National Geographic's Collectors Corner2024-03-29T16:00:26ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLoftershttp://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2545965320?profile=original&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1&xj_user_default=1http://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topic/listForContributor?user=2z0ts27lz15of&feed=yes&xn_auth=no100 Years Ago: April 1924tag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-03-28:1029239:Topic:2991932024-03-28T15:17:50.922ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p><span style="font-size: 24pt;"><strong>100 Years Ago: April 1924</strong></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em><strong>This is the 111<sup>th</sup> entry in my brief reviews of National Geographic Magazines on their Centennial.</strong></em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> …</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 24pt;"><strong>100 Years Ago: April 1924</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em><strong>This is the 111<sup>th</sup> entry in my brief reviews of National Geographic Magazines on their Centennial.</strong></em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405000466?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405000466?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The first article in this month’s issue is entitled “The Story and Legends of the Pontine Marshes*” and was written by Don Gelasio Caetani, Italian Ambassador to the United States. It has the internal subheading: “After Many Centuries of Fruitless Effort, Italy Is to Inaugurate a Gigantic Enterprise to Drain the Fertile Region Southeast of Rome.” The article contains eighteen black-and-white photographs, of which seven are full-page in size. [* A lecture delivered before the National Geographic Society in Washington, D. C., January 24, 1924. The manuscript had been revised by Prince Caetani for publication in the <em>National Geographic Magazine</em>.]</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Pontine Marshes were a generally little-known region, quite close to Rome. That strange corner of Italy had been the abode of the author’s family for almost a thousand years and a large part of the land had belonged to them uninterrupted since the year 1297. The well-known Appian Road led to the Pontine Marshes. The road was famous for its endless rows of old Roman funeral monuments that lined it on both sides. The Via Appia, built by Appius Claudius about 300 years B. C., started from Porta San Sebastiano, the southern gate of Rome, and led toward Naples. For the first 65 mile it ran straight, until it reached the town of Terracina, where it passed under the cliff of Monte Sant’ Angelo that overhung the sea. The Romans had to chisel off part of the rock to make space for the roadbed. After passing that point it made a first bend and then went straight to Naples. When one left the Eternal City on that classic road, one passe at first along a wonderful array of old Roman sepulchral monuments; then one climbed up the Alban Hills, extinct volcanoes of prehistoric times; and then one gradually descended upon a great plain, some 30 miles from Rome, known to history as the Pontine Marshes. On the left, as one traveled toward Terracina, were the olive-covered Lepine Mountains. To the right was the Tyrrhenian Sea, along the border of which ran a large sand dune covered by a wonderful oak forest some 30 miles in length. Between the dunes and the sea was a series of lagoons. At the extreme end a solitary mountain rose, to all appearances from the sea. It was Mount Circeo, the cornerstone of the Pontine Marshes. That mount was an island in bygone ages, as geologist had proved, and Homer, eight centuries before Christ, spoke of it in the “Odyssey” as an island. Circeo was the scene of the legendary encounter between Odysseus and Circe, the sorceress. The hero of the Siege of Troy landed with his men on that rocky island. Circe turned some of the men into pigs. Protected by Hermes, Odysseus forced Circe, at knifepoint, to free them.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On the north side of the mountain, the people still showed a large grotto which was said to have been the haunt of the tricky goddess. The large quadrangle formed by the foothills of the Alban volcanoes, by the Lepine Mountains, by the wooded sand dunes of the coast, and by Mount Circeo, measuring some 150,000 acres of extraordinarily fertile land, was known to history as the Pontine Marshes. The water, hemmed in on all sides, could not flow out. In the winter, the mountain streams poured their foaming, muddy torrents upon that lowland, flooding thousands of acres. The rich mud slowly settled, coating the fields with a silt which was the finest of fertilizers. Then the waters gradually flowed out through narrow channels until, in summer, only the lowest portion of the land remained in swampy condition. A dense, luxuriant growth of water plants sprung up with the approach of the warmer season. Toward the month of July, the treacherous Anopheles mosquito rose out of the marshes. Mosquitoes, infected with malaria, transmitted the disease to heathy individuals. Malaria was not deadly but its repeated attacks could weakened the human body so that frequently fatal illnesses took hold of the fever-stricken body. The inundations in winter and the malaria in summer had driven the population out of the plain; but the unparalleled fertility of the soil enticed some people back to defy the disease. The lowlands of Argo Pontino were deserted; there were no cities or villages, but some lonely hamlets and, scattered here and there, farm buildings, in which only a few people lived in summer. Many centuries ago, most the inhabitants fled to the mountains, built their towns on some steep hills, and from those vantage points made dashes into the plain to work the fields and tend the cattle. Such a place was ancient Cori, founded by the Trojan Dardanos. A little farther on rose Norma, on the very edge of a cliff 600 feet high, as ancient, if not more so, than Rome itself.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the foot of Norma was the abandoned medieval town of Ninfa, covered with ivy and brambles. A little farther along the range was Sermoneta, with the thirteenth century castle of the Caetani, towering on a high mountain spur and dominating the vast plain. Then followed Sezze, Piperno, and other towns. Those were the inhabited places in 1924; but in olden times the whole land was densely populated and highly productive. Twenty-three towns were supposed to have existed, where in 1924, one saw not a trace of a single building. The most famous of those cities which had disappeared was Pometia. We did not even know exactly where Pometia was located. Of Tiberia, a town that grew up around one of the villas of Tiberius, only a single piece of concrete foundation was left. San Donato, a prosperous community that rose on the sand dunes near the sea, had completely disappeared. The author’s mother made excavations on the spot and was fortunate enough to find the tomb of Camenius who died toward the middle of the of the fourth century A. D. In 1924, where the villa of Camenius rose, the fishermen dried their nets. The lagoons were wonderful fishing grounds that had supplied Rome for two thousand years. There was no natural communication between the lagoons and the sea. When those lakes swelled, during the rainy season, the fishermen cut a small ditch across the dune, and the waters, rushing out to the sea, in a few hours had widened to a broad river. The fish tasted that lukewarm, brackish water and swam by the millions into the lagoon, where they were caught. That locality was also a wonderful shooting resort. There, the ducks came from the sea, seeking shelter and food in that maze of ponds and canals distributed throughout the dense growth of reeds. The complete disappearance of the old cities of the Pontine Marshes was not difficult to explain. The whole zone was formed of clay, sand, and gravel, but no stones. Every abandoned building became a quarry for the construction of new buildings.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the time of the Roman Republic, in the fourth and fifth century B. C., the Pontine region was free of waters, healthful and densely populated. Then, a little before 300 B. C. something happened. The natural outlet of the waters in the depression between the city of Terracina and Mount Circeo was obstructed, probably though some seismic movement; a raising of the ground by a few feet was quite sufficient to stop the outflow of the waters. In that way the great plain of Pometia became hemmed in on all sides by higher lands and converted into a large basin, into which the waters naturally converged from everywhere, but from which they could not flow except through the narrow channels dug near Terracina to connect the marshes to the sea. The ground became water-soaked. The great Appian Road began to sink in places and had to be raised by Trajan and other Roman emperors. During the eighth century it went completely under water and the road from Rome to Naples had to be shifted to the foothills, passing near Ninfa and Sermoneta. From that time to the present the region became the playground of unruly waves. In winter large tracts of land were submerged under the yellow waters. In spring the waters subsided and the fields were covered with grass and flowers, where the sheep and cattle of Roman Campagna found ideal pasturage. For 2,200 years the rulers and the people of Rome had vainly tried to drain the marshes. The first serious attempt was made by the Consul Cornelius Cethegus, about 185 B.C. Julius Caesar made vast plans, but was assassinated (44 B. C.). Nerva and Trajan worked at restoring the Appian Road that was sinking. The Romans of the first centuries (A. D.) dug the Rio Martino, across the dunes to drain the marshes. However, all those works proved ineffectual. The conditions of the Pontine lands became worse and worse. Each group strove to divert the waters from their own property to their neighbors.’ Lawsuits were instituted and wars broke out.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The author’s family, as lords of Sermoneta, were involved in a lawsuit with the neighboring town of Sezza which lasted 560 years, the longest lawsuit in Italian history. It started about 1230 and ended about 1790, with the draining of the marshes by Pius VI. The stronghold of Sermoneta was the powerful castle of Caetani. Perched on top of a rocky mountain, strongly fortified with towers, creneled walls, and drawbridges, it could safely defy any enemy. Pope Alexander VI confiscated it from the author’s family, and gave the Caetani estate to his son, Cesare Borgia, the Duke of Valentinois. Alexander gave the castle itself to his daughter, the famous Lucrezia Borgia, who became the first Duchess of Sermoneta. When Alexander had completed the improvements and fortifications of the castle, the Duke took it away from his sister saying that a woman could not hold it. The author could not count how many popes tried and failed to drain the marshes. At last, in 1777, Pope Pius VI accomplished the most successful work on record. He dug a large canal along the Appian Road and regulated the flow of waters by a network of canals. A large part of the land was drained and the Appian Road of the centuries emerged again from the waters. But even that great effort only partly improved conditions. One of the principal difficulties in controlling the waters was caused by the aquatic plants that grew in the canals. They became so dense that the ditches were completely choked. The most effective means of combatting that menace was to employee buffalo – an African species, which were suppose to have been brought over by Hannibal about 200 B. C. Those animals bred wonderfully in the marshes. They were driven into the canals, where they swam around uprooting the plants with their hooves. When not used for that purpose, they were employed hauling heavy loads.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">New Italy intended to tackle the problem of draining the marshes that had baffled each succeeding generation for more than two thousand years. The Government was approaching it with all the means and technical knowledge of modern times and will accomplish the work. The ancient canal of Rio Martino would be opened again, the mountain streams would be tamed by building a reservoir at the foot of the mountains, and large pumping stations were to be erected to drain the swampy land. The project will cost upward of three hundred million lire. Meanwhile the derelict region was hopefully waiting. There, lied romantic Ninfa, one of the most conspicuous victims of malaria. The deserted street winding between the houses and the towers and churches in ruins told the tale of a population that fled to the mountains to escape death. The city walls withstood many attacks had crumbled beneath the onslaught of the elements. The only building that was still habitable was the municipal hall, which the author had transformed into his private dwelling. Romantic Ninfa had created a charming legend which symbolized malaria. Once, there was a king who was lord of the Pontine Marshes. He had a beautiful daughter, Ninfa. His land was swamped by water and infested with malaria. Two kings came to woo the beautiful Ninfa; they were King Moor and King Martino. The father said he would give his daughter to whomever could drain his lands. Martino called all his men to dig the Rio Martino, while Moor did nothing but court the princess. Ninfa loved the hardworking Martino, but when he was almost finished the canal, Moor used a magic wand to force the waters to the south. Reluctantly, the King gave his daughter to Moor. She fled in despair and leapt off a tower into the water, but she did not die. She lived in the depths, only to rise at sunset showing herself to weary young men returning home. The men that stopped to look at her, instantly withered and grew old. The legend of Ninfa was the legend of malaria.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The second item listed on this month’s cover is entitled “Italy, Land of History and Romance” and has no byline. It is not an article, but a set of sixteen full-page duotones, pages 375 through 390. Duotones, formerly known as photogravures are photos transferred to paper using acid-etched metal plates. The deeper the etch, the darker the transfer.</span></p>
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<p></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The following is a list of caption headings for the sixteen duotones:</span></p>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Colossal Statue Erected to Saint Carlo Borromeo at Arona, on Lake Maggiore”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Venetian Trading Boats Crossing the Lagoon from Malamocco to Venice”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Arco and Its Castle”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Peasant Children of the Strona Valley, Northern Italy”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“”Taking the Waters” at the Village Fountain”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“San Giulio, a Beauty Spot of Northern Italy”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Angel of Milan”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Castle Toblino, on Lake Toblino, Northern Italy”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Harbor of Riva, on Lake Garda”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Mount Calvary, Overlooking Castelrotto”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Rough Sea at Bordighera, on the Italian Riviera”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Palermo, Metropolis of Sicily, Photographed from the Late Dirigible “Roma””</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Rome: A View of St. Peter’s from the Air. The Vatican and the Papal Gardens are to Be Seen in the Right Background”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Pisa Seen from an Airplane”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Vesuvius in Eruption”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Ancient Chapel and Mausoleum of the Gonzagas, Near Bellagio, Overlooking Lake Como”</span></li>
</ul>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The second article in this month’s issue is entitled “Ancient Carthage in the Light of Modern Excavation” and was written by Count Byron Khun de Prorok. The article contains twenty-seven black-and-white photographs, of which seven are full-page in size. The article also contains a sketch map of the site of Carthage on page 394 with an inset of the region that includes the Pontine Marshes and is referenced by the first article as well as this one.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Few sites of antiquity had a more illustrious history than the peninsula on which lied the accumulated ruins of the dead cities of Carthage. Phoenicians, Berbers, Numidians, Romans, Vandals, Byzantine crusaders, and, lastly, Arabs had left their traces, and, in 1924, in the strata of thirty centuries lied the mute evidence of long racial warfare and the dethronement of past splendors. There, where peace reigned over the marble dust, was a natural beauty and grandeur equal to any of the famous scenes along the Mediterranean shore, and the panorama viewed from Cape Carthage explained Queen Dido’s selection of the site, in the ninth century B. C., for the first Punic city of Carthage. From the summit of the ancient hill called Byrsa was unfolded the landscape which was once the scene of the great tragedy of the Mediterranean. To the east lied the Gulf of Tunis. On the bank rose the twin summits of the sacred mountain of the Carthaginians, the Bon-Kornein. To the south lied the city of Tunis. The picturesque village of Sidi-bou-Said crowned the northern promontory of Cape Carthage. Its history was made still more eloquent by the resurrection of its buried ruins. The excavation of Carthage was difficult because of the great topographical changes that had taken place since Punic days. The Medjerda River was responsible for much of that change. Its alluvial deposits had encroached upon a large part of the peninsula, covering a portion of the land. The Arabs called those marshes Bahar el Azrag, meaning “the Blue Sea.” From movies taken by airplane, it was evident that there were vast submarine walls at Cape Kamart, to the northwest of the peninsula. It was hoped excavation at that point would shed light as to the site of the Punic Ports, where the mighty merchant fleets of the Canaanites plied to and fro. (As may be remembered, the Phoenician, whose Roman name was “Punicus,” was a native of Canaan, in the lowlands of Palestine, prior to the invasion of the Jews.)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was said that 220 galleys could be anchored at one time in the harbor. The sea had risen three and one-half yards since Roman days, and there were many ruins underwater in the gulf and at La Marsa, north of the rebuilt city. Another obstacle in the way of excavation at Carthage was the alluvial deposits in the hollows between the hills. There had been an accumulation of earth, sand, and debris at a rate of a yard a century. At Carthage it was singularly impressive to find traces of so many different peoples, and in that respect no other spot in the world disclosed so grippingly the war tragedy of the human race. The question of when the Egyptians may have occupied that territory took laborious and prolonged research, since Cambe, the city of the Sidonians, was founded by them six centuries before Dido settled there with her fugitive Phoenicians, prior to 800 B. C. Cambe was merely a ruin at that time, and history afforded nothing beyond the fact of its existence and origin. Sidon had been the principal Phoenician seaport; so, the Carthaginian people held their section of what was, in 1924, Tunis as far back as their African history had been revealed. Under the Barcas family Carthage was a great center of wealth and commerce, with a population estimated between 700,000 and 1,000,000. The buildings of Carthage prior to its destruction by the Romans, in 146 B. C., were in some cases seven stories high. From the accounts of Cato the Elder, the implacable foe of the city, whose “Delenda est Carthago” was unforgettable, the construction of the city must have been of admirable soundness. The utter devastation and obliteration of Carthage which for centuries following the Punic wars were thought to have taken place had been recently contradicted by exploration. Over the ruins long untouched dirt and sand had drifted, but mercifully preserving innumerable objects of art which escaped destruction.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Twenty, forty, and sixty feet below the surface had been unearthed the vestiges of the Byzantine, Roman, and Phoenician occupations. In that work had been engaged the explorers Gauckler, Merlin, and Poinsset, but the most notable efforts had been those of Pere Delattre, who had labored over the ruins for fifty years. He had discovered four of the earliest Christian basilicas, Roman and Punic necropolises, an amphitheater, and many priceless relics. During his long career, he had explored only one-tenth of Roman and Christian Carthage. The author’s expedition had lasted four years and proved well worth the effort. Remains previously located by Delattre had been completely excavated. He continued the work of the late Jules Renault’s excavations, penetrating several strata, and came across Arab tombs, a Christian chapel, Roman cisterns, Byzantine relics, mosaic floors, and beneath them Punic tombs of 700 B. C. All the earth dug up at Carthage was carted away and passed through sieves. That way many coins, crystals, emeralds, beads, etc. had been recovered. The recently discovered Temple of Tanit was where human sacrifices were made. Hundreds of urns were found containing the bones of children who had been burned alive. The altars unearthed at the lowest level were undoubtedly of Egyptian origin. Silver tablets engraved with sphinxes and amulets representing the eye of Osiris and covered with Egyptian Hieroglyphics demonstrated the one-time influence and probable presence of the race. The votive tablets the author had discovered were invariably inscribed with the names of the gods and person making the offering. The shocking ceremony of human sacrifice was especially resorted to when Carthage was in great danger from her enemies. Hundreds of children of the noblest families were offered up to placate the rage of the hideous god, Baal. Fascinating results of a different character were found in his excavations north of the Acropolis on the Hill of Juno.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Above the surface of poppy fields appeared a mound of bricks. The author’s team set to work and disclosed the roof of a Roman palace; then seven perfect mosaic floors of the first Roman period. There were hundreds of broken stones bearing inscriptions, fragments of statues, and a complete collection of African lamps from 100 to 300 A. D. Of special significance was the discovery beneath the mosaic floors of a Punic ruin, which led them thirty yards under the hillside and established that the Carthage of old had not been totally obliterated. Some of the ruins on the Hill of Juno were probably the remains of the baths of Gargilius, where the council of 565 bishops met in 411 A. D. to determine whether Christianity was to remain Catholic or become Donatist. In a vaulted chamber nearby, which might have been the boudoir of a Carthaginian lady, were found perfume bottles, bracelets of gold, ivory hairpins, bronze mirrors, nail scissors, ivory eyebrow sticks, and much iridescent glass. In the Roman cisterns were revealed new wonders – an early Christian basilica, with tombs of martyrs and Christian inscriptions, many fine Byzantine relics, and seven statues of the Virgin Mary in terra cotta. Twelve basilicas had been located, though only three had been properly excavated. The basilicas of St. Cyprian and Damous el-Karita were two of the purist examples of Christian sanctuaries known. Hundreds of tombs of martyrs lied between the author’s former headquarters and the amphitheater to the north of the city. An inspection of the coffin frequently revealed three nails, indicating that the victim had been crucified. On the heights of Cape Carthage had been excavated ancient Punic tombs which, had escaped the Roman conflagration, buried thirty feet in solid rock. Mummies had been found, beside which had been placed jewels, trinkets, inscriptions, and sacred images. In four months, they found 5,000 coins in gold, silver, and bronze, and Roman remains, including pottery, frescoes, bracelets, jewels, rings, and lamps.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Vandal armor and strange lamps recalled the inroads of the merciless followers of Genseric and Hunneric. The Museum of Carthage rivaled in interest any of the world’s great repositories for relics of the ancients. A pair of spectacles of the third century B. C., found in a Punic tomb, a terracotta figurine of an organ, pots of rouge and face powder, bronze razors and milk bottles found in the tombs of Carthaginian children, were also in the museum. The author’s historical, topographical, and archeological search indicated that the old Punic city did not occupy the site of Roman Carthage. Near Cape Kamart and the Sokra marshes he discovered six ancient towers which might have served as watchtowers or lighthouses for the port. Strangely, they all appeared to face inward, toward the marshes, rather than seaward. Below their outlines the author discovered the remains of a great wall, traceable intermittently for a mile and a half. Continued examination might prove that it formed a part of the quays and landing stages of the great ports. It was of very ancient and massive construction. In the neighborhood were a succession of deeply sunken wells. Those were at a depth of fifty feet, and, upon descending into several of them, the author observed that the sightly moving waters hinted at the existence of an undergrown stream. The wells were not marked on any of the published maps of the peninsula. Roman Carthage possessed no fresh-water wells – a fact which necessitated the construction, at vast expense, one of the greatest aqueducts ever built by the Romans. The location of Punic Carthage, as indicated by the writings of Virgil, was plainly the hillside of Cape Kamart, which rose directly from the walls and ports.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The first attempt to photograph submarine ruins was recently made by the late Prince de Walbeck, who was killed last June [1923] on his way back from Carthage. His airplane photographs were a unique documentation in archeology, and were superior to any observations which could have been made at the surface of the water. They brought to view constructions submerged thirty feet and one hundred yards from shore. The photos were taken at a height of 1,000 feet, and, also at 400 feet, following the line of the ancient wall. One was able to study the topography of the peninsula to excellent advantage. The bed of the Medjerda was clearly visible and the wall of Theodosius could be partly seen. Even the Roman allotments were defined. That airplane photography established the fact that there had been a port at La Marsa. The construction perceived underwater was of vast dimensions and zigzagged from Cape Carthage to Cape Kamart. Off the coast of Mahdia, more than a hundred miles south of Carthage, was observed by airplane a sunken galley 120 feet below the surface of the water. The author had obtained permission to continue the work of recovering from the galley the specimens of Greek art, some of which were removed prior to the war. In Bardo Museum of Tunis had been placed magnificent marbles and bronzes taken from the treasure ship, where they had reposed since 100 B. C. The Gulf of Tunis was further explored by the author in the expectation of locating some of the 500 ships which met their fate during the Punic wars. One of Genseric’s booty ships was known to have sunk in the gulf after the Vandals sacked Rome in 453 A. D. In continuance of that work the airplane would play an important part. Further evidence that Punic Carthage did not lie beneath Roman Carthage was a discovery on part of the Pere Delatte northwest of the Hill of Bordj el-Djedid, where a large quantity of Punic incense burners of about 400 B. C. were unearthed. This was two miles from the site commonly considered by historians.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only Punic statue found thus far was beneath the garden of Lavigerie building at La Marsa, three and a half miles from the Carthage of 1924. No land had more wonderous or more beautiful Christian ruins than North Africa. From Shershel, in Algeria, to Carthage, in Tunisia, the pilgrim followed the sacred way of the routes of the basilicas. Few, indeed, knew the importance of the African ruins, which were the oldest remains of Christian edifices in the world. If one wished to see what the first Christian churches were like it was not to Rome one should go, but to Africa. They did not exist any longer in Rome, for they had all been destroyed or built over; but at Carthage and Tebessa one could see the largest basilicas in the world. Two hundred and fifty basilicas, churches, and chapels had been discovered and partly explored. Some of the most wonderful catacombs and cemeteries of the first centuries of Christianity were to be found at Sousse and at Tipasa, with its basilica dedicated to St. Salsa, one of the most celebrated African martyrs. Tebessa contained the largest early Christian ruin on earth. Souk Ahras was the home of St. Augustine. More ruins were found in Hippo. But it was Carthage that had the most history, and martyrs – St Louis of France, St. Cyprian, St. Perpetua, and St. Felicitas. The author’s explorations convinced him as to the error which had persisted for centuries regarding the location of Punic Carthage. His progress was due to a few records of ancient historians, the Arab documentation of the Middle Ages, a study of geographical changes, and his excavations of the last five years. Through all the desolation of the surroundings and amid the debris that blanketed the entire peninsula, the voices of Hannibal, Scipio, St. Augustine, St. Louis, St. Cyprian, and other mighty spirits seemed to summon the modern world to the task of discovery and enlightenment.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the bottom of the last page of the second article, page 423, the is a notice boldly entitled “IMPORTANT NOTICE TO MEMBERS.” The text reads: “Those authorized to secure detailed information and photographs in the name of the National Geographic Society and its Magazine are supplied with official credentials in the form of letters specifying the object in view. Upon presentation of such identification, the fullest co-operation is respectfully requested. This notice to members is necessary, unfortunately, because of the fraudulent operations of persons claiming official connection with The Society or the Magazine. All membership fees should be made payable to the National Geographic Society.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The fourth item listed on the cover of this month’s issue is entitled “Tunisia, Where Sea and Desert Meet” and has Gervais Courtellemont in the byline. It is not an article but a set of “16 Autochromes,” the “SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS IN FULL COLOR” advertised on the cover and embedded within the second article. Mr. Courtellemont is the photographers. These autochromes are true color photographs. Each one is a half-page in size, taking up eight pages. These pages are Plates, numbered from I to VIII in Roman numerals and representing pages 415 to 422 in the magazine.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A list of caption titles of the sixteen autochromes with their plate numbers is as follows:</span></p>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Poet Recites His Lay” – I</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Children of the Oasis of Tozeur” – I</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Pottery Merchant Waiting for Customers” – II</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Tunisian Women at Home” – II</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Favored Daughter of the Harem” – III</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Drying Wheat After It Has Been Washed” – III</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Souks, or Covered Shops, of Tunis” – IV</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Hat and Leather Shop of a Tunisian Merchant” – IV</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Canopied Bed of a Tunisian Interior” – V</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Desert Beauty” – V</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Telling the Family’s Fortune: Tunis” – VI</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Street in a Native Quarter of Tunis” – VI</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Bedouin Girl of Southern Tunisia” – VII</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Jewish Family of Tunis” – VII</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The City Door of Susa, on the Tunisian Coast” – VIII</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Tunisian Country Woman” – VIII</span></li>
</ul>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The third article in this month’s issue is entitled “Keeping House in Majorca” and was written by Phoebe Binney Harden. The article contains eighteen black-and-white photographs, of which four are full-page in size. One of those full-page photos serves as the frontispiece for the article. The article also contains a small sketch map of Majorca on page 431.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Ceylon is only forty miles from heaven,” said the enthusiast, as the author and her family sat on the deck of a steamer bound for the Far East. It was then that the uncommunicative man, who had lived there, looked up and quietly asked, “Why the forty miles?” That was the way the author felt about Majorca after her first trip – and in fact have felt so ever since. Why the Balearic Islands should be so little known to the modern tourist was a mystery, albeit a pleasant one. Even in the times of the Bible, the strength and valor of the “Balearic slinger” were well known. Fortunately, his warlike character seemed to have evaporated with time, leaving a country whose tranquility was untouched either by modern hurry and bustle or the equally hurrying and bustling modern tourist. It was the author’s instinct to keep it all as secret as possible. When Palma, the capital, was within overnight distance from Barcelona and but little more from Marseille, it was painfully easy to overrun the place and so spoil that seemingly unique spot. The author’s family discovered it quite by chance themselves. With the help of guidebooks, they had been traveling all over Europe searching for just such a spot. Then, a friend assured them that the only place to go was Majorca. Mary Stuart Boyd had a house in Deya, one of the small villages of about 800 inhabitants, where she said they could stay. It worried them not at all that none of them spoke a word of Spanish, and even less when they saw their little stone house, overlooking the blue waters of the Mediterranean, with olive terraces leading to pine-covered bluff beyond. What did it matter if the trip to their daily swim was half a mile down and seemed five miles back? The clear warm water, surrounded by adventurous-looking rocks and caves, made the best swimming they had ever experienced. The terraces, with their twisted olive trees, planted by Moors over a thousand years ago, looked like an illustration from “Peter Pan.” They picked figs and oranges freely with no thought of irate owners.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the little rose- and honeysuckle-filled garden, with its flagstone paths covered by a grape arbor, they used to sit and have their meals from a great stone table where the monks ground their corn. That garden alone seemed compensation enough for the whole journey, to say nothing of the cold, clear spring, around which was a rough bench where the monks sat for rest and recreation. They were in Deya de Majorca a week when they decided to have a house of their own. They began housekeeping with difficulties. Using phrase books, they worked out Spanish sentences, only to find out the inhabitants only spoke Majorcan, a dialect Spanish student could not understand. The local doctor spoke some French, but he was very busy. Twice a day he was summoned and came to serve as translator. They were promised acetylene for their lamps, but never received it. The gas they used did not work. The natives all used picturesque small, open, oil-burning lamps, like those of the early Christians. They even tried them; there was nothing like surrounding one’s self with “local color.” But they literally smoked them out of house and home, and they finally resorted to homegrown lamps and candles. What they would have done those first weeks without the unfailing courtesy and patience of their fast-forming circle of friends and neighbors, the author did not know. All their marketing had to be done by signs. Eggs were a comparatively easy order. One could always indicate the shape of an egg with the fingers. Fruit was more difficult. The little village store was the meeting place for the men. Everyone would leave his card game or glass of aniseed and gathered in a circle while the family made their signs and motions. Eventually, they got their order filled. Conversations were strenuous, with dictionaries, phrase books, and wild gesticulations. Occasionally, the performer was greeted with peals of laughter.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On one occasion, the boy of the party went to Soller. With pride he related how he had ordered four meat pies to be sent the next day. The next day, to their surprise, twenty-two meat pies were delivered. For days they fed meat pies to the family, the servant, all her friends and relations, and finally the pigs. On their first Sunday in Majorca, they were surprised and not a little mystified at the apparent change in character of the male population. They had arrived toward the end of the week, and a more murderous-looking set of individuals it would be hard to imaging. But on that day, when they went to the village, everyone seemed to have acquired benign characteristics. Then they discovered the cause. Saturday night the entire male population was shaved, almost <em>en masse</em>, at the barber shop. It was curious how dark, heavy beards would alter an expression. The barber was the leader of the band, the bootmaker, and the veterinarian of the village. For the dance of the year, a platform was erected on one side of the open-air plaza. Under decoration of flowers and gaudy tissue paper the band sat. The band was composed of everyone who could blow a trumpet or eat a drum, ranging in age from seven to seventy. Around the plaza, on improvised benches and kitchen chair, sat the populace in their “best,” under more decorations and many lanterns. The plaza was the only flat space in the village, which was built on the steep side of a ravine, beside a gurgling stream. In addition to old defense towers and ancient ruins of a castle on the side of a mountain, the village itself strongly reflected the influence of the Moors, who were driven out in 1232. There were still paintings on the houses done by the Moors before their spectacular exit, when they were conquered by James I of Aragon. A historical beauty spot of the island was one of the two mammoth caves were 800 Moorish refugees lived for two weeks while besieged by the Spaniards.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The most lasting reminders of the Moorish menace were the old defense towers, built to warn and protect the Majorcans from the piratical raids of the Moors after their eviction. Those still stood in their commanding positions. The author’s house was built with one of the old towers. The loopholes in the four-foot walls no longer served as casements for bowmen, instead they were of convenience as shelves for toothpaste and such articles. The lookout tower was unnecessary, but a more charming sleeping porch was hard to imagine, with its view of a semicircle of vividly colored mountains on one side and a deep gorge leading to the sea on the other. The World War touched Majorca only slightly, although the native complained of high prices. The German submarines profited by the prices and came often for supplies. The family saw two during the first of their Majorca stays. Some of the pro-German sentiment there was probably directly traceable to the former Archduke of Austria, who owned eight big houses and the greater portion of the northern part of the island. It was difficult to imagine how he obtained the land. In that part of the island, it was almost impossible to buy ground, for every plot was handed down from generation to generation and rented out in small holdings. At the Archduke’s death his estate was inherited by the children of his secretary, a native of Deya, so the land had once more come back to its own. The Archduke was popular in Majorca. On his first trip to the island, he was walking along the road when a peasant had an accident with his loaded mule cart. The peasant called to the stranger to help repair the breakdown. When finished, the peasant gave the stranger a coin worth 2 cents. The Archduke thanked the peasant saying he would keep the coin, since it was the first money he ever earned. The village still told the joke, and the peasant, even in 1924, was made to feel embarrassed.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The supplying of the submarines was handled by a small society of men in Soller, about four miles northeast of Deya. All the natural facilities aided them. For miles the coast was rocky, wild, and filled with caves – exactly the kind of caves for storybook smugglers. Real smugglers still existed. Each night the carabineros (police) started for their all-night vigils along the coast. They were paid scandalously low wages and were bribed easily. Past their house went a little donkey path to a cove on the sea. Sometimes, in the dead of night, one could hear the trampling of many shod feet as they passed. On one occasion they probably needed rope, for the smugglers stole their donkey’s reins. The author longed to see them, but the nights were dark and the shadows deep, and one could only hear – never see. The officers of the law were most diligent in prosecuting any other type of malefactor; but in Deya crimes were few and far between. In 25 years only two people had occupied the little jail: one a man came from another village and got drunk; and the other a woman of ill repute. Recently, a workman from another village stole a pair of shoes. The whole of Deya was upset for two days; the man was pursued for miles and finally caught. Deya was almost unconvincingly free from vice. There was practically no drunkenness. Though there was no one very rich, there was no great poverty, and everyone lent a hand to the families of the wandering carabineros, whose pay was small and, as was usual the world over, whose families were large. There was no servant class. The girl who worked for them in that capacity for all of 20 cents a day was a relative of the mayor. But no one needed servants in Deya. Everyone was busy, and for the women the actual housework was simple. There were no carpets on the stone floors. The walls and ceilings were whitewashed, for everything was scrupulously clean, though unsanitary. Next to the well-scrubbed and whitewashed kitchen, there was the invariable pigsty.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The pig played a dual role in Majorcan villages. He was the general scavenger, and later could be killed and made into the sausages that were hung on strings beside the dried tomatoes and peppers in the attic as a supply for the winter. The killing of the family pig was one of the big events of the year. The relatives, family, and friends gathered and all helped to covert the erstwhile companion into forms practical for winter food. The meals were simple; for breakfast, coffee with bread and oil; luncheon, <em>sopa</em>, a dish of vegetables fried in oil, to which water was added, and finally the fluid soaked up with slices of their saltless brown bread; for supper, again sopa. Often, there was sopa three times a day, accompanied by a dish of home-cured olives. The olive oil was of home production. Under the house was one of the great olive presses. The bread was baked in great community ovens. Olive branches were put in and burned until the oven was hot, then the coals were raked out, and after three prayers were said and the sign of the cross made, the bread and various fancy pies were put in. Meals were eaten in the low-ceilinged, whitewashed kitchens. Usually, there was a second windowless enclosure with a low roof, where the family gathered around an open pan of burning charcoal during winter. There were practically no wood-burning stoves; all the cooking and heating was done with open charcoal fires. The family had a little oven built next to the open burner, on the tiles. But, then, they were very modern. They also had running hot water. All the water had to be carried up and put in a cistern before it would run down. That was a mere detail. They also had the only piano in the village. The piano and the running water were the chief causes of their excessive popularity in the early days. Sunday was a great day for visiting; also, it was the time for walking up and down the road in groups. The system of chaperonage was very strict. The girls never went out alone, nor after dark.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405004664?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405004664?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The household linen was lovely. One was sure of good sheets, nearly always embroidered or with open work, and a carefully made mattress, even in the little boarding houses. In Majorca it was an exceedingly bad housekeeper who did not have her mattress made over, whipped, and aired in the sun at least once a year. Most of the work was done out of doors – raising vegetables on some bit of land some distance from the house, tending the orange or lemon crop, picking up olives, etc. At sunset, the quaint figures, with their donkeys and goats, wended their way home from the day’s work laden with bright-colored fruits and vegetables, or carrying great bundles of olive branches for fuel; the women wearing full, bright-red petticoats, the outside skirt drawn up around the hip for protection. On the heads of the older women are silk handkerchiefs; on the younger sheer white caps as headdresses, the hair being worn in one long braid down the back. Around Christmas time, to the family goat, donkey, and pig was added the family turkey. In Palma, where there were real sidewalks, the family turkey was tied with a string to the front door, but at least once a day it was taken for a walk with the end of the string still tied to its leg. At any rate, the fortunate individual seemed to get his money’s worth from the turkey before it was led to slaughter. Books could be written on Palma, Alcudia, and on Valldemosa where George Sand and Chopin spent many happy days. Despite George Sand’s comment to the contrary, a more simple, kindly, frugal people would be hard to imagine. In 1924, Deya de Majorca was almost unbelievably ideal, as it lied surrounded by futurist-colored mountains, overlooking the blue of the Mediterranean. In those days of strenuous effort, it was a haven of tranquil beauty surrounded by people of kindly simplicity.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The fourth and final article in this month’s issue is entitled “Sakurajima, Japan’s Greatest Volcanic Eruption” and was written by T. A. Jagger, Director, Hawaiian Volcano Observatory. It has the internal subtitle: “A Convulsion of Nature Whose Ravages Were Minimized by Scientific Knowledge, Compared with the Terror and Destruction of the Recent Tokyo Earthquake.” The article contains thirty-two black-and-white photographs, of which ten are full-page in size. It also contains a sketch map of lower Japan with an inset of Sakurajima on page 449.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two of the great convulsions of the earth’s surface in the history of mankind had occurred in Japan during the present [1924] generation. The earthquake of last September took 400,000 lives and wiped-out billions of dollars’ worth of property; the Sakurajima volcanic eruption of 1914 (the greatest in the annals of the Island Empire) resulted in the loss of only 35 lives and some millions of dollars in property. Scientific investigation was, in large measure, to be credited with the relatively few casualties in the latter instance, for it was through the prediction of the imminence of the outbreak that the inhabitants of a populous district were enabled to flee from the wrath about to come. In Tokyo, on the other hand, the earthquake and succeeding flames caught the great Japanese metropolis of two million people and its adjacent seaport unawares and unprepared. It was through the study of premonitory earthquakes in their relation to volcanic outbreaks that the Sakurajima eruption was predicted; conversely, it was hoped that, in time, through exhaustive study of volcanic activities, earthquakes might be predicted with accuracy. The phenomena of the Sakurajima eruption, therefore, were proving of transcendental importance to the scientific world, and the measures which were taken to safeguard life at that time were being eagerly studied anew. The volcano of Sakurajima, shaped much like Vesuvius, rose to a height of 3,506 feet, directly opposite the city of Kagoshima, in Kagoshima Bay – a tongue of water extending into the southern end of Kyushu. Prior to the eruption of 1914, eighteen villages, with 22,000 farmers and fisherfolk nestled on the shores of that small volcanic island, which nearly filled the bay between Kagoshima and the Osumi promontory. The channel between the volcano and the city was two and a half miles wide, with a depth of 70 fathoms, while that on the Osumi side was only one-third of a mile wide, with a depth of more than 50 fathoms.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Kagoshima, the thriving capital city of the province, with a population of 70,000, was the center of Satsuma pottery manufacture and of a fertile farming region, producing tobacco, citrus fruit, and sugar cane. Men of science had long known what laid in store for Kagoshima. Experience had taught observers that when “Swarms” of earthquakes began in the vicinity of an active volcano, the underground dragon was writhing and preparing to make trouble. In 1909 and 1910, two writers published warnings that Sakurajima was likely to erupt explosively after violent premonitory earthquakes. For three years prior to the 1914, volcanic eruptions had occurred in all parts of Japan. The observatory in Kagoshima had recorded 91 earthquakes in 1913, as compared to an average of 34 quakes annually. At Yoshino, to the north of Kagoshima, springs suddenly ceased to flow in the autumn of 1913, and a pond and several wells in the city went dry. Violent eruptions began in 1913, not at Sakurajima, but at Kirishima volcano, thirty miles north of Kagoshima, where there were three outbursts, the last two being on November 8 and December 9. As January 9, 1914 approached, the people near Kirishima grew apprehensive, but the volcano remained quiet. On Sakurajima, however, earthquakes began to occur in swarms. Three strong shocks were felt on the afternoon of January 10, followed in the evening by two more. The next morning there were three strong shocks, accompanied by rumblings, before sunrise. The earthquakes became increasingly alarming. Ten strong shocks were counted during January 11, and scores of earthquakes were being registered at the observatory on the cliff west of Kagoshima, five per hour in the morning, eleven per hour around noon, and twenty per hour in the evening, with a maximum of twenty-eight between 8 and 9 p, m. There was a lull in the quaking after midnight, but on January 12, there were twenty shocks per hour between 3 and 11 a. m.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The number of earthquakes felt in the city indicated that from 6 p. m. until midnight, January 11, shocks were felt approximately every twenty minutes; from midnight to 3 a. m. of January 12 every ten minutes; and thereafter, until 5 a. m., every five minutes. Then came a respite from shocks for about three hours. Four hundred and seventeen earthquakes were recorded at Kagoshima between 4 a. m. January 11 and 10 a. m. January 12, after which the main eruption began. Counting the shocks of January 10, which began about 1 p. m., there was forewarning for forty-five hours prior to the explosion. Those warnings were heeded. Every available sampan sped back and forth across the channel all day Sunday, January 11, moving the native off the island. By Monday the army, navy, government departments, railways, and steamship lines were all helping. Sunday afternoon, about 2 o’clock, white smoke was seen rising from the middle of the volcano. The Monday period of seismic activity was terminated and relieved by the volcanic outbreak of 10 o’clock. The climax came at 10:05, when, in the middle of the side of the mountain facing Kagoshima, a swelling balloon of Black smoke rose majestically from the ground where, an hour before, were orange orchards, terraced fields of sugar cane, and gardens of radishes. The jets of smoke from the western vent of the volcano shot up obliquely, then straightened to a vertical column, and rose 30,000 feet into the sky, first club-shape, then like a lily. Finally, the top bent majestically eastward. The upper clouds of dust were caught by some countercurrents of wind, which strewed the powder all over central Japan. Ten minutes after the first outbreak a similar column rose from the eastern flank of the volcano, but it was dwarfed by the towering western shaft with which it eventually merged. With occasional lulls, but with ever increasing violence, the booming concussions of the eruption grew more and more terrible.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Flashes of lightning danced through the great billows of smoke and dust, and in the lower portion of the great, black column, upward streaming rocks, bombs, sand, and smoke, curled as high as the mountain itself, could be seen from time to time. In addition, there were spurts of large, glowing blocks, which left curving trails of vapor in their path. At night, those red-hot missiles could be seen to darken as they passed the crest of their curved courses, and gradually they were blotted out by the darkness. The fall of ash on the city of Kagoshima began an hour and ten minutes after the eruption, and continued intermittently until the following evening. At 5 o’clock in the afternoon, the eruption waxed in fury. Heavy earthquakes were felt on the southeast coast of Sakurajima Island. The maximum height of ejected material was reached an hour later. The crisis, which resulted in the only loss of life during the disaster, occurred at 6:29, when a terrific earthquake threw down walls and buildings at Kagoshima, dislodged boulders from cliffs, and disrupted railway and telegraph services. 10-foot tidal waves damaged small boats in the harbor. Thirty-five persons were crushed to death. And 112 were injured. The lava flows from the volcano had begun and the gas explosions had relieved the underearth of millions of tons of matter, so that that earthquake was probably the evidence of a deep movement, or settling, that had begun along the great chain of Ryu-Kyu volcanoes, extending from Kyushu to Taiwan in a string of islets 900 miles to the southwest. Simultaneously with the big quake a sudden lava glow was observed on the smoke coming from the volcano. That continued for some time. The air concussions reached a maximum at midnight on January 12. It seemed probable that the big earthquake of Monday evening was the climax of strains in the crust, and that the midnight detonations were the climax of explosions in the lava column that had been released. The glow was probably due to the spouting lava.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405006254?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405006254?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The outbreak of January 12 was followed by months of intense activity. The lava overflowed new craters, poured into the sea, and created new islands. Ther was a short lull on the morning of the 13<sup>th</sup>, but a 4:09 p. m. there was a starling earth shock, and about that time, lava flows emerged from the slopes of Sakurajima nearest Kagoshima. The lava moved rapidly the first few hours and then settled down to a glacial flow. The lava crystallized into rough sprouts and tumbled fragments, like the AA lava of Hawaiian folklore. [See: “The Hawaiian Islands,” February 1924, <em>National Geographic Magazine</em>.] Similar lava was vomited from eastern vents, which were still in full blast when the author arrived on the scene, in February. Explosions hurled up “bread crust” bombs of semi-molten stuff at the fountainheads of the flows. The steep lava fronts, 15 feet high, caved in and sent up avalanche clouds, with tumbling fragments as big as a house. The climax of luminosity, accompanied by terrible concussions, occurred on the evening of the 13<sup>th</sup>. Skyrockets of scoria shot from the crater in all directions. Over the mountain hung a huge black cloud of ash in which lightning was zigzagging in long, whit streaks. Suddenly, at 8:15 p. m., a tremendous force sent a fountain of fire more than 6,000 feet into the air. Then that brilliant column fell, and from that incredible height tumbled like a vast Niagara of fire in wide streams on the island and into the water. Lava streams rushed into ravines, filling them, solidifying, and piling up fields of enormous dimensions. When at its height, the tumbling cone spread fire in the remaining forest and villages. The entire western coastline was ablaze. The “rapids of raining ash” obliterated the village of Hakamagoshi with bombs and gravel, and threw down the trees in lines. That was the moment of extreme danger for Kagoshima, for the incandescent blast was straight toward the city, scarcely two miles away, but its force was spent over the channel.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If the entire eruption had concentrated about the western crater, Kagoshima would have been destroyed; but the outcome was happy for the city, in that explosive activity in the western craters ceased after January 20; and the activity was concentrated at the easter craters, which continued exploding into the summer months. Immense patches of pumice floated on the bay, at first in such masses as to impede boats. The lava pushed out to promontories and tongue submerged by the sea. As the wind was mostly eastward, the heavy ashfall accumulated deepest in sparsely inhabited Osumi country. The western lava flow was more than three miles long, and varied from less than a mile near the source to two miles in the region of the former shore line. The more voluminous east lava flow came from three pairs of craters, each pair consisting of an explosion hole above and a lava outlet below. All three were in action in February when the author saw them. The flows divided into lobes at their lower ends. One of them buried Seto and filled the strait which separated the island from the Osumi mainland. The moment when Sakurajima Island became a peninsula occurred on the afternoon of February 1, when the last pools of boiling salt water were obliterated by tumbling slag, which began to pile up against the steep Osumi shore. Twice thereafter, the road along the shore had to be moved higher as the lava buried it. During the month that lava rose to 300 feet above sea level, where before there had been water 200 feet deep. On February 19, the author tested the sea water for temperature. Near the Osumi lobe, it was 135 degrees F. There were big explosions at the eastern craters, reaching a maximum March 11 and 12. The brightly incandescent explosions reach a height of 10,000 feet, and blowholes of paroxysmal gas puffed almost continuously on the flowing lava at terrific pressure.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405006072?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405006072?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The remarkable record of lifesaving in the Sakurajima eruption was partly due to good luck, but also to the instinct of the people, to the wisdom of the government, and to scientific societies. Army, navy, and police officers took control; steamship companies, newspapermen, and high school boys organized rescue expeditions to the island, carrying away every living soul they could find. People camped on temple grounds and in cemeteries, and 5,000 destitutes were accommodated in schools, temples, and public buildings. Then came the earthquake and consternation reigned. January 13 was a day of general exodus. There were no looters. Officials remained at their posts, but the population fled. The general in charge of an army detachment that was bound for the Ryu-Kyu Island diverted his transports to rescue work. The young men’s clubs of outlying towns received the refugees, suppressed profiteering, and systematically provided lodgings. On January 14 Dr. Omori arrived, brought two new seismographs, and posted an official bulletin to the effect that the worst was over; so that thereafter the population straggled back into the city and the shops and hotels were opened. The behavior of the volcano confirmed his dictum. Railway connections were broken for one day only and telegraph connections for a few days. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Relief funds poured in from all over the world. The government authorities took an inventory of the damage and immediate needs. The foreign relief money went to purchase permanent homes for the desolated Sakurajima fugitives on the nearby island of Tanegashima. Fifteen thousand people had dwelt within the death zone of the volcano. Seven out of eighteen towns on the island were destroyed. Fifteen lives were lost by the earthquake in Kagoshima city and twenty others elsewhere. Ninety-five thousand people moved across country and were cared for by spontaneous hospitality. The ash fall varied in depth from 70 inches near the volcano to a thin film 30 miles away. On the second day (13<sup>th</sup>) it fell on Osaka, 350 miles to the northeast, and on the third day in Tokyo 600 miles to the northeast. More than 4,000 acres of hard lava, above sea level, poured out in the first two months; 2,148 buildings were burned and 400 collapsed. The damage was estimated at $19,000,000, the number of people transferred to new homes was 28,096, the relief fund amounted to $2,500,000, and 18,446 destitutes were being provided for in February. Careful measurements showed that a place on the mountain, which was an old survey station, had been heaved up 24 feet, and that a place in the bottom of the bay to the north had subsided 10 feet. The actual mountain was swollen by the lava inside, but the land all around for 75 miles had subsided, owing to the great volume of lava withdrawn. Similar heaving occurred in north Japan in 1910, when Usu volcano erupted, without however emitting any lava. Such heaving and shoving of great blocks of the earth’s crust were common in earthquakes, and in the San Francisco disaster the sideways movement between two adjacent pieces of ground was as much as fifteen feet. A great earthquake in Alaska in 1899 lifted the rocky shore line more than forty feet, as reported by a National Geographic Society expedition which was sent to measure it.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405006466?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12405006466?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The appalling cataclysm which had recently stricken Japan, destroying most of Yokohama and two-thirds of Tokyo was occasioned by sudden big movements about the volcanic rift in the bottom of the sea a few miles southeast of Fujiyama. The bottom of Sagami Bay sank 900 feet, as if a submarine crater had caved in. With those colossal changes in the sea bottom, the shore lines were lifted or lowered by from one to nine feet only, showing an overall tilting. Those relatively small figures for the shore line indicated a difference in material composing the sea bottom and the shore line. On the other hand, the upheaval of eastern Japan for 100 miles outward from the volcanic center was probably due to some swelling action of the lava under the earth’s crust. That lava failed to escape, just as in the case of Usu Volcano, and elevation of the land was the result. Those movements of swelling and tilting had been studied at the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory, under the U. S. Weather Bureau. This was a very hopeful line of research, as earthquakes were often accompanied by sudden tilts, tipping away from some point on the surface. That suggested that such a center of tilt might become the center for sudden breakage or volcanic explosion. Contrasting the Sakurajima eruption with what happened at the Tokyo earthquake, the indications were that, in the former, there was an accumulated upward pressure. The shore line of Kagoshima Bay was rising for several years. Near Tokyo, on the other hand, the land was sinking and the sea encroaching. When the earthquake happened, the whole region was shoved up vertically several feet. At Kagoshima Bay, when the Sakurajima eruption came and quantities of lava poured out from underground, the whole shore line of the bay round about, which had been rising for twenty years, suddenly subsided several feet.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The difference in the two phenomena accompanying the two events, was that a volcanic eruption was a relief by outpouring of volcanic matter which had for years been pressing upward, whereas, a great earthquake may be a sudden upward pressure over a considerable area due to some expansion of volcanic matter underground which had previously been subsiding or contracting. Dr. Omori’s tables of earthquake frequency at Tokyo for the last twenty years showed that there had been a steady dwindling in numbers each year. It was only a question of time, and of making additional observations at several volcanoes, for science to learn more about earthquake prediction than anyone dreamed of twenty years prior. The late honored Professor Omori was a martyr to science in the Tokyo earthquake. He devoted all the later years of his life to studying the relation of earthquakes to active volcanoes in Japan. He found that volcanoes were the keys to the earthquake problem. He almost reached the point of unlocking the mystery. All honor to his memory, and may science take up the key where he laid it down.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the bottom of the last page of the last article in this issue (Page 470) there is a notice regarding change of address. If a member wanted the magazine to be mailed somewhere else, the Society needed a month’s notice in advance, starting on the first of the month. If a member wanted the June issue redirected, the Society needed to know by May first.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12384145685?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12384145685?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tom Wilson</span></p> Selling Set of National Geographicstag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-03-19:1029239:Topic:2994172024-03-19T12:29:54.481ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p>Have a full set of National Geographic’s, 1965 to present , moving need to sell</p>
<p>Have a full set of National Geographic’s, 1965 to present , moving need to sell</p> Selling NGM 1974-2014tag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-03-18:1029239:Topic:2993282024-03-18T12:52:36.752ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p><span>I have National Geographic Magazines starting from 1974 until 2014 with all maps (at least I think so).</span></p>
<p><span>(missing July1978, Sep '87+'94+'98, Dec '09 and May '14)</span></p>
<p><span>I'm in Lisbon/Portugal but can ship some, depending on the value.</span></p>
<p></p>
<p><span>Obrigado,</span></p>
<p><span>Tiago</span></p>
<p><span>I have National Geographic Magazines starting from 1974 until 2014 with all maps (at least I think so).</span></p>
<p><span>(missing July1978, Sep '87+'94+'98, Dec '09 and May '14)</span></p>
<p><span>I'm in Lisbon/Portugal but can ship some, depending on the value.</span></p>
<p></p>
<p><span>Obrigado,</span></p>
<p><span>Tiago</span></p> Maps from 1911 to 1960tag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-03-07:1029239:Topic:2989072024-03-07T08:25:53.378ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p><span>"Hello,</span></p>
<p><span>I live in France and search for NG maps from 1911 to 1960.</span></p>
<p><span>Looking forward to hearing from you !</span></p>
<p><span>Regards,</span></p>
<p><span>Jérôme"</span></p>
<p><span>"Hello,</span></p>
<p><span>I live in France and search for NG maps from 1911 to 1960.</span></p>
<p><span>Looking forward to hearing from you !</span></p>
<p><span>Regards,</span></p>
<p><span>Jérôme"</span></p> January 1913 edtiontag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-03-07:1029239:Topic:2990882024-03-07T07:58:11.221ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p>Hello,</p>
<p>I live in France and search for the January 1913 edition.</p>
<p>Many thanks in advance for your reply.</p>
<p>Regards,</p>
<p>Jérôme </p>
<p>Hello,</p>
<p>I live in France and search for the January 1913 edition.</p>
<p>Many thanks in advance for your reply.</p>
<p>Regards,</p>
<p>Jérôme </p> 100 Years Ago: March 1924tag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-02-28:1029239:Topic:2990532024-02-28T17:47:51.455ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p><span style="font-size: 24pt;"><strong>One Hundred Years Ago: March 1924</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong><em>This is the 110<sup>th</sup> entry in my series of brief reviews of National Geographic Magazines as the reach the 100<sup>th</sup> anniversary of their publication.</em></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> …</span></p>
<p></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 24pt;"><strong>One Hundred Years Ago: March 1924</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong><em>This is the 110<sup>th</sup> entry in my series of brief reviews of National Geographic Magazines as the reach the 100<sup>th</sup> anniversary of their publication.</em></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444470?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444470?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The first article in this month’s issue is entitled “Geography and Some Explorers” and was written by Joseph Conrad. The article contains twelve black-and-white photographs of which six are full-page in size. The article also contains a full-page map of Virginia and Florida published in 1638 on page 242.</span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444084?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444084?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The author argued that Geography’s superiority over other sciences, like Geometry, was found in the figures which graced its history. Of all the sciences, geography found its origin in action, what is more, in adventurous action. Descriptive geography, like any other kind of science, had been built on the experience of certain phenomena and on experiments prompted by that curiosity of men and their passion for knowledge. Like other sciences, it had fought its way to truth through a long series of errors. Geography had its phase of circumstantially extravagant speculation which had nothing to do with the pursuit of truth, but had given us a glimpse of the medieval mind in its childish way with the problems of earth’s shape, its size, its character, its products, its inhabitants. Cartography was almost as pictorial then as some modern newspapers. It crowded its maps with pictures of strange pageants, strange trees, strange beasts, drawn with amazing precision amid theoretically conceived continents. All that might have been amusing it the medieval gravity in the absurd had not been a wearisome thing. But what of that! Had not the key science of chemistry passed through its dishonest phase of alchemy, and our knowledge of the starry sky been arrived at through the superstitious idealism of astrology looking for men’s fate in the depths of the infinite! Mere megalomania on a colossal scale. The author preferred a science that had not laid itself out to thrive on the fears and the desires of men. From that point of view, geography was the most blameless of sciences. Its fabulous phase never aimed at cheating simple mortals out of their peace of mind or their money. At the most, it had enticed a few away from their homes – to death, maybe, now and then to a little disputed glory, often to hardship, but never to high fortune. The greatest of them all, who had presented modern geography with a new world to work upon, was at one time loaded with chains and thrown into prison.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Columbus remained a pathetic figure, not a sufferer in the cause of geography, but a victim of the imperfections of jealous human hearts, accepting his fate with resignation. His contribution to the knowledge of the earth was certainly royal. And if the discovery of America was the occasion of the greatest outburst of reckless cruelty and greed known to history, we may say this, at least, for it, that the gold of Mexico and Peru, unlike the gold of alchemists, was really there, palpable, that lured men away from their homes. But there would never be enough gold to go round, as the Conquistadors found out by experienced. The author took guilty pleasure in the fact that the searchers for El Dorado kept failing; they thought nothing about the science of geography. The geographic knowledge of 1924 was of the kind that would have been beyond the conception of the hardy followers of Cortez, Pizarro, and de Vaca. The discovery of the New World marked the end of the fabulous geography, and it must be owned that the history of the conquest contained at least one geographically great moment – Balboa’s discovery of the Pacific Ocean. He surrendered to his first impression in naming it. He was charmed by its serene aspect. He probable thought himself within a stone’s throw, as it were, of the Indies and Cathay. Balboa could not possibly have known that that great moment of his life had added, suddenly, thousands of miles to the circumference of the globe, had opened an immense theater for the human drama of adventure and exploration, and spread an enormous canvas on which some geographers could paint the most fanciful variants of their pet theory of a great southern continent. Geography militant, which had succeeded the geography fabulous, did not seem able to accept the idea that there was much more water than land on this globe. The author supposed their landsmen’s temperament stood in the way of their recognition that the world of geography seemed to have been planned mostly for the convenience of fishes.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444656?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444656?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What surprised the author was that the seamen of that time should have really believed that the large continents to the north of the equator demanded, as a matter of good art, to be balanced by corresponding masses of land in the southern hemisphere. Every bit of coastline discovered, every mountain top glimpsed in the distance, had to be dragged loyally into the scheme of the Terra Australis Incognita. Even the great seventeenth century explorer, Tasman, after coming unexpectedly upon the North Island of New Zealand, seemed to take for granted that that was the western limit of an enormous continent extending away toward the point of South America. Mighty was the power of a theory, especially if based on such a common-sense notion as the balance of continents. When he returned to Batavia, he was received coldly by his employers, the honorable governor-general, and the council of Batavia. Their final judgement was that Abel Tasman was a skillful navigator, but that he had shown himself “remiss” in his investigations, and that he had been guilty of leaving certain problems unsolved. Tasman did not expect that criticism. He may have been hurt by the verdict of the honorable council, but he did not seem to have been cast down by it. He requested a raise, and got it. There was a taint of an unscrupulous adventurer in Tasman. It was certain that at various times his patron and the council in Batavia had employed him in some shady transactions of their own connections with the Japan trade. Then in his old age Tasman got into some disreputable scrape which caused his church to ask him to resign his membership. Even the council was startled, and dismissed him from his employment. Remiss or not, he had, in the course of his voyages, mapped 8,000 miles of an island which, by common consent, was called now [in 1924] a continent, a geologically very old continent indeed, but which was in 1924 the home of a very young Commonwealth.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">James Cook would not refuse to acknowledge that Abel Tasman had first reported the existence of New Zealand in the perplexed bewildering way of those times, a hundred and thirty years before Captain Cook, on his second voyage, laid forever the ghost of Terra Australis Incognita and added New Zealand to the scientific domain of the geography triumph of our day. No shades of remissness nor doubtful motive rested upon the achievements of Captain Cook, who worked at the great geographical problem of the Pacific. <em>Endeavour</em> was the name of the ship which carried him on his first voyage, and was also the watchword of his professional life. <em>Resolution</em> was the name of the ship he commanded himself on his second expedition, and it was the determining quality of his soul. The voyages of the early explores were prompted by an acquisitive spirit, the idea of lucre in some form, the desire of trade or the desire of loot, disguised in, more or less, fine words. But Cook’s three voyages were free from any taint of that sort. His aims needed no disguise. They were scientific. His deeds spoke for themselves with the mastery simplicity of a hard-won success. In that respect he seemed to belong to the single-minded explorers of the nineteenth century, the late fathers of militant geography, whose only object was the search for truth. Geography was a science of facts, and they devoted themselves to the discovery of facts in the configuration and features of the great continents. It was a century of landsmen investigators. The author did not forget the polar explorers, a few of them laid down their lives for the advancement of geography. Seamen, men of science. The dominating figure among the seamen explorers of the first half of the nineteenth century was Sir John Franklyn, whose fame rested not only on the extent of his discoveries, but on professional prestige and high personal character.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444296?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444296?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That great navigator, who never returned home, served geography even in his death. The persistent efforts, extending over ten years, to ascertain his fate advanced greatly our knowledge of the polar regions. The first two years of the <em>Erebus</em> and <em>Terror</em> expedition seemed to be the way to success, all the while it was the way to death. Sir Leopold M’Clintock, commanding the <em>Fox</em>, found an entry, under a cairn dated just a year before the ships were trapped and crushed by ice, stating “All well.” Franklyn and his crew were forced to abandon their ships before suffering a long, desperate struggle for life. The great spirit of the realities of the story sent the author off on the romantic explorations of his inner self; to the discovery of the taste for poring over land and sea maps; revealed to him the existence of a latent devotion to geography which interfered with his devotion to his other school work. The author lamented that there was too little geography and too much of the other subjects. He felt that the people who set the school curriculum had no romantic sense for the real; that they were ignorant of the great possibilities of active live; with no desire for struggle, no notion of the wide spaces of the world. And their geography was very much like themselves, a bloodless thing, with a dry skin covering a pile of uninteresting bones. The geography he discovered for himself was the geography of open spaces and wide horizons, a geography still militant, but already conscious of its approaching end with the death of the last great explorer. Thus, it happened that the author got no marks at all for his first and only paper on Arctic geography, which he wrote at age thirteen. It was not a set subject. His tutor had told him to not waste his time reading books of travel instead of attending to his studies. His proficiency in map drawing saved him on another occasion.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The author had no doubt that star-gazing was a fine occupation, for it led you within the borders of the unobtainable. But map-gazing, to which he became addicted so early, brought the problems of the great spaces of the earth into direct contact with curiosity and gave precision to one’s imagination. And the honest maps of the nineteenth century nourished in the author a passionate interest in the truth of geographical facts and a desire for precise knowledge which was extended later to other subjects. For change had come over the spirit of cartographers. From the middle of the eighteenth century on, the business of map-making had been growing into an honest occupation, registering the hard-won knowledge, but also recording the geographical ignorance of its time. And it was Africa that got cleared of the dull imaginary wonders of the Dark Ages, which were replaced by exciting spaces of white paper. Regions unknown! The author imagined adventurous men nibbling at the edges, attacking from north and south and east and west, conquering a bit of truth here and a bit of truth there, and sometimes being swallowed up. The author was proud that he was born around the same time the Great Lakes of Africa were discovered. His first bit of mapmaking as a boy was to carefully trace in pencil the outline of Lake Tanganyika on his old atlas, published in 1852. On it, the heart of Africa was white and big. Many years afterwards, as second officer in the Merchant Service, it had been his duty to correct, and bring up to date, the charts of more than one ship. He did that work conscientiously and with a sense of responsibility, but with great enjoyment. The author did not give up his interest in the polar regions. His interest swung from the frigid to the torrid zone, as the explorers, like masters of a great art, worked to complete the picture of the earth.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444872?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444872?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not the least interesting part in the study of geographical discovery lied in the insight into the character of the men who devoted their lives to the exploration of land and sea. The author admired those men more than the characters of famous fiction. Men like Mungo Park, who mapped Western Sudan; Bruce, of Abyssinia; and Dr. Barth, of Central Sudan. The empire building of 1924 could not suppress for the author the memory of David Livingstone, explorer of Central Africa, who died in a hut along the headwaters of the Congo. He was a notable European figure, and the most venerated of all the objects of the author’s early geographical enthusiasm. Once only did that enthusiasm expose the author to the derision of his schoolmates. One day, putting his finger on a spot in the very middle of the then white heart of Africa, the author declared that someday he would go there. His friends chaffed, and he fumed; but eighteen years later, a wretched little stern-wheel steamboat the author commanded lay moored to the bank of an African river. Everything was dark under the stars. The subdued thundering mutter of the Stanley Falls hung in the heavy night air of the last navigable reach of the Upper Congo. Just above the falls the yet unbroken power of the Congo Arabs slumbered uneasily. Their day was over. The author said to himself with awe, “This is the very spot of my boyish boast.” And yet a great melancholy descended on him. It was the end to the idealized realities of a boy’s daydreams. He had smoked a pipe at midnight in the very heart of the African Continent, and felt very lonely there. But never so at sea. There he never felt lonely, because there he never lacked company – the company of great navigators, the first grownup friends of his early boyhood. The unchangeable sea preserved for one the sense of its past, the memory of things accomplished by wisdom and daring among its restless waves.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The author had been permitted to sail through the very heart of the old Pacific mystery; a region which even in his time remained very imperfectly charted and still remote from the knowledge of men. It was in 1888, when in command of a ship loaded in Sydney a mixed cargo for Mauritius, that one day all the deep-lying historic sense of the exploring adventures in the Pacific surged up to the surface of his being. He sat down an wrote a letter to his owners suggesting that instead of taking the usual southern route, he should take the ship to Mauritius by way of the Torres Strait. He never expected it to be effective, but the owners left it to his responsibility. He had no regrets, for what would his memory of sea life had been if it had not included a passage through Torres Strait, in its fullest extent, from the mouth of the great Fly River, right on along the tracks of early navigators. The season being advanced, he insisted on leaving Sydney during a heavy southeast gale. Both the pilot and the tug-master were angry, and left him to his own devices while still inside Sydney Heads. The fierce southeaster caught the author in its wings, and in nine days he was outside the entrance of Torres Strait. The strait was named after a Spaniard who, in the seventeenth century first sailed that way without knowing where he was; without suspecting he had New Guinea on one side and Australia on the other. He thought he was passing through an archipelago. The strait, whose existence had been doubted for a century and a half, argued, and squabbled about by geographers and even by the navigator Abel Tasman (who thought it was a bay), had its true contours first mapped by James Cook, the greatest of the seamen fathers of militant geography. If the dead haunted the scenes of their earthly exploits, then the author must have been attended benevolently by those three shades – the inflexible Spaniard, the pig-headed Hollander, and the great Englishman. Great shades, all friends of the author’s youth.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444699?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390444699?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was not without a certain emotion that, commanding very likely the first and certainly the last merchant ship that carried cargo that way, from Sydney to Mauritius, the author put her head at daybreak for Blight Entrance and packed on her every bit of canvas she could carry. Windswept, sunlit, empty waters were all around him, half veiled by a brilliant haze. The first thing that caught his eye upon the play of green white-capped waves was a black speck marking conveniently the end of a low sand bank. It looked like the wreck of some small vessel. He altered course slightly to pass close, with the hope of being able to read the letters on her stern. They were already faded. Her name was <em>Honolulu</em>. Thirty-six hours later, of which nine were spent at anchor, approaching the other end of the strait, he sighted a gaunt, gray wreck of a big American ship lying high and dry on the southernmost of the Warrior Reefs. She had been there for years. The author had heard of her; she was legendary. The author passed out of the Torres Strait before the dusk settled on its waters. Just as the sun sank ahead of his ship, he took a bearing of a little island for a fresh departure, an insignificant crumb of dark earth, lonely, a sentinel to watch the approaches from the side of the Arafura Sea. But to the author, it was a hallowed spot, for he knew that the <em>Endeavour</em> had been hove to off it in the year 1762 for her captain, James Cook, to go ashore for half an hour. Thus, the sea had been for the author a hallowed ground, thanks to those books of travel and discovery which had peopled it for him with unforgettable shades of the masters in the calling which in a humble way was to be his, too – men great in their endeavor and in hard-won successes of militant geography; men who went forth, each according to his lights and with varied motives, laudable or sinful, but each bearing in his breast a spark of the sacred fire.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The second item listed on the cover is entitled “The Lure of the Land of Ice” with a byline listing Herbert G. Ponting. It is not an article, but a set of sixteen full-page duotones, pages 255 through 270, embedded within the first article. Mr. Ponting is the photographer. Duotones, formerly known as photogravures, are images transferred to paper using, acid-etched metal plates. The deeper the etch, the darker the ink transferred.</span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390445281?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390445281?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A list of the caption titles for the duotones is as follows:</span></p>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Aims of Polar Explorers have been as Pure as the Air of Those High Latitudes”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Pack Ice Seen from the Maintop of the “Terra Nova””</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Looking South Hut Point and Vince Cross”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Mt. Erebus Seen Over a Water-worn Iceberg”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Castle Iceberg Frozen into the Ice Near the Hut on Cape Evans”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Vida, Leader of One of the Dog teams of the Scott Polar Expedition”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Penguins Making for the Water”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Volcanic Pillar at Cape Barne”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“At the Threshold of an Iceberg Grotto”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Pressure Ridge, One of the Obstacles of Antarctic Exploration”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Furrows of Frozen Spray”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The “Terra Nova” in McMurdo Sound”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Sitting Before a Blubber Stove in the Antarctic”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Ramparts of Mt. Erebus”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“A Dog Team Resting by an Iceberg”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The “Terra Nova” in a Gale”</span></li>
</ul>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390445863?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390445863?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The second article in this month’s issue is entitled “Beyond the Clay Hills” and was written by Neil M. Judd, Leader of the National Geographic Society’s Pueblo Bonito Expeditions. It has the internal subtitle: “An Account of the National Geographic Society’s Reconnaissance of a Previously Unexplored Section in Utah.” The article contains twenty-eight black-and-white photographs, of which ten are full-page in size. It also contains a sketch map of the southeastern corner of Utah on page 278.</span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390445693?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390445693?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Among the members of the National Geographic Society in 1924, there were very few who believed that in the U. S., in the 20<sup>th</sup> century, that there still existed places not thoroughly explored. They were relatively small areas when compared to their parent States. Such neglected areas required no second Lewis and Clark Expedition. The latest U. S. map embodied a wealth of diverse information garnered from sundry sources. [See: “United States of America” in five colors, 38 x 28 inches, <a href="https://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topics/100-years-ago-april-1923" target="_self">April 1923</a>, <em>National Geographic Magazine</em>.] It pictured winding blue rivers and the red treads of a vast interlocking network of railroads and interurban lines; it located cities, towns, and mere filling stations; it traced transcontinental highways and many local roads; and it also disclosed certain isolated districts that exhibited none of those symbols which denoted the passing of man on his conquests. For the most part, those latter districts were left bare simply because the mapmaker could obtain no reliable information with which to relieve their bareness – areas which were still practically unknown and unexplored. One such area bordered the Rio Colorado in Utah. East and west from that savage red river unmapped mesas stretched away mile after barren mile. Securely guarded by the deep gorges of the Rio San Juan and the Colorado lied the least known section. It remained a veritable <em>terra incognita</em>. Because of the mystery wrapped about it; because it had been so purposely avoided; because all the trails led around it and none through it, that region held a peculiar fascination for the author. Back in 1907, while searching the shadows of White Canyon for footprints of the ancient cliff-dwellers, he had gazed southward across its silent, shimmering expanse. Again, in 1909, accompanying Dean Byron Cummings to the discovery of the Rainbow Natural Bridge, that same untamed district had lost none of its inherent mystery and charm. [See: in the <em>National Geographic Magazine</em>, “The Great Natural Bridges of Utah,” February 1910; “The Great Rainbow Natural Bridge of Southern Utah,” November 1911; “Encircling Navaho Mountain with a Pack-Train – a New Route to Rainbow Natural Bridge,” <a href="https://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topics/100-years-ago-february-1923" target="_self">February 1923</a>.]</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390447274?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390447274?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Still a decade later, from ridges that neighbored Kaiparowits Plateau and the Circle Cliffs, far to the west, a siren beckoned the author toward the grim silence and elusiveness of that unknown canyon country. The desert possessed an impelling force magnified with great distance and isolation from the usual haunts of men. The author happily accepted the National Geographic Society’s invitation to carry its banner yet farther along untrodden trails. That unfrequented section in the angle of the Colorado and San Juan rivers boasted one upstanding landmark, the Clay Hills. Viewed from the south and east, the Clay Hills rose as an unscalable barrier of blue and gray shale and sheer sandstone cliffs. A single narrow gateway led through and beyond that barrier. From their cedar-crowned heights the Clay Hills sloped gently down to the west, where lied the invisible gorge of the Rio Colorado; thence miles of pale, yellow sand lifted themselves slowly to meet a sky-band of far-away cliffs. It was indeed a wild country and lonesome. Its very wildness added to its solitude, as the latter emphasized its awful vastness. There, in an area larger than the State of Connecticut, there resided no living soul. The silence hung heavily. Roving, four-footed beasts of the desert were rarely seen; yet their tracks recounted the world-old story of the survival of the fittest. Even the birds seemed to have deserted that strange country, for one saw few, other than those noisy jays of the cedar ridge and the buzzards, circling ceaselessly in the sky. Nearly half a century prior, a band of Mormon colonists cut a bold path from Western Utah, across the Rio Colorado and the Clay Hill divide, to found Bluff. Descendants of the cattle those pioneers drove now foraged the more favored uplands. Seekers of gold followed. At San Juan ford some seventeen years prior, the author met a grizzled prospector with an unhurried burro, bound for the Henry Mountains. Neither the old man nor his diminutive mule were ever seen again.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But however deserted and silent that untamed country seemed, there was a time, uncounted centuries ago, when human voices echoed through the canyons, when sandaled feet stalked deer and sheep along the rocky rims. The crumbling walls of crude stone dwellings, blending with the variegated colors of the cliffs against which they clung, marked the temporary homes of prehistoric peoples. Fragments of ancient pottery and flint chips discarded by the arrow-maker snapped underfoot as one climbed the talus to some yawning cave. And there, in the cool shadows, one observed the scattered ashes of former campfires, the angular wall drawings of primitive artists, and daubs of mud thrown against the walls by children at play. Those ancient folk, safely cloistered in murky canyons, tarried but a short while; then moved on to a happier environment. To the neighboring Indians of 1924, the uninhabited region west of the Clay Hills was a fearful place, the home of all-powerful unseen forces. With the mountain sheep gone and the deer fast disappearing, few Navajo could be induced to venture north of the Rio San Juan. When the author’s party left Kayenta, early last October [1923], the Arizona sands were soaked with unseasonable rains. Flood waters were racing down the San Juan. So, they started for the swinging bridge near Mexican Hat. Seven mules were packed with oats, and four carried enough rice and flour and coffee and bacon to assure each of them two meals a day for thirty days. One extra mule was included in the train. Forced from their intended path by unexpected floods, they trailed through Monument Valley and across endless mesas to Rio San Jaun. Even in October the valley was oppressively hot. Wind and sand and water had there been locked in ceaseless rivalry since the world was young. Hundreds of square miles of solid rock had been worn and washed away, leaving a rear guard of lofty red buttes.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390448058?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390448058?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ten days and 150 miles of trail brought them to a dripping seep on the west rim of Grand Gulch, with the red walls of the Clay hills standing out boldly a short day’s ride away. From that camp, the party’s guide, John Wetherill, turned down to the San Juan for a half ton of oats which the Indians had agreed to deliver there. But he found no cache at the crossing. Without additional grain, the party could go no farther. Wetherill crossed the treacherous river on a log; then walked 20 miles to a borrowed flivver and continued to Kayenta. Three days later, Wetherill was back at the ford with the much-needed grain, and a new recruit. He had persuaded an Indian to accompany him back. However dubious the Indian was as to the wisdom of their venture; he soon proved a faithful and willing assistant. He found water in the most unpromising places, and he knew odd corners where their weary mules might graze contently for the night. And when, a few days after they had forded the San Juan on their homeward journey, he galloped away light-hearted and happy to his hogan and family, he had returned in safety from the dwelling place of Evil! There was a dim, unverified tradition that the Navaho carried the bones of their dead warriors to a final resting place near the Henry Mountains. But those sacred rites were no longer performed. If that custom did in fact be observed in olden times, wherein lied its origin? Were the Navaho descendants of the ancient cliff-dwellers? The great caves, with their abandoned camp sites, their storage cysts, or their shattered ruins, told a mute tale of human struggles long before the written history of our continent began. On that journey beyond the Clay Hills, they traversed canyons never-before visited by white men; they crawled through narrow doors into dwellings no booted foot had previously entered; they climbed canyon walls on trails unused for centuries.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The unwatered, sun-lit mesas, the shadowy canyons – the ancient cliff-dweller took those for his home and hunting grounds. But prehistoric man did not dwell long in the parched country west of the Clay Hills. His habitations there were mostly crude affairs; he built no colossal structures such as Pueblo Bonito and Pueblo del Arroyo. [See the <em>National Geographic Magazine</em> for <a href="https://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topics/100-years-ago-june-1921" target="_self">June 1921</a>, <a href="https://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topics/100-years-ago-march-1922" target="_self">March 1922</a>, and <a href="https://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topics/100-years-ago-july-1923" target="_self">July 1924</a>.] Before starting on their journey, they had been able to learn but little of the Clay Hills country, and that little proved mostly to be erroneous. Moki Canyon, for instance, was represented as about five miles long. They made three camps in Moki Canyon, the last fully 18 miles above its mouth and perhaps two-thirds of its total length. They took their mules up both the north and south cliffs. For days they climbed canyon walls and crossed tiresome mesas. It was indeed a wild sort, that land beyond the Clay Hills, and destined always to remain so. Moki Canyon, place of the dead! Like the Venus Flytrap the quicksands of Moki Canyon waited to embrace the blind or heedless passerby. Under the quick steps of their mules, those treacherous sand pockets swayed and stretched like huge yellow sheets. But they went through – the first pack-train to dare – through 18 miles of it, building trail when necessary. They had other experiences with quicksand, the last while fording the Rio San Juan on their homeward way. The trail they were following had been made by hunting parties in those glorious days when game was plentiful. The trail circled the south edge of Gray Mesa, wound through ragged canyons, and then dropped to the very edge of the drab, brutal river. Quicksand could not be avoided entirely, but the safest path was marked. Straight across to the big riffle, then down current with it gradually seeking the shore. One of the mules, Bino, had both front legs go down in quicksand. The mule was rescued, however, with great effort.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390448256?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390448256?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Never were rains more persistent than 1923! They began in midsummer, which was proper, and continued until early November, which was not at all as it should have been. At the beginning of their expedition, high water in the San Juan forced a long eastward detour. Storm clouds camped with them frequently. In the Southwest, summer showers were almost tropical in their intensity. They filled arroyo banks and undermined bridges. They loosened boulders, threw down trees, and started landslides. They climbed the south wall of the San Jaun and their clothes were still drenched from rescuing Bino; the trail was wet and steep and a bit tricky. In trying to make a high jump, a mule named Mac struck the corner of his pack, fell backward, and rolled over. All hand stretched to help the stubborn animal with the Scotch name. Afterward on the easy mesa trail, much sport was made of Mac’s narrow escape. Two days later, they stood beneath the graceful arch of the colossal Rainbow Natural Bridge, marveling at the stupendous folly of Nature, who built temples to herself and then tore them down again. Low-hanging clouds revealed, for seconds only, the snow-covered summit of Navajo Mountain. Fourteen years before, the author had first seen that sublime creation of the Master Builder. The trail of 1924 was much easier than the one they had built; its more dangerous portions had been smoothed out or avoided. Three hundred individuals, including the late ex-President Roosevelt and a score of foreigners had followed in the footsteps of the discoverer, and few had returned disappointed. And so, it was very gratifying to note, after those many years, that the Rainbow Bridge, alone among the natural wonders of our country, remained pretty much as the desert gods made it. Majestic in its solitary retreat yet dwarfed by the massive cliffs that tower above it, the stone rainbow was still the mystic bridge over which the true sons of Earth might escape their mortal sorrows.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The third article in this month’s issue is entitled “Among the “Craters of the Moon”” and was written by R. W. Limbert. It has the internal subtitle: “An Account of the First Expedition Through to Remarkable Volcanic Lava Beds of Southern Idaho.” The article contains twenty-six black-and-white photographs, taken by Mr. Limbert, of which five are full-page in size. The article also contains a sketch map of the “Craters of the Moon” with an inset of the State of Idaho on page 306.</span></p>
<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390448888?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12390448888?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the West, the term “Lava Beds of Idaho” had always signified a region to be shunned by even the most adventuresome travelers – a land supposedly barren of vegetation, destitute of water, devoid of animal life, and lacking in scenic interest. In reality, the region had slight resemblance to its imagined aspect. Its vegetation was mostly hidden in pockets, but when found consisted of pines, cedars, junipers, and sagebrush; its water was hidden deep in tanks or holes at the bottom of large “blow-outs” and was found only by following old Indian or mountain sheep trails or by watching the flight of birds. The animal life consisted principally of migrant birds, rock rabbits, woodchucks, black and grizzly bears; its scenery was impressive in its grandeur. A glance at a map of Idaho showed that the southern part of the State, lying between Arco and Carey and north of Minidoka, was a vast region labeled desert or rolling plateau. Although almost totally unknown at present [in 1924], that section was destined someday to attract tourists from all over America. The district consisted of some 63 volcanic craters, lava, and cinder cones, all extinct or dormant. The largest and most conspicuous was 600 feet high, rising amid of a belt of craters two or three miles wide and 30 miles long. The craters or cones were close together in the north and west; in the south they were miles apart. That a region of such size and scenic peculiarity, in the heart of the great Northwest, could have remained practically unknown and unexplored was extraordinary. For several years, the author had listened to stories told by fur trappers of the strange things they had seen while ranging in that region. Some of those accounts seemed beyond belief. The author made two hiking and camping trips into the northern end, covering the same region traversed by a Geological Survey party in 1901. The peculiar features seen on those trips led him to take a third across the region in the hope that even more interesting phenomena might be encountered.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One morning in May W. L. Cole and the author, both of Boise, Idaho, left Minidoka, packed on their backs bedding, an aluminum cook outfit, a 5x7 camera and tripod, binoculars, and supplies sufficient for two weeks, making a total pack each of 55 pounds. They also took with them an Airedale terrier for a camp dog. That was a mistake, for after three days’ travel his feet were worn raw and bleeding. In some places it was necessary to carry him or sit and wait while he picked his way across. North of Minidoka, for about 25 miles, they crossed a rolling lava plateau, after which came comparatively later flows of lava. They were the first white persons to cross that plateau from south to north. For three days their travel was over the uninteresting, broken-up lava surface known as AA flow. It was the hardest going imaginable. Their water on that part of the trip was snow and ice which they found in crevices. The fourth day out they sighted an Indian monument in an open flat, and 20 feet from it they found a hole about two feet in diameter, that opened downward like an immense cistern. This was full of clear water, and they drank their fill. They located that water hole by compass bearings on Red Top Butte and Sugar Loaf Butte. It was the only water in the vicinity which could be depended upon the year round. From the top of Sugar Loaf, they picked up an old Indian trail which resembled a white streak winding through the lava. Some miles to the north was the butte called Big Dome, and a few hundred yards north of it, a crater several hundred yards in diameter and about 200 feet deep. They camped in the bottom of that crater that night. Half a mile east of Big Dome they found an immense crater ring that looked as if the top of a mountain had collapsed and fallen back into the volcanic throat. The crags had magnetic properties, and the compass needle could not be depended upon when near them.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">About a quarter mile to the northwest was a large fissure, which they called Vermillion Canyon. The floor, a hundred or more feet in width, was composed mostly of cinders; the lava walls were bright red in the sunlight. Near the center were several extinct lava spouts that resembled the geyser formations of Yellowstone Park. Near there, they saw a pile of rock with a piece of charred sagebrush in it pointing to another water hole that probably contained water during the summer. Working their way through the fissure for a quarter of a mile, they found it opened upon a flat, and about 600 yards to the north was another crater like the one just passed. As they sat on the east side of its rim, they saw below them a hundred or more lava blisters or bubbles. In many instances the tops had fallen in, disclosing rooms from 8 to 10 feet across and as high as 6 or 7 feet. The shells of those lava bubbles were from 6 to 8 inches thick. Their color was a grayish brown. At all places of interest, the author set up the compass and triangulated on the more prominent buttes. Sometimes it was necessary to move the location several hundred feet, as the needle was attracted to the rocky points. Estimating distance was also very difficult, owing to the lack of any object of known size to use as scale. They usually found that distances between points were about half again as far as they had estimated. West of the crater beside Bubble Basin they saw channels winding through the lava flat. Examination showed them to be lava gutters. The lava had flowed down assuming the shape of a mountain stream. Traveling northwest for a mile, they came to another Indian marker – a pile of rocks. It had a small pile at the base and, in a line with it, about 20 feet distant, at the base of a cliff, was the entrance to a cave that opened into a room 18 feet wide and 12 feet high. Stalactites and stalagmites of ice draped over a floor covered with ice so clear it looked like water. They worked their way for about 50 yards until it narrowed to a crawlway.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">North of that point, they found a high cinder cone whose sides were terraced with mountain sheep trails. They stood out so prominently that they called it Sheep Trail Mount. In climbing to the top to triangulate their position, they found it had a double crater, or rather a crater within a crater. The sides of the crater were banded with rings of green and yellow. That was the only Sulphur deposit found on the trip. About 200 yards to the north was another large crater, 300 yards wide and 150 or 200 feet deep. About 100 yards northwest of the north rim of that crater they found a blowout cone, with a throat 10 feet wide and 15 feet long, that went down 30 feet before branching off. The north wall had a sort of lava oven about 10 feet high and hollow. Fifteen feet north of the oven was the rim of another crater blowout, 100 feet across and 150 feet deep. Fifty yards from the edge of that were nine small blowout craters. After leaving that scene, their trail laid along a series of cinder cones for almost seven miles, each with a depression in its top. The night they reached the point marked Echo Crater Cole’s feet had become so badly blistered that the pain of walking was almost unendurable. The dog was in terrible shape as well. They planned to camp for several days while the author worked out alone. When morning came, Cole’s feet had swollen. He stayed in camp and soaked his feet. The author set out to meet Era Martin and Wes Watson, who were waiting to come back with then from the north end. The author made the round trip of 28 miles, getting back by dark. He carried only a gun, camera, and canteen. It was on that trip that he had a rather odd experience. He noticed a hole, 15 feet wide and 10 feet deep, caused by the cave-in of the roof of some underground passage. He looked down and saw a mountain sheep’s skeleton with the horns in good condition. He jumped in, looked over the horns, and then could not get out!</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sitting on one of the rocks that littered the floor, he rested and thought. After a time, by rolling and lifting some of those rocks into a pile at one end, he had a mound from which he could easily reach the rim and draw himself out. Echo Crater was one of the most beautiful in that region. It is 700 feet deep and was one of the few craters having a growth of timber on its sides and bottom. It was an ideal camping place and they camped near the west wall. The acoustic properties of the site were most unusual. The west wall produced echoes while the east wall did not. About a quarter of a mile east of Echo Crater was the ice cave discovered on the trip the year before. The cave was at the bottom of a pit 100 feet long and 30 feet deep. The floor was a conglomerate of huge lava blocks. These and the walls were encrusted with about two inches of ice as clear as glass. There were many ice stalactites, and in spots, there were ice stalagmites building up to meet them. Forty-five feet from the entrance, the tunnel narrowed and inclined downward. It was unsafe to go any farther. During the month of August, on a subsequent trip, the author visited the cave and found the cave bottom full of ice, but no icicles or ice on the walls. At the south end of the pit, they noted another cave, which had about three feet of water over a stratum of ice. That went off into still another cave of unguessed dimensions. The author noticed several mourning doves flying about. By following them with binoculars, he saw them drop down into a blowout. It was hot that afternoon in August. When they reached the bottom of the blowout, they were surprises that the water was ice cold. By lining flights of doves, four other water holes were located, all as cold as the first. On the north rim of a big sink, about 50 feet from the edge were the remains of a perfect lava geyser built up 5 feet. The sink itself was 400 yards wide and 150 feet deep. They named it the Big Devil. Just north of it was a series of six smaller sinks. They call the row the Seven Devils.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The morning after they had explored that section it was foggy. After an hour of aimless travel, they decided to go back to camp. It was the first time in the author’s life that he had been lost. They got their bearings from some rocks they had passed. About a half mile northwest of the northern end of the Seven Devils they came upon a large cinder flat a mile long and a half mile wide. There they encountered another strange feature of that land. Thet noticed a series of light-brown dots extending in lines crisscrossing the flats. They were old bear tracks, into which the wind had carried seeds that had taken root and exactly filled the tracks. It was a small grayish plant about one and a half inches high, a pigmy variety of the buckwheat family. In a few places wild rye grass had taken root and was crowding the smaller plant out. We called that place Bear Track Flats. Adjoining Bear Track Flats on the north was a similar one having features all its own – more than 100 blowholes and fumaroles. From their camp in Echo Crater, they made an excursion for nine miles out into a lava flow some 20 miles wide extending to the east. Most of the flow had a pahoehoe surface. [See: “The Hawaiian Islands,” <a href="https://ngscollectors.ning.com/forum/topics/100-years-ago-february-1924" target="_self">February 1924</a>, <em>National Geographic Magazine</em>.] In places there were ridge after ridge and fold upon fold, with crevasses and cracks. About four miles from Echo Crater, they came to a large black hole. Climbing down, they entered a lava stalactite cave, each stalactite from 2 to 7 inches long and covered in moss. They went about 75 feet. A short distance from that they reached a second moss cave, extending to the east. Farther on, they found another cave, with fresh bear tracks. They went in. About 20 feet in, the cave forked, one branch went west, the other northwest. They entered each about 100 feet, until they narrowed down, making it necessary to crawl. About 100 yards from the entrance to that cave, at the base of a cliff facing south, they discovered the entrance to a cave leading northwest. It also contained bear tracks.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">East of the bear caves, they came upon a natural bridge of lava arching a point where two cliffs of lava narrowed down. It had a 50-foot span and the arch was 18 feet. Its width was 75 feet. There was a pine tree growing under the east entrance. A member of the party bumped his head on the roof near the edge, so they laughingly called it the Bridge of Tears. East of the Bridge of Tears they came to the entrance of what they afterwards decided to call amphitheater Cave. Climbing down, they found themselves on the east side of a room some 40 feet wide and 60 feet long with a domed ceiling 20 feet high. At the top of the dome the roof had caved in, leaving a circular skylight 6 inches in diameter. Behind some rocks, the tunnel led away to the southeast. They walked and crawled between a quarter and a half mile. The coloring of those caves was red, brown, and black, with splashes of white. While proceeding east, the author and Martin left the others to climb to a low mound in the flow. From that vantage point they could see a lake a half a mile long and, to the south of it, a grove of willows and cottonwoods. They decided to walk to another elevation a mile and a half farther along, where they could look down on the basin. When they got there, the lake appeared to still be three miles off, when suddenly lake, trees, and all floated away and disappeared in the distance. They had been victims of a mirage. A short distance northwest of Trench Mortar Flat lied the highest of the cinder cones in that region, known as Big Cinder Butte. As it stood in 1924, it was about half its size before the explosion blew off its top and its southwest side. From the summit they looked south over the country they had traversed, tracing their course through the maze of lava and cinder cones. Below them they counted six distinct lava flows, each comparatively fresh. To the north were many sputter cones and the shadowy outlines of craters deeper and larger than they had passed.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two miles northwest of Big Cinder Butte, they came to a row of seen lava sputter cones caused by molten lava which had been thrown out of the vent, piling up to a height of 60 feet. The southern one was the first climbed. Imagine finding a hole 15 feet in diameter and bottomless, so far as they could judge. It went down 40 feet, then narrowed, after which it opened, giving the crater the shape of an hourglass. Large rocks rolled in were never heard to strike bottom. They called it the Bottomless Pit. Nearby, a volcanic throat about 30 feet in diameter and 60 feet deep was found, full of snow and ice. From the sides hung large clots of lava. A short way from that was the entrance to the narrow tunnel of another cave. In the vicinity there were seven lava cones in a row, three of them in a state of perfect preservation. In climbing a high ridge to the north, the author saw three of the largest craters in the belt, one of which was a quarter of a mile across and several hundred feet deep. The north rim of that crater was a knife-edge, the other slope being the side of another crater, almost as wide and deep, formed by two explosions which caused a double depression in the bottom. One contained a small lake. They called it Crater Lake and the crater, Tycho, after the large crater on the moon. Stretching to the southwest for 11 miles they saw one of the most remarkable lava flows in the world. Its color was a deep cobalt blue, with generally a high gloss. The U. S. Geological Survey called it the Blue Dragon Flow. About a mile to the north of Crater Lake was an immense cinder cone, the west side of which had breached away leaving the floor of the crater as it appeared when it erupted. There were bubbles, rolls, folds, and twists, as if a giant frying pan of thick gravy furiously boiling had been frozen instantaneously. That flow had broken out and traveled northwest for several hundred yards, and then, being dammed up, had broken through a low place in the cinder ridge and gone east.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">About two miles southwest of Big Cinder Butte was a flow with similar formations. Along the north side of the Ruined Pueblo flow were 14 mounds composed of rock and sagebrush, which Indians had built. Three well-worn Indian trails came into that belt from the north. One went in about six miles west of Martin, near the sinks of a lost stream known as Little Cottonwood. The trail was distinct for about 11 miles, and then faded; yet they found traces of it all the way across. Where those trails went and why, no one knew. Northward, a mile from the Ruined Pueblo flow, were a few more low cinder cones like those they had passed. Puzzling features along the west side of that volcanic belt were the many dead, charred trees growing in a cinder flat barren of vegetation of any kind. In appearance the flows seemed as if they had occurred yesterday, but the latest probably occurred about 150 to 200 years prior, around the time of the eruption of Buffalo Hump, in Idaho County, Idaho, in 1866. The total area of the six young lava flows of that region was about 300 square miles, while that extending above and below that point, along the Snake River plains, reached 27,000 square miles. A report prepared by the U.S. Geological Survey suggested to the National Parks Service that an area of 39 square miles be set aside as the “Craters of the Moon National Monument.” In that area occurred a fissure eruption displaying surface phenomena which were paralleled only by those in Iceland.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the bottom of the last page of the third article in this issue (Page 328) there is a notice regarding change of address. If a member wanted the magazine to be mailed somewhere else, the Society needed a month’s notice in advance, starting on the first of the month. If a member wanted the May issue redirected, the Society needed to know by April first.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The fourth and final article in this month’s issue is entitled “Australia’s Wild Wonderland” and was written by M. P. Greenwood Adams. The article contains thirty-six black-and-white photographs (eight full-page in size) taken by William Jackson, Nor’ West Scientific Expedition of Western Australia. The article also contains a sketch map of the Northwestern Coast of Australia with an inset of the entire country on page 332.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Eleven million dollars’ worth of mother-of-pearl shell and three million dollars’ worth of pearls were taken, in a ten-year period, from the waters of the Indian Ocean which lapped the shores of Western Australia. Pearl fishers, with their Asiatic crews and divers, scoured the coast for 1,100 miles, from Sharks Bay to the north of King Sound. Their activities dated back to the early (eighteen-)fifties. Western Australia produced more than three-fourths of the world’s pearl shell. The principal center of the industry was Broome, a township of some 4,000 Asians and a few hundred whites. The Asians were employed in the pearl fishing under a special clause in the White Australia Act, which otherwise excluded the entrance of all colored peoples into the Commonwealth. Fifty years prior, there was not a single European settlement in that vast section of Australia, and even now [in 1924], the population was less than 7,000 souls, excluding aborigines. From 1628, the northwest coast was visited by many bold mariners, including DeWitt and William Dampier, but it was not until 1837 that the first definitive attempt at exploration was undertaken by Captain George Grey. The first pastoral settlement in the Roebuck Bay district was established in 1863. In 1882, Sir John Forrest made an investigation in that division; and shortly afterward, Hall and Slattery discovered gold at Hall’s Creek. Then, definite settlement of that great tract of country really began. It was in Broome that the Nor’West Scientific and Exploration Company of Perth, Western Australia, chartered the 22-ton schooner, <em>Culwulla</em>, and secured the services of Captain Johnson for the purpose of investigating the northwest coast from Broome to Wyndham, the small township at the head of the Cambridge Gulf. The little party of explorers sailed at daylight one morning in May. A run of 90 miles along the coast brought them to Ledge Point, where a visit was made to Beagle Bay Mission Station. The station consisted of 60 buildings scattered over 30 acres.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">North of Beagle Bay was Chilli Creek, where there was a 28-foot tide. At the ebb, water receded nearly seven miles. Under the mangrove trees which fringed the coast there were millions of crabs. Some were bright blue, others scarlet – all about the size of a 50-cent piece – while larger crabs, three inches long and yellow in color, swarmed over the sand. The fisheries wealth of this coast was remarkable, every inlet and river teeming with valuable edible fish. At Tyra Island, which was reached through wild and swirling tides, a Frenchman had lived among the blacks for more than 30 years. He owned a lugger, lived in a bark hut, and had a retinue of some 50 blacks – men, women, and children. At the entrance to King’s Sound, there was a group of islands known as the Buccaneer Archipelago. On Sunday Island, one of that group, Sydney Hadley had a mission station, where he utilized the black women for collecting the trochus shells, which he shipped away. It was from the trochus shells that pearl buttons were made – an industry carried on in France and Japan. North from the Sound lied the “Graveyard,” where tiny islands and dangerous reefs were sprinkled all over the sea. Captain Johnson took the schooner through the Graveyard and passed safely to the trickier Whirlpool Pass. At times, that pass was quite unnavigable. Its banks were more than 400 feet high in places, very rocky, and ran sheer down. The rise and fall of the tide there was 35 feet. At Dugong Bay, an inlet in Collier Bay, several sea cows, or dugong, were captured. The dugong industry was being rapidly developed in the State of Queensland and was proving a most important asset. Butcher Island provided another illustration of the power of the tides on the northwest coast, as fifty miles inland the rise and fall was 18 feet, while at the entrance the fluctuation was 30 feet. It was near there that the Charnley River poured out its waters. A run up that stream provided plenty of excitement, as here and there great mud-covered crocodiles, with which the waters swarmed, slide down the banks.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The country was timbered and ranges of hills nearly enclosed the river. At almost any point on the coast, dugong could be speared, while a sailfish was captured. It was beautifully colored and measured 8 feet in length. Another strange creature was the sucker fish, or shark sucker, which clung to larger fish solely for the purpose of “stealing a ride.” Montgomery Island was one of several small bits of land dotting among the dangerous coral reefs which strewed the coast for miles north of Butcher Inlet. One reef had an area of 20 square miles and was completely covered at high tide, but when the turn came, the sea rushed from the reef like a waterfall, leaving it high and dry. On the adjacent Montgomery Island, the blacks were noted for the way they ornament their bodies by means of cicatrices. Their markings were said to be the most unusual in Australia. The skin was cut with a sharp shell, then mud and salt water were rubbed into the wound. Tribal marks were made thus, and each man carried his visiting card on his body. Some excellent pioneer work was accomplished at Port George Mission; they had produced a veritable Garden of Eden, with tropical fruits, flowers, and vegetables. They had many goats and fowls. Sea snakes were frequently seen curled up asleep on the surface of the water. Those reptiles were poisonous and grew to about 12 feet in length. The run from Admiralty Gulf to Napier Broome Bay was full of navigation difficulties, since many reefs and small islands abounded. At Long Island, several wild men were induced to come aboard the schooner. They were very tall and wore no clothes whatsoever, their only adornment being well-defined tribal markings and long chin whiskers. Later, when nearly all hand went ashore, the attitude of the Long Islanders changed from one of friendliness to threatening hostility. The Sunday Island boys explained that that change took place because their offer of women was neither appreciated nor accepted.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On the shores of Napier Broome Bay there was a small mission station, founded 20 years prior by Spaniards of the same order which founded Beagle Bay Station. Rice, tobacco, sugar, and tropical fruits were grown with success by the four Brothers. The Brothers were often attacked by hostile blacks, and two of them bore spear wounds received in those encounters. Wild dogs – dingoes – also troubled the little settlement. Several great stingrays and shovel-nosed sharks were speared in the shallow waters of the bay. Stingrays reached a weight of 600 pounds, while sharks on that coast often attained a length of 30 feet. In Cambridge Gulf, a small uninhabited island, known as Lacrosse, was the home of giant turtles. At the head of gulf lied Wyndham, the port for the great cattle country of the hinterland. From Wyndham the ranches were served by camel trains, which carried supplies for hundreds of miles into the interior. The camels were driven by Afghans. Camel teams were familiar sights in the little township, hauling in great wagonloads of firewood from the outlying district. Wyndham was a typical Australian outback town – it boasted a hotel, hospital, butcher’s shop, several stores, post office, and savings bank. The Western Australia Government had built a fine refrigerating plant there. The Forrest River flowed into Cambridge Gulf. Unlike many tribes to the south, who threw their spears like javelins, the Forrest River men used a throwing-stick, or lever, known as a <em>womerah</em>. A good spear-thrower could hurl the weapon as many yards as he could throw it in feet when hurling it javelin-fashion. That tribe had never seen a boomerang, not all blacks used them. The trip from Broome to Wyndham and return required six months. The expedition obtained much valuable information regarding pastoral, fisheries, timber, and mineral wealth of that wonderland of the State. William Jackson secured the first comprehensive pictorial record by means of the “movie” and still cameras.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At the bottom of the last page of the last article, page 356, the is a notice boldly entitled “IMPORTANT NOTICE TO MEMBERS.” The text reads: “Those authorized to secure detailed information and photographs in the name of the National Geographic Society and its Magazine are supplied with official credentials in the form of letters specifying the object in view. Upon presentation of such identification, the fullest co-operation is respectfully requested. This notice to members is necessary, unfortunately, because of the fraudulent operations of persons claiming official connection with The Society or the Magazine. All membership fees should be made payable to the National Geographic Society.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
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<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tom Wilson</span></p> 1906 Thru 1987 Need a New Hometag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-02-24:1029239:Topic:2989662024-02-24T13:15:49.652ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p>I have what appears to be 80+ years of National Geographic magazines <strong>which need a new home ASAP</strong><strong>.</strong> They appear to be in good condition and look to have all issues included. I have not verified this. Many years have the index volume included as well. I believe most (many/all) maps are here as well. <br></br>located near Annapolis, MD. I can provide further details if requested. Email at btaschen@yahoo.com…</p>
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<p>I have what appears to be 80+ years of National Geographic magazines <strong>which need a new home ASAP</strong><strong>.</strong> They appear to be in good condition and look to have all issues included. I have not verified this. Many years have the index volume included as well. I believe most (many/all) maps are here as well. <br/>located near Annapolis, MD. I can provide further details if requested. Email at btaschen@yahoo.com</p>
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<p><a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12388888067?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12388888067?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p> every mag and map madetag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-02-23:1029239:Topic:2987772024-02-23T05:24:02.254ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p><span>I am here to update this page. Unfortunately, on Dec 3, 2023, TAPS was played as MSG Joseph F Billone was released of his final post and duties of the US Army. His legacy of National Geo mags and maps still sit here today in plastic storage bins. My dad spent his life preserving these from the first to this past month's editions some in triplicate. It will kill my sisters and me to throw these away. Most are in acceptable condition. Please can someone find a home for them? My contact…</span></p>
<p><span>I am here to update this page. Unfortunately, on Dec 3, 2023, TAPS was played as MSG Joseph F Billone was released of his final post and duties of the US Army. His legacy of National Geo mags and maps still sit here today in plastic storage bins. My dad spent his life preserving these from the first to this past month's editions some in triplicate. It will kill my sisters and me to throw these away. Most are in acceptable condition. Please can someone find a home for them? My contact number is 631-355-3376.located on Long Island NY</span></p> January 1969 to Present - Every issue & sporadic other issues back to XXIX Number Onetag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-02-14:1029239:Topic:2990202024-02-14T04:28:47.120ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
<p>My father began getting National Geographic magazines starting in January 1969. He has every issue up to today. He also collected older ones as he could find them. The oldest one in the collection is listed as "XXIX Number One". Not in the greatest shape, but still readable.</p>
<p>I'm curious as to interest in these, and if there's a market for them, and the best way to proceed with finding the best method of proceeding.</p>
<p>Regards,</p>
<p>Michael Macygin…</p>
<p>My father began getting National Geographic magazines starting in January 1969. He has every issue up to today. He also collected older ones as he could find them. The oldest one in the collection is listed as "XXIX Number One". Not in the greatest shape, but still readable.</p>
<p>I'm curious as to interest in these, and if there's a market for them, and the best way to proceed with finding the best method of proceeding.</p>
<p>Regards,</p>
<p>Michael Macygin<a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12381451469?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12381451469?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p> Have a large collection dating to 1921tag:ngscollectors.ning.com,2024-02-08:1029239:Topic:2988402024-02-08T19:35:25.553ZSophia Loftershttp://ngscollectors.ning.com/profile/SophiaLofters
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<p>Willing to sell for a reasonable offer or donate to a non-profit organization. (Located in Naples, FL area)<a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12375327283?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12375327283?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>
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<p>Willing to sell for a reasonable offer or donate to a non-profit organization. (Located in Naples, FL area)<a href="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12375327283?profile=original" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12375327283?profile=RESIZE_710x" class="align-full"/></a></p>