Part 6

An hour and five minutes had passed when the secretary and three other members were found to be the sole survivors. Then the unexpected happened. The secretary was seen to be in distress. His efforts to entertain a guest of the club--I had been given the honour of sitting beside him--had diverted his attention from his difficult task; and once more the bell made itself heard as he laid down his pipe, unable to respond to the judge’s request of “Smoke, please.”

One hour and ten minutes had run their course, and only two men were competing. The excitement became intense as the members gathered round the two valiant champions to get a close view and offer encouragement to the one or the other. To outward appearance both were calm and confident. They allowed the tiniest cloud of smoke to escape at intervals from their pipes, and it looked as if these motionless and imperturbable men might survive long enough to eclipse the famous club-record achieved by a champion who succeeded in making sixty grains of tobacco last as long as one hundred and twenty minutes.

But suddenly one of the rivals became agitated. He was beginning to realize that the end of his resources was last approaching, for the spark in his pipe became more and more difficult to keep alive. Anxiously he blew into the stem, but only with the wasteful result of dispersing a tiny particle of fire, the last that remained, as it proved, for the pipe was empty. Sadly he laid down his clay, leaving the victory to his opponent. The latter smoked on with an unmoved countenance, allowing not the smallest sign of elation to escape him, as he continued to foster, by an almost imperceptible inhalation, the tiny spark in the clay bowl which had now become the sole object of attention in the crowded room. A hasty movement on the part of the victor as if to settle himself more comfortably in his chair to prepare for a long-dreamt-of record, a slightly more animated whiff to counteract the effect of this incautious action, and the mischief was done--the smoker drew an extinguished pipe from his mouth. He had won, sure enough, but only by twelve short seconds. “One hour twenty-one minutes and thirty-three seconds,” announced the judge. “And to think that I might have held on another half-hour with a little more care!” sighed the disappointed winner.

Then followed the ceremony of presenting the prizes, the successful candidates being allowed to make their choice of rewards in the order in which they were placed. A bread-basket, a pocket-knife, a flower-vase, and other useful and ornamental souvenirs were handed over to the fortunate ones, after which victors and vanquished assembled once more around the long table to enjoy a pipe in the ordinary way, without restraint or restriction.

Nowhere in Belgium are competitions of the kind I have described conducted in a more correct and business-like manner than in Bruges; in fact, the “Brugsche Rookersclub” can be considered in every respect as authoritative and exemplary in matters pertaining to the world of “pipenrookers,” as the smoker of the pipe is called in Flanders. It is among the quaint Flemish people that smoking clubs and smoking competitions enjoy more widespread popularity than in any other part of King Leopold’s little dominion, and nearly every village, no matter how small, can boast of a “Rookersmaatschappij,” which almost unpronounceable word is the equivalent for what we term “smokers’ club.” In the country districts it is the custom to compete for money prizes, and to decorate the winner with some floral adornment, which is pinned on his breast as a visible proof of the honour he has achieved. Many of the _estaminets_, which thrive in countless numbers in thirsty Flanders, endeavour to stimulate the desire of customers for refreshment by organizing a “Prijskamp in Het Rooken,” and offering prizes to those who best understand the art of making a little tobacco go a very long way.

Smoking for prizes is a curious way of killing time and may not appeal to the Anglo-Saxon, who prefers to devote his leisure to more active and health-giving occupations, but it possesses certain advantages over other pastimes which must be taken into consideration. It is not costly, it is not dangerous, it is sociable, and, as my kind hosts of the “Brugsche Rookersclub” were at pains to convince me, it is a form of rivalry from which much excitement can be gained. But above all it teaches one the use, as distinguished from the abuse, of tobacco, which is undoubtedly the best _raison d’être_ for smokers’ clubs and smokers’ contests in a country whose army of smokers forms no less than a third of its entire population, and whose annual consumption of tobacco is six and a quarter pounds per head. This is more than three times the amount consumed in the United Kingdom, and six times as much as in Italy. In fact, little Belgium’s appreciation of tobacco reaches limits unattained in any other part of the world.

The Adventures of “Wide World” Artists.

BY J. SYDNEY BOOT.

It has always been our rule, in order to obtain accurate pictures, to entrust the illustration of our stories only to artists who have actually visited or lived in the various countries referred to, and are consequently familiar with the conditions of life prevailing there. The result of this custom is that our artistic staff is composed of men who have travelled extensively, roughing it in many remote parts of the world. In the course of their journeyings our illustrators have themselves met with exciting and unusual experiences, some of the most interesting of which are here given, each artist depicting his own adventure.

II.

Mr. Charles M. Sheldon, the well-known war artist, who has done splendid work for THE WIDE WORLD, has had several exciting experiences in the course of his career. He was the special artist for _Black and White_ during the Dongola Campaign in 1896, and received the Khedivial medal with two clasps awarded to the correspondents. He went through the Spanish-American War in Cuba, was dispatched to South Africa at the time of the Jameson Raid, and has also represented his paper in India. Mr. Sheldon has a studio full of interesting souvenirs of his various campaigns.

It was during the Dongola Campaign that Mr. Sheldon met with his most exciting adventure, and the fact that he is alive to-day is more owing to good fortune, he says, than to any skill on his part on that occasion.

Mr. Sheldon joined the column advancing on Dongola under the command of the Sirdar, then Sir Herbert Kitchener, at Wadi Halfa, and was present at the Battle of Firket. After the battle, and while the railway was being brought up, the army camped for a couple of months at Kosheh, where, in addition to the terrible heat and sandstorms, cholera broke out, and threatened at one time to annihilate the camp. When the railway was completed as far as Kosheh, the force marched across an arm of the desert to Hafir, where the gunboats drove the dervishes from their forts with such loss that Dongola fell after very little resistance. The country being cleared of the enemy, and the war for that year at an end, the correspondents made hasty preparations for their journey to Cairo on their way back to England. In order to reach rail-head, they decided to travel by boat down the Nile to Firket, Mr. Sheldon and Mr. Seppings Wright, the artist of the _Illustrated London News_, arranging to make the journey together. Having sold their horses and camels and discharged their native grooms, with the exception of one camel-man, they packed their baggage and war-trophies on board a boat--purchased from Mr. H. A. Gwynne, now editor of the _Standard_--and started down the river. They expected to accomplish the journey in about six days and nights, and for the first three days the conditions were delightful, as, floating mainly with the swift current, they made rapid progress, enjoying to the full their enforced ease after the hard work of the campaign. As they approached the Hannock, or third cataract of the Nile, however, the voyage became more exciting, and extreme caution was necessary on the part of the pilot in charge of the boat. The Hannock cataract is, indeed, a formidable menace to navigation, consisting as it does of about sixty miles of shelving ledges of rock and groups of huge boulders, over and among which the water rushes headlong in a series of whirlpools and rapids. It was here that several of the boats taking part in Sir Garnet Wolseley’s campaign were overturned and many lives lost.

The first few miles of the cataract were negotiated in safety in the early morning, and Mr. Sheldon had just finished making a sketch of the rapids when sudden and dire disaster overtook the party. The boat was a stoutly built, three-quarter-decked craft, with one huge wing-like sail, and the pilot had given the sheet into the care of the camel-man, who, to save himself trouble, tied it, unobserved, to one of the seats. Finding it necessary to tack across the river, to take the boat through a safe channel between the rocks, the pilot, to bring the sail over, shouted to the man to let go the rope. As it was securely fastened to the seat, however, he was unable to do so, and in an instant, as the strong wind caught the tacking boat, it capsized, flinging its occupants with startling suddenness into the water.

Mr. Sheldon sank, but, after what seemed to him an interminable time, rose to the surface, and, dashing the water from his eyes, found himself battling with the full force of the seething current, which threatened every instant to hurl him against the rocks. He realized immediately that he would have a hard fight for his life, and at once struck out for the boat, which was floating on her side some distance off. The only other alternative was to swim to the nearest shore, but, as that was a quarter of a mile or more away, Mr. Sheldon knew that he would be unable to reach it alive in such a terrific current.

After a desperate struggle he gained the boat and pulled himself up astride the gunwale. Mr. Seppings Wright had also managed to reach the boat, which, under their combined weight, was floating but six inches out of the water; while the pilot and camel-man hung on to the mast and spar--all of them looking, as Mr. Sheldon says, more like half-drowned rats than anything else he can think of.

It was quite evident that their position was critical, their one hope being to cling to the boat, which was being carried down the Nile at an alarming rate. At any moment it might go to pieces among the great masses of rock and huge basalt boulders which projected from the surface of the river throughout the entire length of the cataract. Indeed, their chances of ever setting foot again on dry land appeared to be well-nigh hopeless. It was only with extreme difficulty that they managed to cling to the little craft as it plunged and kicked in the swirling eddies of the cataract, and, once at the mercy of the furious torrent, they knew full well that nothing short of a miracle could save them.

Both men discarded most of their clothing, for, as the wreck carried them down the smooth slides over the ledges of rock--for all the world like weirs--the boat was continually being sucked under the surface of the water. When this happened and they were unable to retain their hold, it was only by swimming with all their strength that they were able to regain the boat when she rose again. Their baggage and cherished war trophies had all been thrown into the water, and most of them went straight to the bottom. But here and there they could see saddles, valises, boxes, helmets, and other articles bobbing about in the current until hurled against the rocks and destroyed, or detained far behind in eddies.

On and on the boat carried them, seemingly endowed with human intelligence as it dodged the rocks and found a way for itself through the intricate channels of the cataract, while the shipwrecked crew could but cling to the gunwale with all their strength and trust to Providence for their ultimate safety.

In this way mile after mile of the cataract was passed, with Mr. Sheldon and his companions hoping against hope that the current would take them near enough to the shore to swim for it. In this, however, they were disappointed, for their craft kept well in the middle of the stream. Presently, moreover, they drifted into another and worse rapid, where, caught suddenly in a huge eddy, they were carried round and round until the boat, after twisting and ducking in a manner that threatened to break it up, incontinently sank beneath them--for good and all, it seemed. This time it was a swim for life, and they were all but exhausted when, dazed and spluttering, they succeeded in once more regaining the boat, which had come up, in this instance, behind them. The principal danger they feared was that the boat, which was continually swinging round, would drift broad-side on to the rocks and break up completely.

Again and again, as they continued their mad career, a huge boulder would loom up threateningly from out a smother of foam, and it looked as though nothing could save the wreck from final disaster, but invariably the self-navigated vessel would win a way for itself, at times actually shaving the very side of the rock.

During their passage down the cataract the artists saw several native villages and also some large ghyassas (native boats) drawn up on the bank, but their frantic signals for help were either absolutely ignored, or the natives, in their usual way, expended their energy in urging one another to do something until the capsized boat was far out of sight.

Hour after hour they raced along--sometimes for a mile or two in comparatively easy water, but more often struggling to retain their hold as the vessel rolled and pitched in the rapids.

The afternoon waned at last, and with evening came a welcome abatement of the sun’s pitiless rays, but still the anxious journey continued, with current and rapid in long succession. The strength of the two weary artists and the natives had by this time all but given out, and, thoroughly exhausted and battered as they were, it was evident that if they did not reach the shore before the rapidly-approaching darkness fell it would certainly be all up with them. Then, providentially, a curve in the river took the current close into the bank, carrying the boat to within some thirty yards of the shore. The castaways realized at once that this was a golden opportunity, but in their weak state it was exceedingly doubtful if they would be able to swim to the bank. As luck would have it, however, a number of natives appeared on the spot. They had been watching the capsized craft with evident curiosity, and now, in response to urgent signals for help, they put off to the assistance of Mr. Sheldon and his companions. They easily reached the boat, bringing with them the curious, wedge-shaped floats, constructed of reed-like sticks of ambatch wood, which they use in crossing the Nile. With the timely aid of this primitive form of river craft, Mr. Sheldon, Mr. Seppings Wright, and the natives reached the bank in safety. Their voyage down the dangerous Hannock cataract on the side of a derelict boat, lasting as it did from nine o’clock in the morning until sunset, in the course of which they were carried through some sixty miles of rock-strewn rapids, is, it is safe to say, unique as a record of endurance and long-drawn-out peril, fraught with possibilities of the most alarming description.

On reaching the shore they sank down dead-beat on the bank. Their condition was most wretched, such little clothing as they retained consisting of soaked and tattered rags. They had no means of making a fire, which they badly needed, as, with the setting of the sun, the terrific heat of the day was succeeded by the chill night air of the desert. To make matters worse, the natives either could not or would not give them anything to eat, and the only food they had of their own was a tin of preserved ginger, found in a valise which one of the natives rescued from the current.

The night, as may well be imagined, was passed in misery and discomfort, but with the morning the welcome discovery was made that directly opposite, a mile away on the farther bank, was one of the hospital camps established by the Egyptian field force. Mr. Sheldon thereupon bribed a native at the cost of a razor, also found in the valise, to swim the river and obtain help for the party.

Now, at length, their troubles were ended. The commandant of the camp signalled to a steamer, which carried them over to the other side, where the officer provided them with dry clothes and what they most appreciated, comfortable beds to sleep in.

* * * * *

There are but few artists, even marine artists, who have actually followed the sea as a profession. A well-known name among the few who have done so is that of Mr. E. S. Hodgson, whose strong, vigorous illustrations of seafaring adventures are a familiar feature in The Wide World. A casual glance at his drawings is sufficient to show that he has an intimate acquaintance with the life and customs of a sailor, and they are executed with a realistic touch that could not be attained except by personal experience.

Mr. Hodgson, while on a voyage, once met with a serious accident which nearly cost him his life; and it was entirely owing to the effects of this mishap that he gave up the sea and decided to become an artist. Mr. Hodgson has provided us with the following account of what happened to him for inclusion in our series of “Adventures of WIDE WORLD Artists.” His ship, the barque _Her Majesty_, six hundred tons register, sailed from the London Docks bound for the West Indies with a cargo of bricks and rice for the prisons in Martinique.

For some weeks nothing out of the ordinary routine of life aboard ship occurred, _Her Majesty_ bowling along with a favourable wind and making good headway.

The north-east trades had only just been reached, however, when bad weather was encountered, storms and squalls succeeding each other day after day.

“All hands on deck,” was the order one bleak, dark night when a sudden blustering gale arose, and Mr. Hodgson, with the rest of the crew who were keeping their watch below, tumbled up, none too pleased at the prospect of a night on deck instead of in their bunks.

“Jump up there, my lad, and make fast the fore-royal,” was the skipper’s order to our artist.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he replied, as he made for the foot of the shrouds. The gale was blowing at a terrific rate, causing the ship to plunge and roll heavily, and Mr. Hodgson’s task would have been a dangerous one even for a much more experienced sailor. The order had been given, however, and up he had to go.

It was a perilous journey up into the blackness of the night, and he had literally to feel his way rope by rope, hanging on by hands and toes. The oscillation of the ship was so violent that he expected every moment to be flung into the sea, while the thudding of the clewed-up sails threatened to carry the masts overboard. Higher and higher he climbed until he reached the top-gallant rigging, where the fury of the gale literally pinned him to the ropes, but at length he managed to crawl out on to the yard. The foot-ropes were shallow, making it necessary for him to kneel on them, but once out on the yard Mr. Hodgson applied himself to the work of securing the sail with all possible speed, a task which the pitch-darkness of the night and the plunging of the ship rendered one of extreme difficulty, perched as he was over a hundred feet above the level of the deck. He had bent over to gather the madly-slatting canvas when suddenly it bellied up over the yard and bore him irresistibly backwards with it. In a flash he saw his danger and, with a frantic clutch, tried to grasp the sail--missed it--and realized that he was falling! The accident had happened so suddenly that for the moment he was unconscious of the full extent of his peril; his brain was unable to take in the terrible significance of what had occurred, and the situation seemed unreal--a passing freak of the imagination that would presently be dispelled. Then the blackness seemed to lessen slightly and, coming slowly towards him, he could see the top-gallant yard and the men on it busy furling the sail. Mr. Hodgson says the sensation he experienced was that of floating easily and gently in the air; he did not seem to be actually falling. Next the upper topsail yard appeared to pass him, brushing gently by him on its way “up.” Then, with a vague sense of wonder, he noticed that he could make out clearly all the details of the deck, which seemed to be rushing up towards him with a gigantic leap. At once, as his brain cleared, the appalling truth dawned on him that he was falling down, down, through the darkness, and with a feeling of unutterable horror he realized that, powerless to help himself, he must, in the course of the next few seconds, be dashed to his death on the deck, or to an equally certain fate in the roaring seas alongside.

The various objects now began to lose their shape and the darkness closed in again; then came oblivion, for, mercifully, Mr. Hodgson lost consciousness before he reached the deck.

“Poor laddie! I doot he’s gone. This will be sore news to send home.” This remark, coming to him as though from far away, was Mr. Hodgson’s first intimation that he was still alive. He recognised the skipper’s voice, and, opening his eyes, discovered that he was lying on the deck, surrounded by the entire ship’s crew, with the captain bending over him. He was in such frightful agony, however, that he promptly fainted away again, and did not recover consciousness for a week. He then found out that his leg was fractured in three places, and as the ship was three weeks’ journey from the nearest port, and there was no doctor on board, Mr. Hodgson experienced a long period of excruciating agony, and, in fact, thought that he was dying.

What doctoring he did get was of an exceedingly rough and ready description, and was provided by one of the fo’c’s’le hands who had at one time had his own leg fractured, and on the strength of this claimed to know all about broken bones. It may have been that he was specially gifted in this respect, or it may have been sheer luck, but he certainly made a very fair job of it, all things considered.