The Man who became a Savage. A story of our own times. With ... illustrations by C. B. Hudson

Front matter

"IT WAS A SMOKE-BEGRIMED HUMAN HEAD." (Page 24.) THE MAN WHO BECAME A SAVAGE A STORY OF OUR OWN TIMES BY WILLIAM T. HORNADAY AUTHOR OF "TWO YEARS IN THE JUNGLE,*1 ETC. WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES B. HUDSON " O, wad some Pow'r the gif tie gie us To see oursels as others see us ! " LONDON : B. F. Stevens, 4, Trafalgar Square. 1896. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. TO MY DEAR DAUGHTER, Helen %. §to«wactag, IN THE HOPE AND BELIEF THAT SHE WILL DEVELOP INTO ONE OF Civilization's finest products, — a typical American Woman, — this story is dedicated BY ITS AUTHOR.

Preface

. Even in offering a plain and simple story of our own times, I can not resist the temptation to pause for the usual word in confidence with the Reader before the curtain is rung up. This page is, to me, the most important in the whole book, for it is the author's only opportunity to speak frankly with his Reader, and possibly get in touch with him. Some men who write do not care to know their readers personally ; but I would it were possible to know all mine, and to know what they think of it ! Ten years ago, when a certain story of travel was received by the public with great kindness, the gratitude of its writer was so unbounded that he resolved to respect the rights of good nature, and make books no more. He asserted then, and he does now, that Public Favor is not a common cart horse, to be loaded down and literally worked to death by every author to whom it is loaned.

A thoroughbred of such high degree should be used only on special occasions, and even then with the utmost care. This note, therefore, is to assure the patient and long suffering Reader that the writer hereof considers this a special occasion. The party of the second part honestly believes that he has a story to tell ; and if its perusal will only yield

PREFACE.

. IV the Reader one-half the enjoyment the author found in writ ing it, its existence will be amply justified. The full fact is, however, that so far as the first draft was concerned, the story practically wrote itself. This may be called — if read, — a Story with a Purpose; which is unimportant, even if true. I am quite willing to let it go at that. In spite of all that is now said to the contrary, I am very sure that the taste of the lovers of fiction generally has not so greatly changed for the worse since the days of Dickens, and Charles Reade, and "Uncle Tom's Cabin." It is the authors and publishers who have changed ! There are some publishers who seem to think our people want no novels whatever save mild and colorless time-killers, be longing to the great order of Invertebrates. Is this true or not?

Intemperate people may urge that my story leans toward the side of temperance. Possibly it does ; but, unfortunately, that position is unavoidable in any story which attempts to show how a decent, moral savage regards the curious crazy quilt we call Civilization when he sees it for the first time. W. T. H. 325 Humboldt Parkway, Buffalo, N. Y., Dec. 1, 1895. CONTENTS.

Part I

— Slings and Arrows. CHAPTER. PAGE I. The Blues of a Business Man I II. A Breeze Blows in from Borneo, ... . 12 III. The Tales and Trophies of a Collector, . . 20 IV. The Head of a Head-Hunter 24 V. Why He Became Disgruntled 29 VI. An Absconder Is Held-Up in the Wild West, 38 VII. An "Off Day" with a Great Nation, ... 42 VIII. A Woman in the Case 48 IX. A Tussle with Typhoid 58 X. A Case of Law Without Justice 68 XI. The Story of a Woman and a Reptile, ... 76 XII. A Case of Justice Without Law 84 XIII. At the House Amongst the Cottonwoods, . 95 XIV. A Wedding and an Unbidden Guest, . . . 101 PART H.— as Others See Us. XV. The Savage Who Feared Civilization, . . . 108 XVI. The Sphinx of Borneo, 116 XVII. The Rocks Prepare to Take the Green Veil, . 119 XVIIL. Seeking a Key to the Unknown 128 XIX.

A Pioneer of Civilization 137 XX. Canal Street in Borneo, 144 XXI. Si Lobong Makes a Formal Call 153 XXII. Commerce as She Is Done 160 XXIII. The Success of Mr. Bugsby as an Interpreter, 170 XXIV. An Old Demand in a New Country, ... 178 XXV. Blood, and Blood Brotherhood CONTENTS. VI CHAPTER. PAGE. XXVI. Elinor Rock Hears a Macedonian Cry, . . . 189 XXVII. An Interference with Commercial Privileges, 193 XXVIII. Rajah Talawong Receives a Gift 198 XXIX. The White Man Receives an Invitation, . . 206 XXX. A Dyak Inquisition 212 XXXI. The Country of the Dohong Head-Hunters, . 222 XXXII. Three Hundred and Forty Skulls 230 XXXIII. England and America Join Forces 236 XXXIV. A Scheme to Develop Dohong 246 XXXV. An Apostle of Prevention 252 XXXVI. An Old Man's Curse 258 XXXVII. Pictures from Journals of Civilization, . . . 263 XXXVIII. A Land Beyond Belief 273 XXXIX. Outings Worth Having 278 XL. A Fight with a Giant Satyr 281 XLI. The Invasion of Isaac Johnson, 291

Part III

— THE GOSPEL OF SELF-DEFENSE. XLII. Wanted. — One Hundred Winchesters, . . . 299 XLIII. The Fight at the Suspension Bridge, . . . 307 XLIV. The Omen Bird Cries on the Right 314 XLV. The Battle on the Bamboo River 318 XLVI. A Masked Battery 326 XLVII. The Awful Death Sentence of Hervey Bugsby, 330 XLVIII. The Man in the Bamboo Cage 337 XLIX. The Fate of Little Pete 345 L. Mr. Cumberson Becomes a Promoter, . . . 356 LI. The Winchesters Arrive on Schedule Time, . 362 LII. Two Envoys Encounter a Bluff 369 LIII. Hervey Bugsby Makes His Last Request, 383 LIV. The Limitations of a Limited Company, . . 392 LV. Tuan Batoe's Great Victory 400 LV1. The Survival of the Fittest ILLUSTRATIONS. BY CHARLES B. HUDSON. Faces Page. " It Was a Smoke-Begrimed Human Head." — Frontispiece. An Absconder Is Held Up in the Wild West 42 " All Night Long She Worked Over Him," .... 62 "She Aimed Full at His Breast, and Fired," .... 90 Rajah Talawong Forging a New Sword no Mr. Hervey Bugsby, Pioneer of Civilization, .... 140 The Dyak Widow Makes a Formal Call 1 56 " He Was Just in Time to Receive the Madman's Charge," 184 Rock Sends a Gift to the Savage Who Feared Civilization, 204 Rock exhibits a Theatrical Poster, to Amuse the Savages, 270 The Struggle with the Big Orang-Utan, 286 " The Dohong Warriors Swarmed Through the Gap," 316 " Don't Let Him Murder Me, Mr. Rock !

" . . . . 324 Rock and Bangs Teaching the Dyaks How to Shoot, . . 368 " My Gawd ! I've Suffered Enough ! " 388 " Cumberson Snatched a Carbine from the Malay Who Stood Nearest." 400 MA PS. Page. Mr. Rock's Map of a Portion of Dohong 237 Cumberson's Fort on the Bamboo River. (Fac-simile of original plan.) 31

Chapter I. The Blues Of

A BUSINESS MAN. NCE there was a man who failed to har monize with his environment, and had the brazen audacity to become disgusted with Civilization ! Although he started out to be a model American citizen, a jolly good fellow, and a philanthropist besides, he had a very narrow escape from degenerating into what this world would call a crank ; and, indeed, there be those who say he escaped crankism not at all. He lived in the great, but not wholly good, city of Bosiana, New York, rather more than half way up Columbia Street, and possibly a trifle too near the maddening crowd. His house is now called old-fashioned, because it was not built yesterday, and therefore is not strictly modern ; and he was a trifle old-fashioned himself. It would not be a desirable house for the newly-acquired wealth and dignity of a hard-working Alderman, who in ten years' time saves a quarter of a million out of a salary of one thousand dollars a year.

It is square in outline, and capped by a rather flat roof, with wide and generous eaves. Instead of being so constructed that the parlor is the hall, and the hall the parlor, it has a wide hall of the old-fashioned kind running through the middle, and open ing into roomy rooms on either side. Instead of being built wholly of shingles, and provided with fire-proof grates, it is of plain, every-day brick, and its grate fires actually burn. The short, Arctic summer of Bosiana was rapidly drawing to a close. People who had gone shivering to their summer cottages in early June, and been appropriately para graphed, had returned, shivering, early in September, and settled down again in their luxurious city homes, with pro found relief and a sense of duty done. One night in September, not so very long ago, the good citizen of Bosiana, who lived in the house already men tioned, had an unusually severe attack of an old malady called the blues.

His mental tone was quite out of harmony with his personality and surroundings. He was the kind of a man we look at twice, even on a crowded street, — tall, finely formed, well dressed, dignified, intellectual. Even the " settled " married women called him a handsome man. His countenance showed the rare and strange combination of a full, fresh, young face, with abundant hair and side whiskers — so gray as to seem almost white! And what can be handsomer for a man than the ruddy, healthful, clean young face of thirty-five, with the beautiful iron-gray hair and beard that rightfully belong to fifty ? As to his surroundings, they were what one may fairly expect of a man of refinement, culture and moderate wealth, who is disposed to be reasonably good to himself. Mr. Jeremiah Rock was seeking the solace of the tired and worried bachelor, in the society of good cigars, good newspapers and interesting magazines.

His cigar was all right, but as he sat at ease in his library and read the day's newspapers, the expression of his face changed rapidly from satisfaction to annoyance, then to indignation, and finally to wrath. First he took up the Morning Guardian. In the center of the first page, at the top, his eyes caught these bold head-lines : DEFEATED ! THE WOMAN-SUFFRAGE PROPOSITION IS DEAD. The Convention says "No" emphatically, q8 to 38. As he read, he grumbled softly to himself. "Oh, yes, of course. Man is woman's law-maker, judge and jury. He levies, and she pays. Relic of the lowest stage of savagery. No use, girls! It is a hundred years too soon." Then he turned to an inside page of the same paper. "Hello! What's this?" HER HUSBAND A BRUTE! A WIFE AND MOTHER DRIVEN BY THE BLOWS AND KICKS OF HER HUSBAND TO SUICIDE !

EMMA JAKINSKI KILLS HERSELF WITH CAR- BOLIC ACID. To her husband the dying woman wrote, " You Murderer." And then Rock read the old, familiar story of drunken husband, late hours, starvation, curses, blows and kicks, until in despair the victim sought refuge in deadly poison. The husband was arrested, and coolly admitted that he " licked her last night, licked her on Monday, — in fact, I licked her three or four times a week. She said I had no right to stay out all night, and spend money on other women. Yes, she often threatened to kill herself. Once I took a rope away from her." " He seemed to glory in it ! " said the reporter. Presently he finished the morning paper, laid it down, and unfolded the Evening Warrior. In the center of the first page he saw this : HIS WIFE AND CHILD WERE HUNGRY !

THE YOUNG FATHER STOLE HALF A PECK OF POTATOES TO FEED THEM, And the Judge Sent Him to the County Penitentiary. "Good Heavens! Can this be true?" muttered Mr. Rock. Then he read how " Lorenzo Waters, a boyish looking young fellow of twenty-three, with hands hardened by honest work, and no look of the criminal about him, was arraigned in the police court this morning for stealing ten cents' worth of potatoes from a freight car. The potatoes, wrapped up in a red handkerchief, rested on the steps of the Judge's platform. " ' Lorenzo Waters, stand up,' said the Judge. " The boy, sobbing like a grieved child, rose to his feet, admitted that he had taken the potatoes, because his girl wife and little child had had nothing to eat in a day and a half, and he could get no work. The Judge imposed a fine, and because he could not pay it, Lorenzo Waters was sent to the penitentiary."

"What are we coming to ! " groaned Rock, aloud. "If I live until to-morrow, I'll go and get that boy out, and set him to work washing the floor of the works if I can't find anything else for him to do." (He did it, too ; but he refused to give his name, and it was months before the editor of the Warrior found out who did it.) In the column next to the story of Waters, the reader saw this : SATAN GETS THERE FIRST ! He Establishes Headquarters at the New City of Sequoiah, I. T., Before a Clergyman Reaches the Spot. (By the Associated Press.) " Sequoiah, I. T., Sept. 20. — Last week this place con sisted only of a court-house in the woods, eight miles from Muldrow. To-day it is a thriving city of 2,000 people, with nearly every branch of business represented. Vice and immorality are unchecked.

The gambling houses and saloons are doing a big business, while the camp swarms with the very lowest classes of fallen women." "Why, certainly," muttered the reader. "And still we send missionaries to Africa ! " On another page of the same paper Rock found this, which was his last straw : JAKINSKI WAS RELEASED ! " Julius Jakinski, who was arrested yesterday on Coroner Mason's order, after his wife committed suicide because of his ill-treatment, was released this afternoon and permitted to go to his home." "Outrageous!" cried Mr. Rock, dashing the newspaper upon the floor as if it contained something that had bitten him. " A wife murderer goes free, to marry and to murder other helpless women ; but a boy who steals ten cents worth of potatoes for his starving family goes to the penitentiary — so that his wife can make a finish of starving.

And sane men, mostly lawyers, too, have made the laws by which such things can be done ! By Jove ! It is high time the women took a hand in law-making. If they were half idiots they couldn't possibly make a worse mess of our laws than the men have done."* At the time Mr. Rock read his newspapers, the business of a great nation was dead, though its ghost still kept shop, and walked the streets. The air was full of desperate strikes, failures, bread riots, the odors of bad politics and other aggravations of many kinds. Very many excellent men were desperately tired of it all. As my man sat and smoked, he decided that he wanted to go away somewhere — a long way off, to get away from everything and everybody familiar, and have a good, long, restful think. And just then steps sounded on his veranda, and the door-bell rang. *There is no fiction about any of these news items.

They are all copied literally from the city newspapers of that day. The Jakinski matter never caused the slightest ripple of comment. "Well! Who has the charity to come and see me? Somebody wanting something, of course." In the vestibule somebody asked for him. Mary Ann said, "Yes; in the library," and a second later the caller ambled briskly in A cheery, musical laugh rang from the center of the dark drawing-room, and a second later a young man entered the library. " Well, how are you, old fellow ? Belching out smoke like an old steam tug, and bluer than your own smoke, I swear. Come ! Get up ! I've come to worry you a bit." Elliott Bangs was a reporter on a newspaper, capable, keen and clean. He was built for his business — too big and too well muscled to be bullied by anybody, but not so big as to be perpetually in his own way.

With that face of strength and refinement, and the perfect ease of manner which comes from contact with all sorts and conditions of men, he was equal to any assignment that might come to him, from the writing of editorials (and many a fine editorial is to be found in the city editor's pages), or the reporting of a great political convention, down to the manufacture of kindling wood for the sassiety column. Like many other men of his profession, he scorned to be called a journalist, but gloried in the newly-created title of "newspaper man." Every man who has any sense in his head enjoys the company of newspaper men ; for, if properly worked, each one is a new mine of information and interest. Whom the modern gods would destroy, they first make newspaper men mad at. It was the most natural thing in the world that Rock should be fond of Elliott Bangs, for they were oppo sites in very many ways.

One was black-haired, black eyed, black-mustached, jolly when off duty, and always optimistic ; the other was gray, grave and full of doubt and dissatisfaction. But each had his own place to fill, as we shall see. " Why, Elliott ! Bless your soul ! " said Mr. Rock, heartily. " I'm more than glad to see you. Take that arm-chair over there, and light up. I was just wishing that some bright body would come." " ' Anybody, good Lord ! ' as the cannibal said on the desert island ?" " No, I'm not so hard pressed for company as that. But what can you tell me that is new, or strange ? Are the fools all dead yet ? " " Not a bit of it. And if they were all to die to-night, it would take six months for the living to bury the dead. But — how are you, anyhow ? What's the best news ? " " Oh, I'm no good ; and there is no best news."

" Oh, pshaw, Rock ! You need a mental tonic. Your mind's bilious. I think you need to take a trip off some where. You've been working too long without a vacation, — just like American business men, generally." " Yes, I have, — doing nothing, — at least nothing but chores for other people, without even thanks." " Old fellow, you have been spoiled. You've had so many of the good things of this life, they have cloyed your appetite." " No, I have not, Elliott. I have not, I assure you." "You're surfeited, cloyed, bored to death with rank lux uries, and soft living, like many another good man " " Heavens, Elliott ! How can you say that ? " " That's what I say, old man. True as gospel. Now, if you were a poor devil like me, out at the elbows, and baggy at the knees, you could eat like a hound, sleep like a bear in January, and get gay every night."

" I would give anything, Elliott, if I had your hopefui disposition. You are always looking on the bright side. But you have never yet had any great set-backs, old fellow." " No, and I don't mean to have any. My principle is, never aim too high. And that reminds me. I've got an idea — a new one, and I want to see what you think of it." " Well, what is it now ? Another magazine scheme ? " " No ; something better. You know I have always wanted a paper of my own, so as to be able to pound things that I don't like. Editors are the only really independent men in this country " " Elliott, you are a prince of reporters, but I fear you were not cut out for an editor. Why, there are subjects that even the boldest editor dare not touch for fear of hurting his subscription list, or offending an advertiser.

Competition is too strong for perfect independence. It is an expensive luxury." " Well, that's all right," said Elliott, with a soothing wave of his hand, " but the point is, nobody but an editor now wields any real power, to speak of. Now, at this particular time, with so many things going wrong, so many mean men on top, and so many good people swearing mad, it seems to me it is a good time to start a new independent paper — a free lance, and a regular prodder. Why, if some one would start a paper called the American Kicker, I believe it would soon have a million subscribers." " You know it takes money to establish a new newspaper — a cord of money, a perfect gold mine, in fact," said Rock, doubtfully. " Oh, yes, I know all about that ; and that is the only annoying thing about it. But I know a way to get around even that.

Anyhow, I'm — going — to — start — a — paper ! " " And having fully decided upon it, you have come to ask my advice about doing it ? " queried Rock, with a smile. " No, you old cynic, I've come to tell you about it, and to offer you a hand in the game." " I suppose you have named the infant, long ago." " Well, yes, I think I have. I'm thinking of calling it the Reformer's Club." " Reform Club, you mean, do you not ? " " Now, there's a neat little point. I thought first of calling it the Cat-o'-Nine-Tails; then The Whip; and then The Club. But those all seemed a little too drastic, so I am going to soften it a little by calling it the Reformer's Club. The kickers, like me, will know that I mean a club to pound things over the head with; and nice, easygoing people, like you, will think I mean a club for reform talk.

How's that, eh ? " Rock laughed heartily. 'Well, Elliott, you are an original fellow, if there ever was one; and, if ideas are any longer worth anything, a paper created and made by you ought to succeed." " Succeed ? It's bound to succeed Listen here." Diving into the interior of his coat, he whisked out a long fold of paper " Here's something to go as a kind of disguised saluta tory in the first number. Want to hear it ? It's short." "Yes, by all means; and the longer the better." •'Thanks! It is a true friend who will consent to hear a scribbler read a manuscript in cold blood. I call this, "APOTHEOSIS OF THE CLUB." " Good! " said Rock. "Goon." (Reads) " These be the days of bold, bad me-n, and of worse organizations. All over this fair land, the politicker has infested the body politic " "Politicker is good, very good," said Rock judicially.

"Aint it, though!" said Elliott, with hearty and wholly unembarrassed admiration of his own point. " I coined that word for a special purpose. It is to distinguish a blood-sucking, parasitic politician from the decent, right minded politician who works honestly for good government. You see what roots the word comes from, don't you ? — the Greek word 'tick,' which means an insect with the habits of a louse and the appetite of a hog, — never lets go when once he gets his beak in, — and 'poly,' which means a many-sided appetite: — if he can't get one office, he'll take another; and he infests the body politic." Rock saw, and smiled approvingly. " Well, 'the politicker has infested the body politic, and in the matter of government, we, the people, are not in it. The ballot has become a useless weapon; for through manipulation, intimidation and degradation "Oh!

I say! That won't do! " " Well, then, I'll change that, — ' it has become simply fuel for the machines that grind down and flatten out the people.' " " Good again! " cried Rock, roused to enthusiasm at last. " ' At such periods as these, which we are now not enjoy ing in the least, the citizen thinks of arming himself with some weapon of defense, something that will make his ballot good for its face value. The hot-headed man says, " Rifles! Blood to the horses' bridles ! " The extra-judicial man says, " The Sword of Justice ! The Law ! " But neither hits the nail squarely on the head. Rifles are the last resort of the best citizens, the first resort of the worst citizens only. The sword of Justice has too many strings to it ; and, be sides, millions of good people are so chicken-hearted they cannot bear to see it swung vigorously, for fear it might hurt somebody.

Manifestly, we must have a better weapon than either of the above; and what shall it be ? ' " Now, here's the best of it," said Elliott aside. " ' All hail, therefore, to the weapon for the hour, — a spick and span new Club of toughest hickory, selected, cut and trimmed in Uncle Sam's woods, for special use in this particular year of our Lord, and until farther notice. Clubs shall be on tap both day and night, subject to delivery on the back or the skull of any politicker, ballot-thief or unjust judge. Country as well as city orders will be promptly supplied, C. O. D., which in this case means that the goods will come omejitely down. In the hands of a good citizen a good, stout club becomes a positive thing of beauty. It chastens without carving, it subdues without slaughtering, it prods without puncturing.' "How's that for alliteration ?" cried the reader, beaming on the listener.

" Better and better ! " " ' Take, therefore, the Reformer's Club which I now offer you, — price one dollar a year until further notice. This Club is doubled-barreled, central-fire and with top-snap action. Everything about it will be open, and all its deals above the board. It will strike no man in the dark, nor on the head until he has had fair warning. It is double barreled, in that it will be used as a forum for the honest reformer who believes in reform per talking club, and also by the more practical man in pounding bad men over the head. It can also be used in a purely pacific manner, in prodding the ribs of a drowsy citizen, to rouse him up to a realizing sense of his duties. In times like these, a Reformer's Club is a useful piece of machinery, and if a few modest dollars are promptly forthcoming from a few good men, we will wind this one up and set it a-going.' " " Capital !

Very good ! " cried Rock, laughing heartily, as the reader came down the home stretch and passed under the wire, glowing with enthusiasm. " Don't you believe a paper like that would be a success, eh ? " said Elliott, quickly following up his advantage. "Yes; it would be a complete success so far as being readable, and interesting, and original were concerned. But that is not all." " Well, what's the rest ! " "You know as well as I," said practical Rock, "that in these days people don't care a rap for a paper that is nothing but opinions, no matter how good and keen those opinions are. They all want news of events, gossip and startling sensations, topped with scare head-lines. That means a big force of reporters, expensive press association franchises, competition with old, established newspapers, — and a cart-load of money."

"Yes," said the man of hope, not in the least dismayed, "that is all true enough. That's for a daily; but I'm going to make this a weekly, begin small, and work up to complete success. Why, there are five million disgusted voters in this country who ought to be glad to get my paper ; and out of that crowd I'll get enough subscribers to make a success of it, sure as eggs are eggs." "Have you any more copy with you?" queried Rock, with keen interest. " Yes, here's an article I've called ' The Skunk as a Factor in Politics/ Want to hear it ? " " By all means. But have another cigar first." Just here the door-bell rang again. " Oh, confound the luck ! " said Rock, impatiently, " I'm afraid we are interrupted. But whoever it is, don't you go first. I want to hear about that skunk." After a pause. another ring. " I believe Mary Ann has either gone deaf or gone out. Excuse me, Elliott, and I'll see who it is."

Chapter II

A BREEZE BLOWS IN FROM BORNEO. AS HE turned the door-knob, Mary Ann appeared at the rear of the hall, in time to see the caller and his reception. She always got there in time for that, no matter what the inconvenience. It had always been the habit of Mr. Rock when answering a ring at his door, which the tardiness of his domestics sometimes compelled him to do, to open the door widely. He did so now, and gazed out into the gloom at his caller, but failed to recognize him. " Does Mr. Jeremiah Rock live here ? " queried a man much burdened with bundles. " He does," confessed the proprietor of the mansion " Is he at home ? " " Very much so. Will you be pleased to walk in ? In came he of the bundles, and stood in the full glare of the hall gas. The eyes of Jeremiah Rock opened wide, and quickly opened wider.