THE SKETCHER.

Otago Witness, Issue 2330, 27 October 1898, Page 49

THE SKETCHER.

THE MALAY PIRATES OF THE PHILIPPINES. By Dean 0. Wokcesthr, in the Century Magazine. When we first touched at Sulu in 1887, leavy fighting was going on between the Spanish garrison and # the Moros, .and it would have been madness to attempt to reach the f orest. When we returned in September, 1891, it was not without misgivings. Our Moro acquaintances in Mindanao and Basilan had passed their hands significantly across their throats when we mentioned our intention of ' visiting Sulu. Not only were the inhabitants of Sulu " the Moros of the Moros," and bitterly hostile toward all outsiders, but additional danger for us arose from the fact that one of our party had shot and killed an insane Moro in Mindanao. The man was running amuck, killing women and children, and there was no other way to stop him ; but his brothers had not taken kindly to his death, and one of them lived in Sulu, so that we had a blood feud on our hands. General Juan Arolas was the governor of the island at the time. Arolas, who is at present the military governor of Havana, is a man with a history. He has always been an outspoken republican, ready to fight for his convictions. In the days of republican success in Spain he is said to have cast the throne out -of a window by way of showing his respect for royalty. After the fall of the Spanish republic he continued to display what was considered to be unseemly activity ; and there is little doubt that when he was " honoured " with an appointment as governor of Sulu, it was with the intention of exiling him to a place from which he would be unlikely to return. The town was very unhealthy, the defences were inadequate, and the garrison was in constant danger of annihilation. Arolas was a man of many resources and of tremendous energy. His wretched town was peopled -4>y native troops, Chinese traders, and deported convicts ;j but in spite of the unfavourable conditions which confronted him, he at once set himself to improving things. He made prisoners of the Moros, and compelled them -to work in strengthening his defences until these had been made .impregnable. He improved the sanitation of the town, changing it from a perfect pest hole to an unusually healthy place. He constructed waterworks^, built a splendid market place, and established a free school system and a thoroughly equipped hospital. 'His town became the wonder of the Philippines. Meanwhile, he was making soldiers ' out of his slovenly native troops. After putting his town in a satisfactory condition and teaching his soldiers how to shoot, he sent to Manila for authority to attack the Moro stronghold at Maibun. It is said that his request was- three times refused, and he ■was warned that his two regiments would be wiped out if he made the attempt. One evening he summoned the captain of a gunboat which was lying in the harbour, and ordered him to take up position before Maibun and open fire at>daybreak on the following morning. The officer refused to start. Arolas is reported to have given him his choice between obeying the order (which, by the way, he had no authority to give) and facing a firing squad in the plaza. The officer decided to go to Maibun, and a strong guard was placed on his vessel to see that he did not reconsider his determination. At 11 o'clock that night Arolas placed himself at the head of his two regiments, had ammunition passed, and gave the order to march. The men had no idea where they were going, but before daylight found themselves hidden in the rear of Maibun. Meanwhile, t3ie gunboat bad arrived, and the Moros were busy training their rude artillery on her. Promptly at dawn she opened fire, and as the Moros replied for the first time, Arolas and _his men swarmed over the rear stockade. The Moros were taken completely by surprise, and although they fought desperately, suffered a crushing defeat. The sultan contrived to escape, but many of the important , chiefs fwere killed or captured, their heavy guns were taken, and their fortifications destroyed. Arolas followed up his advantage, and attack succeeded attack until the fanatical Moslems were cowed as they had never been cowed before. An armed truce followed, and continued in force at the time of our visit. Arolas had several times escaped unscathed from deadly peril, and the Moros believed that he had a charmed life. They called him rf papa"; and when "papa" gave orders, they were treated with considerable respect. He was strictly just, but absolutely merciless. Every threat that he made was carried out to the letter. For once the Moros had met their master, and they knew it. This was the condition of affairs when we reached Sulu on the morning of a glorious September day in 1891. We called immediately to pay our respects to the governor. We had heard much of his unconventionality, and were^not surprised to find him in his office in bis >J pyjamas. He greeted us cordially, and took occasion to express his admiration for our country as the type of what a republic should be. We asked him whether he would allow us to hunt outside the town, and received his permission to do so. He said that he could not guarantee our safety, but thought that if we followed his directions we should come through all right. The directions were simplicity itself: "If you meet armed Moros outside tha town, order them to lay down their arms

and retire ; if they do not obey instantly, shoot them." Arolas then did us a great favour. He summoned a renegade Moro, one Tpolawee, who served as guide and scout for his own expeditions, repeated in his presence the instructions he had just given us, j and ordered him to take enough of his own ' people to put up a good fight, and accompany us each day. Our future guide was a character. A Moro by birth and, bringing up, he had thrown in ' his lot with the Spaniards. As a slight safeguard against possible backsliding, he was allowed a fine house within the walls, . where he kept several wives and some 40' 1 slaves. Arolas reasoned that rather than . lose so extensive an establishment, Ls would 1 behave himself. Later, we had reason for , ' believing that the precaution was a wise one. , So our life among the Sulu pirates began, j Each morning we went our way ; each night j we sought the protection of the Spanish j town. We saw the Joloanos, as the Sulu Moros call themselves, at home, at their great markets, manning their boats, fighting 1 with . one another, and burying their dead. . We took snap shots at them with our camera, J and they took snap shots at us, shoAving the very bad taste to use l'ifles. The men are of medium height, and their physical development is often superb. . . I The weapon most trusted in close combat is the barong. It is made somewhat on the , plan of a butcher's cleaver, with thick back , - i and thin razor edge, and is capable of in- | flicting frightful injuries. To lop off a head, ; arm, leg with a barong is mere child's I j play. The strong and skilful Moro prides : himself on his ability to halve an opponent ! with this weapon, if he can catch him fairly j across the small of the back. The straight , kris is a narrow-bladed, double-edged sword, ' ; used for cutting and thrusting. The serpent '• kris, with its wavy double-edged blade, is used for thrusting only, and inflicts a horrible j wound. The campilan is a heavy two- > handed sword, with a blade wide at the tip ! and steadily narrowing toward the hilt. It ] | is used for cutting only, and is tremendously , 1 effective. Under all circumstances a Moro j i j carries barong, kris, or campilan thrust into } his sash. ... j The Sulu Moro is a warrior. He disdains ' i to work, and his wants are supplied by his I i wives and slaves. He endeavours to terrify j I an opponent by making hideous faces at him, i uses his shield very skilfully, and keeps his j legs in constant motion so that they may ( ' not be disabled by a blow below the shield. In battle he is absolutely fearless. He is inhumanly cruel, and will cut down a slave merely to try the edge of a new barong. :

PROFITS OF HEROISM.

Apart from the satisfaction which any and every person must feel at being able to save the life of a fellow-creature, there are few cases in which the public fail to give tangible expression to their appreciation of meritorious actions of this kind. The publication in the newspapers of the facts relating to any life-saving achievement is often enough to bring remittances of smaller or larger amounts of money from people who, although absolute strangers to J the hero of the rescue, are moved by the I newspaper account of it to give practical expression to their admiration of his plucky exploit in current coin of the realm. ] A Liverpool working man who saved the life of a little child under circumstances of great difficulty, which were duly chronicled in the papers, received various small sums amounting altogether to about £15 as a reward for his gallant act. This was not owing to any organised effort, for none was made, the remittances coming spontaneously to his private address from persons who had merely become acquainted with the matter through reading of it in the newspapers. • Another young man, when out of work, was fortunate enough to save a little girl from drowning..in. a canal into which she had accidentally fallen. Her father was so overjoyed at her recovery that he immediately presented her brave rescuer with £20. Gathering from his conversation with him that he was without employment, he took the trouble to procure him a good situation, which the young man has held ever since. Beyond question his brave rescue of this gentleman's infant, daughter was the most profitable and not the least creditable thing he ever did. Police constables are always on the lookout for opportunities to distinguish themselves by the display of bravery, for, over and above whatever pecuniary reward may immediately accrue, the exhibition of courage is almost certain to result in ultimate promotion, which, of course, means an increase of pay. A few years ago a policeman in a south of England district won his stripes by the gallant manner in which he tackled and despatched a mad dog which was at large in the neighbourhood. Fortunately, he escaped being bit himself, and the inhabitants "felt so grateful at being relieved of the presence of the dangerous canine that they raised a sum of £50 and presented it to the constable, together with an illuminated address. About the same time another officer, who also secured local fame by a victorious encounter with a supposed mad dog, benefited considerably from that plucky exploit. Hay- ; ing been bitten by the animal in the course of the encounter, a fund of between £20 and £30 was hastily raised in order that ho aiiglit be sent to Paris for treatment at the Pasteur Institute. Shortly after his departure it was discovered that the dog was not mad at the time it bit him, and a message to this effect was forthwith transmitted to the tra-

veller, who was, therefore, under no neces- ' gity to undergo the contemplated treatment. After seeing the sights of the gay French capital, he returned home to resume his duties, and very soon afterwards was prej sented with a handsome gold Avatch and ! chain. The subscribers to this testimonial to his bravery recognised that if the dog Avas not mad, it Avas not his fault, nor could that circumstance be regarded as detracting from the merit of his performance. There is no telling boAV many lives are saved from a terrible end by policemen who rid neighbourhoods of mad dogs. One hundred and fifty pounds may not ' seem a large sum for a rich man to pay for the rescue of an only daughter, but, no doubt, , to the mere youth Avho Avas the lucky reci- , pient, it appeared to be quite a fortune. | According to report, the young lady, who ; Avas under 18 years of age, attempted to comj mit suicide by jumping into the riA 7 er Mersey Avhile out for a Avalk Avith her father, her reason for the rash act being her parents' opposition to her engagement Avitb an undesirable suitor by whom she had been smitten. j The youth, who was known to be a good swimmer, happened to be passing at the time, and immediately plunged into the river to rescue her, Avhile the parent, utterly unable to SAvim, stood Avringing his hands on the bank. Having brought the girl safely , to the river side, he assisted her father in conveying her home, subsequently receiving as a reAvard for his plucky rescue the substantial sum already mentioned I _ Unfortunately for the element of romance, it cannot be added that the young lady fell in love Avith the youth Avho thus risked his life to save hers, for, as a matter of fact, she married the objectionable suitor, her ' parents' opposition to Avhom Avas withdrawn in consequence of the desperate attempt she was foolish enough to make on her life. | A case can, hoAvever, be mentioned in | which rescuer and rescued actually did become man and Avife, and, if regarded only | from a sftict business point of view, the | union Avas for the husband a highly profit- ' able one. 1 Though a gentleman by birth and education, he was in the iron grip of poverty, and bufc for this incident in his career would proI bably have remained so all his life. While I he Avas endeavouring to secure a situation in the United States he rescued a lady from one of the upper storeys of a burning building, Avhere nobody else had the courage to venture. The lady's husband perished in the flames, anJ she felt so grateful to the man Avho Avas instrumental in saving her from the same teirible fate, that some tAVo years later she consented to become his wife. On her death, which occurred a short time afterwards, she bequeathed to him all the property that had been left to her by her first husband. The profits of heroism in this case, therefore, amounted to no less than 150,000d01, or £30,000 sterling. An annuity of £25 was the reward Avhieh an agricultural labourer in the Midlands received for fishing his mastei out of a deep pond into which he had fallen while in a slate of intoxication. This annuity Avas paid to him during the remainder of his life, and as he lived to enjoy it for a period of 35 years, his heroic act may accurately be said to have brought him in nearly £900. From Avhich it is quite clear heroism pays — even in the current coin of the realm. 4

NIGHT IN VENICE. F. Hopkinson Smith.

Night in Venice ! A night of silver moons — one hung against the velvet blue of the irfinite, fathomless sky, the other at rest in the still sea below. A night of ghostly gondolas, chasing specks of stars in dim canals ; of soft melodies broken by softer laughter ; of tinkling mandolins, white shoulders, and tell-tale cigarettes. A night of gay lanterns lighting big barges, filled with singers and beset by shadowy boats, circling like moths or massed like water beetles. A night when San Giorgio stands on tip-toe, Narcissuslike, to drink in his own beauty mirrored in the silent sea; when the angel crowning the Campanile sleeps with folded wings, lost in the countless stars ; when the line of the city from across the wide lagoons is but a string of lights buoying golden chains that sink into the depths; when the air is a breath of heaven, and every sound that vibrates across the never-ending wave is the music of anothe^ world. ... As you lie, adrift in your gondola, hung in mid-air, so like a mirror is the sea, so vast the vault above you, how dreamlike the charm ! How exquisite the langour ! Now a burst of music from the far-off plaza, dying into echoes about the walls of San Giorgio ; now the slow tolling of some ■ bell from a distant tower ; now the ripple of a laugh, or a snatch of song, or the low cooing of a lover's voice, as a ghostly skiff with drawn curtains and muffled light glides past ; and now the low splash of the«rowers as some phantom ship looms up above you with bow-lights aglow, crosses the highway of silver, and melts into shadow. Suddenly from out the stillness there bursts across the bosom of the sleeping wave the dull boom of the evening gun, followed by the long blast of the bugle from the big warship near the arsenal; and then, as you hold your breath, the clear, deep tones of the great bell o£ the Campanile striku the hour. Now is the spell complete ! The professor, in the seat beside me, turns his head, and, with a cautioning hand to Espero to stay" his oar, listens till each echo has had its say. First, San Giorgio's wall, then the Public Garden.* and last the low

murmur that pulsates back from the outlying islands of the lagoon. On nights like these the professor rarely talks. He lies back on the yielding cushions, his eyes upturned to the stars, the gIoAV of his cigarette lighting his face. Noav and then he straightens himself, looks about him, and sinks back again on the cushions, muttering over and over again, " Never such a night — never, never !" To-morrow night he will tell you the same thing, and every other night Avhile the moon lasts. Yet he is no empty enthusiast. He is only enthralled by the . splendour of his mistress, this matchless Goddess of Air and Light and Melody. Analyse the teeling as you may, despise its sentiment or decry it altogether, the fact remains, that once get this drug of Venice into your veins, and you never recover. The same thrill steals over you Avith every phase of the Avondrous charm — in the early morning, in the blinding glare of the noon, in the cool of the fading day, in the tranquil Avatches of the night. It is Venice the Beloved, and there is none other ! Espero had breathed her air ahvays, and hundreds of nights have come and gone for him, yet he stands bareheaded behind you, his oar sloAvly moving, you can hear him communing with himself as he Avhispers, " Bella notte, bella notte," just as some other devotee Avould tell his beads in .unconscious prayer. It is the spirit of idolatry born of her never-ending beauty that marks the marvellous poAver which Venice Avields over human hearts, compelling them, no matter lioav dull and leaden, to reverence and to love. And the Venetians never forget ! While 'we float idly back to the city, the quays are crowded with people, gazing across the A/ide lagoons, drinking in their beauty, the silver moon over all. Noav and then a figure Avi'l come doAvn to the Avater's edge and sit upon some marble steps, gazing seaAvard. There is nothing to be seen — no passing ship, no returning boat. It is only the night! AAvay up the canal, Guglielmo, the famous singer, once a gondolier, is filling the night Avith music, a throng of boats almost bridging the canal following him from place to place, Lugo, the primo, in the lead, the occupants hanging on c\ r ery note that falls from his lips. Up the Zattere, near San Rosario, Avhere the afternoon sun blazed but a feAV hours since, the people line the edge of the marble quay, their children about them, the soft radiance of the night glorifying the Giudecca. They are of all classes, high and loav. They love their city, and every phase of her beauty is to them only a variation of her marvellous charm. The Grand Duchess of the Riva stands in the doorAvay of her caffe, or leans from her chamber AvindoAv; Vittorio and little Appo, and every other member of the Open-Air Club, are spiaAvled over the Ponte eneta Marina, and even the fishermen up the Pallada sit in front of their doors. Venice is decked out tonight in all the glory of an August moon. They must be there to see ! You motion to Espero, and Avith a twist of his blade he Avhirls the gondola back to the line of farthest lights. As atou approach nearer the big Trieste steamer looms above you, her decks croAvded Avith travellers. Through her open port-holes you catch the blaze of the electric lights, and note the tables spread and the open state rooms, the waiters and steArards moving Avithin. About hey landing ladders is a SAvarm of gondolas bringing passengers, the porters taking up the trunks as each boat discharges in turn. A moment more and you shoot alongside the Molo and the Avaler-steps of the Piazzetta. An old man steadies your boat Avhile you alight. You bid Espero good-night and mingle Avith the throng. What a transition from the stillness of the dark lagoon !

THE DEADLY PHOSPHORUS.

Not Needed Even for " Strike Anywhere " Matches. No sooner had the manufacture of the' lucifer match become a well-established industry than the attention of various Governments was called to the effects of phosphorus upon the health of operatives, and especially to its action in inducing necrosis of the upper and lower jawbones. The workpeople who suffered most were naturally those who came most in contact with the fumes — such as the men engaged in mixing the composition, those employed in dipping the splints, or the females who " boxed " the finished matches. Nowadays the mixing is done under such conditions that the workmen are not much exposed to the fumes ; but the dippers, who when at work stand over a heated " sto<ie '' or plate coated with the composition, are especially liable to be attacked. It does not seem to be certainly established how the necrosis is actually brought about. There is no doubt, however, that workers with carious teeth are soonest affected. Phosphorus as such would appear to have little action ; indeed, it is highly improbable that the socalled " fume can contain any sensible quantity of the free element, and it has bee ; n surmised with good reason that if consists of the lower oxides of phosphorus, and in particular of phorphorus oxide, which, as shown by Thorpe and Hutton, is actually more volatile than phorphorus itself. In " boxing " it frequently happens that numbers of the matches ignite, and the air of the boxing-factory is occasionally chargpd wiLli a considerable amount of these oxides of phosphorus, mixed with phosphoric oxide. The evil effect of these fumes may be minimised by efficient ventilation, and 'by cleanli-ne-;s on the part of the operatives, combined with strict attention to the condition of the teeth. Whether, however, it can be altogether obviated by such methods remains to be seen. The discovery of red phosphorus in 1845, by Schrotter, of Vienna, led to many attempts to employ it in place of the more volatile and more inflammable variety. It can be handled with impunity, is practically non-volatile, does not oxidise at ordinary temperatures, and therefore emits no fume. It is, moreover, non-poisonous, and no cases of necrosis have been known to attend its use. Inasmuch as it confers ready inflammability upon the igniting fcompositious with which splints may be tipped, its general employment might, it was thought, obviate all risk of the " lucifer disease." Igniting compositions containing red phosphorus were first tried in_Germany iv 1850. and

about the same time in. this country by Dixon and Co., of Manchester, and by Bell and Black in London, but they Avere not alto-; gether successful. The matches Avere diffi-' cult to strike, and the ignition Avas almost explosive in character. ■ These disadvantages are not by any means' insuperable; excellent matches of tJie kind were seen in the Paris Exhibition of 1867,and again in the Vienna Exhibition of 1873.! Hochstetler, of Frankfort, manufactures matches containing red phosphorus, Avhich are said to be cheaper than ordinary, matches; they burn quietly, and may be ignited merely on a cloth surface. The " safety " matches, Avhich in this country are usually associated Avith the name of Bryant and May, Avere originally suggested by the late Professor Bottger, and Avere first made by Lundstorm of Jonkoping, in 1855. In this match the spJint, according to Lundstorm's original patent, was dipped in a compisition consisting of antimony sulphide, potassium chlorate, and glue, and Avas ignited by rubbing against a specially prepared surface consisting of a mixture of red phosphorus, antimony sulphide, ajid glue. These facts make it hopeful that before a cry long the dreaded lucifer disease may be a thing of the past. There is, indeed, no longer any valid reason Avhy it should be al-lc-Aved to exist. YelloAv phosphorus is not essential to the manufacture of a lucifer match. If phosphorus in any '■form is" required, it need only be in the form of the innocuous red variety— even for a " strike anyAvhere" match. Red phosphorus matches are rapidly gaining ground all over the Continent, and the day Avill probably come Avhen this country Avill range itself Avith Denmark and SAvitzerland, and prohibit the use of all matches containing ordinary phosphorus. — Nature.

THE TIME OE REAPING.

(Lippincott's Magazine, U.S.) In some portions of Germany, the kirmess, or church mass, formerly danced in honour of the dedication of the church, is now observed with the special character of a harvest home. It marks the close of the year's labours, and is celebrated by three days of music, feasting, and dancing Avith partners chosen or allotted, according to degrees of comelines,-at the preceding May festival. Tn southern Germany the end of harvest is marked by the sickle ffast. The last sheaf is carried in triumph to the barn, and placed on the floor, while the younger couples dance around it. One half of it is then decked with ribbons, and hung aloft, while the other half is burned. Its ashes are treasured as a remedy for rheumatism, and are sometimes used in making arfulets or charms. The peasants leave for Wodan, or " the old one," a few ears of corn and a small number of apples, it being considered unlucky to strip either field or tree entirely bare. In Bavaria the last sheaf is fashioned into the likeness of a human figure, with a stick in one hand and a wreath on its - head ; the peasants kneel around it and pray, not to the image, but to the true God. The same custom prevails, with little variation, in every portion of Europe. In Russia the corn-flour— blue fairy of the rye-field — forms the harvest garlands of the young people, and a seemingly unlimited supply of vodka is provided for "the elders. In England the harvest festival has various names in the different counties, but " mell-supper," "harvest supper," and "harvest home," all refer to the time-honoured feast of ingathering. The "Ivy Girl" of Kent is known as the " Kern Baby "in Northumberland. In Windsor the last load is always croAvned with flowers, and a richly-dressed image, to signify, Ceres, is borne aloft in the procesion. The festival varies little in the several counties, each celebrating it after the fashion stamped with centuries of approval ; and, as a singular instance of fetichism, the image used on each occasion is always retained until the succeeding j'ear's crop furnishes material for a new one. In a feAV shires, notably those of Cambridge and Buckingham, it is considered proper to drench Avith Avater the harvesters Avho ride home on the " hock-cart," Avhich bears the important last load. The shower bath is expected as a portion of the day's sport, and seems to affoid equal merriment to the drenchers and the drenched. Tn Durham the mell-supper is regarded as a vestige of Roman usage. In Northumberland and Yorkshire it was formerly preceded by the " kern-supper " or " churn-supper," which marked the completion of the shearing, the mell-supper being celebrated after ' the gathering in. The distinguishing characteristic *of the churn-supper was a great quantity of cream, which, partially churned, was dispensed to the rustic company for consumption Avith bread. The cream was displaced by ale fully tAVo centuries ago. The mell-supper was made indifferently of either the neAv or the old corn. In Cornwall the han*est dinner AA'as celebrated, not at the end of the harvest, but betAveen Michaelmas and Candlemas. It was given by wealthy men to their poor neighbours ; and, though bearing the -name of a i dinner, the good cheer sometimes continued for almost a Aveek. North of the TAveed the harvest festival, where still observed, is in scarcely any particular unlike that of England. Perthshire had, until quite recently, its " Maiden Feast," in which the last handful of corn Avas placed in the hands of the prettiest maiden in the field. She avlio Avas thus honoured became the queen of the feast, and the long northern eA'ening Avas deA r oted bo merimont. This custom is iioav entirely abolished, and in its stead each reaper is given sixpence and a loaf of bread. Another Perthshire custom, that of feeing a pij>er to play for the reapers throughout the harvest, Avas slightly modified in the Highlands, where eA'ery action that could be fitted to music had its appropriate strain. Every stroke of the sickle Avas timed by the modulation of, the harvest song, the effects of which were regularity and cheerfulness. A T-'riter, visiting the Isle of Skye a century ago, said : "In this Hyperborean country, in every district, there is to be met with a rude stone consecrated to Gruagach, or Apollo. The first Avho is done Avith his leaping sends a man or a maiden. with a bundle of corn to his next neighbour avlio hath not yet reaped doAvn his harvest, who, Avhen he has finished, despatches it to his own next neiorhhnur who is behind in his. work,

and so on, until the whole corns are cut down. The sheaf is called the Cripple "Goat, and is at present meant as a brag or affront $o the farmer for being remiss or later than [others in reaping the harvest." j The above-mentioned sheaf and stone had to mythological connection, the significance of which is lost in the fables of tradition. Samuel Purchas, in his " Pilgrimage," published in 1613, describes the ancient Peruvian method of celebrating the harvest of the "Mayz." It began with the sacrifice of 100 sheep. The reapers brought home the maize /with precisely the same feasting and rejoicang which marked the harvest of the Northern hemisphere. They then made a portion of the best of it into an image, which 'jthey clothed richly, and offered homage to It as " the mother of the mayz." This image, Jmown as the ' Pirva," was supposed to be abli to communicate with witches. It was preserved as a talisman until the end of tho lycceeding harvest.

WHEN WOUNDED IN BATTLE.

I From an Army Surgeon's Notebook. m these days of alarums and scares of all kinds the young army surgeon polishes up • shis instruments and dreams strange dreams of mountains of sticking plaster and forests of bones. It is curious, in view 'of his imanense responsibilities and the truly awful jiature of his occupation, that such a little i ishtuld be known of the army doctor and his 'fead office. We hear much about our sol- . diers, still more about our generals, but the EU/geon — the solace of the wounded and the companion of the dead, who follows in the fwake of his regiment, and is realty in a {better position to judge of the disastrous •results of a battle than anybody on the jfield — passes almost unnoticed so far as the gpublic is concerned. ;■ In order to obtain an insight into the work jof an army surgeon, and also some informa- i jfcion respecting the effects of the various ! pijiiries which are received in battle, the svriter recently had an interview with Sir Charles Alexander Gordon, one of our most distinguished surgeons-general. I1I 1 Sir Charles's life has been made up of one icTng series of thrilling experiences. He has ' Been men die in great numbei'S in India; j he has been present at no fewer than 22 | battles and minor engagements ; while, as ' [Medical Commissioner to the French army | M.870-71), he was with the besieged in Paris throughotit the whole period of investment. Sir Charles looks the man of iron nerve that he is, and I told him so. "I suppose," I said, "we who live at home don't realise the ups and downs of I £rour calling, and the tremendous nerve that i it requires?" " A regimental surgeon must possess a certain amount of nerve," Sir Charles replied, " or he could never perform his duties. {The work is most arduous and most responsible. The surgeons accompanying an army exercise enormous influence on the efficiency of the force. You see, when a soldier drops iiis first cry is for the doctor. If the latter i arrives on the scene immediately, all is well I land good, but if he happens *to be some i distance away the wounded man either falls to the rear or is carried there by his comrades, the ranks being thinned in consequence and disorder caused. " The surgeon must be here, there, and everywhere, watching with an eagle eyfe for every man who drops. If he fails to do this the morale of the troop is affected. Nothing '•disorganises an army more than insufficient medical attendance." "A lot of surgical and other paraphernalia has to be carried, of course?" " Not so much as most people think. The effects of wounds received in battle vary to a considerable extent. Some wounds scarcely require any attention. I have known a man to go on fighting for quite a long time with a bullet in his leg. Soldiers often don't realise that they have been shot — that is, of course, when the bullet has not penetrated a vital part. They feel as if they had been struck a blow, but the general conditions under which they fight are such that they have no time to think of wounds. A man engaged in battle is braced up to a very high point of nervous tension indeed." "What is the worst kind of wound that can be inflicted in battle?" " That resulting from the bayonet thrust, Srhieh is far worse than the average bulletwound. A single bullet may go through two .or three men without killing them. During the siege *f Paris a large number of men who had been shot clean through the breast recovered. A wound from a bayonet, however, which in nine cases out of ten is thrust through the body, is nearly always fatal. I have a vivid recollection of a bayonet charge undertaken by our men in India. No. a shot was fired, but after the engagement I counted 94 of the enemy dead, every Bne of whom had been bayoneted." "How about sword cuts?" fl They may. of course, be diuiSSVOUS. ov

they may not," Sir Charles answered. "It is ' extraordinary what you can do with a sword. Sbaw, the famous Lifeguardsman, at Waterloo, is said to have cut a French cavalryj soldier from the crown of his head — through his cuirass — right down to his chest. Hands ! are constantly cut off when cavalry meets I cavalry. Indeed the first aim of a cavalry I man is to sever the left hand of his adver- | sary, for it is the left hand, of course, which ■ guides the reins. It is a common thing to , find hands lying about the battlefield, and the. same can be said of legs, which can be either cut off with the sword or blown off by the bursting of a shell. It is said to be comparatively easy to cut a man's head off ' with a sword." | "' What effect has a battlefield strewn with j dead on the average soldier, Sir Charles?" " No effect whatever, unless it be to make him more savage. Personally, I have never seen anything approaching an act of cowardice on the' field, nothing even suggestive of timidity on the part of the British soldier. The matter-of-fact way in which trained men fight is truly extraordinary, and the difference between an old soldier and a young one in this respect is most marked. I am a believer in old and seasoned warriors. It I takes a long time before- a man accustoms himself to the idea of being killed and acquires confidence in himself and his companions. In the bayonet charge I have alluded to our fellows had perfect confidence. They took pleasure in the physical force entailed in the use of the weapon, and whenever they lunged forward at an enemy cried out, ' Take that, you brute !' " " I suppose you have been repeatedly requested t* convey messages from dying soldiers to the old folk at home?" " Strangely enough, during the whole of my career I only once heard a last dying confession. A young private who had been wounded was anxious to learn what I thought of his case. I told him that he was going to die, and then he gave me the address of his people, and after begging me to communicate with them told me that he was born in a good position and that he had run away from home. ■' Perhaps you would like a romantic little story of real life," Sii Charles continued. " If so, the following may be worth recording. A sick officer at Hong Kong sent for me and demanded to know whether he had any prospects of recovery. A brief examination showed me that his end was fast approaching, so I hesitatingly asked him whether he was prepared for my answer. " ' If I wasn't,' he gruffly replied, ' I wouldn't have put the question.' ■ " I told him his condition was most critical ; upon which he remarked, ' I thought as much. You see that parcel on the chest of drawers? When I am dead I want you to burn it unopened. 1 " The next morning the poor fellow was dead, and I carried out his wishes. " The incident never recurred to me until two years later, when I was dining with my wife at a hotel in Paris. An elderly lady and her daughter — strangers to vs — were next to us at tabte, and we happened to get into conversation, and the former, learning who I was, inquired if I had ever met a certain officer — mentioning the name of the dead officer whose parcel I had destroyed. I told her that I hadj"~and also informed her of the officer's dying command, whereupon she obser\ cd — I "'lt is a most extraordinary thing, but he ! was engaged to my daughter now sitting here. His death caused her a great shock, and she has been so much out of health ever since that I thought I would see what Paris could do for her. I haven't the slightest doubt that the packet you burnt contained ! her love letters.' " " Nothing funny happens on the battlefield, does it, Sir Charles?" " Not in my experience — things were far too serious for that ; but here is something I heard repeated that is grimly funny. During the first Afghan wai an English officer got into a hand-to-hand combat with a trefnendously expert Afghan swordsman. He felt that he was likely to get the worst of the encounter, so he resolved on a ruse. In the I middle of the fray he called oufc, ' Strike this ! villain from behind !' The Afghan instantly turned round to defend himself, but before he had time to realise that there was no one I there the Englishman had lopped off his head at a blow !"

SPAIN'S LOST OPPORTUNITIES. FROM AN AMERICAN POINT OF VIEW.

The completeness and rapid succession of our naval victories in the present war is only equalled by the amazing incapacity exhibited by the naval forces of Spain. In every stage of the struggle, from the 'dilatory setting out from the Cape Verde Islands to the suicidal formation in which Cervera led his fleet to the slaughter at Santiago, the Spaniards have betrayed the most complete ignorance or indifference to t-be first tiriricmlea of naval

warfare. In every case they seem to have literally done the things that they ought not to have done, and left undone the things that they ought to have done. The unpreparedness and mismanagement we can understand. They are the outward and visible signs of the grave national sins of procrastination and corruption, the existence of which not even the Spaniards them- . selves attempt to deny. Witness the reply of the captain of the Christobal Colon when asked where the missing 10-inch guns of. that vessel might be : "In the pockets of the Minister for Marine." This state of things is essentially Spanish, and therefore not unexpected. What was unexpected was the display of either carelessness or incapacity by the commandants of the Spanish fleets, whether in American or Asiatic waters. The first inkling of what to expect was given by the easy escape of the Paris from the English Channel some days after the declaration of war. Spain at that time had available at least half-a-dozen torpedo boats, j or torpedo-boat destroyers, with speeds of from 25 to 30 knots an hour — two of these being actually at the entrance to the Irish Channel and just down from the Clyde. The destroyers, being sea-going boats of 380 and 400 tons, were easily capable of overhauling, the 20-knot Paris, even if she secured a start of several hours, and by using the torpedo boats and one or two small cruisers as scouts it would have been possible to report and run down the liner with almost absolute c*tainty. The Paris was altogether unarmed, and, on being overhauled, would have faced the alternative of being torpedoed or captured. Had the conditions been reversed — had we possessed the 30-knot destroyers and Spain the Atlantic liner, it is safe to say she would not have escaped. As a matter of fact, Spain did nothing, and this valuable ship ran unmolested out of the channel and home to New York. At Manila the same carelessness or indifference (Aye know not what to call it) was evident. A position which might have been .rendered exceedingly strong and perilous to the attacking force was rendered easily assailable through the dilatoriness of the home government and the inexcusable carelessness ■)f tan fleet and garrison. No watch appears to nave been kept at the forts on Corregidor Island, at the entrance to the harbour, and it was not until the last ship of the column had safely steamed by that a futile shot was fired at the American squadron. This unpreparedness was bad enough, but it was surpassed by the condition of Montojo's fleet, which, when Admiral Dewey opened fire, was found lying at anchor and without steam in the boilers. The climax to Spanish naval incapacity was reached in the handling of the Cervera squadron. We doubt if anything to surpass it has ever happened in the annals of naval warfare. Had the vessels been in good condition and placed in competent hands, the fleet might have made a creditable, if not a brilliant, record. As it is, the whole story of its manceuvres is one of endless wanderings, ending in a fiasco — the voluntary entrance into Santiago— as ridiculous, surely, as any that is chronicled in the records of naval and military operations. In its innate potentiality, its peculiar fitness for the exigencies of the Spanish situation, the Cape Verde ships constituted a truly formidable little squadron. We in the United States naturally supposed that when the squadron set otit across the Atlantic, it was " well found " in every particular. We did not then know, as we do now, that it was but naif supplied with coal, and that its finest ship, the Chrislobal Colon, had never received its main battery of 10-inch guns. These defects are to be charged to a rotten Administration, and, in all fairness, cannot be laid at the door of the unfortunate Admiral Cervera. Our own fleets had to be disposed so as best to meet the possible movements of Cervera. Schley, with his flying squadron, was detained at Hampton Roads, so as to be Avithin reach of the northern Atlantic coast, and many of our fast regular and auxiliary cruisers, Avhich should by rights have been scouting far to the eastward, keeping touch with the Spanish fleet, were detained off the NeAv Englatid coast in answer to the urgent appeals of the panic-stricken citizens of Boston, Portland, and other northern cities. So much of a diversion in favour of the beleaguered island of Cuba was Cervera able to effect without striking a blow ; and had he remained upon the high seas, meeting his colliers at rendezvous well to the north or south of the sphere of action of our vessels, he might have postponed for many months the final crisis of the war. But for some reasons, best known to himself cr the Minister for Marine, he deliberately elected to run into Santiago Harbour, where, for all practical purposes, his ships were as useless to Spain as they now are lying upon the rocks of the Cuban coast. Once in Santiago Harbour, the only hope of Cervera was that he might fight his way out, not Avith the hope of escape so much as with the determination to sell his ships dearly and work all possible harm to the enemy. He elected to give battle on that memorable Sunday morning, and his plan of action was the very worst that lie could have adopted, either for the protection of his own ships or the destruction of the*enemy. By coming out in column ahead and stringing his vessels out in a single line along what, in respect of the inevitable storm of American shells, might be termed a lee coast, he placed it in the weakest possible formation, and presented it for destruction in detail, broadside on, by the powerful guns of our battleships. It is evident that in a fight at close quarters the chances of hurting our ships were immeasurably greater than in the long-drawn-out foimation which Cervera preferred to adopt. — Scientific American.

THE SOURCE Of THE NIGER.

(From " The French on the Niger," by Frederick A. Edwards, F.R.G.S., in the Gentleman's Magazine for September). Mungo Park, when after a laborious journey he first set eyes on the river Niger at Sego on June 21, 1796 r could not have dreamed that a full hundred years would elapse before that majestic river had been navigated down to its mouth. Yet so it has been, and the achievement in attempting which Park sacrificed Eis Ufa has tieen- the

work, not of a countryman of his, bub of a Frenchman. When the young Scotch surgeon set out on his voyage of discovery the course of the Niger was one of those mysteries of which the African continent has possessed so many to lure on the geographical explorer. Ever foiled by the low-lying miasmatic belt of the coast regions, travellers had been unable to reach far into the interior, which had long remained a great blank on the maps, or had been filled with speculative and extraordinary series of rivers and lakes, which, however, recent discoveries have shown to have been in some degree based on positive information, though information of a long distant past. The actual discovery of the Niger must be dated back to the time of Herodotus, some 23 centuries ago, when certain Nasamonians, whose names have not been preserved, made a remarkable journey across the deserts of North Africa and reached its waters. These Nasamonians dwelt on the shores of the Greater Syrtis — a deep gulf of the Mediterjtanean between Carthage and Cyrene — and five young men of the tribe resolved to explore the unknown deserts to the south of Libya and learn what was beyond them. After many days' travelling they came to an oasis, where they were captured by a number of black men of small stature, by whom they were taken through extensive marshes to a large river inhabited by crocodiles, and on the banks of which was a city inhabited by negroes. The young Nasamonians succeeded in returning to their own country, tLe antetypes of a long series of explorers, and the information brought back by them has been perpetuated by Herodotus. Herodotus seems to have come to the conclusion that the Niger (so called from the blacks living on its banks) was a tributary of the Nile. Alter the time of Ptolemy, when geographical research was taken up by the Arabs, the Niger was made on the maps to f^ow into the Atlantic ; and so it was shown on them until the radical French geographer DAnville a century or more ago struck out of the maps those features which did not appear well authenticated. A note to the Annual Register of 1758 (quoted in- Lucas's "Historical Geography of the British Colonies," iii, 112) runs as follows : " The river Senega, or Senegal, is one of those channels of the river Niger by which it is supposed to discharge its waters into the Atlantip Ocean. The river Niger, according to the best maps, rises in the east of Africa, and after a course of 300 miles nearly due west divides into three branches : the most noteworthy is the Senegal, as above ; the middle is the Gambia, or Gambra ; and the most southern Rio Grande." This view that the Niger flowed westward into the Atlantic Ocean by way of the Senegal was held by the celebrated naturalist Adanson, who visited the Senegal in 1749-50. The African Association in 1790 sent out Major Houghton to reach the Niger by way of the Gambia, but he perished on the road to the mysterious city of Timbuktu, a great commercial centre of the Sahara when Ibn Eatuta visited it about the middle of the fourteenth century. It was to follow up the unfinished work of Houghton that Mungo Park offered his services to the African Association. On this his first expedition he settled the eastward flow of the Niger, and descended its northern bank for some 70 miles below Sego. His second expedition, in 1805, was undertaken with the object of descend ing *the river m boats, and so ascertaining its outlet ; but it came to a tragic end in the rapids in the neighbourhood of Yauri, above Bussa. Park died in the belief | that the Niger found its way to the Atlantic through the Congo, which alone at its mouth seemed to possess an adequate body of water for so long a river ; and, whilst Major Peddie in vain attempted to follow Park's route from the Gambia, Lieutenant Tuckey was, in consonance with this theory, despatched by the British Government in 1816 to follow up the Congo from its mouth. But both expeditions proved equally disastrous. Eight years later Lieutenant Clapperton, on his first expedition from the Barbary Coast, learnt at Sackatoo (or Sokoto) that the Niger flcwed southward to the sea. With a view to determine this he was sent out again in 1825, and this time landed at Badagry, near Lagos, in the Bight of Benin, not a very great distance, as it afterwards turned out, from the long-sought mouth of the river. From here lie and his companions travelled overland? reaching the Niger at Bussa, just below where Mungo Park had met with his death. Then; instead of following his instructions and descending the river to its outlet, he started- off on an ambitious design to cross the continent to Abyssinia, and died at Sokoto, in April, 1827. It was Clapperton's servant, Richard Lander, who, with his brother John, in 1830, settled the question of the outlet of the Niger by descending it in canoes from Bussa, or rather from Yauri, where they had first gone to try to recover Park's papers. The mystery was solved, and the river was found to enter the sea by a number of mouths, which for hundreds of years had been known to our merchants the Oil Rivers, and which being individually smaller than the united stream, had given no suspicion of their being the outlets of a great river. The Landers seem to have met with less, obstacles from the rapids which had proved so fatal to Park ■than from the unfriendliness of the natives. After this important discovery several expeditions were promoted by the Liverpool merchants under the leadership of Macgregor, Laird, and others to open up this waterway to the interior ; but the unhealthiness of the. country and the hostility of the inhabitants for many years retarded the successful ex"tension of settled trade. Farther to the west, interesting — though less important — exploratory work was being done on the upper waters of the river. Major Gordon Laing, who in 1822 nearly reached its sources at the back of Sierra Leone, four years later made bis- way from Tripoli to Timbuktu, but was murdered there ; and in 1827 the Frenchman Rene Caillie also visited Timbuktu after reaching the Niger from the Rio Nunez. Valuable additions to our knowledge were also made by the celebrated German traveller Dr Henry Barth, who, at tho head of an English expedition, reached the Niger opposite Say from Sokoto in June, 185 S. Crossing the river in canoes, he travailed overland to Timbuktu, and from

there followed the banks of the river back tof" Say. But with all these and other expeditionsno determined effort after Park's ill-fated attempt was made to navigate the river; throughout, and, until recently, a portion of the river below Say has been Mown on our maps by a dotted line only, having been surveyed by no traveller since Mungo Park, and his papers having been lost. Although, as the above summary will show, the exploration of the Niger had been, almost entirely the work of Englishmen, and our possessions at the mouth of the river — especially since the formation of the Royal Niger Company—formed the natural base from which to navigate this great river, we have abandoned to the French not only its further exploration, but also^its territorial possession. The French, on the other hand, have in recent years shown a feverish activity in covering an enormous part of Africa with the French flag, and in so doing have taken up and earned on the work of exploration dropped in this region by our own countrymen.