Adventure, June 1911 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

ADVENTURING IN TIBURON A PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF EXCITING WEEKS IN THE GULF OF CALIFORNIA Gy JOHNAAVIRETTE © 6 © @ f HE two Burke boys, Charlie Kan- aka, and I sat in close consulta- tion. Great deference was given to Charlie by the rest of us, since the matter under discussion was a boat. Was he not a Salt of the Sea from the Pacific Islands, where men swam out, in amphibious temerity, to slay the terrible man-eater shark in his own element? Charlie finally said that Ske must be twenty-two feet long, half-decked, and with at least five feet beam. We should steal a rail from the Southern Pacific R. R., bend it} to suit and bolt it firmly to her bottom, for a keel. This, he said, would stiffen her, ‘give her low ballast and, if we struck a sunken rock in a blow, would save her from holing. Thus, in lieu of sinking, we should only turn over. Charlie had his way. We built the boat, half-decked her, stole the rail from Collis P., . and one glorious November morning chris- tened her (with a bottle) Santa Maria. Never had boat a more propitious launching, and never had crew a fairer promise of fun galore—for were we not bound for the mouth of the Colorado River, Lower California and Tiburon Island? And, where, pray, was a wilder or more dangerous coast on which to venture to one’s heart’s content? Frank was the elder of the two Burkes. He had six notches on his gun, while Pete, as a modest younger brother, had only four. I had killed bear and deer, while Charlie had once licked a French cook. We were thus a crew of valor and prowess, fit for all adven- tures by sea or land. Old man Shaunnessy and the other half of Yuma came down to see us off and bid us e] foe 77 God speed. Shaunnessy is an Irish prince —a remote descendant of Brian Baru. He has “kept saloon” in every Government Post, every mining camp and town in all Arizona. He is a kind old man with a stutter and fine principles—for he gave us a gallon. : We ‘‘up-hooked” about ro A. M., Novem- ber 11th, to the tune of revolver-shots, cheers from the bank, the braying of burros and the barking of dogs. That night we had made only twelve miles, for we put in at Hall Hanlon’s ranch near Pilot Knob—for watermelons. Hanlon gave us six whop- pers, then helped us punch a hole in the gallon; for California, like Arizona, is a very dry country. Hanlon is a Missourian from Kentucky, when drunk, and a very hospit- able man at all times. He is much beloved and feared in Yuma, since he is not only kind to a fault, but is also hasty—when crossed. Nov. r2—We are now down opposite the Colony. The immense Tule-flats on either bank of the river are simply alive with hogs, “‘gone-wild’”’ descendants of the lordly Berkshires and Poland-chinas, abandoned here by the Blythe colonists when the mos- quitoes ran them off. We camped on an island, to minimize the mosquitoes, and while the rest cooked supper I took the skiff and pulled for Sonora and pork. I got the pork. I came near getting too much pork, for when I shot the pig he squealed. About twenty great wild hogs responded to his cry of distress and, bounding out of the tule, rushed at me in fierce wrath. I stood not on the order of my going; we made it in one heat to the river bank, whence I dived head- COnmiclboookSs.G©