Part 7

Three weeks later, when _Her Majesty_ reached St. Pierre, after an exceptionally long passage out of ninety-eight days, a medical man was sent for at once, who was not at all satisfied with the methods of his unprofessional rival. In fact, he announced that Mr. Hodgson would never be able to walk again, and advised the immediate amputation of his injured limb. Mr. Hodgson, however, decided that if he was to return home at all he would do so as a whole man, and flatly refused his consent. Fearing that the operation would be performed against his will, he declined, for days together, to touch any of the food offered him, in case it should have been “doctored” and he would wake up minus his leg. After _Her Majesty_ had unloaded her cargo and taken another on board she sailed for home, and Mr. Hodgson went with her, but his troubles were by no means over, as the ship foundered in a gale and the crew took to the boats. As may well be imagined, Mr. Hodgson, in his enfeebled state, was in no fit condition for such an experience, and during the eight days’ journey in open boats that followed until the island of Santa Cruz was reached his sufferings were beyond description.

Mr. Hodgson went to sea for a year or two after his accident, but as the unskilled treatment of his amateur doctor was not entirely successful the bones of his leg were never properly set. Although the limb was sound enough for all ordinary purposes it was not strong enough to stand the continual strain of a seafaring career, and he accordingly made a fresh start in life as an artist, with what success is well known to our readers.

Mr. Hodgson says, “Until you have known me quite a long time you would not think that I was any the worse for my accident,” and as he fell over a hundred feet the wonder is that he was not killed on the spot. His escape from death was, in fact, little short of miraculous.

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Mr. Norman H. Hardy’s record of travel is certainly as extensive as that of any artist whose work appears in the pages of THE WIDE WORLD--or of any other magazine, for that matter. He was for seven years in Australia as the special artist of the _Sydney Mail_, and in the course of his wanderings has visited the South Sea Islands, New Guinea, Solomon Islands, New Hebrides, New Britain, China, Siam, India, and Egypt. His latest trip was on a roving commission to Central Africa during the early part of this year.

While in Australia Mr. Hardy met with some exciting experiences in connection with the New South Wales sheep-shearing strike in 1894, one which he will always remember as an occasion on which he was lucky to escape with his life. The strike was brought about by the union sheep-shearers, who objected to the employment of “free” or non-union men who were willing to work at a lower rate of pay, and caused wild excitement throughout New South Wales. The unionists struck work in a body and resorted to “picketing,” threatening the free labourers with violence if they persisted in carrying on their work. This affected many thousand men, as in New South Wales sheep-shearing is a trade of such importance that the welfare of the entire State was involved. To such a height did the excitement rise that the bad feeling between the opposing factions grew to alarming proportions, resulting in serious loss of life, and the country rang with reports and rumours of outrages perpetrated by the incensed unionists. The seriousness of the situation was such that the late Sir George Dibbs, then Premier of New South Wales, issued a proclamation in which he threatened to call out the military to quell the riots.

Burrowang station, in New South Wales, was regarded as the stronghold of the unionists, and it was recognised that on the turn of affairs there the ultimate issue of the strike depended.

Mr. Hardy was accordingly dispatched to Burrowang as the special correspondent of the _Sydney Mail_, making the journey in the company of some forty “free” men, under the charge of a Mr. Campbell. The men were a very mixed lot, drawn from all classes of society, and were sent out by a non union pastoral organization to take the places of the shearers who were on strike.

A special train had been chartered, and as, at six o’clock in the evening, the closely-packed cars left Sydney it was evident that there was a feeling of uneasiness among the passengers, for it was well known that the unionists were in strong force at various points along the line. Some of the younger men had undertaken the journey from pure love of adventure, but the older men were mostly out-of-luck miners and shearers who were genuinely in search of work. While on their way to Sydney a number of them had already come into contact, at Circular Quay railway station, with some of the unionists, and a fierce fight had ensued; this fact undoubtedly helped to increase the alarm of the rest of the men in the train.

At Emu Plains station, where the train halted, the less resolute were seized with an attack of panic, and had literally to be driven back into the cars when the train was ready to start again, where they sat in gloomy apprehension of danger as they approached nearer and nearer their destination.

The journey from Sydney to Burrowang is made, in the ordinary course, by train to Forbes, and thence by horse-buggies. But as at the latter place an angry mob of unionists was awaiting the arrival of the “free labourers’” train, it was decided to resort to strategy to avoid the risk of an ugly fight between the two parties.

Accordingly, although, as a blind, coaches and mounted police were ordered to meet the special train at Forbes, the driver was instructed to stop at the small station of Droubalgie, where a second contingent of four-horsed cars, also guarded by mounted police, were waiting to convey the men to Burrowang, thus avoiding the unwelcome attentions of the rioters at Forbes, whose anger, when they found they had been outwitted, speedily brought them into conflict with the police.

The men were in a tremendous state of excitement as the train drew up at the station, and many of them were afraid to take their seats in the buggies; but at length, when it was seen that there were no union men in sight, Mr. Campbell and Mr. Hardy were able to induce them to take their seats. There was scarcely room for all, and the cars were uncomfortably crowded, but Mr. Hardy, owing to the fact that he was popularly supposed to be a detective from Sydney, was given a box-seat. Just as they were starting two horsemen, who turned out to be union men who had got wind of the “blacklegs’” arrival, appeared on the scene. They tried hard to induce the “free” men to join them, but without success, and finally galloped off to Forbes, after having announced their intention of informing the waiting crowds of the arrival of the train at Droubalgie and bringing them in pursuit. The buggies containing Mr. Hardy’s party thereupon started off with all speed, led by the mounted police. The going was bad, frequently over long stretches of quagmire and marsh land, occasional stoppages being necessary when one or other of the coaches became bogged, sinking axle-deep in the mud and requiring terrific exertion to move it.

Another uncomfortable night was spent in the bush, the men camping out by the side of the coaches, strict silence being enforced in order not to attract the attention of the unionists. Following an early and meagre breakfast a start was made, and after a journey of some hours the men became easier in their minds, as it was thought that the pursuit had been abandoned. Soon after, however, as the coaches emerged from a belt of timber and scrub into open ground, it was seen that a number of unionists were waiting for them. The strikers were all mounted and at once charged, yelling fiercely, and started pelting the coaches with stones. It looked as though there was bound to be serious trouble, but the mounted police, with characteristic promptitude, drew their carbines and prepared to open fire.

The attitude of the troopers had its effect on the strikers, who, after a slight show of resistance, drew off and allowed the coaches to proceed on their way. Some few of them, however, had managed to get to close quarters, and hard knocks were exchanged, resulting in injuries to both sides, happily none of them severe.

As it turned out, this was the only real excitement that occurred during the journey, and a few hours later Mr. Hardy and the rest of the party made their entry into Burrowang.

A meeting was at once held at which both sides were well represented, Mr. Hardy attending in the ranks of the non-unionists. The conference provoked a considerable amount of bad feeling, and was broken up in wild disorder by the strikers when they found they could not induce the new arrivals to join them. The presence of the police, however, prevented any serious fighting, only one man being badly injured.

Mr. Hardy soon discovered that he was a marked man, as it was thought that he was either a detective or else an official of the non-unionist organization, and for the next few days it was only by seeking police protection that he avoided bodily harm at the hands of the mob. The whole place was in a suppressed state of excitement owing to the attitude of the strikers, who, it was evident, were liable to break out at any moment, and neither life nor property was regarded as safe. Several attempts were made to burn down the wool-sheds, but happily they were in every case discovered before serious damage was done. Under police supervision the new men started work, but it was at once apparent that they were, in most cases, absolutely unfitted for the work of sheep-shearing, and as the season was by now well advanced skilled labour was soon at a premium. The situation was critical, and at length the union men were approached and asked to resume work at their own terms. This offer they unanimously refused unless every “free” man was discharged.

At length, having treated the strike from every possible point of view, Mr. Hardy decided to return to Sydney, and accordingly booked his place on the next mail-coach running to Forbes, as it was not possible to get a conveyance to Droubalgie on his way back. The strike was still at its height, and the route to Forbes and that town itself were strongly held by the unionists. Mr. Hardy was prepared for an exciting journey, as all coaches were subjected to the closest scrutiny, and he himself was suspected of non-unionist sympathies.

When the Forbes coach drew up at Burrowang for the mails, and the coachman discovered that he was to have as a passenger Mr. Hardy, who had taken an active part in the strike, he was in an exceedingly perturbed state of mind. In spite of his fears, however, the start was made quietly enough.

The day’s journey through bush and scrub proved uneventful, and towards evening the coach drew up at a small bush station, where a halt was made for the night.

In the morning three more passengers put in an appearance--all non-union men--and also a new driver, who was to take the reins as far as Forbes, where, the latest report had it, the strikers were in an extremely dangerous mood. The new driver, when he had taken stock of his passengers, appeared to be even more terror-stricken than his predecessor. He warned them that there was likely to be serious trouble, as the only practicable road took them close to the unionist camp just outside Forbes. He was also particularly anxious to know whether any of the party possessed unionist passes. These were simply small scraps of paper scrawled over in a peculiar manner in blue pencil; but, as they enabled their holders to pass through the camps without molestation, they were extremely useful, and Mr. Hardy remembered with regret that he had been offered one at Burrowang. Attaching little importance to the offer at the time, however, he had declined it.

As the coach neared Forbes two mounted union men were seen, who on the approach of the vehicle at once turned about and galloped back, with the object, it was thought, of informing the strikers of its arrival. Their action proved too much for two of the passengers, who promptly insisted on being put down. The journey was then resumed with Mr. Hardy and the driver on the box, and the remaining passenger inside, cowering under the seat.

As the camp came in sight an outburst of shouting gave ample proof of the hostile attitude of the strikers, a number of whom at once made a rush to meet the coach.

A short distance along the road was a bridge spanning a small creek, and at this point a strong guard of strikers was posted to hold up all traffic. On previous occasions their method of procedure had been to haul out any passengers who were without passes, rob them of everything they possessed, and, after treating them with the utmost brutality, set them to work in a menial capacity about the camp. The driver of the coach, when he found that he was in actual danger, plucked up his courage and, lashing his horses into a gallop, made a dash for the bridge at a furious pace.

Mr. Hardy was immediately recognised by the foremost of the strikers, who, with hoarse cries of rage, shouted to the men on the bridge to stop the coach at all costs.

The terrific rate at which the horses were travelling showed plainly that it was the driver’s intention to ride down any opposition, and this action provoked such an outburst of fury among the mob that it was perfectly clear that if they did manage to stop the coach both he and Mr. Hardy, even if they escaped with their lives, would be treated with savage violence.

Mr. Hardy’s presence on the coach--it will be remembered that the men suspected him of being a detective--had the same effect on the strikers as a red rag on a bull, and with an ungovernable fury of rage and at imminent risk of their lives they literally hurled themselves at the horses’ heads, meanwhile calling on the driver, with the vilest imprecations, to halt.

By way of reply the Jehu applied the whip to his team still more vigorously, yelling at the same time at the top of his voice that anyone who dared to stop the Royal Mail would get ten years for his trouble. His threat, however, was ignored, and presently the sharp crack of a revolver rang out. Mr. Hardy felt a bullet whiz past his head, missing him by inches. The shot was followed the next instant by another, and it was only the celerity with which he ducked down to avoid the bullet that saved his life.

The sound of the firing caused the frightened horses to rear and kick, knocking down the men who had seized their bridles and almost stopping the coach.

The check, however, was only momentary, and as the horses plunged forward again some of the more excited strikers, who, with wild curses, had endeavoured to climb the side of the coach to get at Mr. Hardy, were flung back into the roadway.

The panic-stricken horses in their mad struggles had dragged the coach across the road, and nearly over the side of the bridge into the creek below, but the driver, applying his whip freely, soon had his team under control again, and, scattering the crowd to right and left, the flying coach crossed the bridge, followed by a volley of sticks, bottles, and stones. Mr. Hardy, crouching low over the seat, was struck with such violence by a brick on the left shoulder that he at first thought it was fractured, but happily he escaped further injury. With the horses maddened and excited, the coach dashed at a furious pace along the short stretch of road to Forbes, where it drew up at a small hotel. The coachman was white to the lips from the strain, and the inside passenger alighted trembling with fright, while Mr. Hardy confesses that he felt more than a little shaky.

A large crowd soon collected, anxious to learn the cause of the excitement, and the hotel-keeper, when he heard the driver’s story, promptly dragged Mr. Hardy indoors, telling him, if he valued his life, to keep out of sight. The presence of the police prevented an attack being made on the place, and when things had quietened down a little our artist was able to slip out unnoticed. After another coach ride, this time a peaceful one, he made his way back by rail to Sydney.

In the end the unionists gained the day at Burrowang, going back to work on their own terms, and thus virtually ending the strike throughout New South Wales.

* * * * *

Mr. Inglis Sheldon-Williams is an artist with a grievance. He complains that, although he has travelled a great deal and roughed it in various parts of the world--and for so young a man his record is remarkable--he has not met with a single first-class adventure of a really hair-raising nature. That he ought to have done so is an obvious fact, he says, and, indeed, on several occasions he has been perilously near as much excitement as would last any man a lifetime. In fact, it may be said that he has been out looking for trouble most of his life, and he is to be accounted lucky in that he has never found it.

Early in his career he emigrated to Canada, where for some years he lived the rough-and-tumble life and endured the manifold hardships that fall to the lot of a farmer in the back-woods. At the call of art, however, he returned to England to study, but with the longing for adventure strong upon him he later enlisted in the Imperial Yeomanry and took part in the South African Campaign, where he saw some considerable amount of fighting.

When the war between Japan and Russia broke out, Mr. Sheldon-Williams was early in the field as the special artist for the _Sphere_, and was in China and Manchuria during the earlier stages of the campaign. He has also visited India and attended the Durbar.

On numerous occasions he has congratulated himself that he was at last placed in a critical situation, only to finish up with an anti-climax.

When he was in Canada, for instance, he lost himself on the prairie while in charge of a team of oxen. A terrific blizzard came on, and, as the snow was absolutely blinding and the temperature many degrees below freezing-point, all sorts of unpleasant things might easily have happened. Mr. Sheldon-Williams had visions of wandering about for days in the snow, starving and frostbitten, with a mere possibility of rescue when he was in the last stages of exhaustion. But although _he_ was lost, his oxen were not, and they took him safely home.

On another occasion he attempted to rescue a duck from the depths of a well, but fell in himself--into sixteen feet of water. Any other man placed in this situation would have been drowned without any bother at all. But Mr. Sheldon-Williams had not been in the water more than a few minutes before he was discovered and hauled out by the united efforts of his mother and sister.

It was just the same in South Africa--no luck at all, simply a lot of dramatic situations which fizzled out miserably. On one occasion Mr. Sheldon-Williams’s company occupied a farm-house near Johannesburg, and the very night on which he was absent, having ridden into town to deposit some money in the bank, was the one selected by the Boers to attack the place. His bed was close up against a window through which the Boers fired volley after volley. Had Mr. Sheldon-Williams occupied it as usual, he would undoubtedly have been shot!

On another occasion he got leave of absence from a patrol, as the neighbourhood was supposed to be clear of the enemy, in order to do some sketching. The patrol was, of course, ambushed, and the man who took his place shot dead.

Another piece of particularly bad luck occurred when Mr. Sheldon-Williams’s troop was attacking Klip River Kopje. The Boers had actually been seen on the ridge, and in the morning he was one of the men selected for scouting purposes. As he rode up the hill it certainly looked as though he had a fine chance of figuring in the next list of killed and wounded. But, as Mr. Sheldon-Williams says, “It was not my fault that the Boers had left overnight!”

At Diamond Hill it was just the same. A mere handful of Yeomanry, Mr. Sheldon-Williams among them, held an exposed position throughout the night in the face of the enemy, determined to do or die. As it happened they did neither, for the next day they were told that there had been an armistice on all the time.

Before Pretoria Mr. Sheldon-Williams was in the firing-line, which was strung out on the left of the advance. The Boer shell-fire had set the grass alight, depriving them of anything like adequate cover, and in the open the rifle-fire from the Boers was nothing more or less than a leaden hailstorm, but he was not even wounded. Presently the order to withdraw was given, but, having fallen asleep, he failed to notice it, and was the last man to leave. As he thus offered himself as a suitable target for a little individual sniping, a Boer marksman took careful aim at him and fired. He was a remarkably good shot, but, needless to say, he missed Mr. Sheldon-Williams, who at that precise moment stooped down to pick up a discarded rifle, the bullet passing close over his head! All things considered, therefore, Mr. Sheldon-Williams has certainly received exceptional treatment at the hands of Dame Fortune, but so long as she continues to serve him in the same way it is difficult to see that he has any just cause for complaint.

_Hunting the Hippopotamus._

BY LIEUTENANT PAUL DURAND.

The hippopotamus--that enormous pachydermatous creature whose shape reminds us of the antediluvian monsters--was formerly met with over a large part of Africa, but it has been so pitilessly pursued by hunters that it is every day becoming scarcer and scarcer. Within a hundred years, perhaps, the hippopotamus will be numbered among the vanished curiosities of the animal world. In this article a French sportsman describes his exciting experiences while in quest of “river horses,” and furnishes a number of very impressive photographs.

Not many months ago the habitués of the Jardin des Plantes, the Paris “Zoo,” were much astonished to notice that one of their favourites--Jack, the hippopotamus--displayed signs of unwonted irritation. The change in the animal’s temper had been quite sudden. Hitherto Jack had been extraordinarily docile; now, whenever it became necessary to make him change his quarters, either for the purpose of cleaning the cage or to show him off to better advantage to visitors, he yielded with manifest surliness.

Then there came a day when the keeper in whose charge Jack had been for a great number of years found it quite impossible to induce the animal to leave his bath for the open enclosure, beyond the bars of which a score or two of nurses and children were eagerly waiting to feast their eyes upon him. The more insistent the keeper grew, the more did it become evident that the great, unwieldy beast was determined to try conclusions with its human tormentor. On his side the keeper was equally obstinate, but blandishment being clearly of no avail he resorted to more convincing measures.