ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.
By HAROLD ERICSON.
I.--A SCRAMBLE WITH A BEAR.
On a splendid night in the cool of the year, three men sat out in the Veldt in South Africa, talking and laughing over their camp fire. A few Kaffir drivers and huntsmen were similarly engaged at a second fire at some little distance. The light of the burning wood revealed fitfully the shape of the great waggon in the background, and the sound of munching behind it told of the presence of the team of oxen which had dragged it northwards from Bulawayo. Later on, when they trekked up into the lion-zone, the district in which lions and other dangerous beasts might be expected to visit them by night, if the way were left open for them, it would be necessary to encircle their camp with a ring of thorn-bushes or some other obstacles; but at present the party was only on the way to the hunting grounds, and it was still safe to run the risks of lions.
The three men were all English, or at least British, and all fairly young. Their names were Captain the Honourable Edward Vandeleur, Bobby Oakfield, an Indian civilian on a year"s furlough, and Ralph Denison, a rich young man with nothing to do except to indulge his love of sport, whether fox-hunting, salmon-fishing, grouse-driving, or, as now, big-game shooting in any part of the world where large beasts were to be found.
Vandeleur, commonly known as Teddy, seemed to be the chief speaker this night; he was, at the moment of our introduction to the party, explaining a suggestion which he had just made to his friends. This is what he said:--
"We are likely to have longish watches over our camp fires, and perhaps we may get a bit tired of conversation night after night, with nothing much to talk about; now why not start a round of story-telling, each to spin a yarn in turn, one every evening, unless we should happen to feel more inclined for a talk, in which case we miss a day. Anybody who can"t think of a tale must pay a fine of a shilling, the winner to take the total at the end."
"Yes, but who is the winner?" asked Oakfield, laughing, "The one who tells the best yarns?"
"Oh, no! who would be judge? The one who has had to pay the fewest fines takes the prize," Denison said with a laugh.
"Good old Teddy!" he cried, "he has a large collection of yarns all ready up his sleeve, Bobby, and he wants our shillings! Well, you shall have them willingly, old chap, if you keep us amused! Start at once--go on!"
"Why not draw lots for first yarn?" suggested Bobby, and the others fell in with the suggestion.
So lots were drawn, and it fell to Bobby himself to entertain the company.
"Start away at once, old chap. I"m tired of talking, and longing for a nap," laughed Denison. "If he makes it too long, Teddy, have we the right to ask him to finish it "in our next?" He might go on all night."
"Certainly, any story may be split; if any fellow can entertain us for two nights on end, why, so much the better!"
"Off you go then, Bobby," said Denison--"once upon a time"--fire ahead!"
Bobby Oakfield sat silent for a few minutes.
"I believe you are inventing," said the irrepressible Ralph: "is that allowed, Mr. President?"
"_Real_ experiences, as far as possible!" Vandeleur decided.
"Oh, it"s real all right," said Bobby; "I was wondering whether to tell you first of a wolf adventure or a little meeting with a bear I once had--think I"ll begin with the bear."
This is the story of my first bear (began Bobby); the first I ever went out to hunt, I mean, though as a matter of fact he had more right to call me "his first man," than I to dub him "my first bear," for I fancy he was nearer getting me than I him. Which of us was most frightened, I hardly care to say! He must have been terribly alarmed if he suffered more than I did!
It was during one of my visits to Russia, and the season was early autumn. I was staying with a cousin, who was either part or sole proprietor, I forget which, of a big "shoot," some twenty miles out of town; and one day he received a letter which we both thought rather funny. It was from the head-keeper of the shooting club, and read something like this:--
"Most merciful lord" (my cousin was not a lord, but that"s a detail; he would have made a very good one, I dare say), "if your lordship"s heart contains pity for humble fellow-creatures who are in distress, listen and be merciful. A bear has appeared here and is eating the uncut corn of the peasants. We have tried him with the usual methods, but they have proved useless. Come down and save us, merciful, for the appet.i.te of the beast is very large; there is room in him for the whole of our harvest, therefore come quickly."
"What are the usual methods?" I asked my cousin, and he replied with a laugh that probably the man meant that the elders of the village had p.r.o.nounced a curse against the animal, or perhaps the _guaharka_ of the district, the "wise woman," had woven a spell, for these pagan customs survive even in Christian Russia.
"I"m afraid I"m too busy to go just at present," said my cousin; "I suppose you could not take on the business for me, could you?"
Well, I had not the slightest objection; indeed, I was delighted with the prospect.
"What am I to do?" I asked; "hide myself in the standing corn and ambush him?"
"Leave it to old Michael, the keeper." said my cousin. "I will wire that you"re coming to-morrow, I can telegraph within three miles of the lodge, and the message will be sent on."
So my preparations were hurried forward, and I was ready and anxious to be off early on the following day.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ""Why not start a round of story-telling?""]
"Be kind to my dogs," said my cousin; "there are three of them there, red setters, beauties--Michael keeps them for me; have them into the room and pet them a bit, if you don"t mind, for they have a dullish time down there, and I like them to see English folk now and then--it does them good!"
(_Concluded on page 26._)
THE MUSIC OF THE NATIONS.
I.--THE "KING" AND "OU" OF THE CHINESE.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Five hundred years before the birth of Christ, Confucius declared that "Music gives finish to the character, which has first been established by its rules of proficiency." Moreover, he said, "Wouldst thou know if a people be well governed, and if its manners be good or bad, examine the music it practises."
When we reflect that the speaker was the most famous sage of the Chinese, to whom temples are built in every town of the vast empire of China, and to whose memory the Emperor himself offers homage twice a year at the Imperial College in Pekin, we may understand what weight his opinions have carried in his own country.
Long before his time, however, music had been studied there as a science. It was imported by the first invaders of the Celestial Empire, who hailed from the borders of the Caspian Sea. The Yellow Emperor, or Huang Ti, who reigned two thousand seven hundred years before the Christian era, established a fixed base note from which musical instruments were to be measured, much as in the modern musical system we take a key-note and found our chords and scales upon it. The connection between musical and State affairs was so business-like in those days that the precedence of the various cla.s.ses was fixed according to the musical grade: F, the base note of the oldest known scale, represented the Emperor; G, the Prime Minister; A, the loyal subjects, and so on.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The "Ou" and playing stick.]
Five hundred years later another Emperor, of a practical turn of mind, ordered that music should follow the sense of the words, and be simple and free from affectation, and he appointed a censor to see that his instructions were carried out. The latter, "Couci" by name, declared that when he played upon his "king," the animals ranged themselves before him spell-bound by his melody.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The "Tse King."]
We hear elsewhere of another ancient musician of China, whose music was "so sweet that the very stars drew near to listen." Later on in the history of the world we find this idea of the effects of music on animals and stars entertained both in Greece and India. The attention of the starry bodies can only be regarded as a beautiful myth, but the writer of this paper personally tested the animal love of music some years ago, when surrounded by a formidable herd of wild cattle in the Rocky Mountains.
The instrument known as "king," from which Couci drew such delightful sounds, is of very ancient date, and is made of a stone called "yu,"
which is of many colours, and looks like marble, being probably a form of agate intermixed with iron. The wonderful clearness and purity of the tone are supposed to result from long exposure to the sun and air.
"Yu" is most valuable when of whey colour; then light blue, dark yellow, orange, dark red, and pale green follow in order of merit. In all the colours it is essential that the stones be free from streaks or flaws of any kind. One of the chief attractions of the "king" is that it always retains its pitch, not being influenced by cold, heat, damp, or dryness.
In construction the "king" consists of sixteen stones hung in two rows of eight in an ornamental frame. Nowadays these stones are cut in oblong shape of varying thickness, tuned by slicing narrow shavings off the back and ends; but in former days they were fashioned like fishes, animals, or other quaint devices. The art of making "kings" was lost for many centuries, but about 32 B.C. a specimen was fished up from the bottom of a pond which served as a model, and now every temple of importance has its "king," just as every church with us has its organ of some kind or other.
A smaller instrument of the same kind is also used in religious ceremonies, the "the king," made of one large block of "yu," suspended from an upright. It is played like the real "king," by being struck with a special stick or plectrum, and the tone, though less varied than that of the larger instrument, is equally deep and full.
Another curious Chinese instrument is the "ou," which is made of wood, and fashioned like a crouching tiger. It is hollow, and along its back run metal teeth, which are played with a small stick or brush. The "ou"
stands on a hollow pedestal, also of wood, which serves as a sounding board and increases the tone.