Evening Star Newspaper, June 7, 1931, Page 82

Instructor 1n swordsmanship for the Mexican Rurales, Maj. Schoof as he looked when he was one of Madero's officers below the Rio Grande. OR the last 50 y-ais I have spent my time in a proefessional search for what men call adventure. I have found it in widely-separated parts of the world: in South Africa, in the American We:t in the days when it was truly the “wild West,” in M<2xico, 'in Northwest Canada. Today. as the oldest active member of the Canadian Provincial Mounted Police, T am still finding 1t. But adventure tastes the sweetest when onc is young. It did with me, at any rate. I was born 64 years ago in Schleswig-Holstein, As 1 entered my ’teens I was in poor health, suffering from a lung affliction, and my life was despaired of. Furthermore, I knew that if I lived I would be forced to serve in the Piussian army, and since our province had onl!y recently been annexed I had no desire for such a fate. So, at the age of 14, I ran away. Slipping from home one night I made my way to the sea coast, and induced a ship’s captain to hide me in his cargo—he was carrying a load of live ducks and geese, by the way—and take me to America. I reached America a short time later. know- ing a dozen words of English and having no friends nearer than Germany. I got a job as “hired man” for a farmer, lost it when I acci- dentally hoed out a row of prize pumpkin plants instead of the weeds I had been ordered to hoe out, and decided to go to the wild West. I rode a cattle train to Nebraska and found a job on a real old-time ranch. HE West was really wild in those days. Cow- boys wore guns then, and wore them because they needed them and not for show. For a time I was more or less the butt of their jokes. They delegated me, for instance, to ride a sleepy looking and decrepit old horse which was the picture of innocence, but which became a raging, bucking tornado of savage energy as soon as I had got into the saddle. My final graduation from this schooling came when a tipsy cowboy put a tin bucket on my head, walked off some 20 paces and blazed away at it with his .44. Fortunately, drunk or sobet, he was a good shot. The bucket jumped three feet in the air. I jumped 10—but I was able to grin back at the laughing spectators, and from then on they accepted me as one of them. I spent a year with the cowboys, and my once weak constitution became strong. 1 learned English from them—half of it was swear words —and I learned how to ride and how to handle weapons. From Nebraska I moved into the Dakotas, where I met the Sioux Indians. For some reason I got on with them, and I am glad to say that I numbered among my friends such Indians as Sitting Bull, Rain-in-the-Face, Crazy Horse and others, all before I was 21. Naturally, being friendly with them, I heard much about the Custer massacre—although to call it a massacre is something of a misnomer, as both sides in that famous battle were armed bodies; Custer was simply defeated and killed. It was Rain-in-the-Face who cut out and ate the heart of Gen. Custer’s brother, Col. Tom Custer, after that battle. It was a re-enacting of the Battle of the Little Big Horn that brought me my first big thrill. HE Sioux, having scen how the white men celebrated the Fourth of July, decided one year to celebrate the holiday themselves. To celebrate it they planned to stage a replica of the Battle of the Little Big Horn. The Indian agent gave them permission, and the delighted Indians, complete in war paint and cazying guns, tomahawks, scalping knives and bows and arrows, came from miles around. Most of these Indians were veterans who had actually taken part in the original fight. Big, grinning and full of spirits, they were rarin# to fight—but since they couldn't fight thx@§ Wese just as anxious to play at fighting. Cowboy, Indian Fighter, THE SUNDAY STAR, Mounted Policeman Over th Zulu Tribesmen 1n Matabeleland, Instructor of Rurales in Mexic o--This 64- Year-Old Seeker of Trouble Is Today the Oldest Man1n Canada’s Provincial Police, and He Calls His Greates t Thrill Reading of His Own Execution as a Spy. A group of several hundr2d half breeds and Indians were delegated to play the part of Custe's troopers. Then it became necessary to find some one to play th: part of Custer him- self. But no white man would consent to do it. To tell the truth the whites were a bit scared. The Indians were to use blank cartridges, of cours?, but who could tell what might happen when the excitement of the mock massacre reached its height? Eventually I was appointed to be Custer for the day. I took the part with som> misgivings. The two parties were Lned up and everything went through according to plan. I led my “command” in a charge, we fired a volley, and instantly 2,000 painted Indians came galloping out at us, firing rifles and yelling lize devils. T was very realistic. My men wdre “falling dead” in rows. Presently, toward the ¢nd, old R2d Bull came crawling up. He had shot the real Custer, and he was now to shoot me. At 20 yards he shot, but I was so excited that 1 forgot to fall dead. Instantly he jumped up and ran toward me. He was not more than six yards away when he level2d his rifle and fired, point-blank. Luckily he was using blank cartridges; even so, it was so close that it blew off my hat and blackened my whole face and neck. Needless to say, this time I “f¢ll dead” with- out delay and the exciting crisis passed. This mimic battle was highly exciting and picturesque. Fortunately it turned out to be harmless: Only one Indian had slipp2d a ball cartridge into his gun, and he shot only a horse. ‘There were no other casualties. It was not long after that event that more desperate adventure came into my life. The Zulus of South Africa went on a rampage, and 1 eagerly went down there and voluntecred for active service against them. In no time at all I was one of 500 picked men, forming ‘a crack troop of the Bechuanaland Mounted Police arrayed against the forces of a 350-pound black individual who called himself the King of Kings in South Africa. H-> wasn't far wrong, because he commanded 20,000 well trained black aristocrats, and had a personal bodyguard of 2,000, each about as capable physically as the King himself. His majesty was six feet six inches tall, could hurl a steel spear 20 yards through a two-inch plank, ate half a roasted calf and a pail of beer at a meal. He was King Lobengula, sole ruler of Matabeleland. The selection of his bodyguard itself suggests his thoroughness. To applicants who would be on the royal guard he gave a length of rope and a shield. Then, six to a squad, he instructed them to bring in an African lion alive. When they did so they could join his guard, but not before. Not a member of that select 2,000 weighed under 225 pounds. Old Lobengula’s international peeve was based on several things, but I suspect his real reason for going to war was simply because he had a fine army of men 1aring to fight, and had to Jet off steam. I have observed through all my life that when a rooster has long spurs and gets to strutting around a scrap of some kind always results. UR clashes with the blacks were far from pleasant. The big natives are fierce men. They do not fear death, rather do they feel honored to die in battle, for they go immediately to Zulu heaven. A white army cannot stop them by shooting part of them and so demonstrating superior numbers or skill, but must kill all of them, for the very last black will rush happily to his doom. In his rush, of course, he may destroy any number of his enemies. They rarely trouble themselves to capture anybody, unless they have an immediate need of new slaves, or want a few odd victims for torture to augment the fun of the victory cele- bration. They simply kill. No, that's wrong. They do not kill simply. For after a Zulu has killed his enemy—say with “A tipsy cowboy put a tin buck- et on my head, walked off some 20 paces and blazed away with his 44. The bucket jumped three Jeet in the air and I jumped 10.” BY MA]J. & war club or a gun—he is not through,r bound to disembowel his victim by runAin razor-sharp spear through the body. , This is of utmost importance, for puncturing serves to release the spirit of dead encmy. If not released it would h the killer for years. The Zulu, then, will kil man, and if need be dash into the face of g just for this final spearing. Numerous I have seen them do it. ) I recall a little episode of my own w served immensely to ward off any bored:o might have felt in fighting Zulus! We were engaged in hand-to-hand battl bloody affair indeed. A big six-footer bashed over the head with his war club or “headi maker.” It mad: a true headache, stunneid and I collapsed in a heap. P Dancing with delight, the black raised long spear for the final thrust to release spirit. I was helpless to prevent it. UT at this moment a 210-pound Irish: Pat O'Connor, buddy of mine, freckle-{4 and red-headed, entered the scene in dral and highly welcome fashion. Pat jumped 10 feet or so and landed bay first, the bayonet ramming entirely through Zulu's powerful body. Pat repeated his thrust, and the black streaming blood, wilted and floppcd oa toj me in a heap. Never in all my life has a thing made such an impression on me! I am quite sure I shall never forget the battle I was in with the Zulus. I have bee officer of the law or a soldier nearly all m\ I have fought Indians and Mexicans criminals of every sort. Without meanin boast about it, I have faced danger in m different ways, have bzen wounded by bul swords and spears, have had many lf escapes from death or injury. But never, never have I experienced’ uu treme fright like that thrown into me whe was first attacked by Zulus. It is the weird| most nerve-rending thing imaginable. They attacked us, of course, after surround our position. Huge, naked black men, carry shields and speais and clubs, painted altogether horrible to look at. They attac not with a rush and a war whoop like American Indians, but with a loud, rhythr hissing, humming noise, accompanied by banging of shields and spears, their black boc bobbing up and down to the beats of the chant as they came toward us. It was terrifying. Frankly, I was sca beyond words. I literally was forced to & there and fight for my life, but if there been anything else to do I assure you I wo have done it! It was one of those cases wh a man acts bravely because he can't himself. In that instance we shot and beat and and slashed our way clear, and so my sp