Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 184: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

182 took the place of the modern dime novel for the youth, as well as the grown-ups, of that generation. DO not think the full text of any letters of marque, such as Kidd’s royal commission, has before been published. I discovered them in a small volume, yellow and brown spotted with age, bound in leather with the mystic word Pirates on the back, in the attic of the old Colonial house that I am leasing. It is an! English publication and the front pages are missing. On the first blank back of the cover is written. F. Francis Begley, his handwrite dated this 22th (sic) day of January 1823. The Grass is green the leaves are red this will Be Here when I am Dead. When I am Dead and in my Grave and all my Bones are Rotten Perchance this Book will Still be Read when I am Fair Forgotten. Now I wonder what good scout of an uncle gave Francis Begley this ungodly example of a book and what visions the reading of it conjured up to Francis, smuggling it to bed with a candle’s end in 1823? Two hundred and eighty-eight pages of piracy are in it with a corroboration of certain parts from Brooke’s London Gazetteer of 1812.—J. ALLAN DuNN. S YOU know, Patrick and Terence Casey have enlisted in the Naval Re- serve—second-class seamen in the Motor- Boat Auxiliary. The former writes: We are to be members of a crew of fourteen, han- dling a 110-foot:boat, fitted out with three motors, an anti-aircraft gun, a three-pounder, etc., and capable of making some thirty-odd knots an hour. We are to engage in patrol work, mine-laying and sub- marine chasing. We look for a grand adventure. Also, we hope to aid a mite.—PATRICK CASEY. AN OLD acquaintance of our Camp-Fire is John Winthrop Sargent. He’s been taking a little walk across South America and here’s a letter, dated April 14th, at Ca- lama, Chile, telling us something about it: Just a line to give you my new address. For the next four months it will be in care of the American Legation at Quito, Ecquador. I left Chuquicamata yesterday with a send-off that made a lump come in my throat. A big crowd of fellows, including my good friend, Seabrooke, came to the depot, stopping all work, to see me off and wish me Godspeed. I am leaving it up to Sea- brooke to tell you about it. I am finishing my trip with my brother, at least I hope I am, but if my country really needs me, I shall, of course, as a Medal of Honor man (Army), serve her. . . . HAVE not told you very much about our trip, but when the backers of our ranch went bad, my brother and I took our cameras (I, a 3A graflex and a small V. P. and my brother a 3A special) a pair of 12X Goerz binoculars, a thermos canteen, a .45 Colt automatic and a small grip apiece and started off. We hiked down through the Pampa into Patagonia, then over the Andes up into Val- paraiso, up through the nitrate country to Anta- fogasta where we took the train for ‘“‘Chuqui.”” We Adventure remained there six weeks. Two weeks ago my brother, Seabrooke, Parker and I with twenty-three others went over to Chiuchiu where we found one of the most wonderful ruins in Inca Land. They knock Machu Pichu sky high. Seabrooke has promised to send you a set of his pictures, and when I am in New York you shall have your pick of mine. frROM Conception, Chile, Roy—my brother— and I have followed the main Inca Highway which runs north to Quito. This highway is thirty feet wide and paved with stone. There is a tra- dition that the Old Toltec and Aztec road we find running from Panama to Mexico City is part of it. I have hiked for hundreds of miles in Central America over it and want to follow this part as farasIcan. I intend following this itinerary: From here to La Paz, Bolivia; across Lake Titi- caca to Puno; then to Cuzco, where I shall see the great Indian fiesta of the marriage of the Sun Maiden; then to Luna; then to Cerro de Pasco, where I shall see the great ruins; then down to Iqui- tos on the Amazon; then back to Quito; then to Bogota; then to Caracas, then Colon, and then? Salvez, Home! I AM making notes, gathering photograph records of folk-lore, legends and traditions. Being a doctor (M.D. as well as Ph.D.) I am giving the med- ical side of life down here more than a passing glance. My botany and geology come in good stead and as ornithology is my hobby I find much to in- terest me. Also, I speak, read and write Spanish far better than I do English, so can get down among the people. I had a funny experience today. We were told yesterday that there was a special train for Bolivia leaving Calama this morning and we got permission to ride on it. When morning came we found the train to be a freight—and we were on the manifest as two burros! We backed out when we found we would have to ride on top of the cars as there was no caboose. The regular weekly train goes tomorrow so we are waiting for that. LEFT a wonderful stone-hammer with handle and leather thong for you with Seabrooke. He will see that you get it. Think of me when you do and accept it with my best wishes. All about us, seemingly near, but many miles away, are lofty snow-capped volcanoes, while be- tween us lie the hundreds of kilometers of pampa without a single growing thing, either of flora or fauna. Wish you were with us on our trip, but as you have to be frabajando for us wanderers, I am going to see if I can’t share the trip with you via post-cards.—JOHN WINTHROP SARGENT. UGH S. MILLER, an Australian member of our Camp-Fire, follows custom and introduces himself on the oc- casion of his first story in our magazine: Born in Mudgee, New South Wales, thirty-one years ago. Spent boyhood in New South Wales and Victoria, four years of it in Broken Hill, famous for its silver mines. Attended Hobart College. Member football and lacrosse teams. Visited for a year in the United States. Returning to Australia, went into the gold-fields of Western Australia on COmicloo =