Excerpt from The Tiger, Vol. 12: December, 1914

I shall never forget those three long days. How could I? The roar of the thunder, the fright, the life in the jungle, and the rescue, seem to me like a dream of last night.

My father, a man of about forty, was an ivory hunter. Our home was in the little town of York. I was about fifteen years old. Many a time I had begged my father to give me permission to accompany him on one of his hunts, for I had ever loved nature. I loved all animals, and they seemed to love me. I was in the habit of getting up early every morning, and with my hands full of bread crumbs, I would go out into the little wood behind our home, and there feed the twittering robins which fluttered around me Even the timid rabbit approached me without fear. But how I longed to be in a great forest! Day after day, I used to sit on a little stump in that little wood, dreaming of the great jungle, and its queer inhabitants. 50 great was my love for nature, as a child, that neve1 once did I feel fear for, or cause fear in bird or beast. But every time I asked my father to allow me to go with him, I received the same answer, No! This time, however, I begged and entreated so hard that at last I received the answer I had waited for so long. Little did I realize the hardships and dangers of such a trip.

The next morning we were to leave. For two weeks everything had been in confusion. My clothing, arms, trunk, and other articles needed had been purchased. It was quite chilly that evening, and we all sat around the href Everything and everybody seemed cheerful to me. I have to smile to day, as I look back upon that night. There, in the corner, laughing and joking I sat. When I retired for the night, picture after picture passed before' Now I was leisurely and comfortably riding on the back of a huge ele phant. Now I was out hunting. Now paddling up a beautiful little stream, with its banks bordered by trees whose green, moss-clothed branches gently drooped down to the water's edge. Now I was sitting before the camp fire, listening to stories, or quietly reading. Then swiftly and suddenly a sad feeling stole over me. I don't know why it was, but I suddenly found my self wishing I were not going. Often after that I found myself quietly sob bing, and the tears rolled down my cheeks, onto the white pillow. When I awoke, the morning'sun was streaming into my room in golden beams. At nine we were to leave for Yarmouth, where 'we were to embark on my father's steamer.

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