Part 7

Thy milk-white brow outshone the snow: Thy lustrous eyes outglanced the stars: Thy cherry lips, with love aglow, Burned ruddier than the blood-red Mars.

Thy sweet, low voice waked in my heart Dead memories of my mother's love. My long-lost sister's artless art Lived in thy smiles, my gentle dove.

Dear Alice, how thy charm and grace Kindled my dull and stagnant life! From first I saw thy winning face, My whole heart claimed thee for my wife.

I thought you'd make me happy, dear: I sought you for my very own: You clung to me through storm and fear: You loved me still, though poor and lone.

My love was centred all in self: Thy love was centred all in me: True wife, above all pride and pelf, My life's deep current flows for thee.

The finest fibres of my soul Entwine with thine in love's strong fold; Our tin cup is a golden bowl; Love fills our cot with wealth untold.

THE LEGEND OF THE ELEPHANT AND THE LION.

BY HENRY M. STANLEY.

Copyright, 1893, by Henry M. Stanley.

It was a custom with us, when crossing Africa in 1874-77, to meet after dinner around the camp-fire, to while away the evening with pleasant gossip, reminiscences, curious African legends. Sunset in the tropics is soon followed by darkness, and the heavy vapors rising from the hot, steaming ground appear to give thickness and substance to it. A large fire is then very agreeable, as it drives away the damp and dew; and it is a comfort to look into its flames and glowing embers, wherein each man sees what he sees. No doubt the drift of the mind at such times, to think of such things as are driven away by the needs of the stirring day, suggested that we could be more sociable and more interested if we related to one another such stories as were told to us by the old folks at home. On trial it was found that there were some of our men who were most accomplished in the art of narration, and I fancied, after writing one or two out, that there was some kind of a moral of an African character in each, after which I paid more attention to them, and, on retiring from the circle, I would hastily jot down what I had heard. If there were some points still obscure in the story I would invite its narrator to relate it to me at the first halting-place. But then I would find also that there was a great deal of difference between the story told to me alone and that related to the audience round the fire--there was then less local color, less detail, and less animation.

* * * * *

At a camp on the Upper Congo, in 1877, Chakanja drew near our fire as story-telling was about to begin, and was immediately beset with eager demands for a tale from him. Like a singer, who always professes to have a cold before indulging us, Chakanja needed more than a few entreaties; but finally, after vowing that he never could remember anything, he consented to gratify us with the legend of the Elephant and the Lion.

"Well," he answered, with a deep sigh, "if I must, I must. You must know we Waganda are fond of three things--to have a nice wife, a pleasant farm, and to hear good news, or a lively story. I have heard a great many stories in my life, but, unlike Kadu, my mind remembers them not. Men's heads are not the same, any more than men's hearts are like. But I take it that a poor tale is better than none. It comes back to me like a dream, this tale of the Elephant and the Lion. I heard it first when on a visit to Gabunga's; but who can tell it like him? If you think the tale is not well told, it is my fault; but then, do not blame me too much, or I shall think I ought to blame you to-morrow, when it will be your turn to amuse the party.

"Now open your ears. A huge and sour-tempered elephant went and wandered in the forest. His inside was slack for want of juicy roots and succulent reeds, but his head was as full of dark thoughts as a gadfly is full of blood. As he looked this way and that, he observed a young lion asleep at the foot of a tree. He regarded it for a while, then, as he was in a wicked mind, it came to him that he might as well kill it, and he accordingly rushed at it, and impaled it with his tusks. He lifted it with his trunk, swung it about, dashed it against the tree, and afterwards kneeled on the body until it became as shapeless as a crushed banana pulp. He then laughed, and said, 'Ha! ha! This is a proof that I am strong. I have killed a lion, and people will say proud things of me, and will wonder at my strength.'

"Presently a brother elephant came up and greeted him.

"'See,' said the first elephant, 'what I have done. It was I that killed him. I lifted him on high, and, lo! he lies like a rotten banana. Do you not think I am very strong? Come, be frank now, and give me some credit for what I have done.'

"Elephant No. 2 replied: 'It is true that you are strong, but that was only a young lion. There are others of his kind, and I have seen them, who would give you considerable trouble.'

"'Ho, ho!' laughed the first elephant. 'Get out, stupid! You may bring his whole tribe here, and I will show you what I can do. Ay, and to your dam to boot.'

"'What! My own mother, too!'

"'Yes. Go and fetch her if you like.'

"'Well, well,' said No. 2, 'you are far gone, there is no doubt. Fare you well.'

"No. 2 proceeded on his wanderings, resolved in his own mind that, if he had an opportunity, he would send some one to test the boaster's strength. No. 1 called out to him:

"'Away you go. Good-by to you.'

"A little way on, No. 2 elephant met a lion and lioness, full grown, and splendid creatures, who turned out to be the parents of the youngster which had been slain, and he said to them, after a sociable chat:

"'If you go further on along the path I came, you will meet a kind of game which requires killing badly. He has just mangled your cub.'

"Meantime elephant No. 1, chuckling to himself very conceitedly, proceeded to the pool near by to bathe and cool himself. At every step he went you could hear this: 'Ha, ha, ha! Lo! I have killed a lion.' While he was in the pool, spurting the water in a shower over his back, he suddenly looked up, and at the water's edge beheld a grown lion and lioness regarding him sternly.

"'Well, what do you want?' he asked. 'Why are you standing there looking at me?'

"'Are you the rogue who killed our child?' they asked.

"'Perhaps I am,' he answered. 'Why do you want to know?'

"'Because we are in search of him. If it be you that did it, you will have to do the same to us before you leave this ground.'

"'Ho! ho!' laughed the elephant loudly. 'Well, hark! It was I who killed your cub. Come now, it was I. Do you hear? And if you do not leave here mighty quick, I shall have to serve you both as I served him.'

"The lions roared aloud in their fury, and switched their tails violently.

"'Ho, ho!' laughed the elephant gayly. 'This is grand! There is no doubt I shall run soon, they make me so skeery;' and he danced round the pool, and jeered at them, then drank a great quantity of water and blew it in a shower over them.

"The lions stirred not, but kept steadfastly gazing at him, planning how best to attack him.

"Perceiving that they were obstinate, he threw another stream of water over the lions and then backed into the deepest part of the pool, until there was nothing seen of him but the tip of his trunk. When he arose again the lions were still watching him and had not moved.

"'Ho, ho!' he trumpeted, 'still there? Wait a little, I am coming to you.' He advanced towards the shore, but, when he was close enough, the lion sire sprang into the air, and alighted on the elephant's back, and furiously tore at the muscles of the neck, and bit deep into the shoulder. The elephant retreated into the deepest part of the pool again, and submerged himself and his enemy, until the lion was compelled to abandon his back and begin to swim ashore. No sooner had he felt himself relieved than the elephant rose to the surface, and hastily followed and seized the lion with his trunk. Despite the lion's struggles, he was pressed beneath the surface, dragged under the elephant's knees, and trodden into the mud, and in a short time the lion sire was dead.

"The elephant laughed triumphantly, and cried, 'Ho, ho! am I not strong, Ma Lion? Did you ever see the like of me before? Two of you, Young Lion and Pa Lion, are now killed. Ma Lion, you had better try now, just to see if you won't have better luck. Come on, old woman, just once.'

"The lioness fiercely answered, while she retreated from the pool, 'Hold on where you are. I am going to find my brother, and will be back shortly.'

"The elephant trumpeted his scorn of her kind, and seizing the carcass of her lord, flung it on shore after her, and declared his readiness to abide where he was, that he might make mash of all the lion family.

"In a short time the lioness had found her brother, who was a mighty fellow, and full of fight. As they advanced near the pool together, they consulted as to the best means of getting at him. Then the lioness sprang forward to the edge of the pool. The elephant retreated a short distance. The lioness upon this crept along the pool, and pretended to lap the water. The elephant moved towards her. The lion waited his chance, and finally, with a great roar, sprang upon his shoulders and commenced tearing away at the very place which had been wounded by lion sire.

"The elephant backed quickly into deep water, and submerged himself, but the lion maintained his hold and bit deeper. The elephant then sank down until there was nothing to be seen but the tip of his trunk, upon which the lion, to avoid suffocation, relaxed his hold, and swam vigorously toward shore. The elephant rose up, and as the lion was stepping on shore, seized him, and drove one of his tusks through his body; but, as he was in the act, the lioness sprang upon the elephant's neck, and bit and tore so furiously that he fell dead, and with his fall crushed the dying lion.

"Soon after the close of the terrible combat, elephant No. 2 came up, and discovered the lioness licking her chops and paws, and said:

"'Hello, it seems there has been quite a quarrel here lately. Three lions are dead, and here lies one of my own kind, stiffening.'

"'Yes,' replied the lioness gloomily, 'the rogue elephant killed my cub while the little fellow was asleep in the woods. He then killed my husband and brother, and I killed him; but I do not think the elephant has gained much by fighting with us. I did not have much trouble in killing him. Should you meet any friends of his, you may warn them to leave the lioness alone, or she may be tempted to make short work of them.'

"Elephant No. 2, though a patient person generally, was annoyed at this, and gave a sudden kick with one of his hind feet which sent her sprawling a good distance off; and asked:

"'How do you like that, Ma Lion?'

"'What do you mean by that?' demanded the enraged lioness.

"'Oh, because I hate to hear so much bragging.'

"'Do you also wish to fight?' she asked.

"'We should never talk about doing an impossible thing, Ma Lion,' he answered. 'I have travelled many years through these woods, and I have never fought yet. I find that when a person minds his own business he seldom comes to trouble, and when I meet one who is even stronger than myself, I greet him pleasantly, and pass on, and I should advise you to do the same, Ma Lion.'

"'You are saucy, elephant. It would be well for you to think upon your stupid brother there, who lies so stark under your nose, before you trouble one who slew him, with your insolence.'

"'Well, words never yet made a plantation; it is the handling of a hoe that makes fields. See here, Ma Lion, if I talked to you all day I could not make you wise. I will just turn my back to you. If you will bite me you will soon learn how weak you are.'

"The lioness, angered still more by the elephant's contempt, sprang at his shoulders, and clung to him; upon which he rushed at a stout tree, and, pressing his shoulders against it, crushed the breath out of her body, and she ceased her struggles. When he relaxed his pressure, the body fell to the ground, and he knelt upon it, and kneaded it until every bone was broken.

"While the elephant was meditatively standing over the body, and thinking what misfortunes happen to boasters, a man came along, carrying a spear; and seeing that the elephant was unaware of his presence, he thought what great luck had happened to him.

"Said he, 'Ah, what fine tusks he has! I shall be rich with them, and shall buy slaves and cattle, and with these I will get a wife and a farm,' saying which he advanced silently, and when he was near enough, darted his spear into a place behind the shoulder.

"The elephant turned around quickly, and, on beholding his enemy, rushed after him, and, overtaking him, mauled him until in a few moments he was a mangled corpse.

"At this time a woman approached, and seeing four lions and one elephant and her husband dead, she raised up her hands wonderingly, and cried, 'How did all this happen?' The elephant, hearing her voice, came from behind a tree, with a spear quivering in his side, and bleeding profusely. At the sight of him the woman turned round to fly, but the elephant cried out to her, 'Nay, run not, woman, for I can do you no harm. The happy days in the woods are ended for all the tribes. The memory of this scene will never be forgotten. Animals will be at constant war one with another. Lions will no more greet elephants, the buffaloes will be shy, the rhinoceroses will live apart, and man, when he comes within the shadows, will think of nothing else than his terrors, and he will fancy an enemy in every shadow. I am sorely wounded, for thy man stole up to my side and drove his spear into me, and soon I shall die.'

"When she had heard these words the woman hastened home, and all the villagers, old and young, hurried into the woods, by the pool, where they found four lions, two elephants, and one of their own tribe lying still and lifeless.

"The words of the elephant have turned out to be true, for no man goes nowadays into the silent and deserted woods but he feels as though something was haunting them, and thinks of goblinry, and starts at every sound. Out of the shadows, which shift with the sun, forms seem crawling and phantoms appear to glide, and we are in a fever almost from the horrible illusions of fancy. We breathe quickly and fear to speak, for the smallest vibration in the silence would jar on our nerves. I speak the truth, for when I am in the woods near the night, there swim before my eyes a multitude of terrible things which I never see by the light of day. The flash of a firefly is a ghost, the chant of a frog becomes a frightful roar, the sudden piping of a bird signalizes murder, and I run. No, no, no woods for me when alone."

And Chakanja rose to his feet and went to his own quarters, solemnly shaking his head. But we all smiled at Chakanja, and thought how terribly frightened he would be if any one suddenly rose from behind a dark bush and cried "Boo!" to him.

SONG.

BY THOMAS CAREW. (1589-1639.)

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose, For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day, For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more where those stars light That downwards fall in dead of night, For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past, For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note.

AT THE THROTTLE.

THE LIFE AND EXPERIENCES OF AN ENGINEER OF A LIMITED EXPRESS.

BY CLEVELAND MOFFETT.

"_See the huge creature with muscles of steel, his heart a furnace of glowing coal, and the strength of a thousand horses nerving his sinews. See him strut forth from his stable, and, saluting the train of cars with a dozen sonorous puffs from his iron nostrils, stand panting to be gone. He would drag the pyramids across the Desert of Sahara if they could be hitched on._"

The average New Yorker who rides to Chicago in twenty hours on the World's Fair flyer does an easy day's work, in fact, does no work at all. He rests comfortably at night, enjoys well-served meals, and reaches his destination almost before he knows it. Having paid the price, such is the arrogance of money, he takes all that is done for him quite as a matter of course, and knows no more of the workings of this wonderful train than a school-boy, while he cares rather less. An engine pulls the cars, steam works the engine, and as for the engineer, the New Yorker never thinks of him except to growl at him when the train is late, and to advocate hanging him if there is an accident.

Meantime, what is the engineer of this fastest train in the world doing for the passenger? In the first place, the Chicago flyer is not driven by one but by many engineers. In order to cover the nine hundred and sixty-four miles between the two cities in twenty hours, including nine stops, there are required seven huge engines in relays, driven by seven grimy heroes. A run of less than one hundred and fifty miles is the limit per day for each engine, while three hours of the plunging rush wears out the strongest engineer. Sixty, seventy, eighty miles an hour--what does that mean to the man at the throttle? It means that the six and a half feet drivers turn five times every second and advance one hundred feet. Tic-tic-tic, and the train has run the length of New York's highest steeple. The engineer turns his head for five seconds to look at the gauges, and in that time the terrible iron creature, putting forth the strength of a thousand horses, may have shot past a red signal with its danger warning five hundred feet away. Ten seconds, and one thousand feet are left behind--one-fifth of a mile. Who knows what horrors may lie within that thousand feet! There may be death lurking round a curve, death spreading its arms in a tunnel, and the engineer must see and be responsible for everything. Not only must he note instantly all that is before him, the signals, switches, bridges, the passing trains, and the condition of the rails, but he must act at the same moment, working throttle, air-brakes, or reversing-lever, not as quick as thought, but quicker, for there is no time to think. His muscles must do the right thing automatically under circumstances where a second is an age. In the three hours of his vigil there are ten thousand eight hundred seconds, during each one of which he must watch with the mental alertness of an athlete springing for a flying trapeze from the roof of an amphitheatre, with the courageous self-possession of a matador awaiting the deadly rush of a maddened bull; and far more depends upon the engineer's watching well, because, if he fails by a hair's breadth in coolness or precision of judgment, there may come destruction, not only to himself, but to hundreds of passengers, who, while he stands guard, are perhaps grumbling at the waiters in the dining-car or telling funny stories in the smoker.

In addition to this constant mental tension the engineer on this hurling train has to endure material discomfort, often bodily suffering. The air sweeps back in his face with the breath of a hurricane, blowing smoke and cinders into his eyes. Most people know the intense pain a cinder causes in a man's eye, particularly a hot cinder. The suffering is almost unbearable, and yet, suffering or no suffering, the engineer who gets a cinder in his eye can have no relief until the end of his relay. They shut their lips, these unflinching men, keep looking ahead, and bear it. Long after they leave the cab, the burning sensation in their eyes and eyelids continues, and even persists after hours of sleep. "It seems as if nothing would rest my eyes, sir," said one of the new men after his first week on the flyer. No wonder the eyesight of engineers fails rapidly, no wonder many of them are removed from their positions every year because the examining doctors find them unable to distinguish the signals. The engineer suffers also from the plunging and tossing of the monster locomotive, which bruises his whole body with its violent rocking, and causes sharp pains in the back, particularly where there is any tendency to kidney trouble. One has only to watch these strong men as they stumble down from their engines at the end of a relay, has only to observe their white faces and unsteady gait, and see the condition of physical collapse which follows, to understand what it costs in vitality and grit to give the ease-loving public this incomparable train service.

Thus it is that while the New Yorker gets to Chicago with scarcely more discomfort than if he had remained at home, the same journey wears out seven engineers, all picked men; for many of them who have seen years of service on trains running forty miles an hour, break down entirely when put upon the flyer. So exhausted are these seven engineers by their comparatively short relays that they are obliged to lay off entirely during the following day to recover from the shock. They do not even take the opposite-bound flyer back over their stretch, but return with their engines to their respective starting-points, drawing slower trains. Thus, seven strong men do two days' work every time the flyer runs from New York to Chicago, and seven other men do two days' work every time it runs back. Each engineer works three hours on the flyer, returns home on an easy train, and then rests forty hours before his muscles and nerves and brain are in condition to repeat the operation.

So it results that twenty-eight engineers, one at a time, are required to run this wonderful train from New York to Chicago and back again. Fourteen veterans drive the great engines one way, and fourteen brother veterans drive them the other. Twenty-eight men for a single complete trip of a single train, and they the flower of American engineers, splendid fellows every one of them, with cool heads, stanch hearts, and the experience of years at the throttle. The fact is, these men of iron, who, after all, are made of flesh and blood, have been called upon of late years to bear a mental and physical strain which has increased steadily as the speed rates have advanced. Forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, and now eighty miles an hour, each greater velocity has meant greater pressure, not only on the boilers and cylinders, but on men's brains; has meant greater expenditure, not only of coal and dollars, but of nerve force, until now experts recognize with concern that the limit of human endurance has been almost reached. Science may remove the mechanical difficulties in the way of running a hundred miles an hour, or more, for such a rate has already been predicted; money may buy better axles, wheels, lubricators, and machinery, but where are the men who will run these trains of the future when they are built? Can science breed us a race of giants? Can money purchase an immunity against suffering or eyes that are indestructible? If twenty-eight engineers are required to-day on the Chicago flyer, how many, pray, will be necessary on a train running fifty or one hundred per cent. faster?