I turned to him as usual, but with a breaking heart, he comforted me\nas he alone could. Night after night, when sleep dissolved into a mirage,\nhe sat by my bed and read aloud to me. Algernon Blackwood was a great\nfavorite with both of us. Some novel of his was always on Mr. Saltus' desk.\nI could not count the times he read the short stories in \"Dr. Silence\"\naloud to me, and after reading discussed the various themes on which they\nwere constructed. Talbot Mundy is another for whom Mr. Saltus had a great\nadmiration, and his books were substituted when we began to know \"Dr.\nSilence\" by heart. He never asked me if I would like to have him read to\nme, or what particular books I fancied. He always knew, and brought the\nvolume suited to my mood of the moment. Swinburne sang and scintillated\nthrough him many and many an evening, and no one could give the lights and\nshades, the flow and flavour of his verse, as Mr. Saltus did. He adored\nSwinburne. At other times Keats' \"Nightingale\" trilled in the twilight.\nThis was when I could be read to and diverted, but there were times when I\nwas too ill and miserable to listen. Then Mr. Saltus would take me on his\nlap and rock me as one would a child, singing little songs he made up as he\nrocked. He had done this often during the years, but never with such\ntenderness as at this time.\nA friend of mine to whom I gave a rough draft of this biography to read,\nsaid:\n\"Did you never do anything but quarrel with Mr. Saltus?\"\nThat remark surprised me into reading it over in a new light. Then I saw\nwhat she meant. So much of our life together was quiet, uneventful and\npeaceful, that to bring out Mr. Saltus' many-sidedness, I have given\nprominence to incidents of various kinds--exceptional happenings, rather\nthan our everyday life. As a matter of fact our life together was\nexceptionally harmonious.\nIt has been said by my critics, and with a great deal of truth, that I am\nthe last woman on earth Mr. Saltus should have married. No one appreciates\nthis fact better than I do--and this in spite of our similar tastes and\ntemperament. A genius should never marry. There is that in his nature which\nnot only unfits him for the limitations of conventional existence, but\ndiverts and distracts his imaginative faculty and creative ability. If a\ngenius marries at all, it should be to find not only a pillow for his\nmoods, eccentricities and weariness, but a being who, merging her\npersonality in his, supplements, and that unconsciously, such qualities as\nhe may need in his work. The wife of a genius should lead his life\nalone--be able to anticipate his needs and supply them, so unobtrusively\nthat he accepts her services without knowing it.\nAlthough anxious to do this, I could not. It was temperamentally\nimpossible, however much I tried to bring it about. Many factors were at\nthe base of this inability,--my frailty as a child and the continuous care\ngiven to me in consequence; added to this was the disparity in our ages,\nwhich tinged Mr. Saltus' attitude toward me with that of a father. His\nformer unhappy marriages had left their mark, and made him desire to be\nfather, mother, husband and protector to me.\nComing into my life at the age and in the way he did, he was Edgar Saltus\nthe man, never the author, to me, his work being lost in his personality.\nThis was what he wanted, and, as he frequently expressed it:--\n\"To the world I am Edgar Saltus the author, but thank God, I can be merely\nMr. Me to you.\"\nTimes without number I tried to make myself over into the kind of wife a\nliterary man should have, but with the same results. However much I tried\nto conceal these efforts, Mr. Saltus would see them and say:--\n\"Do stop trying to be somebody else, and be my little girl again. You think\nyou know the kind of a woman I should have married. Perhaps you do, but I\nwould have killed her ages and ages ago. Do be yourself. I wouldn't have\nyou changed by a hair.\"\nHowever much he was deluded, it was by himself, for I always told him that\nI was the last woman in the world he should have selected.\nCHAPTER XVII\nDuring this winter the distress in Mr. Saltus' legs increased to such a\ndegree that it took him ten minutes to walk from the Arizona to the corner\nof Amsterdam Avenue, a distance of only a few yards. Most of the time he\nwent in a taxi, but even getting out of one and walking the length of the\nhall to the elevator, was so tiresome and so painful that he had to sit in\nthe lobby for fifteen minutes or more before coming upstairs.\nSpeaking of elevators, brings back Mr. Saltus' chronic objection to meeting\npeople. It had increased with the years so as to become almost an\nobsession. He would wait any length of time in the lobby of the Arizona,\nrather than get in an elevator if there was anyone else in it. He was\nafraid someone might speak to him. When I had visitors (which, owing to my\nillness and his aversion, was infrequent) he would shoot past the\nliving-room and down the hall to his study, forcing his tortured legs to\nsuch activity that it often took him hours to recover from the effects of\nit.\nA year passed after the death of our beloved Toto,--a year so like inferno,\nthat even to think of it makes me shudder. With Mr. Saltus' helplessness it\nwas a toss-up which of us was in the worse condition. I looked up one day\nto find him weeping. When questioned he said:--\n\"I wish we could die together, before you lose your reason entirely. While\nI live I can take care of you no matter what happens, but after----? It's\nkilling me to watch you open bureau drawers and stand there striving to\nthink why you opened them: to see you grasp the top of your head trying to\nremember. All these years you have surmounted everything. Now only, you\ncannot make the grade, poor child. Death should be meaningless to one who\nunderstands it as you do. Cannot you make your philosophy concrete?\"\nIt was hard, but it made me take notice. A strait-jacket and a padded cell\nsprang into the perspective with his words, and the selfishness of sorrow\nstared me in the face. For the first time I realized what, in my\nindifference to everything, I had become, and it stunned me. While this was\nsinking in he spoke again:--\n\"I will be with little Toto so soon, and we will wait together until you\ncome over. You know as well as I do that your tears are vitriol on her\nspirit, retarding her evolution. For God's sake never agonize over me,\nunless you want to keep me earthbound and in prison.\"\nNot one man in a million would have lived under the conditions he accepted\nin silence for over a year. The average good husband would have left and\nasked for a divorce. Mr. Saltus not only never complained, but was\nconcerned only for me. From that hour I decided to pull myself together.\nBy the time \"The Imperial Orgy\" was finished, Mr. Saltus was in such bad\nshape that it was hazardous for him to leave the house alone. Twice he\ndropped in the street with heart attacks. The \"flu\" epidemic coming on, his\ninfection-complex swam into evidence again. He ceased going in public\nconveyances, and took a taxi whenever he thought it necessary to go out. A\nhandkerchief saturated with camphor held to his nose, he took the chance\nnow and again. Although he carried a card with his name and address in his\npocket, it was always with dread that I saw him leave the apartment. A\nflask of whisky was in another pocket, a bottle of peppermint and tablets\nof nitroglycerin were in a third, and yet he was really in no shape to go\nat all.\nIt was after a sudden heart attack in the street, that I decided he must\nremain indoors till physicians could tell more definitely about his\ncondition. The \"flu\" epidemic offered the chance I had been looking for.\nHad I come into the open and told him I was fearful he might be brought\nhome in an ambulance, he would have died there and then at my feet. The\nimpossibility of telling him anything unpleasant was a handicap. I was\nobliged to keep up the pleasing fiction that he was getting better every\nday, and to say that the increasing lameness and pain were but results of\nthe treatment he was undergoing to effect a permanent cure. Any\nover-anxiety on my part would have been disastrous. Knowing his reactions,\nI said quite casually one day:--\n\"You must have to wait longer to pick up taxis these days.\"\n\"Why?\" he asked in surprise.\n\"Because in default of enough ambulances, they are in such demand taking\npatients to the hospitals.\"\nThe implication was successful--Jean, the tree and the bubonic plague\nbecame as trifles compared to an infectious taxi.\n\"Great Heavens! I never thought of that,\" he exclaimed. \"Are you sure?\"\n\"I know only what I read and hear, but it may not be true,\" I said.\nThat was enough. It was weeks and weeks before Mr. Saltus could be\npersuaded to leave the apartment. Meanwhile, the plot of \"The Ghost Girl\"\nwas occupying his mind. Though the central situation was one he had used\nbefore, in a short story called \"A Bouquet of Illusions,\" he hoped to\njustify his use of it again by his amplification of it.\nWhen the plot was mapped out, he announced that he was ready to start work,\nand \"the kennel\" could be cleaned up. \"The kennel\" referred to his study,\nwhich I have described elsewhere, and which at that time resembled a cross\nbetween a junk-shop and an ash-heap. It was cleaned only between novels,\nthe d\u00e9bris of one being removed to make a place for another.\nDuring this time Mr. Saltus was undergoing treatments of various kinds with\nno apparent improvement. Day after day we went from one specialist to\nanother, seeking and hoping. It was tragic, and he was very brave about it,\nsmiling and joking about his condition, worrying because it worried me.\nWhen the weather was inviting we would walk the short block to Morningside\nPark and sit there an entire afternoon, enjoying the green. Trees\ninterested Mr. Saltus,--old trees especially. When we sat down our seat\nbecame the magic carpet, and we alighted among the druids in an enchanted\nwood. We followed their festivals, picked out their occult symbols and\nsearched for the mistletoe. We found ourselves surrounded by the spirits of\nthe trees, and became a part of an evolution other than human. Nature\nspirits, gnomes and fairies peeped in and out of the shrubs, as Mr. Saltus'\nimagination soared on delightfully. There was no pain in this world,--no\nmundane muddle to mess it up. Living more or less in a subjective universe,\nour rambles in thought were better tonics than medicine to him. Pan lived\nagain, while nymphs and satyrs chased through the brush at our feet.\nDay after day we sat there on the same seat and in a dream world, till the\nsun beginning to sink, and the chill in the air which followed, recalled\nMr. Saltus to aching legs and a man-made world.\nRealizing as I did then that his condition was critical, it seemed the\nmoment to effect a reconciliation with his daughter. The long hours he had\nto spend shut in an apartment would have been brightened by her presence.\nDuring this time we had written one another at intervals, and she knew that\nI would do my best to bring it about. Photographs of her in various places\nin our rooms, although not referred to by Mr. Saltus, helped to keep her in\nmind. One day, while we were on the subject of parents and children, I\nthought the psychological moment had arrived, and, reversing the role a\nstepmother is supposed to take, I led up to the subject, suggesting that I\nask Mrs. Munds and her husband up to see him. Ill as he was, Mr. Saltus\nflamed.\n\"Thou too, Brutus!\" he exclaimed. \"You, too, are going to fail me at last?\nThat I have lived to this!\"\nIt was the one subject on which he could not talk rationally. From his\nreaction I could see how much he loved her, for only a great affection can\nbe hurt so deeply.\n\"If you want to kill me, send for her. I will know then that my case is\nhopeless, and between you it most certainly will be.\"\nIt was futile to persist. I could not make him see that she had not put him\nout of her life deliberately. That was his view of it. Having been put out,\nhe refused to go back. In his condition arguments reacted badly upon his\nheart.\nThere was a time when the papers meant much to Mr. Saltus. For an hour, at\nleast, every morning he would absorb them with his coffee and rolls. They\nmeant not only material for articles, but links with the world from which\nhe was shut off. With his increasing disability his interest in the papers\nwaned, and he would scan the headlines only and read a few book reviews.\nThere was one reviewer who especially interested him. Frequently of a\nSunday morning he would call out:--\n\"Anything worth while in the paper to-day?\"\nThis meant one thing. If there was a book review or an article by Benjamin\nde Cass\u00e8res it was worth while, and that part of the paper was taken in to\nhim. If not, it could wait until he had an idle moment during the day. Mr.\nSaltus admired de Cass\u00e8res' work very much. He used to chuckle over it, and\nsay:--\n\"That man was born a hundred years too soon.\"\nThe pity was that, admiring each other as they did, they never met. The\nhermit habit had so encroached with the years, that it had become\nimpossible for Mr. Saltus even to think of meeting people in the flesh,\nhowever much he admired them in the spirit. His world becoming subjective\nmore and more each day as he internalized, objective existence became\nshadowy and unsatisfying. With entire unselfishness he concerned himself\nmore and more for me, always a frail and fragile being in his eyes, one\npossessing little physical strength to fight her way alone in a sordid and\nselfish world. The fear of it haunted him.\n\"I'm a pretty ill man, am I not, Mowgy?\" he asked me one day. \"It will not\nkill me to die, but I should be prepared.\"\n\"Indisposed for the moment,\" I told him. \"Now that you can eat and grow\nyoung again, I may have to take out an insurance at Lloyd's against someone\nstealing you.\"\nThis remark, no matter how often I made it, pleased him. He hated the idea\nof being old in my eyes, almost as much as hearing disagreeable things. The\npleasing lies he loved were tonics, and I had to be very diplomatic with\nhim.\n\"Yes, I am on the mend a bit,--but you never know.\"\nSubconsciously he knew that he could not live long at best, but objectively\nhe was always talking of getting better and planning for the future. On\nthis occasion, however, he kept repeating \"You never know\" several times,\nfollowing it with the remark:--\n\"I've been an incident to you,--a big one, but only an incident after all.\"\nIt was not like him to repeat himself, and I asked what he meant by it.\nWhat follows I have put in and taken out of this biography several times.\nThere is too much concerning myself in it to be of interest to the public,\nand yet the unusual nature and quality of Mr. Saltus' mind are nowhere more\nforcefully exemplified.\n\"You might be my child. You may marry again some day?\" he said.\n\"I might be struck by a comet or tumble on the third rail, with more\nprobability. Jamais! Having broken you in has taken me to the door of the\nasylum. No more experiments. My arm is tired from wielding a\ncat-o'-nine-tails.\"\n\"Quite so, but all literary men are not 'litterers,' and all men are not\nliterary. You might select more wisely next time.\"\n\"Disabuse your mind of that,\" I told him. \"Such small wisdom as I have\nacquired has been paid for too dearly. Besides, there is only one Snipps,\nand no one else would understand me.\"\n\"That's it,\" he said. \"I was awake half of last night thinking about it.\nIt's an awful thing to leave a helpless little girl all alone in a world of\ndemons and vultures. The possibility haunts me.\"\n\"Then take your medicine like a good boy and stay here to look after me,\"\nhe was told. \"If it comes to a wheeled chair, I will wheel it, and we will\ngo to California and live under blue skies and rose bushes, or to India,\nand sit at Mrs. Besant's feet.\"\nThis comforted him. Although he spoke constantly of dying, and quite as a\nmatter of course, it was to be contradicted. He knew it was possible, but\nnever did he admit that it was probable. The next day opened with a\nsurprise. On my breakfast tray was the following, carefully written in Mr.\nSaltus' best copper-plate hand:--\nTHE TEN COMMANDMENTS FOR MY SUCCESSOR.\nRead, mark, learn and inwardly reject.\n     1.--Thou shalt have no other God before or behind\n     Mowgy. She will be supreme or nothing. Safety first.\n     2.--Few people will ever understand Mowgy. You will get\n     the key quickly or never. If you haven't it,--run.\n     3.--Mowgy must have her own way entirely and in all\n     things. It makes her ill to be contended with. Besides,\n     her way is usually the best in the end. Save trouble\n     and take it first.\n     4.--Mowgy can never be questioned. The slightest\n     interrogation irritates her beyond expression. Let her\n     alone. She is too frank for comfort. She will tell you\n     everything sooner or later, and you will wish she\n     hadn't.\n     5.--Mowgy never remembers anything you ask her to do,\n     unless it is vital or concerns animals. Don't expect\n     it. On the plane where she lives, trifles do not\n     exist. She forgets her own requirements. How can she\n     remember yours?\n     6.--Mowgy is no housekeeper. Her intentions, not the\n     results, are excellent. If she remembers to order meals\n     be thankful. If she doesn't, be thankful that she is as\n     she is. Keep accounts at the nearest restaurants and\n     shut up.\n     7.--Mowgy is truthful. Don't ask her a question unless\n     you want the unvarnished truth. It is better to take it\n     varnished.\n     8.--Mowgy never picks up anything. Absent-mindedness\n     only. Look carefully under chairs and tables before\n     leaving a place. Gold bags, money, jewelry or important\n     papers may be on the floor. She will drop you if you\n     are not on the alert to avoid it.\n     9.--Mowgy does not live on this plane. Understand that\n     clearly. She cannot be made to conform to the image and\n     likeness of others. Don't try. You would not like her\n     if you could make her over. Let well enough alone.\n     10.--The foregoing are Mowgy's limitations from the\n     normal viewpoint. You must be abnormal or this will not\n     apply to you. If she takes you it will be to make you\n     over. The process is crucifying but curative. You will\n     wonder how you ever managed to live without her. She\n     has a world of her own, and it is the best world I know\n     of to live in. If you have a chance to get there, make\n     a fight for it. She is the only one of her kind on\n     earth. My blessing, E. S.\nSuch a document! Though written in jest, there was an undercurrent of\nseriousness about it. One could not read it unmoved. From that paper alone\na psychologist could rebuild Edgar Saltus as he was. To me it is the most\ncharacteristic bit of writing he left behind him.\nCHAPTER XVIII\nThe manuscript of \"The Ghost Girl\" finished, one might have supposed Mr.\nSaltus would take a rest, particularly as his heart became worse so rapidly\nthat nitroglycerin was necessary most of the time. Carl Van Vechten had\nwritten of him so charmingly in The Merry-Go-Round, and with so much\ninsight, that Mr. Saltus was encouraged to keep on working, as it was the\nonly way in which he could lose himself for the time.\nSending the manuscript of \"The Ghost Girl\" to a typist at Columbia, he\nsuffered another periodical cleaning of his \"kennel\" and started in on the\noutline of another novel. That also was an enlarged and amplified rendering\nof an earlier book, torn to pieces and baked en casserole with an occult\nsauce, to its enormous and entire benefit. He was not reminded of the fact\nthat the central situation had been used before. He was borrowing from\nhimself, to be sure, and it was quite permissible, but in other\ncircumstances I would have urged him to let his original creation stand. As\nit was I was glad to see him begin it as soon as \"The Ghost Girl\" was off\nhis hands, realizing that he must have mental food and constant\ndistraction.\nThe lease on our apartment bothered Mr. Saltus. During the years \"things\"\nhad become relative to both of us. They had not only lost all value but\nthey had become transformed into fetters. To get rid of the encumbrance of\n\"things,\" and be free to pack a suitcase and go at will, was an intriguing\nidea to him. In discussing it, and the process of elimination necessary to\nreach the desired results, we agreed to get rid of all but two\narticles,--the carved olive-wood table at which he had written most of his\nbooks, and the arm-chair in which our little Toto had died. Mr. Saltus did\nnot live to see it, but \"things\"--all the things we wanted to get rid of\nand forget,--are scattered now to the winds in every direction,--all but\nthe table and the chair.\n[Illustration: MARIE SALTUS\nSitting at the Table on which her Husband wrote his Books, burning Incense\nbefore a Siamese Buddha and meditating on a Stanza from the Bhagavad Git\u00e2.\nFrom a Painting by Hope Bryson, 1925.]\nThat chair, were it endowed with speech, could tell volumes. The same\ninsight which expressed itself throughout so understandingly in regard to\nmy devotion to Toto did so again, and in so touching a way, that it is the\nmost vivid and enduring memory I have of Mr. Saltus.\nThe attacks of heart irregularity increasing, it became necessary for me to\nfeel his pulse at intervals and give him the tablets of nitroglycerin. As\nsoon as he felt one coming on he struggled through the hall into my room,\nto sink into that arm-chair and put his hand out.\n\"Quick,--quick,--_Mowgy_. _Feel_ my pulse,\" he said, many and many a time.\n\"I think I'm sinking. Shall I take my medsy?\" as he always called his\nmedicine.\nIt was a serious responsibility for a novice. Night or day, whenever he\nfelt an attack coming on, he went over the same route, and sank into the\nsame chair. It seemed such a waste of effort, when with a word he could\nhave called me to him. When I suggested as much he smiled, but continued\nthe slow and painful journey through the hall to my room. Upon one occasion\nthe effort to get there was such, that his hands were like ice and his lips\nblue when he reached me. Sinking into the chair he looked at me, but the\nhand he extended was not for me to feel his pulse, but to take in mine.\nThere was no need for words to tell me that he thought he was dying, having\nused, as he believed, his last ounce of strength to reach his goal. With\nthe touch of his hand came the consciousness, clear as clairvoyance, that\nit was his intention to die in that particular chair--if he could; and the\nsignificance of it brought the tears to my eyes. He was determined that the\npoignant memories of Toto, associated with the chair, should be so\ninterwoven with his own, that her chair as well as her ashes should become\nindissolubly a part of himself. No touching act of his whole life so\nstretched out and reached the inner recesses of my being as that one. It\nwiped out a multitude of lesser things as the sun obliterates candle light.\nWith unerring intuition, he knew how this would penetrate more and more\nwith the years, till it would become indelibly stamped on my heart.\nThis, and one other incident, small in itself yet colossal in its\nsignificance, and showing the sweet and sympathetic side of his nature,\nstand in relief against his subsidiary weaknesses. Shortly before his\ndeath, my father had, at Mr. Saltus' request, given him a small canvas, a\ndaub of daisies painted by me at the age of seven, and, crude as it was,\nretained by an unusually devoted parent. Mr. Saltus was particularly\nattached to it, and it hung in the room beside his bed. Over and over I\nbegged him to let me destroy the hideous thing, but he was up in arms at\nthe suggestion, replying every time:--\n\"After a while you can, for no one but Snipps shall have those daisies.\nWhen I die I want you to put them in my hands and have them cremated with\nme.\"\nThe day before his passing he referred to it again, exacting a promise that\nI would do so,--and it was carried out. Though the subject of death was\nconstantly on his tongue, and he outlined the details he wanted carried out\nfor his funeral, it was more in the way of precaution than anything else,\nthat being a marked characteristic of his.\nSitting in the arm-chair by the window in my bed-room the month before his\npassing, he looked out into the splendid immensity of the June sky and\nchatted freely and happily about the Great Adventure.\n\"What a lot I must make good next life!\" he exclaimed again and again. \"I\ndid not realize the verities for so long. The light came late, but I cannot\nlose it now, and I will build better next time.\"\nHis tortured body had become a prison to him.\n\"I'm tired of these old clothes,\" he told me over and over again. \"I want\na new deal, to begin as a little boy once more. But in the interval of\nfreedom on the other side, I want to roam at will through the Halls of\nLearning, to feed my soul with the food of the mental plane.\" That was his\nprayer.\nThe cynic, the satirist, the jester with life, as the world believed him to\nbe,--false faces all--dissolved, and the real ego emerged, to play\nhide-and-seek no longer. The timidity, the humility, to conceal which he\nhad assumed so much that he was not, spoke now:--\n\"Don't let a curious public come here to gaze at me after I am out of my\nbody. Let me be forgotten. I have done nothing worth while. It will be my\nmistakes by which I will be remembered, if at all. Since I began to take\nmyself seriously in hand, I have lived in semi-obscurity. Let me go in the\nsame way. Don't put our address in the newspapers for a curious crowd to\ncome here. Have a simple Theosophical service over my old clothes,--and\nfor God's sake no black anywhere,--on yourself or about the place.\"\nAssured by me that I would do so, he went on:--\n\"You have suffered so much that you are numb and immune. Let the sunshine\nin and let the canary sing. Help my departing spirit by your poise and\npower. Keep everyone away, and bury my ashes with your own hands.\"\nThough talking of his transition almost constantly, Mr. Saltus was very\nmuch like the woman who, being asked if she believed in ghosts, said, \"No,\nbut I'm dreadfully afraid of them.\" Every hour or two he would refer to\nwhat we would do when he regained his health. Rosy pictures of a rose\ngarden in California were painted, and delightful dreams of sitting under a\nbanyan tree at Mrs. Besant's feet took shape from the smoke of his\ncigarettes.\nMeanwhile the manuscript of Mr. Saltus' last novel, \"The Golden Flood,\" was\nsketched in the rough up to the middle of chapter twelve. The words did\nnot drop from his pen as they had once done. Weariness and effort crept in.\nThough work to him was still a song, death was the refrain. Midsummer came.\nMr. Saltus, too ill by far to be taken into the country, seemed\nnevertheless a little better.\nHe took a fancy for sitting on the roof of our apartment house. Taking up\ncamp chairs and pillows I arranged to make it comfortable for him, and he\nsat there for hours, reading or chatting with me.\nToward the middle of July unusually hot weather made this lofty sitting\nroom doubly acceptable to him, for our apartment, being on the top of the\nhouse, was painfully hot all night, though electric fans were kept running\nat high speed in his bed-room and study. In these circumstances the cool\nair of the roof offered freshness and relief.\nEvening after evening we sat there looking down upon the city below, where\nmultiple electric lights and illuminated signs fought for supremacy, and\nabove to where the stars pierced the softness of evening. The height, the\nsilence, and the stars particularly, took us back more than twenty years to\nthe turret of the old Narragansett Casino, from which we had first looked\nat them together, and we returned there many times in our chats.\n\"How much we have had to learn since those days,\" Mr. Saltus remarked the\nlast time we sat there. \"It's taken bludgeoning blows, but, after all, we\nhave absorbed something, don't you think?\" He sighed.\n\"Yes,\" I said. \"Our personalities thought they wanted so many things, but\nour egos knew we wanted only to grow, and so gave us the chance.\"\nThe mysteries and beauties of Infinity seemed to fall from the stars like\nblessings. Sometimes we sat there till midnight chatting over the splendors\nof space, cause and cosmos, kalpas of time, and creations yet to be\ncradled. However far we wandered in dimensional space, greater and vaster\nbecame the vistas beyond.\nIt is possible that these intimate talks on the abstract gave Mr. Saltus\nthe interior poise to greet the liberating angel who even then was knocking\nat our door.\nThe end came suddenly and unexpectedly, and from a cause long supposed to\nbe dormant. It began with a severe chill. Anything can begin that way, and\nI was not alarmed. Neither was the physician, who, in the absence of Dr.\nDarlington, was called in. Other chills, however, of greater intensity,\nfollowed in rapid succession. They were frightful, each one seeming as if\nit would be the last. Septic poisoning, super-induced by an internal\nabscess, developed into acute Bright's disease. Unable at any time to stand\nintense pain, he found this agony. Opiates were given, but owing to his\nabsorption being so slow they failed to make it endurable. A hospital was\nthe place to have taken Mr. Saltus, and St. Luke's was at the corner of our\nstreet. He could have been moved without much distress and I could have\nbeen near him. Though he fought to his utmost against crying out under his\npain, at the suggestion of a hospital he shrieked:--\n\"I won't go to St. Luke's, and if you bring a nurse in my room I will kill\nher. When Toto died and you were almost out of your mind, I kept you beside\nme and nursed you. You cannot force me to go.\"\nMuch as it would have added to his comfort, and necessary as it was in his\ncase to have specific care, the idea of a hospital had to be abandoned. It\nwas hysteria, but in his condition he had to be humored. Had I brought in a\nnurse against his will, he, she, or both, would have been found dashed to\npieces on the pavement outside; and our apartment being on the top floor,\nthe risk was too great.\nMr. Saltus was not an easy man to take care of, for from no other hand than\nmine would he take food or medicine, nor would he let me leave his side for\na moment. The responsibility of turning into a nurse one with such limited\nknowledge was not the best thing for him, but it was impossible to do\notherwise. To keep his chart, give his medicine and hypodermics, and try to\nmake him believe that he was getting better every moment, was difficult.\nThough Mr. Saltus spoke of death as if he were playing hide-and-seek with\nit, it was offset by his lament:--\n\"Poor child, poor child! I am killing you, but I cannot help it, for you\nare the only one I can let touch me. When Snippsy gets well he will be so\ngood that you will not like him. I'm paying a frightful karma. The Masters\nof Wisdom must be hastening my evolution.\"\nThough he spoke of recovery, it was only while I sat beside him. Upon an\noccasion when, anxious to be sure of an important prescription being filled\naccurately, I suggested going to the chemist's at the corner and leaving\nhim with my mother, with whom Mr. Saltus was perfectly at home, he screamed\nso loudly that people in a neighboring apartment rushed in to offer\nassistance.\n\"Don't leave me! Don't leave me! I might die while you are away,\" he called\nout.\nHis illness lasted but eight days. On July 30th at three in the afternoon I\nsaw death in his face, although neither the physician nor my mother\nexpected it so soon. To keep him cheered and comforted was all that could\nbe done. His horror of disagreeable things was such that, although he asked\nme many times a day if I thought he might die, I persistently told him that\nhe was getting better.\nIt was my desire to send for Mr. Saltus' daughter, that she might see him\nagain before the end, but fearing his reaction I did not.\nAt nine that night he was a little easier. The morphine was then for the\nfirst time able to deaden his agony.\n\"For God's sake lie down on the sofa and rest,\" he urged, looking at my\nhaggard face.\nLong accustomed to insomnia, I was able, as one can under great excitement,\nto go without sleep and almost without food for a week, but it was\nbeginning to tell, and my hands and lips quivered.\n\"Do lie down. You look as if you were going to die, poor child,\" he urged\nagain.\nShaking my head, for speech was beyond me, I sat still. The clock, set in\nthe middle of bottles, pills and restoratives which had to be given at\nintervals during the night, ticked on.\n\"What of the morphine?\" Mr. Saltus asked. \"I am easier now; but for the\nmorning? Have you enough?\"\nAgain I smiled and nodded. That he could speak of a morrow was tragic.\nThe end came at three a. m., July 31st, while it was still dark, and was\nquite painless. Conscious until the last, it is doubtful if until then Mr.\nSaltus realized that he was passing out of the body. Efforts to give him\nnitroglycerin were futile.\nGrasping the tiny Rosicrucian cross he always wore about his neck, which\nsymbolized all that he aspired to, he put his other hand in mine.\n\"Mowgy!\" He could say no more. It was his last word, as, casting off the\nfetters of the flesh, he passed onward into the larger life, where \"even\nthe weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea.\"", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Edgar Saltus"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1940", "subject": ["Aeronautics -- Juvenile literature", "Airplanes"], "title": "Aircraft /", "lccn": "40014297", "shiptracking": "ST011106", "partner_shiptracking": "IAGC151", "call_number": "8315098", "identifier_bib": "00031564955", "lc_call_number": "PE1127.S3 C5 no. 8", "publisher": "Chicago : A. Whitman & Co.", "associated-names": "Writers' Program of the Work Projects Administration in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvannia; Bartman, Mark", "description": ["47 p. : 19 cm", "\"Written by Mark Bartman ... edited by Katharine Britton\"--Pref", "\"Junior press books.\""], "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-06-26 14:40:10", "updatedate": "2019-06-26 15:31:26", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "aircraft00unse", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-06-26 15:31:28", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "operator": "associate-saw-thein@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe2.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "58", "scandate": "20190702123335", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-criselyn-alicoben@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20190703172945", "republisher_time": "211", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/aircraft00unse", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t82k45q7v", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "year": "1940", "openlibrary_edition": "OL6403952M", "openlibrary_work": "OL19870980W", "curation": "[curator]admin-andrea-mills@archive.org[/curator][date]20190906121947[/date][state]approved[/state][comment]invoice201907[/comment]", "sponsordate": "20190731", "additional-copyright-note": "No known restrictions; no copyright renewal found.", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1156174778", "backup_location": "ia906906_17", "filesxml": "Wed Dec 23 2:53:37 UTC 2020", "oclc-id": "8904784", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "84", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1940, "content": "[Aircraft is the eighth in the Children\u2019s Science Series. Prepared by the Philadelphia Unit of the Pennsylvania Writers\u2019 Project, sponsored by the Pennsylvania Department of Public Instruction. Copyright 1940 by Division of Extension Education, Board of Public Education, Philadelphia.\n\nCopyright Deposit.\n\nPreface\n\nAircraft\n\nCompiled by workers of the Writers\u2019 Program of the Work Projects Administration in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.\n\nJohn M. Carmody, Administrator, Work Projects Administration\nF. C. Harrington, Commissioner\nFlorence Kerr, Assistant Commissioner\nPhilip Mathews, State Administrator]\nThe Bird Was Born with Wings, But It Took Hundreds of Years for Men to Build Wings for Themselves\n\nThis booklet was written by Mark Bartman.\nAcknowledgment is made to Ralph McClarren, Associate Director in charge of Aviation, Franklin Institute, Philadelphia, for acting as consultant to assure accuracy of the text and illustrations. We are indebted also to D.E. Dean, District Traffic Manager, United Airlines, and E.H. Smith, District Sales Manager, American Airlines, for furnishing important information. All illustrations are the work of Edward Giordano.\n\nConrad C. Lesley\nActing State Supervisor\n\nThe bird was born with wings, but it took hundreds of years for men to build wings for themselves.\n\nSometimes as we look out of the window, we see a robin or a pigeon flit from housetop to housetop. Sometimes a humming noise draws our attention.\n\nAircraft\nOur attention to the sky, and we glance up to see an airplane flying into a cloud. The bird was born with wings, and it was easy for him to learn to fly. But it took hundreds of years of effort for men to build wings to carry them far and fast through the air. Many men felt that they might find the secret of flying by watching the way the birds moved. Such a man was Leonardo da Vinci, a great artist who lived in Italy in the days of Columbus. Leonardo would take a bird to the top of a hill and fling it into the air. Then he would watch carefully and write down his ideas. Leonardo thought of making wings that would look like those of a bird. They would flap up and down as the man who wore them moved his legs. Leonardo never made a flying machine. But all the work that he did helped others.\n\nLeonardo da Vinci, a great artist who lived in Italy in the days of Columbus, was one of the men who felt that the secret of flying could be discovered by observing the way birds moved. He would take a bird to the top of a hill and throw it into the air, then carefully observe its flight and make notes of his observations. Leonardo's design for a flying machine featured wings that would flap up and down as the wearer moved his legs. Although Leonardo never built a flying machine himself, his ideas and research laid the groundwork for future inventors.\nMen could not build an airplane that rose from the ground as they couldn't figure out what kept birds in the air. About one hundred and fifty years ago, in France, brothers Joseph and Jacques Montgolfier had an idea. They had observed smoke and steam rise on clear days. They knew that smoke floated because it was warm, and hot air was lighter than cold air and floated like wood in water. Supposing they could capture some hot air in a bag, wouldn't it keep the bag up in the air? They tested this idea in secret and found it worked. Then they were ready to let others know.\nThe world witnessed their discovery. On a June day, a large crowd gathered. A large linen bag was brought out and placed over a fire pot. Straw was put into the fire pot and lit. Smoke and heated air rose and filled the balloon. The balloon began to tug at the ropes that held it, and the Montgolfiers let go. Up, up went the balloon! A shout came from the crowd as the bag seemed to get smaller and smaller. But in a few minutes, the hot air cooled and the balloon returned to earth.\n\nNews of the Montgolfiers' balloon spread quickly. Seeing their success, a man named Jacques A. C. Charles decided to try raising a balloon in another way. He would use a gas that was very light. This gas was hydrogen.\n\nHis first balloon sailed for three-quarters of an hour overhead while people watched below in the rain. It drifted.\nfifteen miles out in the country and then floated toward the ground. Seeing it coming, the frightened farmers thought it was some harmful beast. They ripped it to pieces with their pitchforks. A short time later, the Montgolfiers sent up another balloon. This time they used a larger bag, and fixed a basket to it. In the basket, they put some passengers. Strange passengers they were \u2014 a duck, a sheep, and a rooster. The balloon went up fifteen hundred feet and stayed there for eight minutes! How the rooster must have squawked and the sheep baa-ed and the duck quacked when they all found themselves up among the clouds. Montgolfier now thought of placing a passenger in the basket before taking it aloft.\nFire pot in the basket under the balloon. If someone rode in the basket, he could keep the fire burning by adding more straw. Thus, the balloon would stay up longer. Pilatre de Rozier and the Marquis d'Arlandes were the first to try this new idea. As their Montgolfier balloon rose from the ground, they fed the fire pot with straw. Carefully, holding tight to the ropes, they peered over the basket. Down below, everything looked small. The air was clear and fresh. The wind tossed their hair about. The sun beamed upon them. This was the life! Now that these first two men had flown, others were ready to try. Jacques A. C. Charles went up afterwards in his gas balloon. Charles was full of ideas for making better balloons, and he did more than anyone else to make balloons practical. After a while, balloons were so much a common sight.\nMen preferred controlling balloons up and down as they wished. They kept a balloon afloat for a long time. But it wasn't enough. Airmen were not satisfied. Ships were far ahead, and a man could steer a ship wherever he wanted. However, a balloon would only go where the wind took it. If the wind blew hard in a certain direction, the balloon might end up anywhere.\n\nSomeone had a strange idea. Why not put oars on a balloon and row it like a boat? But that didn't work. It must have been very funny to see men sitting way up in a basket trying to row the balloon through the clouds.\n\n12 CHILDREN\u2019S SCIENCE SERIES\nDIRIGIBLES\n\nWhen the oars didn't work, no one knew what to try next. For a long time, there were very few changes in the balloon. But men were always working on it.\nThe machines learned to make more powerful engines and a propeller. The propeller, first invented for boats, was a piece of wood or metal that turned like an electric fan and was fastened to an engine. When the engine turned fast, the propeller turned very fast, pushing the boat through the water. Airmen thought, why couldn't we do the same thing with a balloon?\n\nWhen propellers and engines were put on balloons, the shape of the balloon changed. Instead of being round like a ball, it now looked like a cigar. This is called streamlining. A cigar-shape is easier to push through the air. It is this same shape that helps a shark or a submarine slip through the water. A balloon shaped like a cigar, having an engine and propeller.\nA dirigible, with a propeller, is called an airship. The first successful flight of an airship was in 1901. Alberto Santos-Dumont flew around the Eiffel Tower in Paris. His airship could be steered in any direction and flew nineteen miles an hour. That was even faster than early automobiles.\n\nThe airship of today is much larger than any early balloons. Some airships are longer than a city block. They can carry heavy loads and are used for long flights. Airships have crossed the Atlantic Ocean many times. A German airship, the Graf Zeppelin, flew around the world in 1929.\n\nHowever, the airship had many great faults. It could not travel fast enough and was clumsy. It could only be used in good weather. And it was not safe. Some of the best and most costly airships blew up or crashed.\nAirmen for numerous years have been working on an idea. Engines and propellers were used in dirigibles. Why not in another kind of flying machine? At first, the machines in which this was tried were no good, and there were many accidents. Airmen crashed into trees, fences, and the ground. They broke arms and legs. Some were killed. Among the men working on the new idea were two American brothers, Wilbur and Orville Wright. They studied the work of Leonardo da Vinci and other men. They studied the work of Otto and Gustav Lilienthal, who believed, like Leonardo, that the secret of flying could be found only by observing birds. The Lilienthals had learned a great deal about making machines that would float through the air, but their machines were gliders and had no engines.\nThe Wright brothers discovered that there was more to learn about flying. They constructed large kites and flew them to understand why they stayed aloft. They determined that the kite's light weight enabled the wind's push to keep it airborne. When the wind ceased, the kite would fall. Proper flight occurred only when the string held it against the wind.\n\nSubsequently, these two aviators created glider kites, controlled by strings. Similar to Lilienthal gliders, these had stationary wings. They floated well, but the Wright brothers believed they had not yet identified the optimal wing shape.\n\nTherefore, they built a wind tunnel, a small conduit through which air could be channeled. They positioned wings in the tunnel, blew wind through it, and identified which wing shape possessed the greatest lifting capacity.\nThe Wright brothers made a better glider and then added an engine and propeller. As the propeller pulled the glider forward, air moved over and under the wings to keep it in the air.\n\nThe Wright brothers tried to get automobile manufacturers to make an engine for them, but everyone laughed at the idea of an engine powering a flying machine. So, they made their own engine. They attached two propellers with electric fan-like blades to the engine. The faster the propellers turned, the harder they pulled. Then, the engine and propellers were put in a glider.\nIn 1903, at Kitty Hawk in North Carolina, the Wright brothers' machine made history with its first flight. This was the first winged machine in history to be driven by a motor and controlled by the man flying it. It traveled only 120 feet, roughly the distance of a stone throw. But men now possessed the secret of flight. They would one day be able to fly to the ends of the world. The Wright brothers continued to work on improving the airplane. Small wheels were added to the bottom, enabling it to roll along the ground and gather speed for takeoff. It could also roll slowly to a stop upon landing.\nThe Wright brothers' plane had two wings and was called a biplane. Men soon made planes with only one wing, which were called monoplanes. Six years after the first flight, airplanes were much better and safer. A Frenchman named Bleriot flew in a monoplane across the English Channel in 1909. Glenn H. Curtiss flew an airplane from Albany to New York City around 150 miles the same year. By this time, many countries' governments had begun buying airplanes for their armies. The War showed that wooden planes were not as strong as needed.\nPlanes should be made of metal. Wood was tried instead and found to be inferior. Today, most planes are made of a material primarily consisting of aluminum, the metal used for many kitchen pots and pans.\n\nBy the end of the War, many new discoveries had been made about flying. Men were now using planes for purposes beyond stunt flights and fighting. Our Government began to use its planes to carry mail. The more the airplane was used, the more men worked to improve it. Flying machines were getting better by leaps and bounds.\n\nAs airplanes became better, men began to make longer and faster flights in them. However, the airplane was not yet as safe as it is today. Many people thought pilots were fools for risking their lives because the airplane would never be of any real use to men. But the pilots kept flying.\n\nA number of American and other pilots made significant strides in aviation technology and exploration during this time.\nOne clear day in 1927, a young man named Charles A. Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic Ocean from New York, traveling eastward alone. Before this flight, no one had ever gone alone. Newspapers labeled Lindbergh the Flying Fool. A day and a half later, he landed in Paris, having traveled 3,600 miles to reach his goal, and he had made the trip in one-quarter the time of the fastest ships. When people saw that one man had come safely through a non-stop ocean flight, they knew that airplanes could become useful to many people. Other men began to fly across the ocean, and soon it seemed as safe to make such a trip as to cross the country by train. Ocean air travel was made safer, too, by improving the seaplane or flying boat.\nSeaplanes have small boats, or pontoons, attached under their bodies instead of wheels for floating on water. The whole body of most modern seaplanes is built as a float. If a seaplane encounters problems while flying over the ocean, it can land directly on the water and take off again. Seaplanes hold many world speed records due to the large space available for takeoff and landing at high speeds on the water. Some planes are designed with both wheels and floats, enabling them to take off from either land or water. These are called amphibian planes. Airmen testing new planes and innovative plane designs carry parachutes in case the plane fails. A parachute is a large umbrella-like device, usually strapped to the pilot.\nA square pack on the back or under the body as a cushion. It has a little ring on the outside. When the ring is pulled, the parachute unfolds. The person who has jumped from the plane goes sailing down to the ground without being hurt. Thus, the race to build better wings no longer costs lives as it did among early airmen.\n\nAirplanes in War\n\nSince the World War, all countries have been building fleets of airplanes to be used as powerful fighting machines. Airplanes in war are now more dangerous in some ways than armies and navies.\n\nThe biggest war plane is the bomber. It may be large enough to hold at least 20 men. The bomber is really a small battleship of the air. Besides bombs, it carries machine guns and small cannons. Its cannons are used against enemy planes. The bombs are dropped and blow up buildings or people.\nA Bomber, a Battleship of the Air, with Pursuit Planes Protecting It\n28 Children\u2019s Science Series\nWhen they hit something, they often did much damage.\ng&gw .V. * N:VWiV\u2018lW\u00abJ,KVi limiii T-f-.r ift'V $SWk Ifi^i ^5'fr^fev p\u00a3$a mMS \u2022ft-wSEK*1 r\u00bbf\u00a3 K  it\u00bb\u00aelg SSifPi^ \u2022fommask ssa\u00ab%l aS\u00ae K5\u00bb$5jfo 3MM Hnm &SJt\u00bb\u00a7l.wSivi; It* PM| ml IfefcSfe MSS mw S&jSaE\n\nA bomber, a battleship of the air, with pursuit planes protecting it.\nTo fight the bombers, men built small planes that could fly through the air at breath-taking speed. These pursuit planes carry only one or two men, and two or more machine guns. They dart and dive and twist and pester the enemy plane, like hornets buzzing around the head of a man.\n\nThere are some planes used in war only for spying on the enemy. These are observation planes. They carry cameras, so they can take pictures of the enemy country.\n\nFor their warplanes, some countries have built floating airplane garages.\nThe aircraft carrier is a floating garage for aircraft. These large ships have flat decks on top. Aircraft carriers can be moved anywhere on the ocean, allowing planes to always have a place to return for rest, fuel, and repairs. Aircraft fly soldiers to the right spot, and soldiers jump from planes using parachutes to help their army by scouting or even destroying railroads and bridges. Parachutes are also used to drop mines, which are bombs that float in the ocean and damage ships as soon as they touch them. Airplanes are used for good in peace as well.\nThings too. Today, planes can spread poison over fields where insects are eating crops. They are sent out over our forests every day to look for fires. They have been used in exploring the North Pole and the South Pole. Many times, an airplane has been the hero of a story. There was a plane that made a flight over the ice fields to Nome, Alaska, to bring medicine to sick people who were caught there in the snow. Not long ago, our Navy sent airplanes across the Mississippi floodlands to drop food to stranded people.\n\nBut the greatest amount of useful work is in mail and passenger service. In the early days of air travel, only mail was carried. But soon, passengers and express were being carried too.\n\nWhen commercial air transportation started, in 1919, the air roads, or airways, of all the world covered only 3,200 miles. By 1939, there were more than [redacted] miles.\nThe United States has approximately 71,000 miles of airways. Our airlines carry more miles and more passengers than all other countries combined. There are nearly 300 large transport planes making regular flights, carrying about two million passengers annually, with the number continually increasing. They transport thousands of tons of mail and express. In 1938, they flew nearly seventy million miles. However, airlines do not carry all air traffic. In 1938, there were almost 11,000 private planes in the country. Many are used for sightseeing, pleasure rides, or business trips. In 1938, they carried more than half as many paying passengers as the airlines. Some private planes are used for carrying small cargo or supplies.\nThe airplanes in which we fly today are very different from those which carried the mail in 1919. In 1938, private planes carried more than a million and a half passengers and flew almost twice as many miles as all the airlines combined. With all this flying, one might expect many accidents. But there have been fewer and fewer accidents year by year. In 1929, a pilot on the airlines could expect an accident of some sort every two hundred thousand miles. But in 1939, accidents happened only every two million miles of flight. Most of these accidents were not serious. On the four biggest aires (sic) lines, there were no accidents of any sort. But safety in the air has been won only by hard work. In the first place, airplanes had to be made better.\nThe text is already clean and readable. No need for any cleaning.\n\nThe text is about the evolution of airplanes, from small biplanes used for mail delivery in 1919 with open cockpits and limited capacity, to larger transport planes with multiple motors and the introduction of monoplanes by 1930. The text expresses surprise at how quickly technology advanced, as monoplanes were considered advanced and superior at the time.\n\nOutput: The text is clean.\n\nInput Text:\n\"\"\"\"\ndifferent from the one which carried mail in 1919. That was a small biplane with room only for mail and pilot. The place where the pilot sat, the cockpit, was open and not protected. The plane traveled about 100 miles an hour.\n\nThe airplanes in which we first began to fly passengers were not much better than the first mail plane. The airlines were still using an open cockpit biplane, which could carry only one or two passengers.\n\nBut by 1930 big transport planes were being made. Each had three motors, with three propellers, and carried many people. Some of them were monoplanes, though biplane transports were still built. The monoplane was a slim, powerful machine. People must have thought it would be a long time before there would be a better plane than this one.\n\nBut in three years there were other great changes. The wing of the transport plane was a new development.\n\"\"\"\n\nCleaned Text: The text describes the evolution of airplanes from small, open-cockpit biplanes used for mail delivery in 1919 to larger transport planes with multiple motors and the introduction of monoplanes by 1930. The text expresses surprise at how quickly technology advanced, as monoplanes were considered advanced and superior at the time. By 1933, there were further advancements with the wing design of transport planes.\nMonoplanes were carried under the body instead of above or on a level with it. AIRCRAFT. They were low-wing monoplanes. Instead of three engines, they now had two. These two engines had more power, but were less noisy than three engines. They were faster, and they worked together better. The propellers had three blades, for men had discovered that three blades gave more power.\n\nBut the greatest change was that the new planes were like small floating hotels. When meal time came, there was a good dinner served. When night came, there were comfortable beds. The passengers slept quietly while the plane swept through the skies.\n\nThe new transports carried 21 passengers, and a crew of three. They flew three miles a minute on a long trip. That is 180 miles an hour!\n\nAll the time, airplanes were becoming more and more streamlined. The twin-engine planes.\nThe motored sleeper transport of 1939 was a beautiful sight. However, airmen were not content. They planned a giant transport that would carry 30 to 40 passengers and a crew of five. This giant would resemble twin-motored planes but would have four motors. An additional wheel, placed in the front, would provide added safety by preventing the plane from tipping over when it landed. The plane would fly at 225 miles an hour.\n\nMeanwhile, airmen had also been working on seaplanes. In 1935, these began regular flights over the Pacific. These flying boats are the greatest giants of all. Like the newest land planes, they are four-motored monoplanes. However, the wing is carried over the body instead of under it. The largest of these can carry 50 to 70 passengers.\nA crew of eight and tons of mail. They can fly almost 5,000 miles without landing, and passengers eat well and sleep well.\n\nThe Flying Boats Are the Greatest Giants of All.\n38 Children\u2019s Science Series\n\nLarge planes have replaced small ones on the airlines, though some ten-passenger planes are still used. But for private flying, people want smaller planes. They cannot afford to buy the large ones or to fly them.\n\nThere are small, safe planes that a person can buy without a great deal of money. Some of these have come to be known as flivver planes because they cost so much less to buy and to run, just as the flivver auto did. The flivver biplanes seat only one or two persons. The private flyer may also get a plane for three or five. These larger planes are usually monoplanes. For the monoplane is replacing the biplane, and\nFewer biplanes are made each year. Men have built certain planes for special uses. One of these, the autogiro, looks very different from an ordinary plane. Extending outward above its body are long, thin blades. These turn like a windmill and lift the autogiro, making them moving wings. Old autogiros had four moving wings and one small wing like the wing of an ordinary monoplane. New autogiros have only three moving wings and no other wing at all. The moving windmill wings permit the autogiro to fly up and down at a very steep angle, and to land on a small space. If the engine which drives the front propeller stops, the windmill wings bring the autogiro safely to the ground. An autogiro can be used for landing freight or mail on large roofs of city buildings.\nIn some places, autogiros are used to carry light loads into cities from nearby landing fields. A man can buy any one of the thousands of planes made yearly \u2014 biplanes or monoplanes with open or closed cockpit, land or sea planes \u2014 and know that it will carry him safely wherever he wants to go. Our Government takes care of that. It will not let any planes be flown until they are tested for safety. The work of the Government is the second important thing that helps make flying safe. The Government not only sees that planes are safe but also sees that the people who fly them know how to fly.\n\nPILOTS:\n\nTo fly a plane, a pilot must get a license from the Government. The kind of license he gets depends on the kind of flying he is able to do.\n\nIf a pilot does more than his license permits, he is breaking the law. The Government sets strict rules for pilots, and they must follow them or face penalties. Pilots must undergo rigorous training to obtain their licenses, and they must continue to hone their skills to maintain them. Only qualified pilots are allowed to take to the skies, ensuring the safety of all who fly and those on the ground.\nA person must be 16 years old and have parental consent to get any kind of airplane license. They must be 21 years old to get a license without parental consent. The person must have a good character and pass a physical test. They must know air traffic rules made by the Government. For each license, the pilot must have done a certain number of hours of flying. They must pass a written test and a flying test. For each higher grade of license, tests get harder and more hours of flying time are needed.\n\nFor a Student Pilot license, the student must have done eight hours of flying.\n\nThe new autogyro has only three moving wings and no ordinary airplane wings at all.\nFor a Solo Pilot license, a person must have completed five hours of solo flying. For a Private Pilot license, requiring the ability to fly friends without payment, 35 hours of solo flying are necessary. A pilot needs 60 hours of solo flying for a Limited Commercial license, which permits flying passengers for pay within a designated area. To become a Commercial Pilot, one must log 200 hours of solo flight time. A Commercial Pilot can fly passengers across the country, but cannot serve as chief pilot on an airline.\n\nRequirements for an Airline Pilot include being 23 years old and a high school graduate. Extensive knowledge of air traffic rules is required, along with proficiency in the science and mechanics of flight, weather forecasting, night and instrument flying, and various other skills. The tests for an Airline Pilot are the most challenging.\nA person must hold a Commercial Pilot's license and have logged 1,200 hours of solo flight to qualify as a trustworthy pilot for operating the largest transport plane. A pilot can obtain a license to teach or fly by instruments. An individual with an interest in planes can learn various related tasks such as engine maintenance or managing airlines. Schools teaching aviation and flying exist throughout the country. Each year, the Government selects young men to train as pilots for free through a program. A glider license is required even for flying a glider, but the applicant must only be 14 years old, strong, and well. They must complete a certain number of glider flights and pass air traffic rules tests.\nAirlines and Airports\nWith all these rules about pilots, and air traffic, and plane strength, our Government protects the people who fly. But the airlines, too, are helping to make flying safe. They know that they can get large numbers of passengers only by making it safe and comfortable to travel by air.\n\nEvery air route is planned carefully to travel the safest way. The planes do not always fly in a straight line from one place to another. Sometimes they must turn to detour bad storms and very high winds.\n\nAircraft 45\nA pilot might think he would have a hard time following a road through the air. But the whole air route is marked for him. All the time, there are many radio stations sending out signals which the pilot hears. These radio beams guide him along the airway, just as a white line guides us along a road in our automobiles.\nMobile. Even if the weather is cloudy and he cannot see the ground, the pilot can find his way by the radio beam. On clear nights, the pilot also sees lights flashing every ten or fifteen miles - these are called beacon lights. Along the airway, there are certain places where passengers can get on or off the plane. These are called terminals, or airports. An airport is a busy place. All day long at a big airport, there may be planes coming in from many distant places. A good airport has to be near roads and railroads. It must be level and the ground must be firm so that the planes can take off easily. There should be no poles, fences, buildings, or trees to keep the pilots from having a clear view.\nSo that there will be no accidents as planes take off and land, a large airport must have towers from which traffic can be controlled. The airport must have a weather station too, so that pilots may be warned of storms, high winds, rain, and snow. If the weather is bad, planes will not fly.\n\nLess than forty years have passed since men first began to fly. Yet today, there are thousands of airports in the United States. As America goes ahead, she will go on wings, swiftly and surely, to the hum of a motor, the roar of a propeller.\n\nAIRCRAFT\n\nLess than forty years have passed since men first began to fly. Yet today, there are thousands of airports in the United States. America will go ahead on wings, swiftly and surely, to the hum of a motor, the roar of a propeller.\n\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\nTreatment Date: October 2006\nPreservation Technologies\nA World Leader in Paper Preservation\n111 Thomson Park Drive\nCranberry Township, PA 16066", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1940", "subject": "Children -- Finland", "title": "Auno and Tauno;a story of Finland,", "creator": "Henry, Marguerite, 1902-1997", "lccn": "40027548", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST011106", "partner_shiptracking": "IAGC151", "call_number": "5860406", "identifier_bib": "00024672177", "lc_call_number": "PZ9.H44 Au", "publisher": "Chicago, Ill., A. Whitman & company", "description": "[27] p. 26 cm", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-06-19 10:11:04", "updatedate": "2019-06-19 11:10:09", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "aunotaunoastoryo00henr", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-06-19 11:10:11", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "operator": "associate-annie-coates@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe1.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "38", "scandate": "20190708114610", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20190708123500", "republisher_time": "101", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/aunotaunoastoryo00henr", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t87h9c174", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "openlibrary_edition": "OL27097532M", "openlibrary_work": "OL19912946W", "curation": "[curator]admin-andrea-mills@archive.org[/curator][date]20190906122214[/date][state]approved[/state][comment]invoice201907[/comment]", "sponsordate": "20190731", "additional-copyright-note": "No known restrictions; no copyright renewal found.", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1156098988", "backup_location": "ia906906_0", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "0", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1940, "content": "A Story of Finland\nBy Marguerite Henry\nPictured by Gladys Rourke Blackwood\nAlbert Whitman & Company, Chicago Illinois\nCopyright 1940 by Albert Whitman & Company\n\nThe little twins, Auno and Tauno, stretch and yawn. It is winter in Finland. For three long months, lights will burn in all the little wooden houses from one end of the land to the other. Especially in the daytime, for the days are gray like kitten's fluff. But at night, the great white moon and the stars light up the snow.\nThey throw a soft half-light as if some good fairy had flown low and brushed the earth with her shining wings. And sometimes the Northern Lights send bright streamers across the sky. It is like the twilight hour in America when mothers go about lighting the lamps, making the house all cozy and warm.\n\nWinter or summer, the Arola family stirs early. Papa Arola claps his hands, and the little twins in two little homemade beds stretch and yawn.\n\nMama Arola is bustling between oven and table. Little curls of steam are rising from the copper coffeepot. Auno and Tauno can watch all of Mama\u2019s movements as they dress, for the Arola house has one great room. It serves as kitchen, living room, and bedroom, only they call it tupa for short and pronounce it \u201ctoo pa\u201d.\n\nAuno and Tauno always have two breakfasts: first, a quick one.\nfast they have coffee and pumpernickel bread; then a real breakfast. After the quick breakfast, they hurry out to play in the gray half-light until real breakfast time. No little Finn has to be called twice to come in for the real breakfast. What a feast it is! Steaming potatoes in their jackets, salted herring, pink salmon, and mounds of white mushrooms. And with Jack Frost and North Wind striding over the country night and day, appetites are sharp as icicles.\n\nBreakfast over, Auno and Tauno shake hands with Mama and Papa and say, \"Thank you for the food.\" Then they strap on their skis and call, \"Good-bye, Mama! Good-bye, Papa!\"\n\nThey are all muffled up in scarfs and jackets and two pairs of wool stockings. Both children are sturdy as tree stumps. The only way Mama and Papa can tell Auno from Tauno is by her flaxen braids.\nInside the bags strapped over their shoulders, they carry her rings and sandwiches, and books too, of course. In Auno's bag, there's a starched white apron.\n\nOutside, the air is clear and still. The snow is so deep it hides all but the top rail of fences. Auno and Tauno ski over the rolling country, their skis making elfin music over the frozen snow!\n\nUp a little hill, and now whoosh! Down the hill they go. Up, down, up, down, like a never-ending roller coaster.\n\nA reindeer, startled by their laughter, disappears into the forest. Foxes streak into holes hidden beneath snow-covered stones. Badgers scurry into rocky ridges. They are out of sight in such a hurry that Auno and Tauno wonder if they really saw them at all! And white rabbits dash across the snow like gusts of wind.\n\nUp a little hill, and now whoosh! Down the hill they go.\nThe twins wind through a path between two lakes. There are so many lakes in Finland they can be counted in pairs! Ahead, they see the white flag of Finland against a gray sky. It waves from the flagpole of their red schoolhouse. Several pairs of skis are lined up against the side of the building. Auno and Tauno add theirs to the neat row. They whisk the snow from their boots with a birch twig broom.\n\nWhat a hubbub inside as good mornings are called! Frosty mittens are tucked into pockets and tingling fingers pressed to scarlet cheeks. Auno puts on her starched white apron and takes her seat at one of the double desks. Tauno, because he is full of mischief, has to sit with a very sober little girl. His teacher calls him Little Cuckoo because he jumps up and down exactly like the cuckoo bird.\nWith all the little girls wearing stiffly starched white aprons, the room looks as if white butterflies had settled there. But pretty Miss Maki is not deceived by clean aprons. Thoroughly she inspects hands, neck, and ears. Any boy or girl who is not scoured as clean as a copper kettle is promptly sent home to wash. Auno and Tauno always breathe a little easier after the inspection is over.\n\nWhile Miss Maki's lessons are pleasant enough, Auno and Tauno can hardly wait for noontime. Then the boys play Bilp and the girls learn how to cook.\n\nTauno has to sit with a very sober little girl. But today, poor Tauno is headed for trouble. And all on account of his favorite game.\n\nBilp is like baseball, except that a stick of wood is used for a ball. Whenever the batter hits the wood with a square blow and sends it soaring through the air, the game is in full swing.\nIt rockets through the air, he must shout, \"Pois alta!\" That means: \"Get out below!\" In the excitement of the game, Tauno forgot to call \"Pots alta.\" The flying stick whizzed through the air, clipping Urho's cap right off his head! Of course, Miss Maki happened to be looking out the window at that very moment. Rapping on the pane, she motioned for Tauno to come in. She was very angry. Her eyes blazed like Northern Lights.\n\n\"Tauno Arola!\" she scolded. \"You might have killed poor Urho. Boys who forget the rules,\" she added, \"stand behind the blackboard for two hours, one hour during school and one hour after school.\"\n\nWhen the small hand on the schoolroom clock pointed to three, Miss Maki reminded Tauno to take his place behind the blackboard. The blackboard rested on an easel, so the class could see nothing.\nAuno felt sorry for Tauno and his two new sturdy boots. The wall clock ticked on. A tear rolled down Auno's cheek and splashed onto her book. It wouldn't be fun skiing home without Tauno.\n\nThe class could only see Tauno's two new sturdy boots. Meanwhile, strange things were happening behind the blackboard.\n\nAt first, Tauno behaved well. But then one foot fell asleep. He felt as if hundreds of red-hot pinpoints were dancing up and down his leg. He shifted his weight. If only he could step out of his boots and jump around in his stocking feet.\n\nSomeone went up to the map on the side wall to point out a nation called The United States. Everyone faced the map. Suddenly, an idea struck Tauno. Why not step out of his boots?\nTauno quietly lifted one foot out and then the other, tiptoed into the cloakroom, and no one noticed. His boots still stood behind the blackboard as if he were in them. When Tauno reached home, Auno's eyes stared at him in shock. There he was, sitting on the brick warming oven, whistling away, happy as could be. She looked at his dangling feet. His stockings were full of holes, and two little red toes poked out like birds from a nest.\n\n\"Why Tauno, how \u2013 why \u2013 I thought \u2013 your boots \u2013 \" Tauno laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. \"Won't Miss Maki get a surprise when she tells my boots they can go home? Ho, ho, ho!\"\n\n\"But what did Mama say?\"\n\n\"Mama isn't home.\"\n\nTauno continued whistling away, happy as could be.\nBut before the words were out, he clapped his hands over his mouth. \"Look! Here she comes. Oh, Auno, what will I tell her about my new boots?\"\n\nAuno hurried to the window. Sure enough, it was Mama.\n\n\"Wear your old ones, silly.\"\n\n\"I can't. Mama gave them away.\"\n\nQuickly, Auno began rummaging in the box by the stove and found a pair of her own. \"Here, Tauno, they're old and stiff, but they will cover your bare toes.\" Both Auno and Tauno pulled and tugged, and somehow Tauno's feet were squeezed into the small boots just as Mama walked in the door.\n\n\"Hello, children. Why, Auno, you're still wearing your school apron. And Tauno, your school blouse. Take them off at once and get into your play clothes.\"\n\nMama never even glanced at Tauno's feet. She was busy washing the blouse and apron and hanging them up to dry.\ndoor dries in oven. She built a roaring fire inside, and clothes were dry almost before the twins could say \"Helsinki is the capital of Finland.\"\n\nAfter school, it's Noisy Time in Finland. Such shouting and laughter! Sound travels very far in the clear air of the Arctic. Children's shouts echo through the forests and re-echo until they melt into one great shrilling.\n\nLittle Finns do more than just yell like steam whistles. They ski and they high jump and play Bilp.\n\nSomehow Tauno's feet were squeezed into the small boots. Any child who does not join in the fun of Noisy Time is promptly taken to see the doctor.\n\n\"I asked the neighbor children to come over,\" Mama announced. \"Why don't you go meet them?\" \"Oh, good!\" cried Auno, bundling into her clothes. \"Guess I'll study,\" said Tauno.\nMama looked up in alarm. She felt Tauno's forehead. \"Go find Papa at once.\"\n\nTauno tried hard not to limp as he went out after Papa. When they returned, Mama was bristling with plans. \"Tauno is not well,\" she explained. \"He must take his steam bath today instead of Saturday. Then tomorrow we will see Doctor Sario. Will you please prepare the fire?\"\n\n\"Mama,\" Tauno pleaded, \"I feel all right. I don't want to see the doctor.\"\n\nBut there was no use arguing. Mama loved plans and once they were made, no one could upset them. Not even Papa. So he built a roaring fire in the little log bathhouse, and when the stones were red hot, he called Tauno.\n\nTauno was really worried. \"Suppose I can't get my boots off,\" he thought, \"and they have to be cut off like Auno's ring!\"\n\nThe perspiration stood out on his forehead, even though it was cool in the bathhouse.\ncold in the little outer room of the bathhouse where he and Papa were undressing. Tug, tug, tug. Finally, off came the boots. Tauno sighed in relief as he wriggled his numbed toes.\n\nShe felt Tauno's forehead.\n\nPapa was pouring cold water on the hot stones now and it made funny sizzling noises as it turned into steam. There were benches around the sides of the walls, exactly like those at the circus. Papa climbed to the top bench because the hotter it was, the better he liked it. Tauno took the lowest bench.\n\n\"How good this feels,\" he sighed, as little streams of perspiration ran down his back like rain on a windowpane.\n\nSoon Papa came down and threw more water on the stones. More steam billowed upward. Next, he switched Tauno with green twigs. This didn't hurt at all. It just made Tauno's blood tingle.\nAfter more steaming, they both soapied themselves until they were white with lather. Laughing and shouting at the top of their lungs, they threw dippers of water at each other. Then father and son raced out of the bathhouse to somersault over and over in the snow before they dressed.\n\nRight after supper, the twins took their places at the lamplit table. Papa was mending the fishing nets. Soon he would begin whittling. All over the tupa there were samples of his art\u2014bushy-tailed squirrels, reindeer, sleighs.\n\nMama was at the spinning wheel. But only one eye was on her flying spindle. The other was on Auno and Tauno to see that there was no whispering when there should be studying. Up, down goes Mama's foot. But there is no up-down to her steady gray eyes!\n\nJust before bedtime, Papa took out his kantele\u2014the harp of the woods.\nNorth. He softly strummed and sang old songs of the lakes and forests.\n\"How good this feels,\" he sighed.\nWhen morning came, Tauno had half a mind to tell Mama everything. But he had waited so long, it seemed harder than ever now. Oh, if only he had told her yesterday.\nBiting his lip, he struggled into Auno's tight boots once more. He could hear the tinkle of bells as Papa harnessed Tapio, their white horse, for the long drive to town.\n\"Ready!\" cried Papa, and out of the tupa trooped Mama and Auno and Tauno. They all climbed into the sleigh and buried their feet in mounds of hay. Then Papa tucked a great elkskin robe around the twins' shoulders. Auno and Tauno's heads were almost hidden. In fact, they looked like turtles.\nIt was cozy to be snug and warm while snowflakes fell like white flakes around us.\nWhite stars on Tapio's back! Fir trees bowed stiffly to each other, like white-bearded old men. Harness bells jingled madly as the sleigh whipped across the frozen lake. Men were cutting little holes in the ice, planting a line of grown spruce trees to guide travelers across the lake. Already, ice magic was at work. Many of the trees were frozen in place, as if they had been growing there for a very long time.\n\nAs soon as they reached town, Tapio was tied up and the Arola family walked along the cobbled streets to Doctor Sario's. Auno was kept busy curtsying to every grown-up they passed. Papa smiled and told her she looked like a cork bobbing up and down in a stream. But of course he wouldn't have her do otherwise. Tauno, in spite of his poor little cramped feet, took off his hat and bowed politely. Both he and Auno were kept pretty busy.\nThe Arola family walked along the cobbled streets. They had scarcely any time to watch all the activity around them \u2014 the men sweeping the streets with juniper twigs, the market carts heaped high with exciting things to buy, the street cars with their women conductors.\n\nAnd all too soon, the dreaded moment was at hand \u2014 that silly visit to Doctor Sario. Tauno reached for Auno's hand, not because he was exactly afraid, but no one understood quite like Auno. She gave a reassuring squeeze.\n\n\"Well, well,\" greeted Doctor Sario. \"If it isn't the Arola family! And how is Auno? And Tauno, the Little Cuckoo?\"\n\n\"He is not a Little Cuckoo today,\" said Mama. \"He refused to join in the fun of Noisy Time yesterday. And Doctor, when he thinks I'm not watching, his face is pinched with pain.\"\n\n\"Well, Tauno, let's have a look at that tongue.\"\nTauno stuck out his little red tongue. Doctor Sario held it down with a piece of wood and looked into his throat with a flashlight. Next, he held one of Tauno\u2019s eyes wide open and peered so close that Tauno could almost feel the bristles of his red mustache. Still not satisfied, he took Tauno\u2019s temperature and held Tauno's wrist in his big hand for hours it seemed. Finally, he told Tauno to run back and forth across the office five times. Tauno bit his lip and ran as best he could.\n\n\"Hmm,\" said Doctor Sario in a grave voice.\n\n\"H-m-m,\" he boomed again.\n\nAnd then after an endless pause, \"I think it's his feet.\"\n\n\"His feet!\" echoed Papa and Mama.\n\n\"Yes, his feet. The boots. Much too tight. Why, feel of his toes. They're all curled up like the toes of his boots.\"\nMama studied Tauno's feet. \"Tauno, are those your boots?\" she asked sternly.\n\nTauno lowered his head. \"No, Mama.\"\n\n\"They're mine,\" Auno spoke up. And both children began telling everything that had happened. The office grew noisy.\n\nDoctor Sario held up his hands for quiet, like the conductor at the band concert.\n\nFor punishment, poor Tauno had to remain in the sleigh while the family enjoyed market day. But his feet were so pinched, he was glad to curl up in the hay and fall asleep. At noon, he fed Tapio handfuls of the warm hay at his feet. In the midst of Tapio's dinner, the family returned, bringing sandwiches and hot coffee. And soon they were headed for home, Tapio's harness bells playing merry music in the crystal air.\n\nAuno nudged Tauno. \"Papa is taking the wrong turn at the crossroads.\"\nTauno sighed as he approached the schoolhouse, leading the way. His troubles seemed endless. Good old Tapio understood and slowed down, making the journey take as long as possible. Tauno hoped that Miss Maki wouldn't be there so late on a Saturday. They had been on the road for hours, and it was nearly suppertime. But squares of light in the schoolhouse windows put an end to all his wishing.\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" Tauno sighed as he fed Tapio handfuls of warm hay at his feet.\n\nPapa motioned for everyone to follow him. Tauno limped openly now; there was no need to pretend any longer. \"Perhaps,\" he thought with new hope, \"it will be the janitor and not Miss Maki at all.\"\n\nBut there she was, correcting papers. And there were Tauno's boots, just as he had stepped out of them!\n\nMiss Maki looked up in surprise.\n\"Good day,\" began Papa. \"Tauno has something to say to you.\"\n\nNow it was Tauno's turn to look surprised. He looked helplessly at Auno, at Mama, at Papa. No one said a word. Suddenly his eyes found his boots. They looked so roomy and comfortable. \"Oh, please, Miss Maki, may I put on my boots and finish my punishment?\"\n\nMiss Maki smiled. \"Put your boots on, Little Cuckoo,\" she said kindly. \"But from the way you are limping, I think you have had punishment enough.\"\n\nA short while later, goodbyes echoed in the frosty night as Tapio flew over the snow, faster and faster. It seemed as if the sleigh were headed right for the Northern Lights and would soon be tangled in the red streamers blazing across the sky. Tauno was certain that nothing in the world could be more beautiful. He felt all comfortable inside, even though his feet were cold.\nHe was still numb, glad that Mama and Papa knew everything and didn't scold. They both laughed into the silver stillness, like the tinkling notes from Tapio's harness bells. It seemed as if the sleigh was headed for the Northern Lights.", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1940", "subject": ["Ohio River -- Description and travel", "Ohio River -- Navigation"], "title": "The Beautiful river /", "lccn": "40034092", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST011238", "partner_shiptracking": "IAGC155", "call_number": "10189951", "identifier_bib": "00145737308", "lc_call_number": "F516 .W75", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "publisher": "[Cincinnati : Wiesen-Hart Press]", "associated-names": "Writers' Program (Ohio); Hamilton County Good Government League", "description": "40 p. : 23 cm", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-07-23 11:42:07", "updatedate": "2019-07-23 12:44:55", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "beautifulriver00unse", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-07-23 12:44:57", "operator": "associate-annie-coates@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe1.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "46", "scandate": "20190729160808", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-melanie-zapata@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20190802214405", "republisher_time": "221", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/beautifulriver00unse", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t8dg4jh3v", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "openlibrary_edition": "OL6411047M", "openlibrary_work": "OL20076268W", "curation": "[curator]admin-andrea-mills@archive.org[/curator][date]20191011182613[/date][state]approved[/state][comment]invoice201908[/comment]", "sponsordate": "20190831", "additional-copyright-note": "No known restrictions; no copyright renewal found.", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1156357062", "backup_location": "ia906907_32", "oclc-id": "2814795", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "84", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1940, "content": "Federal Works Agency\nJohn M. Carmody, Administrator\nWork Projects Administration\nF. C. Harrington, Commissioner\nFlorence Kerr, Assistant Commissioner\nCarl Watson, State Administrator\n\nCopyright 1940\n\nHamilton County Good Government League\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL RIVER\n\nCompiled by\nWorkers of the Writers\u2019 Program of the\nWork Projects Administration\nIn the State of Ohio\n\nSponsored by\nThe Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Society\nColumbus\n\nCo-sponsored by\nThe Hamilton County Good Government League\n\nPublished by\nThe Wiesen-Hart Press\nCincinnati\n\nPrefatory Note:\n\nThe Beautiful River is an episode in the life story of the Ohio River. It begins with the Ohio living quietly after the tumult of the great glacier. As men settle the Ohio Valley, the river moves the wheels on the boats and beside the mills. It shapes cities and gives adventure until the railroads came.\nroads come and its muddy and diseased waters flood the Valley. The little book ends with men trying to control the Ohio and make it again a useful and beautiful river.\n\nThe Ohio unit of the Federal Writers\u2019 Project, directed by Dr. Harlan H. Hatcher, began this story. It was continued and brought forth in the form of this little book by the Ohio Writers\u2019 Project.\n\nHelpful suggestions were contributed by officials of the Cincinnati Public Schools and of the Hamilton County Good Government League, represented by Judge John C. Dempsey.\n\nThe text was designed for use in the upper elementary and junior high school grades. The Ohio Writers\u2019 Project hopes that children, as well as their parents, will complete the book.\nThe Ohio River, a remarkably crooked river as George Washington noted in his diary in 1770, and referred to as the most beautiful river on earth by Thomas Jefferson, remains majestic as it twists and turns south and west in great curves for a thousand miles from Pittsburgh to Cairo, Illinois. From Pittsburgh down past West Virginia on one side and Ohio on the other, the river flows.\nBetween hills. Sometimes they roll down to the riverside, but usually they are back a little and the shore is low. Near Cincinnati, the Ohio lies in a valley of farms and quiet towns squeezed between the river and the hills. Here orchards and garden patches and little fields of corn and tobacco run down to the water\u2019s edge, and back gates often open onto a river landing.\n\nThe Ohio is not an old river. Geologists, who know about soils and stones and rivers, say that its age is about 35,000 years, which is young as rivers go. The land between the Rocky Mountains and the Appalachian Mountains was once covered with water, and the Gulf of Mexico reached all the way to the Great Lakes. Over a long period of time, the land rose slowly above the water, and the water ran off to its present channel.\n\nThen the glaciers came. They were thick sheets of ice moving over the land.\nThe text heavily covered the land, grinding up hills, rocks, and soil as they pushed forward. Gradually, the climate became warmer, and glaciers melted backward. What remains of them is now far north of this country. Most streams in the Ohio Valley originally flowed northward. The glaciers made them run south and west. As the glaciers melted, their water broke down the land between several old streams, which became one wide river. This new stream was the Ohio.\n\nTo the best of our knowledge, the first people on the river were the mound builders. Hundreds of years ago, they lived throughout the Ohio Valley. They piled up mounds of earth and stones. Some of these they used as burial places; others they used as forts; still others they used for ceremonial purposes. Although some of the mounds can still be seen along the river, most of them were plowed up a long time ago.\nThe Beautiful River\n\nThe downtown district of Cincinnati was once covered with earthworks, including a high mound near the corner of Fifth and Mound Streets. Farmers had removed much of the land, and it disappeared when people built towns and cities on the rivers. This mysterious people likely traveled on the Ohio River as far as it would take them on trips into the West. Some of their weapons and ornaments were made of semi-precious stones not native to this part of the country. They also worked with animal bones and had many strings and bands of tiny freshwater pearls, taken from the mussels they dug from the sand bars of the Ohio and its tributaries.\n\nThe Indians we know about were the next people to live in the Ohio Valley. Some say that they called this river Oyo.\nThe Indians named the stream Ohipeehanne, meaning very white, foaming. The swift currents which rode the river bends jumped into little white waves. The Indians snared fish in the river, planted corn in the bottom lands, and tracked down game in the heavy forests. When hunting was not good on the north bank of the Ohio, they paddled across to Kentucky for their game. When the Indians had to move or visit or fight, they slid their canoes into the fast current of the river. Parties of Indians came from as far north as Lake Erie to hunt in Kentucky. Their trail crossed the Ohio River at the site of Cincinnati, passed through what is now Covington, and went alongside the Licking River as it cut through the Kentucky hills.\nThe Indians walked this same long path for salt, which was hard to find in some parts of the region north of the Ohio. Salt-making expeditions canoed down the Ohio River and followed buffalo trails through the Kentucky wilds to a salt spring, called a \u201click\u201d because it was a place where animals came to lick up the salt on the earth around the spring. Days were spent filling kettles with salt water and boiling out the water until only the salt was left. Big Bone Lick, just down the river from Cincinnati in Boone County, Kentucky, was visited often by the Ohio tribes. It was not far from the Ohio River, so most of the long trip could be made by canoe. Sometimes they continued all the way down to the Louisville falls by boat and then traveled many miles overland to get a big supply of salt.\nWhite men entered the Ohio Valley. La Salle, the French explorer, is said to have discovered a river in 1669 which may have been the Ohio. We know that other Frenchmen wandered down the river and were amazed at the beauty of this new country.\n\nOn each side of the beautiful river lay a woodland of low hills and broad valleys, which carried slender streams and creeks into the river. Sycamore, willow, swamp oak, and water maple trees were thick beside beds of high, green-leafed cane which came down to the edge of the banks. From the sides of the hills rose huge forests of poplar, oak, hickory, maple, ash, and smaller trees. Leaves drifting down from these trees made a cover for the soil when the snow came. Over all the hills and valleys and even on the steep slopes above the river, a network of forests stretched.\nThe big and little tree roots kept the soil from washing away, and the Ohio river and its tributaries, even when high from rain and melted snow, were not muddy but clear and pure. The Frenchmen named the river \"La Belle Riviere,\" meaning \"the beautiful river.\" For many years after the visit of the French explorers, only a few white people, mostly French and English traders and fur-trappers, lived in the Ohio Valley. It did not take them long to quarrel. The French group and the British group each wanted the rich forests, fields, and rivers for itself, and each tried to get the help of the Indians. The French claimed the land because of La Salle's explorations. The British claimed it by right of settlement. They pointed out that they had settled there first.\nThe Colonies on the Atlantic Coast were part of the British Empire, and people from these Colonies had pushed westward over the Appalachian Mountains and built homes near the streams in the Ohio Valley. Meanwhile, in Europe, Britain and France began to war against each other. The fighting spread to this continent, and the French and British tried to drive each other out of the Ohio Valley. For seven years they battled, and in 1763, the British won. They and the Indians ruled the Valley \u2014 but not for long. The American Revolutionary War came in 1775. When it was over, the Americans and the Indians were in the Ohio Valley, each determined to keep it. During the Revolutionary War and immediately afterwards, people from Virginia and Pennsylvania settled on the Kentucky shore of the Ohio River.\nThe Ohio River saw the migration of some settlers through the Shenandoah Valley and the Cumberland Gap to the bluegrass region, while others followed the Cumberland River and southern tributaries of the Ohio. By 1787, many white settlers had populated Kentucky. The vast region, extending from the Appalachians to the Mississippi and from the Ohio River to the Great Lakes, was known as the Northwest Territory. The land was owned by various Eastern States. One by one, they transferred their titles to the United States, making the Northwest Territory part of the Federal Government. The new territory spanned over a quarter-million square miles and later gave birth to Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and a part of Minnesota.\nHere was the backyard of the new United States, the home of animals and Indians and a few white people, a great wilderness without roads - dangerous, lovely, profitable. Men in the East were eager to live in the Northwest Territory.\n\nAt first, there were no laws for the new territory, so that people could not buy the land. Then, in 1787, a set of rules was drawn up and called the Ordinance of 1787. The Northwest Territory was now open for settlement.\n\nThe settlers came. In their way were tall mountains, tangled forests, and resentful Indians. But after they crossed the mountains, they found a mighty friend - the Ohio River. It ran hundreds of miles along the southern border of the Northwest Territory; it carried many of them to their new homes.\n\nPeople who settled Marietta, Columbia, and Losantiville (later Cincinnati) came down to the sea in boats.\nCincinnati's early settlers, all founded in 1788, came over the mountains in carts and wagons. However, when they reached the Ohio River, they built flatboats. They chopped down trees, then sawed them into planks thick and strong enough to withstand the hard journey down the river. Since nails were expensive, the timbers were usually fitted together with wooden pegs cut by hand.\n\nThe flatboat was from 20 to 60 feet long and from 10 to 20 feet wide. In the center stood a cabin of thick, bullet-proof planks, with no openings in the sides except loopholes for rifles. A trap door and a window were in the roof. The cabin usually had a central hall, a bedroom, and a combination living-dining room. AJ1 The rooms were heated by a fireplace or by the crude stove used for cooking. If all but an end of the boat was roofed, the vessel was called a houseboat.\nFlatboats in Kentucky were typically compartmentalized for cattle, tools, household furniture, and baggage. The rectangular flatboat was usually steered by a pole as long as the boat itself, but the hroadhorn type was guided by two large sweeps or oars. Other types included the bateau, a broad, heavy boat for carrying large loads, and the galley, a wide skiff propelled forward by heavy oars.\n\nDespite the river being a large friend to the settler, it sometimes caused significant trouble. Boats could be snagged by hidden tree branches and floating logs, or caught in the sand bottom. There are numerous stories of boats being crushed by ice cakes, and of others breaking free from their moorings and running wild down the flooded river. One boat became lodged on a sandbar. The adults had left.\nTwo children were aboard and had gone to see about moving the stranded vessel. The boat quickly swung off the bar and floated away with the children. The parents got into a canoe and paddled after it for many miles before they reached their frightened youngsters. Indians were even more troublesome than the river. They felt that the only way to keep the Ohio Country to themselves was to drive away or kill the settlers. Indians hid in the high cliffs and behind the trees along the upper Ohio. When a flatboat came too near the shore, they slid into the boat and tomahawked the settlers. The Indians were very clever at concealing themselves on the hanks of the river. So when a boat swung close to the shore\u2014even if for only a moment\u2014the Indians could leap from their hiding place and climb on board.\nA family named Hubbel were almost attacked by Indians before the pioneer could reach for his rifle. In this manner, the men were busy fighting the Indians, while the women hid their children in the cabin and told them to be quiet or the Indians would steal them. One of the little boys was given his baby sister to hold. Suddenly, an arrow pierced the cabin wall and stuck in his arm. He made no sound and kept holding the baby until someone ran to help him. Quite often, the Indians tricked the pioneers. They pretended to be white men lost in the woods and yelled between the palms of their hands. Or else they imitated the call of wild turkeys or other game birds which the men on the boat would like to have for food. In either case, the pioneers would of course steer their boats to shore.\nA band of painted, screaming Indians would jump from among the trees and try to rush the boat. Sometimes these attempts were successful, but often they were not, as pioneers were well-armed, and even women and girls knew how to use the rifle. After 1794, when the Indians had been subdued by \"Mad\" Anthony Wayne, the journey down the Ohio became much less dangerous. The ark, which had been easy prey for the Indians due to its slowness and clumsiness, now became popular on the river. It was usually between 40 and 50 feet long and about one-third as wide, and it was steered and propelled by oars. Its prow and stern were a blunt V in shape. Only a part of the ark was roofed to protect travelers from the weather; the rest, usually reserved for livestock, was open. When it was filled with cargo and passengers, it could carry up to 100 people. The ark moved steadily down the quiet water. (Courtesy of the Cincinnati Enquirer) The Beautiful River.\nWith a cargo of noisy farm animals, the boat probably looked like Noah's ark. When danger no longer lurked in the forests, pioneers pushed up the Ohio's tributaries. They cleared the fertile river valleys and planted corn, wheat, and flax. Soon, flatboats on the little rivers were bearing loads of farm produce to the towns on the Ohio. Farmers living upstream needed the tools and furniture which could be bought in Cincinnati. But the upstream journey in the heavy boats was hard, slow, and expensive. Other types of river craft were therefore invented. Their model was the narrow-bottomed Indian canoe. Because the birch tree did not grow so far south, the Ohio Indian's canoe was never like Hiawatha's - of birchbark and boughs. Instead, it was a canoe-shaped dugout, made by hollowing out a large tree trunk.\nThe Ohio white men used dugouts, but they were too small to carry profitable loads of crops. So, pioneer farmers made dugouts from the biggest trees they could find \u2013 oak and poplar \u2013 and called them pirogues. They were fifty feet long and six or eight feet wide, went swiftly downstream, and could be rowed upstream through hard work. However, they were dangerous during spring freshets as they easily tipped over and lost all their cargo.\n\nThe keelboat was the first boat on the inland waters of America designed for commerce. It was 60 to 70 feet long and had a narrow bottom and a prow curved like that of a canoe. Running the length of the bottom was a heavy piece of wood called the keel. It was strong enough to take knocks and bumps without damage.\nCracking or breaking. Freight was carried in the \"cargo box,\" which was much like a ship's hold. Sails were sometimes hoisted on the keelboat, but the wind rarely filled them. And even when it did, the currents were much stronger than the wind.\n\nBringing a large, heavily laden keelboat upriver required twice as many men as the downriver trip. As a rule, many men who worked their way up the river on keelboats had come down it on flatboats. They had taken cargoes downriver to their destination, then knocked the boats to pieces and sold the planking. Not wanting to walk home cross-country from New Orleans and other southern ports, many of them took jobs as keelboatmen on craft bound up the river.\n\n\"Cordelling\" was a good way of taking a keelboat upstream, especially on the lower Mississippi. From the center of the keelboat rose The Beautiful River.\nA thirty-foot mast was used, to which was attached the cordelle, a rope over 300 yards long, reaching the hands of keelboatmen on the bank. It kept the boat a safe distance from shore. The high mast lifted the rope well above the brush and smaller trees on the river's edge. Walking in single file with the line over their shoulders, the keelboatmen pulled the craft up the river, just as mules later dragged canal boats through the canal. In places where cordelling was impractical, the keelboats were \"warped\" upriver. In warping a boat, the men on shore walked ahead and tied the rope to a tree. The men on board then heaved on the line until the boat was abreast the tree. The rope was then untied, carried ahead, fastened to another tree, and pulled again. Whenever the water was shallow, the boat was \"poleed\" against it.\nThe crew lined up in single files on either side of the sandy Ohio river bottom, each man holding an iron-shod pole and facing astern. At the captain's command, \"Set poles!\", they thrust their poles into the river bed. As he roared \"Back her!\", they applied their weight against the poles and walked towards the stern, forcing the boat against the current. Upon reaching the stern, each boatman jerked his pole from the river bed and hurried back to the bow to take his place in line. This procedure continued day after day until the boat reached its goal.\n\nAt times, the keelboats became stuck in the mud and sand. In such cases, the keelboatmen had to unload the cargo and carry it on their backs upriver until the water was deep enough to support a heavily stocked boat. In places, the shallow water extended for miles.\ncould not carry the cargo. In such cases, they swung pick and shovel and, working in water up to their knees, dug the channel deeper. Now and then the water got so low that they had to camp on the river bank for hours or days or even weeks, waiting for it to rise. Life on a keelboat was hard. Unruly slaves on Southern plantations trembled and promised to be good when their masters threatened to sell them to a keelboat owner. The keelboatmen were brawny young white men who worked hard for 50 cents a day and led a rough-and-tumble life. They were happy and carefree, and big enough to cope with river troubles.\n\nJust as there are countless stories, some tall, some true, of the early lumbermen, hunters, and Indian fighters, so are there tales of the keelboatmen. Greatest of them, now half-mythical, was Mike Fink.\nHe was the hardest drinker and deadliest rifle shot, the strongest and bravest keelboat men \"on both sides of the river from Pittsburgh to New Orleans and back again to St. Louis.\" He could shoot tin cups from the heads of his companions and work or play for 24 hours at a stretch. He never shirked his job or broke a promise. If a sheriff ever came looking for Mike Fink, nobody seemed to know a thing about him, for he was feared along the entire length of the river. Even river pirates avoided Mike Fink and his fellow keelboat men. They preferred to get their loot easily by boarding stalled flatboats. If the cargo was rich enough and they outnumbered the men on board, they even dared attack and kill the crew. They would then take the boat on down to New Orleans themselves and sell the cargo.\nThe river pirates had headquarters at several places along the Ohio. One band hung out at Cave-in-Rock, on the Ohio near Shawnee-town, Illinois. When boatmen neared Cave-in-Rock, they worked as hard as they could until they were safely past. They were joyful when they glimpsed the broad mouth of the Ohio at Cairo, Illinois. Boats plying the Mississippi had an extra load of trouble. The moment they left the Ohio River and entered the Mississippi, they were in Spanish territory. Spain was not friendly to the United States. It owned Florida and the vast Louisiana territory; it controlled the Mississippi. A thriving river trade would, year by year, draw more American colonists to the Ohio and the Mississippi. Eventually, the Spaniards thought, the American colonists would cross the Mississippi and take Spanish land.\nTo discourage trade and hold back settlers, Spain had threatened to close the Mississippi River to American boats. In 1795, President Washington made a treaty with Spain guaranteeing Americans the right to travel on the Mississippi and ship their goods into New Orleans.\n\nThe treaty did not help the United States much. Only the port of New Orleans itself was open to trade, and Americans paid a high tariff on goods they brought there.\n\nIn 1802, the United States learned that Spain, by a secret treaty in 1800, had given its Louisiana and Florida territory to France. It had been dangerous enough having Spain as a neighbor of the United States. Everyone now felt that Napoleon, Emperor of the French, was an even greater threat.\n\nPresident Jefferson thought that any nation which controlled the Mississippi River was a natural enemy of the United States. He knew\nAs the years passed, the people of the Ohio Valley would have more and more goods to sell, and the Nation needed a free and convenient seaport through which merchandise could be shipped. Jefferson decided that instead of warring with France, the United States should buy the port of New Orleans and a strip of land adjoining the Mississippi River. Fortunate for the United States, Napoleon needed money for his European campaigns. Despite his promise to Spain that he would hold onto his American territories, Napoleon offered to sell not merely what President Jefferson had asked for, but all of France\u2019s holdings in North America. Although Jefferson was not certain that he had the authority to purchase the land, he lost little time pondering. In 1803, he bought the French territory for the United States for only $15,000,000.\nThe Louisiana Purchase brought great rejoicing to people along the Ohio and its tributaries. Shippers and keelboatmen no longer had to risk their cargo, traders would not have to suffer fines and imprisonment for dealing in Louisiana, and there were no more Spanish duties or taxes to pay. Easterners were less enthusiastic. The Louisiana Purchase doubled the size of the United States, and the Easterners wanted to know what the Government would ever do with so much territory. The land west of the Mississippi, they argued, could never be anything more than a wilderness. It was too far away; people would never settle there; it would never have anything but wild animals and wilder Indians. In spite of all they said, many of them went west to clear the land.\nAnd they planted crops for profitable trade in the new territory. They pushed westward into the land beyond the Mississippi, chopping down oak, maple, poplar, and hickory forests to plant fields of flax and wheat and corn. In the older Southern States, such as Virginia and the Carolinas, the cotton land was being worn out by careless farming. Now that cotton growers were certain they could sell their cotton in New Orleans, they too went west into Arkansas and Alabama and Louisiana. They cleared acres of forest to make room for cotton. The many new people in the South and West were customers for the goods of the Ohio Valley, and they in turn shipped produce to the valley towns. So large was the traffic on the river that men tried to invent new boats to lessen the cost of manpower and thus make even greater profits.\nIn 1803, paddle-propelled boats emerged on the Mississippi. The hull was similar to that of a keelboat, and the boat was powered by horses walking on a treadmill on board. These horse-boats were complete failures; the horses could not match the work of keelboat men. Exhausted horses collapsed in harness faster than fresh horses could be found.\n\nThere were other new types of boats, but none were as good as the old keelboat. Mike Fink and his cronies laughed when they heard that a man was going up and down the river asking rivermen if they thought the Ohio and Mississippi would be suitable for steamboat travel. Always they shouted \"No,\" and jeered at the crazy notion. True, they had heard that a man named Fulton had created a contraption called a steamboat that was running on Eastern waters, but the rivermen remained skeptical.\nA boat couldn't overcome the stiff currents and swift floods of the Mississippi and Ohio, according to keelboatmen. Only good hard muscle could transport goods upstream. The man who inquired about this along the river in 1809 was Nicholas J. Roosevelt, working for Fulton and Livingston, steamboat builders and operators in New York. He examined the channels and currents, questioning people on boats and in river towns. They laughed in his face or politely shook their heads. They laughed even louder when they learned he had arranged for wood and coal supplies at river points \u2013 fuel for a yet-to-be-built steam boat.\n\nThe year 1811 brought wonders to the river valleys. The Great\nComet moved like a fiery serpent across the sky. People trembled and prayed, for they thought it meant the end of the world. Indian uprisings occurred in Indiana. The Mississippi raged and the earth trembled.\n\nAmong these awful happenings, Nicholas J. Roosevelt came down the Ohio again in October 1811. He was the proud captain of the steamboat built under his supervision at Pittsburgh. Few of the scoffers who lined the banks of the Ohio to see the ungainly contraption would have believed that here was the beginning of Cincinnati\u2019s greatness as a shipping center. To most of the folk along the river, the Orleans was nothing more than another wonder in a year of wonders, good only for scaring cattle and farmer lads. It was an ugly, noisy thing, chugging and sputtering, paddling up white foam, puffing out black smoke.\nThe Orleans stopped at Cincinnati long enough to refuel, and most of the town turned out to see it. Keelboatmen and others who knew the river laughed and ridiculed. Anything, even a log raft, they yelled, would go down river, but it took men, real men, to bring a load up river.\n\nThe Orleans steamed on down the Ohio to Louisville. It arrived at midnight, with such a noise and hissing of steam that the townspeople jumped from their beds and hurried to see whether the comet had fallen from the sky into the river.\n\nThe Beautiful River\n\nThe autumn rains were late that year, so that even in October the river was too low for the steamboat to travel beyond the falls at Louisville. While waiting for the water to rise, Captain Roosevelt had a chance to show what the Orleans could do. He steamed back and forth.\nThe most skeptical people had to admit that the steamboat could go upstream as well as downstream between Cincinnati and Louisville. An earthquake came in December, shaking down chimneys in Cincinnati and making the Ohio and Mississippi splash like oceans. The Orleans, tied up at Louisville, bobbed safely through the earthquake, but many keelboats and flatboats went under, losing their cargoes and a number of their men. The Mississippi was especially terrifying just below the mouth of the Ohio. Here the earth rose and sank, forcing the waters backward and over the land. When the earthquake stopped, tall trees were underwater and there was a new lake in Tennessee and Kentucky. It extended for several miles on the eastern side of the Mississippi River. Today it is known as Reelfoot Lake. The Orleans steamed on down the Mississippi from Louisville.\nThe crew went ashore each afternoon to cut wood for the boilers due to the exhaustion of the steamship's coal supply. It was a nervous task, as the earth grumbled and fussed beneath them. Some people along the way ran in terror from the strange, smoking boat on the river. Others, with a greater fear of the violent earth, begged to be taken aboard.\n\nCourtesy of the Cincinnati Public Library\nThe Beautiful River\n\nWhen Livingston and Fulton, owners of the company for which Captain Roosevelt worked, saw that a steamboat could navigate the Mississippi, they established a freight route from Natchez to New Orleans and built two more boats, the Hecla and the Etna, to carry merchandise.\n\nThe Orleans sank in 1814, but two years later, Fulton and Livingston salvaged its engine and put it in the New Orleans. When this ship sailed again.\nThe steamboat New Orleans stopped at Cincinnati on its first voyage. The editor of the Cincinnati Gazette remarked:\n\nThe steamboat New Orleans came to anchor before this port on Monday last. This is a large and handsome vessel, burden 350 tons, intended for the trade of the Mississippi. It will probably, now that the path has been successfully chalked out by the Etna, often pay acceptable visits at Louisville. We do not envy our friends at Louisville the advantages they enjoy over us, we only regret our legislature has not yet caught the spirit of theirs.\n\nSteamboating did not develop as quickly as it might have due to the Livingston Company. The Louisiana Territorial legislature had granted this firm the exclusive right to use steamboats on the rivers.\nThe operation of steamboats in that territory was made unprofitable for anyone else due to Fulton and Livingston's monopoly. There was little to be gained in bringing freight down to the Louisiana border and transferring it to a Livingston vessel, which would take it into New Orleans, sell it, and make all the money. The rivermen and traders felt that such an arrangement was unfair. They believed the Mississippi River should be like a public highway, open to everyone who wished to use it. Captain Henry Miller Shreve shared this belief. He went down to New Orleans in his good ship Enterprise, against the law since the boat did not belong to Fulton and Livingston. The captain was arrested, but he had already hired an able New Orleans lawyer. He and his boat were soon released.\nFulton and Livingston were furious. They hired all the remaining lawyers in New Orleans and even tried to bribe Captain Shreve\u2019s lawyer into betraying him. Fulton, Livingston, and all their lawyers failed to get Captain Shreve punished. In 1816, they took the case to court. The decision handed down was that rivers should be free to all men.\n\nThe Livingston Company ignored the ruling and had Captain Shreve arrested again when he later came down the river in the steam-boat Washington. This time, the shrewd captain did nothing. He sat, knowing what people up and down the river were thinking. They believed that the river should be free. When they heard that he had been seized again, this time for something which was no longer against the law, there was such a public demonstration that he was soon released.\nThe monopolists had to pay Dan Rice for the trouble they caused in leasing the steamboat monopoly from him. The Livingston and Fulton Company held a monopoly over steamboats in New York; no Ohio-built boats were allowed on the lakes or rivers touching that State. While Captain Shreve was fighting for the freedom of the Mississippi in New Orleans, the Ohio legislature was protesting the Livingston monopoly in New York. In 1822, the Ohio legislature closed its Lake Erie ports to the Livingston and Fulton boats until New York ports were opened to Ohio-built boats. This question was taken to the Supreme Court of the United States by Daniel Webster.\n\nThe verdict, pronounced by Chief Justice John Marshall, was that the navigable rivers, lakes, and streams of the United States should not be controlled by any of the States, but by the United States itself.\nBoats could travel on any river or lake in this country, regardless of where they were built. Bales and barrels were the cargo of traders in Cincinnati, who made money despite the monopoly. In 1813, a Cincinnatian named Carter wrote that his son, engaged in river trade, cleared four thousand dollars in eight months. One New England man came six years prior with $33 and was now worth ten thousand dollars in cash. The traders' cargo going down the river consisted of flour, pork, and whisky; the return load from New Orleans held sugar, cotton, coffee, and rice. Men reaped fortunes from the Cincinnati-New Orleans trade. Other men made a good living operating floating grocery stores, or bumboats, which peddled to villagers and farmers along the Ohio and smaller rivers.\nMost traveling storekeepers bought their stock of dry-goods and groceries in Cincinnati and set out in the spring when the river was full enough to float heavy loads. They went only to villages not large enough to support a general store year-round. As he drew near the bank, he sounded a mighty blast on a horn. No sooner did he touch the landing than bonneted women and girls rushed aboard.\n\nAs they fingered the wares and bargained, they asked the storekeeper for news. The keeper of the bumboat was often the only contact the backwoods river villages had with the outside world; he was trader, entertainer, and traveling newspaper. Often the people with whom he traded had no cash; he would then accept such country produce as flour, bacon, whisky, cheese, butter, or eggs. Since the flat-bottomed boats could not navigate the rapids, they had to be unloaded and portaged around them.\nA boat supplied everything a settler might need, from a needle to an anchor. The country produce was usually welcomed. If a settlement was a few miles farther down the river, there might be a shortage of eggs or something else. Boats also served the river farms and villages, including blacksmiths who shod horses and mules, made iron wagon tires and farm tools on their boats. There were furniture makers and upholsterers, and later, sawyers on great flat-boats carrying sawmills to cut lumber for new houses in the growing towns of the Valley.\n\nFrom an old print:\n\nBusy Port\n\nCincinnati grew with the river trade. It changed from a log cabin village, straggling along a few muddy roads, to a brisk little town with its face turned to the river. From the creeks and river valleys onward.\nThe north saw hogs waddle in hundreds into Cincinnati, shaking up dust and making noise all the way to the slaughterhouses. From the outlying farmlands, great wagons heavy with corn, wheat, beef, flax, wool, hides, furs, ginseng, tobacco, and handmade linsey-woolsey jeans and socks and mittens creaked into town. Down the two Miamis and down the Licking (in Kentucky) came heavily loaded boats to Cincinnati. Some of this produce was used in Cincinnati, but most was shipped south to plantations and towns along the Mississippi. At New Orleans, a great part of it was put on ocean-going vessels bound for American cities along the Atlantic and for countries on the other side of the ocean.\n\nAs the steamboat replaced most manpowered craft, steam-boat building became an important industry. Steamboats were hampered by frequent engine breakdowns and navigational challenges.\nMered together by the score each year, sometimes several boats were launched in a single day. As steamboats became more numerous, goods could be transported more quickly and cheaply up and down the rivers. More and more families came to live in the Valley. Immigrants, especially from Germany and Ireland, thronged to Cincinnati.\n\nThe Beautiful River\n\nGreater now than ever before was the demand for the produce of Ohio farmers. Every year more acres were planted in corn and wheat, more hogs and sheep and cattle fattened.\n\nIn pioneer days, Ohio farmers had learned that a hog could be driven to market over any kind of land in all kinds of weather. So, instead of hauling corn to market, farmers within a radius of 150 miles drove their corn-fed hogs into Cincinnati to be slaughtered. By 1825, because of Cincinnati\u2019s packing industries, Easterners had nicknamed it \"Porkopolis.\"\nThe city was named \"Porkopolis.\" The Public Landing was piled high with hogsheads of salt pork to be shipped south. Barrels of spareribs could be had at the packing houses for the asking, and other parts of the hog were cheap almost beyond belief. Hogs could eat only so much farm produce. The inland farmer scarcely knew what to do with the rest. Roads were still crude and there were no railroads. The richest part of Ohio, the western section, had few navigable streams. There was no good way of getting farm produce to the town market. City business men were as eager as the farmer to find a way of bringing farm crops to market. When the farmer prospered, the whole town profited; the more he sold, the more he was able to buy. The people of Ohio looked about for some solution to the problem. They found the answer in New York and other Eastern States.\nWhere canals had been dug, freight and passengers were carried on barges drawn by horses on towpaths. Urged by an eager public, the Ohio legislature voted money for the building of canals through Ohio. Work on the Miami and Erie Canal, which ran from the Ohio River at Cincinnati to Lake Erie at Toledo, began in 1825. Although the canal took 20 years to complete, only a few years elapsed before farmers a short distance north of Cincinnati began to use the southern portion. Barge loads of farm produce, pulled by horses and mules sweating on the hard-beaten towpath, soon arrived in the city. And barges piled with farm machinery, furniture, sugar, and coffee left Cincinnati for up-state communities and farms.\n\nThe canals made men realize the possibilities of the little rivers.\nThe Ohio River's tributaries, extending beyond Ohio to Kentucky, Indiana, and Illinois, served as crucial routes for transporting lumber, coal, iron ore, farm produce, furs, game, and raw materials for manufacturing or trans-shipment down the Mississippi. Up these rivers flowed manufactured goods and other items inaccessible to inland communities. The Ohio River connected a vast array of people and products, bringing European and Indian goods within reach of Ohio farmers. A traveler visiting Cincinnati over a century ago was astounded, \"When a boat came to the landing, it seemed as if all the world were there.\" Cincinnati, the Queen City of the West and greatest inland river town, flourished at its landing with every kind of farm produce and manufactured goods.\nArticle was being loaded or unloaded, while rivermen, laborers, and passengers mingled. Some departed, others arrived, and some merely looked on or strolled by in the bedlam of the busiest, most colorful port between Pittsburgh and New Orleans.\n\nThe big hotels were near the landing \u2013 so near that when the Gibson House was opened at its present location in 1849, many people thought it was too far from the river. Front and Pearl Streets were not lined with warehouses as they are today, but filled with hotels, shops, factories, and saloons.\n\nAll kinds of people mingled on the streets, in the restaurants and hotels, and at the Public Landing: rich Southern planters in high beaver hats, with their families, attended by a retinue of slaves; sunburned farmers from Ohio and Kentucky; Irish and German immigrants.\nGrants fresh from the Old Country, still wearing native dress and speaking native tongue or brogue; swaggering steamboat captains and wide-shouldered river men. Roustabouts tugged at bales of cotton and hogsheads of pork and tobacco; they rolled barrels of flour, meal, sugar, coffee, molasses, salt, fish, fruits, and all other produce of the South down the gangplanks. Teamsters swore and lashed horses and mules hauling merchandise from the landing.\n\nCrowds of carriages, carts, and wagons rattled over cobblestone streets to the landing. Some brought food supplies to be used on steamboats or freight to be shipped down river. Others carried passengers to the boats.\n\nDown to the river came also a multitude of men who made special parts for the paddle-wheelers. They manufactured engines, boilers, and other mechanical components.\nsteamboats required furniture and fittings. Repairing and repainting kept some busy, while others supplied rope, anchors, fuel, and food for the passengers and crews of the hundreds of boats that docked at Cincinnati.\n\nRacing Palaces\nThus, the steamboat reigned supreme on the river, shaping the lives of those in the Valley. By 1850, few flatboats, keel-boats, or other manpower boats sailed the waters of the Ohio. They had been replaced by the steamboat, which had been improved so rapidly that it bore little resemblance to the one Captain Nicholas Roosevelt introduced in 1811.\n\nThe early steamboat paid scant attention to schedules; it began its journey whenever the captain deemed fit. Judge James Hall, Cincinnati historian and novelist, once rushed from his hotel without\nHis breakfast to catch a steamboat scheduled to leave port at eight o'clock required him to wait three days on board before it started. Indignantly, he wrote:\n\nDuring the whole first day, passengers continued to come on board, puffing and blowing \u2013 in the most eager haste to secure passage \u2013 each having been assured by the captain or agent that the boat would start in less than an hour. The next day presented the same scene; the rain continued to fall; we were two miles from the city, lying against a miry bank which prevented anyone from leaving the boat. . . . By and bye the captain came \u2013 but then we must wait a few minutes for the clerk, and when the clerk came, the captain found that he must go to town. In the meantime, passengers continued to accumulate, each deceived alike by the assurance that the boat was about to start.\nDeparting was delayed for three days due to a crowded cabin and deck, filled with a miscellaneous collection of passengers resembling Noah's Ark crew. Once underway, the pioneer steamboat was dangerous and uncomfortable. All passengers were housed in a spacious saloon with separate compartments for men and women. The cabins were poorly lit by oil lamps, which occasionally ignited the boat. Fuel for the steam in the boilers was wood or soft coal. When the wind blew in the wrong direction, passengers were pelted with soot, ash, and cinders.\n\nThe Beautiful River\n\nWhen the river was low, boats had to wait for it to rise. Passengers could fish, stroll through the countryside, or amuse themselves aboard the boat.\nWith eating, drinking, and dancing, or listening to the captain's rant during the delay. The passage included lodging and housing between points on the river for as long as the journey took. During the tie-ups, the captain often complained that the passengers ate him out of his profits. Such conditions did not last long. As more steamboats were built, competition became keener. To secure passengers, each boat tried to outdo the others in comfort, good food, and speed. Many were adorned, inside and out, with oil paintings, sometimes of Biblical scenes. The steam calliope catered to other tastes by blowing gay tunes for the passengers. The chandeliers in these \"floating palaces,\" says Mark Twain, \"were each an April shower of glittering glass drops.\" Every captain prided himself on the gadgets of his boat, such as whistles and bells unlike any others on the river. One captain came\nTo see his bell cast in a Cincinnati foundry and threw in 500 silver dollars to ensure a clear, pure tone. Often, the bells were prized more highly than the engines. If a boat sank, a diver was sent to the river bottom to get the bells.\n\nIn later days, when steamboats ran according to schedule, people living miles back in the hills above the river set their clocks by the long wailing of some steamboat whistle as the boat came round a bend in the river. Steamboats were always coming and going, their deep-toned whistles sounding for a bend or a fog or a landing, their bells ringing, their engines roaring, their great wheels splashing, and their tall smokestacks pouring black smoke.\n\nThe engines were not as powerful as those of today. They consumed a great deal of fuel, so that boats had to stop frequently to refuel.\nCoal or wood were used for fuel. To generate the maximum power, it was essential to have the smokestack as tall as possible, ensuring a strong draft in the firebox. Consequently, before bridges were constructed over the Ohio, stacks were often over 50 feet high.\n\nThere were no beacon lights on shore to guide boats, no buoys in the river to mark shoals, and no navigation laws. Captains and crews, eager to make speed, were sometimes careless. The fastest boats generally secured most passengers and freight, leading to boats being built for speed rather than safety or long-term use. There was always the risk that a snag or rock would damage the fragile hull and sink the steamer.\n\nBoilers were constructed flimsy. Some were fitted with safety valves to allow steam to escape when pressure became dangerously high.\nBut they were often tied down when a race was on or the captain was in a hurry. As a result, boilers often blew up.\n\nBecause of all these hazards, steamboat accidents were usually disastrous. The Moselle was a Cincinnati-built vessel noted up and down the river for beauty and speed. No vessel could beat her on the run to St. Louis.\n\nOn April 25, 1838, the captain of a rival boat steamed down river boasting that he would break the record of the Moselle to St. Louis. The captain of the Moselle was in no humor to let this happen. He gave orders for full steam ahead.\n\nAwaiting the steamer about two miles up river from Cincinnati was a large party of German immigrants who had made arrangements to go to St. Louis. When the ship stopped to pick them up, one of the immigrants...\nPassengers, an engineer who had come aboard at the Cincinnati wharf, went down to have a look at the engine room. He came on deck soon after and immediately left the boat, remarking to some of the crew that the boilers could never hold up under such terrific steam pressure. No one heeded the frightened engineer. Instead, the crew worked swiftly getting the passengers and freight aboard, and the vessel was soon ready to start. The fires below deck raged and the boilers hissed, but no one cared. Everybody was eager for the race down river. As the boat backed away from the landing, cries of farewell and good luck came from friends on shore. Then all four boilers exploded simultaneously. The big boat was torn to pieces.\n\nOf the approximately 300 passengers, about 200 were killed. Some of the dead.\nNineteen unidentified bodies were buried at public expense in a common grave, a shocking tragedy that led the Federal government to appoint officers to inspect boats and enforce safety regulations. The inspectors did some good but could not prevent all accidents. After a visit to Cincinnati in 1842, Charles Dickens, author of Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, and many other books, noted that two or three steamboat disasters in a week were not uncommon. These wrecked steamboats were quickly replaced; by the onset of the Civil War, there were 600 steamboats in operation on the river at all times. The people were river-minded and not timid. Passengers were often as enthusiastic as the captain and crew about the outcome of a race. When a contest was on, anything that would make a hot fire was used.\nwas thrown into the fireboxes \u2013 rosin, pinewood, turpentine, and even oil. A legend tells of passengers so eager to win a race that they offered to pay the captain for the cargo if he would burn it. He did, and won the race. The cargo that went up in smoke was ham \u2013 thousands of smoked hams!\n\nSometimes races covered more than a thousand miles; boats and crew strained for days to win by a boat-length or less. The greatest race of all happened in 1870 when the Natchez, a Cincinnati-built boat, and the Robert E. Lee ran up river. The course was the 1,218-mile stretch of the Mississippi River between New Orleans and St. Louis. Newspapers all over the United States discussed the race, just as they now talk about the Kentucky Derby or the World Series. During the race, people crowded the shores of the Mississippi waiting for a glimpse.\nThe sight of the two paddle-wheelers as they drove up river at full steam. At night, torches blazed along the banks wherever the boats' lights twinkled on the dark river. Cincinnatians were especially eager to know of its outcome, as they had bet large sums on the Cincinnati boat, Natchez.\n\nGradually, as the boats drew on up the Mississippi, the Robert E. Lee pulled ahead and reached St. Louis in 3 days, 18 hours, and 14 minutes \u2013 6 hours and 36 minutes ahead of the Natchez. Although the Natchez had been beaten fairly, many Cincinnatians argued that it was the faster boat. The Robert E. Lee, they pointed out, had taken on fuel and supplies without stopping, whereas the Natchez had spent 7 hours and 1 minute in refueling. Regardless of how it was gained, the Robert E. Lee's record was unbroken for many years.\nThe boat races were exciting, but they indicated that the river was not as useful as it had once been. The Ohio and its tributaries had changed significantly since the day when the first flatboat passed the deep forest and tall canebrake. Factories, warehouses, homes, and cornstalks stood where the forest and canebrake had been. River traffic soon dwindled and people lost interest in the Ohio. They came to think of it mainly as a place into which they could dump sewage and waste materials from their factories. They continued cutting down trees and clearing away undergrowth along the banks of the Ohio and its tributaries. Soon the beautiful river grew tawny and changed into a monster. It raised its back, climbed up the banks, and ran wild over the countryside, destroying the homes of the people who lived in the river towns.\nThe Ohio River had flooded frequently since settlement, but great floods were rare until 1832, when the crest at Cincinnati reached more than 64 feet \u2013 14 feet above the danger line. After that, the Ohio River came into Cincinnati once every four or five years. In 1883, the record of the 1832 flood was broken: the Ohio River surged up to 66 feet. Cincinnatians were stunned. No one had thought that the river could possibly reach such a height. Thousands of homes and more than 1,500 business places were flooded. The following year (1884), the river heaved to more than 71 feet, destroying more than 5,000 homes, hundreds of business houses, and 10 lives. The next great flood followed the heavy March rains of 1913, causing 400 deaths and $100,000,000 in property damage.\nThe construction of life and property was along the Great Miami, the large tributary that empties into the Ohio River a few miles downriver from Cincinnati. The flood that it caused in Dayton was one of the most disastrous in the history of the Nation.\n\nWithin the following two decades, there came other floods, but none was as destructive as those of 1884 and 1913. Hardly anyone expected the river to do so much damage again. So, in mid-January 1937, when the Ohio rose suddenly, no one was frightened. \"It will go down soon \u2014 as it always does,\" everyone said.\n\nFLOOD\nCINCINNATI\nJANUARY\n\nCourtesy of the Air Corps,\nUnited States Army\n\nThe Beautiful River\n\nBut the river did not go down. It kept rising until it had driven thousands of people from their homes in Pittsburgh, Wheeling, Steubenville, Marietta, Portsmouth, Maysville, Newport, Covington, and Louisville.\nCities and towns along the Ohio, from Evansville to Cincinnati, and along the Mississippi, from Cairo to New Orleans, were flooded. One-sixth of Cincinnati was inundated. The city's water supply was turned off, and residents had to obtain drinking water from wells, springs, and tank cars. On Sunday night, January 24, the Columbia power plant was forced to shut down, leaving the city in complete darkness. In Cumminsville, floodwaters overturned massive oil tanks. A section of the city, three miles long and half a mile wide, was soon engulfed in flames. On January 25, the City Council granted City Manager Clarence A. Dykstra full authority to govern the city during the emergency. Before the river began to recede from its 80-foot crest at Cincinnati, millions of dollars in property had been destroyed. The flood brought out a remarkable spirit of cooperation. The Red Cross played a significant role in the relief efforts.\nThe relief effort was in general charge, spending nearly one and a half million dollars on relief in Cincinnati and Hamilton County. At Music Hall was a supply depot where up to 100,000 garments were distributed on some days. Dry cleaning concerns volunteered their services. Three thousand Boy Scouts were on duty. The public schools were closed, and the teachers volunteered for relief work. The Cincinnati Board of Education offered school buildings to the Red Cross for use as refugee centers, where those driven from their homes could be fed and quartered. As a result of the 1937 flood experience, the Board of Education has worked out a schedule of building facilities for any future emergency which may occur.\n\nAfter the flood had subsided, the Valley people tried to resume their work calmly. At the same time, they began to ask, \"What can be done to prevent such disasters in the future?\"\nThe next flood may be greater, reaching 90 or even 100 feet. Floods cannot be controlled in a short time. They are initiated by melting snows and heavy rains. This results in hundreds of small, muddy streams rushing to the big rivers and pouring water over the land. Nothing can prevent the snows from melting or the rain from falling. However, they would not be disastrous if many plants grew on the land drained by the rivers. Trees and grass would hold the land and absorb some of the rain; the rest would sink into the ground instead of running off. To control floods, it is necessary to replant the land. Government workers and men in the agricultural experiment stations of state colleges have been studying this problem for years.\nEncouraged farmers to plant trees and cover hillside fields with grass and clover, so that the soil will not be washed away. The forested state and national parks in the Ohio Valley keep a great deal of water from running off into the streams. Ohio alone has 69 parks and forests covering 145,451 acres. Since people have become aware of their value, other such parks may be created.\n\nAlthough replanting river banks helps prevent floods, many years will pass before this process shows large results. There are other, more immediate, ways of controlling floods. One is the construction of flood walls along the river. They are like the dikes of Holland, which keep the ocean from submerging the lowlands. Some Ohio cities have flood walls, but the 1937 flood was so great that in most places the water poured over the walls. This happened at Lunken Airport.\nCincinnati's East End. The Little Miami River overflowed the landing field and went up into the second story of the new air terminal building. Army engineers, in charge of all improvements on the Ohio River, have recommended the construction of a flood wall along the Cincinnati waterfront. Their plan is to make this wall high and strong enough to withstand future floods.\n\nAnother proposed way of controlling floods is to construct locks and dams, regulating the height and swiftness of the river. After the 1913 flood, a series of retaining dams was built at a cost of $30,000,000 along the most dangerous streams in the Great Miami Valley. The project proved its worth. In the record flood of 1937, it not only protected the people along the upper Great Miami but also gave refuge to hundreds of persons who fled from Cincinnati and other flooded areas.\nA combination of various methods to control floods is being worked out in the Muskingum Valley in the eastern part of Ohio. The Government has built a series of 14 dams and storage reservoirs at a cost of $40,000,000. Besides, a huge area around each dam is being replanted and tended carefully. The region is already attracting tourists. Each year, thousands of people come to swim, fish, boat on the lakes, camp in the forests, and look at the huge locks and dams in the Muskingum River.\n\nAll these projects are designed to control the rivers and help prevent floods. However, when floods do come, there is another sort of work to be done. Many families will never forget the service of the Red Cross during the 1937 flood. Red Cross workers in every community along the river gave food, clothing, and a place to sleep to those in need.\nThousands of people forced out of their homes by the water. The Beautiful River. The United States Coast Guard maintains at Louisville the only inland Coast Guard Station in the United States. Government cutters patrol the rivers and swing into action in case of accident, flood, or other emergency. They are equipped with wireless and can radio boats near the trouble. In the Naval Militia of the United States Navy are young men between 17 and 28 years old. They are not regular sailors; they are called out only for emergency river duty. In time of flood, the Cincinnati unit rescues families marooned in flooded homes. The Sea Scouts, a branch of the Boy Scouts, are also of great help in critical times. During the 1937 flood, they carried supplies and messages. In ordinary times, they learn water sports, river lore, and seafaring skills.\nThe 1870s were great years for the river; it was merry with traffic. But something had happened. The railroads were building connecting lines east and west, north and south. The Southern Railroad and the Louisville and Nashville Railroad, the two roads which connected Cincinnati with the South, were soon carrying most of the traffic that at one time would have traveled the Ohio. The country no longer depended on steamboats for freight and travel, and the Ohio River was no longer considered one of the greatest waterways.\nThe natural resources of the Nation. Grass grew among the cobblestones of the public landings. The shipyards were idle, and when a boat sank or grew too old for service, it was not replaced. Fewer barges came down the canals, and even some of the canals themselves were being abandoned.\n\nPeople along the Ohio River had another problem to solve. As they looked at the great muddy river passing their doors, they asked themselves, \"What can be done to make the Ohio again a highway of trade, astir once more with packets and barges?\"\n\nFortunately, a number of things could be done. About 1827, the Federal Government had begun to clear the river of stumps, sunken trees, and debris that snagged ships and clogged the channel. However, sand bars, ice, and low water could still tie up shipping.\nIt is true that freight and passengers had traveled the river for years, regardless of delays and river hazards. But that was before the coming of the railroads. The train was faster and safer than the steamboat. The steamboat could not compete with the railroad train unless the river were improved. The Government had done some cleaning and dredging, but without deepening the channel enough. In 1896, Congress authorized a survey of the Ohio down to Marietta, to learn if locks and dams could be built to advantage. It was not until 1908 that the survey was reported favorably. In the meantime, in 1907, towboats began a revival of freight traffic on the river. During that year, the Sprague moved 60 barges, filled with 70,000 tons of coal, from Louisville to New Orleans. This was a new phase of river commerce, and it seemed to promise a return to competitive shipping.\nIn 1910, Congress passed the Rivers and Harbors Act authorizing the construction of dams from Pittsburgh to Cairo to maintain a water level of at least nine feet. Despite a large amount of money set aside, little work was done. Then, the World War came. Trade and industry were thriving, and railroads were pushed beyond capacity. The river once again became essential, particularly for transporting bulky freight that railroads couldn't handle at the time.\n\nBarge fleets were already utilizing the upper Ohio, where some locks and dams had been completed. The Ohio Valley Improvement Association renewed its efforts for the construction of locks and dams on the rest of the Ohio, and in 1923, secured another appropriation from Congress. Under the supervision of the United States Army Engineers, 47 dams were constructed.\nCosting $121,000,000, the dams were completed in October 1929. When the work was finished, President of the United States Herbert Hoover went down the river. In Eden Park at Cincinnati, he dedicated a monument commemorating the completion of the dams.\n\nThe Ohio had become a fine new river. Low water, the summer bane of the riverman, no longer kept boats idle, nor was ice a great danger in winter. Shipping was safer and cheaper.\n\nSince the War, sand and gravel for building purposes have been greatly in demand, and large quantities have been dredged from the river bed. Other important products carried by river boats are iron, steel, petroleum products, cement, lumber, and coal. Although other industries have moved away from the river, the coal yards of the river towns remain near the river bank. Cincinnati, which handles millions.\nThe Ohio River, which distributes over 10 million tons of coal each year, is one of the greatest coal distributing points in the United States. With the revival of freight shipping on the Ohio, there has been an increase in passenger service. People now travel the river not for business or necessity, but for fun. They come from far places for a steamboat trip on a part of the 2,300 navigable miles of the Ohio and its tributaries. In February, passenger boats make the trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Throughout the summer, there are regular passenger excursions to places all along the Ohio. The most popular trips are those of the Island Queen to and from Coney Island, the amusement park on Cincinnati\u2019s eastern limits, 10 miles up river from the Public Landing. Many people have gay times paddling and sailing canoes or small boats.\nBoats and motorboat races on the river. The Ohio Valley Motor Boat Racing Association's motorboat races and the Cincinnati Sailing Club's sailboat races draw enthusiastic crowds who watch from the river banks and bridges. The most exciting races on the river in recent years were between the steamboats Betsy Ann and Chris Greene and Tom Greene. In the 21-mile race with Chris Greene in July 1928, Betsy Ann lost by a quarter-mile. In a similar race with Tom Greene the following summer, it lost by less than 35 feet. The next year, Tom Greene won undisputed supremacy of the river, outdistancing Betsy Ann by four miles over a 20-mile course. Footloose people live in houseboats or \"shantyboats\" all year round.\nThey go up and down the river as the spirit moves them, fishing or gathering mussel shells to sell to button manufacturers. In the summer and early fall, they tie up their boats along the Ohio. When winter approaches, they cut loose from their mooring and float downriver to the Mississippi and the warm South. Shantyboatmen are easy-going and happy, finding pleasure in tying up under a sycamore tree and lazing away the days on the deck of their boat with fishing line in the water. They live a carefree life, with no rent to pay and enough to eat by fishing in the river or visiting the truck gardens and cornfields of the river farmers. The shantyboat is usually a crudely built, flatbottomed boat with a cabin of clapboards and tin, resembling the ark used by Noah.\nThe pioneer only differed in that the ark was much larger and heavier. Less than twenty years ago, over a thousand summer camps existed between New Richmond and Cincinnati. However, the widening of the river slowed the current, and the water became so foul from sewage that many fish died. It became necessary to pass an ordinance prohibiting swimming in the river. Nevertheless, people still camp in the wooded places on the Ohio, and along the hanks of the two Miamis, the Licking, and other streams. It is still possible to take a packet trip the full length of the Ohio\u2014down the great sweeping curves of the river, past the mouths of the little rivers, and around the Ohio\u2019s hundred green islands. Some of the islands are very small, less than a half-mile long. Most of them are inhabited and farmed. Two of them, Buffington and Blennerhassett, are notable.\nAt Buffington in July 1863, a number of John Morgan's raiders, who had dashed up from Kentucky to worry and plunder the towns of Indiana and Ohio, were surrounded by Union forces and captured. After it was all over, the soldiers were tired and dusty. The day was hot, and the water inviting. War was suddenly forgotten. Men of both sides threw off their uniforms and plunged gleefully into the river for a swim together.\n\nAround the other famous Ohio River island, Blennerhassett, centers the story of an Irish aristocrat and his beautiful wife. They bought 170 acres of the island, built a house, planted crops, and pottered around in their formal gardens. They were happy on their island paradise until the day in 1805 when Aaron Burr came to tempt them. Burr lured Blennerhassett into giving him money for his dreamy plan.\n\nThe Beautiful River Island of Blennerhassett\nPresident Jefferson ordered the arrest of Blennerhassett and Burr, charged with treason against the United States in 1806. The scheme to set up an empire in the Southwest failed. After a court trial, they were freed. Blennerhassett's troubles were not over; he had one misfortune after another and later died. People who have not lived with the river ask why the Ohio is celebrated for its beauty. Today, it is not altogether the marvel that explorers and pioneers found; its color and uses have changed. Yet, it still flows in a pleasant valley among green and brown hills. From Pittsburgh to Cairo, for a thousand miles, it remains the beautiful river on its way to join the Mississippi and travel to the sea.\n\nLibrary of Congress", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"}
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