V.—A BRUSH WITH A BEAR.
By R. W. Martin, Junior.
MR. R. W. MARTIN, JUNIOR, WHO HERE DESCRIBES HIS EXCITING EXPERIENCE WITH A BEAR.
From a Photograph.
The fall of 1905 found me camping on the Lehigh River, in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, in company with two friends named George and Oscar Murray. This part of the country is wild and mountainous, the nearest railroad being at Bear Creek, twelve miles distant.
Our camp stood on rising ground about thirty feet higher than the level of the river, and was surrounded by towering pines fifty to sixty feet in height, one of which almost touched our shack.
On the evening of which I write my two companions had decided to visit a friend who lived in a small settlement known as Stoddartsville, some four miles down the river, where they intended to spend the night. After their departure I busied myself about the camp, cutting and stacking wood and cleaning up our cooking utensils. When darkness had put an end to work outside, I retired into the cabin and, settling myself comfortably, began to read an old magazine I had picked up. I must have been reading for about an hour when my attention was attracted by the snapping of a small branch or stick outside, seemingly at the front of the cabin.
"THE BEAR STRUCK AT ME WITH ITS CLAWS, RIPPING OFF MY HEAVY LEGGING AND SCRATCHING ME SEVERELY."
Although we kept our meat in a basket hung on the limb of a small tree in front of the dwelling, we did not fear molestation from the bears or wild-cats that were known to exist in the swamps and mountain ranges around us. Occasionally a sheep would be taken by an old she-bear which was known to have ranged the hills for the past twenty-five years, and which was said to be a huge, gaunt creature, weighing at least five hundred pounds; but, generally speaking, they did not cause much damage.
Neither bears nor wild-cats, however, entered my mind as I sat there wondering what had caused the disturbance outside. My first thought was that perchance one of the neighbours' cows or sheep, which were allowed to roam at will, had lost its way and, being attracted by the light, had wandered up to the cabin to investigate. With this idea in my mind, and being very comfortable, I did not bother to look into the matter. But just as I was about to resume my reading once more, the sharp crack of a breaking limb, accompanied by the thud of a heavy body striking the ground, caused me to jump to my feet in a hurry. Hastily snatching my breech-loading shot-gun from the corner, I quickly inserted two shells and quietly opened the door. There, in the dim moonlight, I made out the form of a huge bear, busily engaged in pillaging our meat basket! Without hesitation I brought the gun to my shoulder and fired both barrels at the dark mass. With a fierce growl of pain the wounded beast charged straight for the open door, and before I could close it rushed right into the cabin!
The next five minutes were probably the most exciting I have ever spent. The bear, blinded in one eye by shot and dazzled by the light, gave me the opportunity—which I speedily seized—of rushing past it out into the open. I ran round the cabin for my life, with the brute at my heels, and quickly ascended the ladder at the back of the cabin to the roof, thinking to throw my pursuer off the track. While busily engaged in trying to push the ladder down, I was horrified to find the bear already upon it, coming my way. Thoroughly bewildered by this time, I commenced to climb the tall pine tree alongside the house, hoping to hide myself on one of the upper branches. It seemed that I made no progress at all, for the dead branches upon which I placed my feet broke continually, and my fingers and legs, in my frantic hurry, acted as though they were not part of my body. Almost exhausted, I finally stopped to rest upon a stout limb about twelve feet above the roof of the cabin. Glancing down, I saw the maddened bear preparing to pursue me. In a panic I began to climb again, but as I reached up for the limb above my hand came in contact with the rope we had strung across the river to a lofty old pine about forty yards distant on the opposite shore. Fastened to this large rope was a smaller dangling rope with a loop, which we used, on account of the swift current, to keep us in our course when ferrying across in the boat.
Finding that the rope would bear my weight, I started to go hand over hand over it out across the river. At this juncture the bear, which was but a few feet below me, struck at me with its claws, ripping off my heavy legging and scratching me severely. This unlooked for attack almost caused me to lose my hold, which would have resulted in a nasty fall to the ground below. How I managed to escape being struck again I do not know, but somehow or other I managed to keep out of reach of those deadly claws until I had swung well out from the tree. It was slow work making any progress, but, thinking only of the danger behind and below me, I continued the journey until I was compelled to stop to rest my weary arms. This I tried to do by throwing one leg and arm over the line, the rope resting under my knee and armpit. Beneath me I could hear the swiftly-running river, while the swaying limbs on the pine I had just left told me that my late pursuer was moving about.
When I had somewhat rested my aching muscles, I started once more on that heart-breaking journey to the opposite shore. Several times the rope swung so violently I thought I must let go and fall into the swift river beneath me, but each time I gritted my teeth and kept on. At last, after what seemed ages, I reached the friendly pine to which the rope was attached and lay for some time on a large branch, like a man in a dream. After resting for a few minutes I ventured to gaze across to the bank I had lately left, but could see nothing. Once or twice I heard Bruin moving about along the bank; then all was quiet.
Fixing myself as comfortably as possible I stayed all night in the tree, scarcely daring to move for fear of attracting attention. Shortly after daybreak my friends put in their appearance, having decided to make an early start after grouse in the neighbouring swales. Upon their arrival I descended from my uncomfortable position and related my experience of the night. Great was their wonder and surprise at my nerve-racking experience, and a hunt for Bruin was immediately suggested, George Murray starting off at once for men and dogs from the settlement. Upon his return with the hunting party the dogs took up the trail and followed it for nine miles down the ridge. At Long Pond, twelve miles below us, the bear was finally brought to bay and shot by another party. Upon examination, it was found that my two shots had put out one eye and almost torn her ear off—hence her blind fury and revengefulness. She tipped the scales at four hundred and sixty-eight pounds.
VI—MAN v. PYTHON.
By Victor Pitt-Kethley.
On April 27th of last year, Mr. W. J. Cocklin, of Sequani viâ Mochudi, South Africa, accompanied a party of friends on a shooting expedition in the neighbourhood of Sequani.
Arrived at the point selected, some five miles distant from the township, the party separated. For some little time Mr. Cocklin pursued his way without incident; then he suddenly espied a guinea-fowl, which he brought down with a well-aimed shot.
Hurrying over the veldt to secure his prize, he was just descending a little fall in the ground when, to his horror, he suddenly discovered that he was almost on top of a large python, which lay coiled up in front of him. Catching sight of the startled sportsman, the great snake moved. Its tail caught Mr. Cocklin between the legs, tripping him up, and before he could save himself he was flung headlong into the deadly, irresistible coils, which immediately closed around his body in a vice-like grip. Desperately the hunter tried to extricate himself, but all in vain; the python had him fast in such a way that his left arm, holding his gun, was pinned to his side.
With the cold perspiration breaking out upon his flesh, Cocklin threw himself this way and that in a frenzy of desperation, for he realized only too well the horrible nature of the death-trap into which he had walked.
He essayed to shout, hoping to make his friends hear and bring them to his rescue, but no answer came to his calls; no human being appeared in sight. And all the time man and snake lay there on the sunny veldt, the reptile's mighty coils growing always a little tighter as it endeavoured to lessen its victim's struggles.
"MR. COCKLIN GRIPPED THE SNAKE BY THE THROAT, STRIVING WILDLY TO FREE HIMSELF."
Presently, finding the pressure upon his body becoming unendurable, Mr. Cocklin gripped the snake by the throat, striving wildly to free himself. Over and over, this way and that, the pair rolled, the python seeking all the time to free its hideous head or tighten its coils sufficiently to put an end to Cocklin's struggles.
For, perhaps, ten to fifteen minutes—minutes that seemed like hours of torture—this unequal, terrifying fight went on, and still neither had gained any decided advantage; the man still lived, though fast in the coils of the snake, which in turn, though it held its captive securely, was unable to crush him outright or to release his hold upon its throat, which prevented it throwing a coil round his neck and strangling him.
Now, a python is so constructed that it can exert its crushing powers to the full only when it is able to get a leverage upon some fixed object—say, by taking a turn with its tail round a tree. Presently—apparently realizing that something of this kind was required to enable it to finish off its prisoner—the great snake altered its tactics and commenced to drag Mr. Cocklin over the ground towards a large hard-wood tree which stood some distance away.
The man saw and understood—the battle was about to enter on its last and most dreadful phase! Desperately he fought against the snake, trying to get at his knife, which was in his right-hand coat-pocket, with the idea of cutting the creature's throat; but, to his horror, he found that the reptile's coils passed over the place where the weapon lay.
"Finding I could not get my knife," said Mr. Cocklin, in a letter which he wrote to the Cape Times subsequently, "and thinking that my chances of surviving were not very bright, I determined I would not die alone. I saw that the barrel of my gun projected just about an inch through between my arm and body, where the arm was pinned to the side, and luckily I managed to reach the trigger with my left hand. Gripping the python firmly by the throat, and holding its head well away, I pulled the trigger, and the bullet, fortunately for me, caught the snake through the back. It then relaxed its grip, and I got rid of its coils as fast as I could.
"When I got upon my feet, I put my gun down and looked for a big stone to finish the brute with. Not finding one, I was about to put my foot on its head and cut its throat, when the snake made another attack upon me, getting hold of my coat sleeve, and again pulling me to the ground. Once more it attempted to get its coils round me, but I escaped them. It still retained its bite on my sleeve, however. I managed to get my foot on its throat, which made it open its mouth. Then I got my arm free, and called for my friends again. One of them heard me and came running up. He saw that there had been a struggle, and shot the python through the head, thus putting the finishing touch to what was for me the narrowest shave I have ever had. It seems to me remarkable that I have felt no ill effects from the encounter beyond being a little short-winded and nervous for a few days."
Guardians of the Wilderness.
By Henry Hale.
The United States Government maintains a little army of twelve hundred men whose duty it is to look after the vast national forests, whose area is about five times that of Great Britain. Here, monarchs of all they survey, these rangers of the wild lead solitary and strenuous lives, sometimes not meeting a fellow human being for months on end.
The United States Government maintains a curious little force of policemen who do not patrol posts in the cities or towns, but may well be called the guardians of the wilderness, for it is their business to look after vast forests where few human beings live. It may seem odd that it is necessary to have Nature's police to go here and there in the forests and amid the mountains, but it is very necessary in order to protect one of the great resources of America. Some of these rangers of the wild have "beats" so extensive that one man may be the sole protector of a miniature empire, comprising two hundred thousand acres of primeval forest.
Mere figures cannot give the stay-at-home reader any adequate idea of the vastness of some of the great "reserves" in which the patrolmen live month after month. If the whole of London is measured it will be found to contain over seventy-five thousand acres, yet no fewer than eighty cities the size of London could easily be placed in a single one of the American "national parks." Washington Park, situated in the State of that name, and the greatest of them all, contains no less than ten thousand square miles of territory.
A FOREST RANGERS' PACK-TRAIN ON THE TRAIL.
From a Photograph.
RANGERS MEASURING TIMBER IN A SWAMP.
From a Photograph.
For many years most European countries have had forest guardians and rangers. France, Germany, Holland, and even little Switzerland, have their armies of rangers, the French foresters being so numerous that there is one to every thousand acres of trees under the protection of the Government. This is quite different from the United States, where, as has been stated, one man may be the sole protector of an area of two hundred thousand acres; for this force of woodland policemen comprises only about twelve hundred men all told, scattered between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Coast, ranging the valleys and slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and even living far out in snow-covered Alaska.
The rank-and-file of the American Forest Service are the patrolmen or rangers. Over them are supervisors, one of whom may have charge of a group of national forests, and may be obliged to travel several thousand miles a year in order to perform his duties. In Washington is the chief forester, who is at the head of the service, and has under him a staff of assistants, inspectors, and clerks. But the men who do the hard work, endure the privations, and brave the dangers are the forest rangers and supervisors, who spend their lives in looking after the domains to which they are assigned. There are far more perils to be encountered in the wilderness than the town-dweller might think. The wild animals that roam here and there form but a slight danger compared with the terrible weather to which the guardians of the woodlands are sometimes exposed. While in many regions the summers are so warm that the heat is almost unbearable, in the higher lands, such as the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, winter may last for four or five months, with the temperature so far below freezing-point that a man must be muffled in furs up to the eyes in order to keep himself alive. Storms sometimes prevail for days at a time, covering the ground with great snow-drifts higher than one's head, and frequently almost burying the little huts or cabins in which the foresters live when they are not doing patrol duty. It is the loneliness of the life, however, which forms its worst feature. For months the forester may not see the face of a white man, or even an Indian—going day by day amid the trees, fording streams, climbing mountain sides, with never a person to speak to. This is why several rangers have at different times become insane and have been found aimlessly wandering about, while others have suffered death from starvation while mentally unbalanced. Remembering that a man may be sole guardian of a tract of land as large as an entire English county, it is not to be wondered at that occasionally the sense of their loneliness should overpower them.
THE METHOD USED IN CLIMBING BIG TREES.
From a Photograph.
It takes a good type of man to make a successful forester—he is obliged to undertake so many different tasks and perform them all well. His daily round does not mean merely going from this place to that in his territory, looking out for fires and for unauthorized persons who may come into the woods to cut down the valuable timber. True, forest fires are perhaps the ranger's greatest anxiety, but he must also keep a keen watch for what are called in the West "squatters"—families who steal into the parts controlled by the Government and try to make homes in open spots without permission. They cut down valuable trees for fuel, occupy ground to which they have no right, and frequently seriously injure the forest growth before they are discovered. In a region covering two hundred thousand acres squatters may live for months, or perhaps even a year, before being discovered by the forester and driven out. And this eviction work is very dangerous, for the squatter may be armed, and if he thinks he will not be detected he does not hesitate to shoot down the guardian in fighting for the place he calls his home. More than one murder of this kind has been committed since the United States began taking charge of the great forests ten years ago.
The forester must also supervise any lumbering operations which are permitted by the Government in the region under his care. Someone may get authority from the Forest Service to cut certain trees and make them into lumber, and the ranger in that district must look to it that they do not cut more than they should, that they do not damage other trees—especially young ones—and that they do not set fire to the woodlands during their operations. He measures the timber they cut, and makes a report to his supervisor of what they do from month to month. If the Government allows stock-raisers to turn cattle and sheep into one of the woodland parks, the forester must watch the animals and prevent them feeding at places where they would do damage. He also oversees the stock-men and herders—and here again is liable to be injured, if not killed, since some of these ranchmen of the Far West belong to a desperate class, and are usually well armed and only too ready to use their weapons.
The ranger is not only a policeman, but is frequently called upon to act as judge when a dispute arises on his territory between rival settlers. Sometimes he is obliged to arrest trespassers and other wrongdoers, and take them perhaps fifty miles through the wilderness before he can place them in the hands of the nearest magistrate. This is one of the most dangerous features of his work, for many of the people who go into the wild forest districts are desperadoes, who set little value upon human life. Therefore, the ranger must be strong and courageous, able to endure the hardships of an outdoor life, and to "keep his end up" in a fight. For this reason the foresters are picked men; but hard as is their life, the Government have no difficulty in securing recruits who measure up to the necessary standard.
TESTING WOULD-BE RECRUITS IN THE DETAILS OF SADDLING-UP.
From a Photograph.
Once a year men who wish to enter the Forest Service are given a chance to show their qualifications. Examinations are held at different places in the West, conducted by a forest supervisor or inspector. One was held recently in Colorado which I will describe. Most of the candidates who "sat" for it were cowboys and ranchmen. The first day of the examination was given up to "school-house work," and it is likely that this unaccustomed ordeal of figures and composition caused more grey hairs to sprout on the heads of the candidates than anything suggested by the forestry expert in the succeeding two days. Finally, when the examiner, with a sly smile, informed the assembled men that they might as well put away their pens, the clerical test being over, there was a general chorus of "Bully!" and one cowboy, with a blot of ink on his nose and a look of despair in his eyes, rose on his high-legged boots and fervently exclaimed, "Thank Heaven!"
The second day the applicants brought out their saddle-horses, and at an early hour started on the trail. The forestry expert led the way, riding with an ease that challenged the admiration of all the cow hands. After proceeding five or six miles into the mountains, the candidates were given axes and told to show their skill in cutting and "scaling" (measuring) timber. Some of the cowboys, who had had little experience with the axe beyond cutting wood for a round-up camp-fire, had rather ludicrous experiences, but two forest guards, who were skilled in such work, made the chips fly in a manner that excited universal admiration.
After the candidates had been examined as to their fitness with the axe they were given work in following obscure or "blind" trails and reading signs. Here nearly all proved expert, for the man who rides the range for any length of time soon acquires the ability to read the wilderness signs like a book. A long, hard journey across the mountains, testing the men in rough-riding, ended the day's work.
On the third day the field tests were continued. A brisk ride was made to a water-course, where camp was pitched and notes made of the manner in which each man proceeded to make fires and prepare a temporary resting place. In order to test the accuracy of the men in judging distances, the forestry expert rode over a huge triangle, and then required the men to pace it in Indian file. The candidates were next told to reduce their estimates to feet, and finally the examiner went over the course with a surveyor's tape and compared the result with the estimates. This is an important part of the forester's work, as a ranger is often required to estimate distances with no other facilities than his eye or the length of his stride.
One of the most interesting tests was that of packing. A pack-horse was brought out in front of the building and each candidate in turn was told to show what he could do in the way of putting a load on the animal's back. They put on the blanket and the little pack-saddle, and then stowed away the bags of feed, the tarpaulin covering, the shovel and axe, and tied the whole load with the well-known "diamond hitch," which can be loosened with a single pull at the rope. It never slips, and when it is correctly "thrown" on a well-packed animal the load cannot be "bucked off."
THE INTERIOR OF A TYPICAL RANGER'S CABIN.
From a Photograph.
Each man had a different style of packing, but all were good in their way, and all threw the diamond hitch with a celerity that spoke well for their experience. Each pack was critically inspected by the expert while in process of construction and after it had been completely tied. Then the pack-animal was stripped again and another would-be forester took up the work. After the packing, which consumed the greater part of the day, some compass-work was done, to show the familiarity of the candidates with this valuable instrument. Then, to test the ability of the men in the saddle, each candidate was sent a few hundred rods down the trail and told to come in at a gentle lope. This trial, the cowboys admitted, was one of the hardest of the examinations, because they are accustomed to riding very rapidly when not going at a dead walk. Several of the men were unhorsed by the unusual gait and were disqualified as a result, but most of the candidates passed the examination and were given their uniform and other equipment.
The outfit of the American forest-ranger is unique. He is usually provided with a rifle and revolver, but in addition to this has a kit of fire-fighting tools, as well as other implements. Entering one of the little cabins which form the homes of the rangers you will see coils of rope hanging from the walls, and axes and shovels piled in the corners. An army cot, or perhaps a framework of boughs, forms the bed, two or three logs the chairs, and the food is usually cooked in the big mud-plastered fireplace which occupies one end of the cabin. A single room is generally enough for all purposes, unless the ranger is married, when the Government may provide him a larger house with two or three apartments. He clears a little patch of land around his dwelling, where he can raise a few vegetables, and is allowed to kill game and catch fish if there are streams near him. In this way he adds to the stock of rations furnished by the Government.
A FOREST FIRE SWEEPING ALONG AT TWELVE MILES AN HOUR BEFORE A BREEZE. From a Photograph.
The ranger must always be on the lookout for fires, especially in summer, when, in many portions of America, the temperature becomes so hot that even rivers are dried up, leaves drop from the trees, and the underbrush of the woodlands is like a vast tinder-heap, ready to burst into flame at the contact of a single spark.
At such times the greatest care must be taken about kindling fires near the woods, for if one spreads over a considerable area of ground, the intense heat creates a wind which grows stronger and stronger until it becomes a veritable hurricane, driving the fire before it and burning scores of miles of forest before it is extinguished. The havoc wrought by the fires was one of the chief reasons for the organization of the Forest Service. One of the worst of these conflagrations is well remembered in the States, although it occurred in what is known as Miramichi Valley, in the Canadian province of New Brunswick. It is an actual fact that for three months of summer no rain fell in this valley. Then, one afternoon in the month of October, a fire started in the Upper Miramichi—no one knows how—but it was supposed a woodsman did not take the trouble to extinguish the faggots by which he had cooked his dinner. The first man who discovered the blaze found a space about one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide in flames in the midst of a patch of bushes and young trees. He alarmed a camp of wood-choppers about two miles distant, and on returning half an hour later the party found that the fire had reached a thicket of pines, the flames running furiously along the top branches. It had spread so rapidly that a thousand men could not now have arrested its progress, and the choppers were obliged to run for their lives to escape. A small pond at the edge of the forest probably saved them, as by crossing it they reached the open country and a spot where half a mile of ploughed field kept the flames in check.
As in other forests of this kind, the ground was covered with a mixture of dead leaves and other débris a foot or more in thickness. This burned like tinder, and it was discovered afterwards that in many cases roots five feet deep in the earth had been reduced to ashes by the terrific heat. When it is stated that a single tree two or three feet in thickness will burn to a skeleton in fifteen minutes, and ten thousand were on fire at the same time, a faint idea can be gained of the magnitude of the "Miramichi fire," as it is still called. Every condition favoured its spread, for in addition to the draught created by the hot air meeting the cooler atmosphere about it, a strong breeze sprang up which blew directly toward the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and forced the living wall of flame down the valley.
At the Miramichi River the flames nearly leapt across the narrow channel, and thousands of burning embers speedily ignited the timber on the other side. Along swept the great conflagration, turning everything in its path to ashes. Several settlements in the woods were abandoned only just in time for the inhabitants to escape, although the roar and crackle of the flames could be heard three miles distant. Animals and birds, confused and blinded by the noise, smoke, and heat, perished by thousands, though only carcasses of such beasts as deer and bears were found afterwards to show how deadly had been the fire.
A FOREST FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS. From a Photograph.
The end was only reached where the forest ended at a stretch of open country skirted by a salt-marsh. Here there was absolutely nothing inflammable for the flames to feed on, and the fire burned itself out. For a month it smouldered in the burned area, occasionally starting up here and there, and then finally dying down for want of material to consume. It reached the boundary-line ten hours after being discovered, and in that time had spread over a territory eighty miles long and twenty-five miles wide, travelling at the rate of eight miles an hour.
The Hinkly fire, as it is called, was the worst in the history of America, for it actually consumed a large town in Minnesota, and nearly five hundred persons who could not escape in time met their death in the flames. A spark from a locomotive fell into a pile of dried leaves in the forest at a spot about ten miles from Hinkly. For four months not a drop of rain had fallen in this part of the State; yet when a track labourer saw the leaves on fire he passed on, thinking they would soon burn out. The fire did die down, but for two days the ashes remained smouldering. Then a little breeze sprang up and spread some of the embers, still red, to other leaves. The resulting flames shot up from the ground to the underbrush and then to the trees, and in a twinkling a forest fire had started. What wind there was blew directly towards Hinkly, and in that direction the fire travelled, widening as it went and gradually forming an inverted semicircle, with the village opposite the centre, so that the ends of the circle were a mile beyond the town before the fire in the centre had reached it. Three miles away the people heard the roar of the flames as they shot a hundred feet above the tree-tops, while every moment a huge trunk, burned through, fell with a crash. The smoke came through the woods, filling the air with thick clouds. Everybody seized what valuables he could lay hands upon, and started to escape. Some, blinded by the smoke, ran directly into the burning area, and never returned. Most of the people left by the wagon-roads, only to find they were going into a furnace. More than a hundred were burned to death or suffocated while trying to get away by the roads.
As the flames reached the town, and the nearest rows of dwellings were ignited, the whistle of a locomotive was heard. Through the opening which marked the cut for the railroad track dashed a passenger train. The roofs of the cars were smoking from the heat, and every window was shut to keep the interiors from igniting. The engine-driver stood at the throttle-valve, while the fireman drenched him with pails of water from the tank in the tender. The crowds of people, running hither and thither in the streets, rushed for the train, and everyone who could get a foothold on the platforms was allowed to do so. Then the engine-driver reversed the lever and backed his train into the advancing fire. Luckily no débris had fallen across the track. For six miles that gallant man drove his engine through the flames and blistering heat. Several times his clothing caught fire, but the water-bucket extinguished it. In places the flames literally swept under and up the sides of the coaches, while the metal-work on the outside of the engine was so hot that it could not be touched. At last the train reached a small clearing near a swamp, and the order was given to all to leave the cars and save themselves. Everyone left but two Chinamen, who were burned to ashes. The rails were twisted by the heat and in some places partly melted. This fire swept over an area about twenty-five miles long and ten miles wide.
FIGHTING THE FLANKS OF A FIRE WITH TREE-BRANCHES.
From a Photograph.
Since the Forest Service was established many heroic incidents have occurred where rangers have risked their lives in preventing the spread of a conflagration, knowing that if it got beyond control it might cause untold damage. In fighting fires they use curious weapons. Water is seldom at hand, but in any case it is not of much value in stopping a forest fire, for it is useless to merely attempt to extinguish the flames; all efforts are concentrated upon preventing the fire from spreading, and so it is fought on the edge of the fire-line. The scene of a recent fire in West Kansas was near a town, and the rangers were assisted in their work by the anxious inhabitants. The fire was so close, and spread so fast, that it began burning up the dry prairie land on which the town was situated. Men, women, and all the children old enough to be of service hurried to the locality, while a dozen ploughs were loaded on wagons and hauled to a point on the prairie several miles from the line of burning vegetation. Then the ploughs were unshipped and the horses fastened to the implements, four to each. As fast as it could be driven each team dragged its plough through the ground, turning up the fresh soil and burying the dry stubble which afforded food for the flames. The furrows were dug about five feet apart, in ten parallel rows, each as long as it was calculated the fire-line would be, should it reach the spot. While the ploughmen were thus creating a sort of breastwork to resist the flames, the others were placed at intervals in front digging earth with hoes and shovels, forming piles to be used as ammunition to be thrown on the flames, or spread over the fields as a further obstacle to the advance of the conflagration. The children, supplied with branches, were stationed on the leeward side of the burning area to beat down any blaze which might spring up, thus preventing the fire-line from widening.
AN "OLD BURN," SHOWING THE TERRIBLE HAVOC WROUGHT BY THE FIRE DEMON.
From a Photograph.
Although there were fully five hundred persons in this improvised fire brigade, they were unable to check the progress of the blaze until it had reached the ploughed area. The flames leaped over the first furrow, but the stubble and dried grass between it and the second one had been covered with earth, and only a part ignited. Realizing the desperate nature of the situation, the people devoted all their efforts to extinguishing the flames at this spot. As many as could procure them obtained branches and beat savagely at the blaze, while others used their hoes and shovels, some literally running into the fire in their efforts to stamp it out.
Finally the breach was closed, and, encouraged by their progress, the fighters redoubled their efforts. By midnight the long row of flames had been turned into a mass of smoking embers. But the fire, though conquered, was not wholly dead. Squads of men were left to prevent another outbreak, and the others scattered to their homes to snatch a few hours' rest until called to relieve those on watch, for prairie fires are treacherous and may smoulder for several days, only to break out with renewed energy. They must be entirely extinguished, or watched closely until they die out.
Recently another fire occurred, its history conclusively demonstrating the great value of the Forest Service. In Long Pine National Forest a sawmill has been permitted to be operated by the Government, under the control of the foresters. The supervisor of Long Pine Forest is one Charles Ballenger, who has his head-quarters at Camp Crook, South Dakota, some distance away. Camp Crook is connected with the mill town by a telephone line, and one day Ballenger received a message that a fire had started in the vicinity of the mill. He hurried to the place on horseback as soon as possible, reaching there the same day the fire started; but it spread so rapidly that a large area was ablaze by the time he got to the spot, although the mill-hands and people in the town had fought it as best they could. They began fighting the fire when it was only a spot about twenty feet square, but the earth was covered with so much dry wood and other inflammable material that the flames were carried through the forest at a great speed, driven by the high wind.
A FOREST IN EMBRYO—MILLIONS OF YOUNG TREES ARE RAISED ANNUALLY FROM SEED TO BE PLANTED OUT FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS.
From a Photograph.
Ballenger realized that strenuous efforts must be made if the fire was to be checked, and that it would be useless to try to work against it in the direction which it was spreading. He accordingly organized the fire-fighters into squads, and directed them how to use earth and tree branches in working against the flames. Then an effort was made to change the course of the fire, all hands working along one side of the burning area. Thus its course was gradually changed towards what are called the Bad Lands, which are destitute of trees, and where the fire would not have enough material to keep it alive. This plan proved successful, although it was necessary to keep up the fight for forty-eight hours before the danger-point was passed. During this time, however, the flames had actually covered nearly ten thousand acres, eating into the forest at the rate of over two hundred acres an hour.
No one thought of changing the course of the fire until Ballenger's arrival. His skill and experience, however, showed him that it was the only method which could be taken, on account of the extent of the forest and its extreme dryness.
The smoke of the fire could be distinctly seen from the town of Camp Crook, and after Ballenger left for the scene several of the men went into the second storey of a building to look at it. While there, someone dropped a match or cigar-end, with the result that the building was soon in flames. As all the forest rangers and most of the citizens had gone to the forest to put out the fire there, the few who remained could do nothing to extinguish the blaze, and most of the town was destroyed, including the head-quarters of the Forest Service, so that when poor Ballenger and his weary comrades returned they found they had lost all their possessions except the clothes they stood in!
MAKING A HOLE TO PLANT A YOUNG TREE IN.
From a Photograph.
At present the rangers have to care for no fewer than a hundred and sixty-six of these national forests, so called because they are controlled by the American Government. They cover a territory which is in all nearly five times the size of England. In many places past fires as well as storms and the work of the lumbermen have destroyed so many trees, that miles and miles of the woodland are ruined. From these devastated tracks spring only bushes and shrubs, with an occasional young tree. The ground is covered with charred trunks, while the skeletons of what were once forest monarchs rise skyward.
To reafforest these denuded tracts is a part of the duty of the rangers, and the supervisors and their men have the work of cultivating young trees and setting them out in such places. To obtain the necessary tree-shoots for planting they grow them from seed. For instance, young pines are secured by taking the seed from pine cones, which are opened by exposing them to the rays of the sun. Then the seed is sown in the forest nurseries. There are eight of these, situated on reserves in various parts of the West. They contain enough land to grow five million trees at one time, and as the nurseries have been in existence for several years, each year a million or more of these trees are large enough to be taken to the denuded lands and planted. Already a large area of land made worthless by the ravages of man and the elements has been reafforested in this way, and will again be ready to furnish a timber supply at the end of the next twenty years or so.
A TYPICAL STRETCH OF FOREST CLEARED OF PARASITICAL UNDERGROWTH AND GUARDED BY THE GOVERNMENT RANGERS.
From a Photograph.
It does not seem possible that this mere handful of men could perform all the duties of the American Forest Service and yet cover such an immense region as they do, but the records of the Government show that since these police of the wilderness began going their lonely rounds the number of fires has greatly diminished, while the various national parks are in a far better condition than ever before. One of the best things about the department is that it is educating the settler in the Far West to a better sense of the value of the forests, and the wasteful and extravagant methods formerly pursued by the farmer and lumberman are gradually being abandoned.
