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7. GEOGRAPHERS
Biobibliographical
Studies
VOLUME 31

8. GEOGRAPHERS BIOBIBLIOGRAPHICAL STUDIES

This volume is part of a series of works, published annually, on the history of geography undertaken
on behalf of the Commission on the History of Geography of the International Geographical Union and
the Commission of the International Union on the Philosophy and History of Science. Chair: Professor
Jacobo García-Álvarez, Universidad Carlos III de Madrid, Departamento de Humanidades: Geografia,
Historia Contemporánea y Arte, C/Madrid 133, Edificio 17, Despacho 17.2.14, Getafe 28093, Spain.
Other full members: Professor Michael Heffernan, School of Geography, University of Nottingham,
University Park, Nottingham NG7 2RD, UK; Professor Jean-Yves Puyo, Département de Géographie,
Laboratoire Société, Environnement, Territoire, Université de Pau et des Pays de l’Adour, Domaine
Universitaire, 64000 Pau, France; Professor Tamami Fukuda, School of Environmental System
Sciences, Osaka Prefecture University, 1–1 Gakuen-cho, Naka-ku, Sakai, Osaka 599–8531, Japan;
Professor Joao Carlos Garcia, Departamento de Geografia, Facultade de Letras, Universidade do
Porto, via Panorâmica s/n, 4150–564 Porto, Portugal; Professor Guy Mercier, Centre interuniversitaire
d’études sur les lettres, les arts et les traditions (CELAT), Département de géographie, Université de
Laval, Pavillon Charles-De Koninck, Local 6259, Québec G1K 7P4, Canada: Professor Judite do
Nascimento, Departamento de Ciència e Tecnologia, Universidade de Cabo Verde, Campus do
Palmarejo, Praia, Santiago, Cabo Verde; Professor Leon Vacher, Department of Geography, Morrill
Hall 118A, Southern Connecticut State University, 501 Crescent Street, New Haven, CT 06515–1355,
USA; Professor Perla Zusman, CONICET/Instituto de Geografía, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Puán
480, 4to piso, CP 1406, Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, Argentina; Professor Jan Vandermissen,
National Committee for Logic, History and Philosophy of the Sciences, Paleis der Academiën,
Hertogsstraat 1, B-1000 Brussels, Belgium: Professor Charles W. J. Withers, Co-Editor Geographers
Biobibliographical Studies, Institute of Geography, University of Edinburgh, Drummond Street,
Edinburgh EH8 9XP, UK. Honorary Chairs: Professor Anne Buttimer, University College Dublin, School
of Geography, Planning and Environmental Policy, Newman Building, Belfield, Dublin 4, Ireland;
Professor Vincent Berdoulay, Département de Géographie, Laboratoire Société, Environnement,
Territoire, Université de Pau et des Pays de l’Adour Domaine Universitaire, 64000 Pau, France.

9. GEOGRAPHERS
Biobibliographical
Studies
VOLUME 31




Edited by Hayden Lorimer
and Charles W. J. Withers

on behalf of the
Commission on the History of Geography
of the International Geographical Union and the
International Union of the History and Philosophy of Science
















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An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc




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First published 2012

© Hayden Lorimer, Charles W.J Withers and Contributors, 2012
© International Geographical Union/Unione Internationale Geographique, 2012

Hayden Lorimer and Charles W. J. Withers and contributors have asserted their right under
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors and Authors of
this work.

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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: Hardback: 978-1-4411-8624-9
ePDF: 978-1-4411-2142-4
ePub: 978-1-4411-0839-5


Series: Geographers: Biobibliographical Studies, volume 31

11. Contents
The Contributors vii
Introduction Hayden Lorimer and 
Charles W. J. Withers
ix
Eva Germaine Rimington Taylor (1879–1966) Hugh Clout and 
Avril Maddrell
1
Orlando Ribeiro (1911–1997) Suzanne Daveau 30
Aimé Vincent Perpillou (1902–1976) Hugh Clout 56
Two Vidalians: Antoine Vacher (1873–1920) 
and René Musset (1881–1977)
Hugh Clout 64
Jean Dresch (1905–1994) Hugh Clout 81
André Cholley (1886–1968) Hugh Clout 104
Daniel Faucher (1882–1970) Hugh Clout 119
Kenneth Cumberland (1913–2011) Eric Pawson 137
Index 161
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13. The Contributors
    Hugh Clout     is Professor Emeritus in the Department of  Geography at University 
College London and a Fellow of  the British Academy.   
   Suzanne Daveau     is Professor Emeritus in the Department of  Geography at the 
University of  Porto and Researcher at the Centre for Geographical Studies in the 
University of  Lisbon.   
   Avril Maddrell  is Senior Lecturer in Geography at the University of  the West of  
England.   
   Eric Pawson     is Professor of  Geography in the Department of  Geography at the 
University  of   Canterbury,  Christchurch,  New  Zealand.        
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15. Introduction
The nine essays which make up this thirty-fi rst volume of Geographers: Biobibliographical
Studies examine the geographical lives and works of a Briton, a Portuguese national, six
Frenchmen and, although he was born in Yorkshire in England, a New Zealander by
adoption and residence. As our essayists reveal, however, nationality provides no easy
and certainly no simple causal category either to understand or to explain these geog-
raphers’ lives and works: to read them in that way ignores the international dimensions
to their work. Neither does simple categorization into ‘human’ or ‘physical’ geographer
do our subjects justice. Such labelling does not readily speak to that study of the con-
nections between the physical world and its human inhabitants which was the aim for
many. Nor does it speak to the fact that, for some, a career begun with interests in one
theme changed over time, or to the fact that in helping establish departments and teach-
ing programmes as several did, specialist research in one area or another of the emer-
gent subject was complemented (if not hindered) by the generalist demands of teaching
across the range of the discipline. Five of our subjects were born in the late nineteenth
century, four in the early twentieth. Collectively, they shared the experience of involve-
ment in the formalization of geographical curricula and in the institutionalization of
their subject in respective universities and countries: they shared it, and, as our essayists
severally show, they also profoundly shaped it. In here prefacing the detailed accounts
which follow, we trace the principal features of our subjects’ geographies and lives before
turning to comment on three signifi cant connecting narrative threads: recognition of
geography’s contribution as a science of ‘civics’; the experience of war; and that sense
of transnational commitment to geography across national and thematic boundaries
evident in our subjects’ participation in the affairs of the International Geographical
Union (IGU).
The fi rst female professor of geography in the United Kingdom and a distinguished
scholar of early modern geography, Eva Taylor has before now long been a notable gap
in the coverage provided by Geographers . Taylor was a pioneering fi gure in the history
of geography and geographical knowledge, in effect bringing together that-then-also-
nascent fi eld the history of science with study of geography’s mathematical practitioners
and practical navigators, principally for periods before the eighteenth century: (although
her 1966 The Mathematical Practitioners of Hanoverian England, 1714–1840 extends into the
nineteenth century, her focus there as in her earlier monographs was on mathematical
and philosophical instruments and on their makers and users, hardly at all with sci-
entifi c instrumentation or with the emergence of science as regulated epistemological
procedures in the ‘modern’ sense of the term). This was genuinely innovative scholar-
ship for which Taylor was recognized in her lifetime (despite some contemporaries’
reservations about her lax standards of bibliographic citation – ironically, a charge she
was fond of levelling at others). Her attention to geographical knowledge in practice
and her almost prosopographical survey of instrument makers was world leading. The
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16. x Introduction
history of geography was then in its infancy. Historical geography was likewise, and in
Britain, the United States and in France, was much taken up with the reconstitution of
synchronic landscapes and explanation of diachronic change. But she was not alone
a pioneering historian of geography. Perhaps because she had discerned the place of
geography in practice in the past, and certainly because she was a combative proponent
of geography’s role in education and in identifying future possibilities vis-à-vis spatial
patterns and optimal distributions, Taylor was also involved in planning new post-war
geographies in England after 1945.
The inclusion of the essay on Orlando Ribeiro is likewise welcome, in pointing to
the signifi cance of Ribeiro’s work and in adding to the presence (albeit one that is
still under-represented) of Lusophone geographers within GBS . In the period covered
by Eva Taylor’s early modern geography, the navigators of Portugal and Spain had
an almost global pre-eminence. By Ribeiro’s day, Portugal’s global geographical reach
had diminished, burdened by her colonies’ demands for independence and, latterly, by
their expectation of continued assistance in a postcolonial context even as Portugal’s
economy and political life was restricted under Salazar’s dictatorship. Ribeiro’s studies
of Portugal’s national and international dimensions must be read against these shift-
ing geo-political circumstances. For Ribeiro, Portugal’s geography was not marginal-
European but Atlantic-global, the country a node for connections between Europe,
Africa and South America.
The fi rst of the French geographers here reviewed, Aimé Vincent Perpillou, pro-
duced his major thesis in geomorphology. But Perpillou’s most signifi cant contribu-
tion was his work in regional and rural geography, notably on the Limousin region of
France’s Massif Central. In this, as the examples of Antoine Vacher, René Musset, Jean
Dresch and Daniel Faucher each illustrate, Perpillou’s work was part of an intellec-
tual ‘model of practice’. In French geography, this was rooted in an understanding of
physical geography, usually at a regional or a local scale ( pays and paysage ), upon whose
‘base’ the human landscape was revealed, ‘laid open’ so to say, according to the sources
available to reconstruct patterns of human occupation and systems of land manage-
ment for a variety of historical moments while usually addressing the present day. If,
and in summary outline, this is and was Vidalian geography, we must beware seeing
such geography as necessarily national either in focus or result. If it was anything, such
geography was innately chorological: in its undertaking, it required skilled observation,
time in the fi eld and empathy towards people, place and practice. Its results usually
afforded an integrative synthesis of a region’s character, from geology to genres de vie , and
in its teaching, promoted a holistic vision for geography in both teacher and pupil and
in the French geographical imagination. This is not to say that Vidalian geography was
conceived as a national project: the picture of France that emerged derived from close-
grained regional studies of the type produced by Perpillou, Vacher, Musset and the
rest. And our study now of what we might think of then as ‘Vidalianisme’, the pursuit
and practice of Vidal’s geographical vision, needs to recognize the strength and depth
of those personal infl uences and institutional connections which shaped the French
geographical world in the fi rst 30 or so years of the twentieth century. As is revealed
here, men followed one another into teaching posts, dedicated their theses to infl uential
teachers as they themselves infl uenced others and so became dedicatees, each sustain-
ing a singular intellectual vision with regional variants while so doing. Eva Taylor and
Orlando Ribeiro both saw these standards – or De Martonne’s anyway – as things to be
aspired to, international ‘bench marks’ of intellectual standard. René Musset may have
been the Last Vidalian as he is here described (and the longest-lived), but Vidalianisme
lingered longer.
For Jean Dresch, a scholarly life begun with physical geography in high places ended
in high geographical offi ce. His exposure to arid geomorphology in the mountains of
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17. Introduction xi
the High Atlas was also a fi rst-hand encounter with human poverty and the miseries
consequent upon French colonial rule. Foreign fi eld work was a formative infl uence in
his becoming a communist. And because Dresch was a communist, the American orga-
nising committee denied him access to the International Geographical Congress (IGC)
in Washington in 1952. But it was Dresch’s geographical standing and not his political
beliefs that determined his election to the presidency of the International Geographical
Union 20 years later. Vidalian, Frenchman, citizen, geomorphologist, communist, com-
mitted internationalist, geographer? For Dresch, and for his fi ve French counterparts,
simple labels do not work.
Kenneth Cumberland’s life-long sense of geography as the study of regions and his
commitment to geography as a discipline of consequence stemmed from an enduring
affi liation to Hartshornian chorology and to his exposure to the ‘new world’ of New
Zealand and its geography. If New Zealand in general and its South Island in particu-
lar represented a ‘geographical laboratory’, Cumberland soon enough became aware
of the fragility of the landscape on and in which he was experimenting. Like Dresch,
study of physical geography led to recognition of the practical consequences of pro-
cess-based studies: specifi cally, consideration of the role of soil erosion, its importance
as a ‘natural’ phenomenon being unwittingly accelerated by unthinking human land
use. It also led to Cumberland’s lengthy and parallel engagements as a widely respected
broadcaster, and practitioner of both local body politics and farming.
There is, then, a common bond in the ways many of our subjects helped establish
geography in new institutional settings, and there is also a strong and shared sense of
disciplinary zeal, a passion for instruction in classroom and in the fi eld and a belief in
geography’s analytic worth and in its redemptive possibilities. This came, perhaps, from
the very newness of the situation in which they found themselves and the concomitant
freedom to develop their teaching programmes. It came, too, from belief in what we
might think of as the civic and exchange value inherent in a geographical education
and in the importance of bringing geographical thinking to bear on public issues. This
is evident in their teaching: virtually all our subjects here wrote the teaching texts and
the mapping manuals through which they instilled literacy, graphicacy and the ben-
efi ts of comparative explanation in their students. And it is apparent in the ways in
which their geography had civic consequence. Taylor addressed questions of urban
planning and land management. Dresch and Cumberland cautioned about the delete-
rious consequences of inappropriate land management: for native herders in Morocco’s
mountains and of settlers’ over-exploitation of high country and hill grazing lands in
New Zealand. And a common theme addressed by Ribeiro for Portugal and by our
French subjects was what they saw as the ‘emptying’ of the countryside with the result
not just of changing patterns of land use and vegetation cover but the slow collapse of
rural civic culture. If, and arguably, contemporary geographers pay scant heed to the
impact of their work in the public realm, there are lessons to be learned from the lives
scrutinized here.
What is also clear from these essays is how much the lived experience of doing
geography and committed views on the value of a geographical education and of geo-
graphical thinking was forged by war. Teaching during the Blitz as her male colleagues
were called into active service, Taylor contributed to the planning of post-war Britain.
Vacher, Cholley and Faucher produced geographical reports as part of the French war
effort in World War I. Later, Faucher used his university’s facilities in Toulouse to offer
safe haven for refugees from Spain’s Civil War. Dresch, a combatant in World War II,
took René Musset’s position in Caen from 1942–6 following the latter’s deportation
by the Nazis following accusations of spying: as Hugh Clout notes, Musset evidenced
formidable powers of recovery upon returning to fi nd his town, university and research
papers destroyed. Such circumstances may explain our protagonists’ views of geography
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18. xii Introduction
as a means to help build a better post-war world. In such biographical fragments lie
rich possibilities for further refl ection upon geography’s role as an active subject in
times of war: less, perhaps, to do with geographers’ contributions to map work during
confl ict and to international treaties at war’s end, but more prosaically if no less mean-
ingfully, of geographers coping with war, with individual’s ideas and lives changed by
war. Cumberland’s career, for example, was very clearly shaped by New Zealanders’
responses to World War II and their desire for improved geographical knowledge and
training.
Did experience of war produce generations (of geographers) committed to inter-
nationalist civic perspectives, determined never again to let national supremacies dic-
tate others’ views of a shared humanity? Such is possible, of course, but we can only
speculate here. What is certain is that many of our subjects considered the meetings
of the International Geographical Congress an important platform for collaborative
geographical exchange. Cholley was present at all the IGC meetings in the 1930s: Paris
(1931), Warsaw (1935) and Amsterdam (1938). The Lisbon IGC of 1949 was important
to Ribeiro, Perpillou and to Dresch. Dresch, who was also present at the IGC meetings
in the 1930s, was President of the IGU for four years from 1972. Cumberland was on
the Union’s Executive Committee for eight years in the 1960s. Did our subjects meet
and exchange views at the IGC? How were national practices of geography understood
by geographers of other nations and scholarly traditions? Here, too, we need to know
more about the role played by the IGU and the IGC meetings, as sites and moments
of geographical exchange and as an institution through whose functioning geography
crossed borders.
Hayden Lorimer Charles W. J. Withers
University of Glasgow University of Edinburgh

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19. Eva Germaine
Rimington
Taylor
1879–1966
Hugh Clout and
Avril Maddrell
After graduating in chemistry, Eva Taylor taught science and then studied geography at
the University of Oxford, where she was trained in the holistic conception of the disci-
pline, embracing physical, human and regional study, fi eld observation and map work.
She then wrote successful textbooks for schoolchildren, while holding part-time lecture-
ships in London. In 1921, she joined the staff of Birkbeck College, in the University
of London, where she would spend the rest of her career. In 1930, she was appointed
to the chair of geography in that college and, as such, was the fi rst female professor of
geography in the British Isles. She pioneered research into the history of geographical
thought and practice, submitted important evidence on the location of industrial activ-
ity, which would be of great value in national planning after World War II, and then, in
a very active retirement, turned her energies to research in the history of science and
the history of navigation. Her fi nal monograph was published shortly before her death.
Possessing a remarkable intellect and acute sense of scholarly rigour, Eva Taylor could
be a formidable critic and a challenging opponent in the small interwar community of
British geographers, inspiring both admiration and trepidation among its members.
Education, Life and Work
Eva Taylor was born at Southwood Lane, Highgate, north London, on 22 June 1879,
daughter of Charles Richard Taylor, a solicitor with an offi ce in the City, and Emily
Jane (née Nelson). Three years later, Emily left her husband, who would prove to be
a strict father to Eva and her older brother and sister. Toys and pets were forbidden
at home, but Eva developed an early interest in garden plants and nature in general,
and immersed herself in her studies. Initially she was tutored at home before going to
Camden School for Girls and then to the North London Collegiate School for Ladies
(then located in Camden Town), where she was an exemplary pupil, excelling not
only in her work but also at singing and playing the piano (Anon. 1968, 182). Both
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20. 2  Eva Germaine Rimington Taylor
schools had been founded by Frances Mary Buss (1827–94), the educational pioneer,
who was at the forefront of campaigns for establishing schools for girls, and for girls
to be allowed to sit public examinations and to study in universities. She was founding
president of the Association of Head Mistresses (1874–94), and was involved in estab-
lishing the Teachers’ Guild in 1883 and the Cambridge Training College for Teachers
in 1885. Miss Buss was a strong advocate of women’s suffrage. At the conclusion of
secondary schooling, Eva won a scholarship to study at Royal Holloway College for
Women and achieved a University of London fi rst-class honours degree in chemistry
in 1903.
At this time, it was usual for most female graduates to enter the teaching profes-
sion. Eva Taylor was no exception. For two years, she taught science at Burton-on-
Trent School for Girls where the clarity of her well-prepared and interesting lessons
made a very positive impression on the pupils and on the headmistress. In 1905, Eva
moved to the Convent School in Oxford, where she combined her teaching with further
study at the University in order to enhance her qualifi cations. Initially, she intended
to work for the Diploma in Education. Miss Cooper, a tutor to women students at
Oxford, advised her to consider geography rather than science as a career path, since
the infant discipline was seeking well-qualifi ed teachers (Maddrell 2009, 171). In 1906,
Eva enrolled at the School of Geography in the University of Oxford to work for the
Certifi cate in Regional Geography, and in 1907 she proceeded to study for the Diploma
in Geography (Freeman 1980a, 97). Her lecturers were Andrew John Herbertson
(1865–1915), H. O. Beckit (1874–1931) and Nora MacMunn (1874–1967), Halford
Mackinder (1861–1947) having resigned the Readership in Geography in 1903 in order
to serve as director of the London School of Economics (on Herbertson, see Geographers
Vol. 3; on Mackinder, Geographers Vol. 9). Eva passed both sets of examinations with dis-
tinction and in 1908 began to work as a research assistant for Herbertson who, as Beckit
would later record, had regarded her as ‘the most able and brilliant of many women
students trained under him at Oxford’ (E. G. R. Taylor Papers, British Library MSS
69467 543A, Letter from Kate Ruddy, 3 October 1905; Maddrell 2009, 170).
Two years later she returned to live in London, which coincided with her relation-
ship with Herbert (‘Bertie’) Edward Dunhill (1884–1950), second son of Alfred Dunhill
who had recently started what proved to be a fi nancially successful company selling
tobacco, pipes and other products for smokers. In 1905, Bertie had married V. Penley at
Wandsworth, but within a few years he turned his affection to Eva with whom he shared
a house, 34 Oakley Street, in fashionable Chelsea. In 1912, Eva’s fi rst son, Spencer,
was born and was recognized by the Dunhill family. A second son died in infancy,
and in 1919 at the age of 39, Eva gave birth to a third son, Anthony (known as ‘Tan’),
who was given the Dunhill name, although Eila Campbell reports doubts about his
paternity. Eva wrote of her feminist principles to her school contemporary Dr Marie
Stopes: ‘I have taken (from conviction!) the rather drastic step of having children with-
out being legally married to their father, so that I can sign myself, Yours Sincerely, Eva
G. R. Taylor’ (Marie Stopes Papers, British Library MSS Add 58738, f. 24, E. G. R.
Taylor to Marie Stopes, 23 March no year given). Eva’s strict father would not recog-
nize her sons and income from his estate would be stopped after her death. It seems
that Taylor had to adopt her own sons in order to become their guardian (Anon. 1968,
182; E. G. R. Taylor Papers, British Library, MSS Add 58738, f. 24, Eila Campbell
to Dr. D. Webber, 20 September 1981). Eva Taylor and Bertie Dunhill seem to have
drifted apart. In 1920, Eva bought the lease of the house in Chelsea from Dunhill, sug-
gesting that either their relationship had come to an end, or that she wished and had the
means to be fi nancially independent. The lease would expire during World War II. For
the last quarter century of his life, Bertie suffered ill-health resulting from the effects of
tuberculosis. He went to live in Italy, and died in Milan in 1950. Through his will, trust
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21. Eva Germaine Rimington Taylor 3
funds were left to the Dunhill Medical Trust, established in 1986 to provide monies for
the furtherance of medical knowledge and research.
Following the death of her infant second son, Eva taught part-time for two years
(1916–18) at the Clapham Training College for Girls (on the North Side of Clapham
Common) and at the Froebel Institute (in Colet Gardens, west London). In 1920, when
her third child, Anthony, was only in his second year, she was appointed to a part-time
lectureship to teach human and regional geography at the East London College (fore-
runner of Queen Mary College, University of London), where she worked alongside
the geologist H. G. Smith, who had responsibility for physical geography (Sheppard
1994, 4). In 1921 Eva Taylor became a part-time lecturer at Birkbeck College (formerly
the Mechanics Institute) located since 1885 in Breams Buildings, off Fetter Lane, in the
City of London. Leonard Brooks (later Inspector of Schools for the London County
Council) lectured part-time on historical geography in 1919, and the names of William
Henry Barker (1882–1929) and Gundred Helen Lydia Savory (born 1881) are men-
tioned as lecturers in geography in various Minutes of the Board of Studies and in
issues of The Calendar for Birkbeck College . Barker moved to the Readership in geography
at the University of Manchester in 1922; 7 years later, he died at the age of 47 (Anon.
1929, 225). The geologist Leonard Frank Spath (1882–1957) was listed among the
Birkbeck geographers from 1921 to 1928; E. J. Orford was demonstrator in geography
from 1923 to 1928 (Spath 1982).
Birkbeck College offered evening and weekend classes to teachers, City workers and
others who wished to obtain a degree but were employed during the day. Geography
had been taught there by George Goudie Chisholm (1850–1930) (from 1895 to 1908)
(on Chisholm, see Geographers Vol. 12). Lionel Lyde (1863–1947), professor of geog-
raphy at University College London, delivered lectures at Birkbeck College during
the subsequent session (1908–9), and in 1908, John Frederick Unstead (1876–1965),
was appointed as a part-time lecturer (Wise 1975, 1) (on Lyde, see Geographers Vol. 30).
Since 1905, Unstead’s main employment had been at Goldsmiths College in south-east
London, which specialized in training teachers. Only a year older than Eva, Unstead
had also acquired his geographical credentials at Oxford, and in 1912 had submitted
work to the University of London on climatic limitations on wheat cultivation in North
America for the degree of DSc (Econ), although his main interest remained in geo-
graphical education (Gilbert 1966, 335). His post at Birkbeck College became perma-
nent in 1914 (Anon. 1966, 199). Five years later, Birkbeck became a constituent college
of the federal University of London, and Unstead was appointed to its newly created
chair of geography in 1921. He was ‘diligent and industrious but lacked the lively mind
of his collaborator and colleague, Eva Taylor’ (Campbell 1987, 48).
Taylor taught many aspects of the discipline at Birkbeck College. Between 1922
and 1924, for example, she taught the history of geographical discovery; historical
geography; and world geography: special regions. From 1929–31, she also lectured on
the physical basis of geography; geomorphology; climatology and oceanography; and
map work. From the early 1920s she served as an examiner on several papers taken by
geography students enrolled in the various colleges of the University (Archives of the
University of London, AC 8/24/1/1: Minutes of the Board of Studies in Geography).
She realized too that for her career to progress, she needed to develop a research profi le
to complement her teaching and examining skills. She never fully revealed the reasons
behind her choice to specialize on discovery and exploration and the development of
geographical knowledge, but according to her pupil Eila Campbell (1915–94):
She believed that scholarly writing depended on the appraisal of original source
material. It is possible that she was pointed to her study of geographical thought by
A. P. Newton (Rhodes Professor of Imperial History in the University of London)
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22. 4  Eva Germaine Rimington Taylor
who was himself interested in the geographical thought of the Middle Ages and
who she would have come to know as a fellow member of the University’s Board
of Studies in Geography. She may also have been attracted to her subject by her
early training in the natural sciences. (Campbell 1987, 48)
A wealth of manuscript sources was available at the Public Record Offi ce (then located
in Chancery Lane, just a few paces from Breams Buildings), and the Reading Room
and the Map Room of the British Museum provided an abundance of material within
easy walking distance of Birkbeck College. Teaching for 3 hours from 6 o’clock most
evenings was complemented by intensive research activity during the day as well as
managing her household and family.
As was the custom of that time, Eva submitted published work and further work in
progress to obtain a DSc in 1930 under the title ‘Studies in Tudor Geography’. Her dos-
sier must have included the typescript (perhaps even the proofs) of her forthcoming Tudor 
Geography, 1485–1583 to be published by Methuen in the same year. Unfortunately, her
material has disappeared from the University of London Library where it was depos-
ited. Two points of detail are pertinent. First, the minutes of the Board of Studies in
Geography for 29 November 1928 noted: ‘Application for exemption from MSc exami-
nation, made by Miss Taylor was approved’. They also record the amended Regulations
for Higher Doctorates (DLitt, DSc) as follows: ‘The degree will be conferred in respect
of printed and published work; in special cases, however, unpublished work may be
taken into consideration’. Second, Eva wrote to Arthur Robert Hinks (1873–1945),
then secretary of the Royal Geographical Society (RGS) and editor of its Geographical 
Journal , to request that her paper on Jean Retz might be accepted and published without
delay: ‘I am proposing to present my studies of Tudor Geography to the University as a
thesis for a higher degree – and as it is a condition that work must be published, I hope
you will fi nd space for Jean Retz; he is only 3,000 words’ (RGS Archives, E. G. R. Taylor
Correspondence Block 1921–30, Letter from Taylor to Hinks, 6 February 1929). Three
days later, she replied to Hinks:
The position as regards the date of publication of portions of my thesis makes it
simply ‘as soon as possible’ – I must get three or four papers published, and then
group them together as ‘Studies in Tudor Geography’ – It is obvious that I can-
not hope to get the complete thesis published as a whole, except as a book, and
I believe the University Regulations will be satisfi ed by the fact that ‘substantial
portions’ have been accepted for publication. (RGS Archives, E. G. R. Taylor
Correspondence Block 1921–30, Letter from Taylor to Hinks, 9 February 1929)
Four days later, Hinks accepted the article subject to further discussion of details.
Eva’s doctoral examiners were Edward Heawood (1864–1949), who had joined the
staff of the RGS in 1884 and was its long-serving librarian (from 1901 to 1934) as well
as being an expert on the watermarks of early modern printed papers, and Alexander
Stevens (1896–1965), lecturer in geography at the University of Glasgow, whose early
career had involved exploration in both Antarctica and in the Arctic, and work for the
Ordnance Survey (Skelton 1951; Fairhurst 1966, 58; Robertson 1973, 15). Heawood
and Stevens were well equipped to determine the quality of the work and it was not
necessary to call upon the nominated reserve examiner, Dr Marion Newbigin (1869–
1934) ( Geographers Vol. 28). When Unstead retired in 1930, at the early age of 55 – in
his own words, ‘to read and think, to travel and write’, Dr Taylor was appointed to
succeed him in the chair of geography, in the face of several male contenders (cited by
Campbell 1987, 45) (annual calendars for Birkbeck list Unstead as Director of Research
in Regional Geography from 1930 to 1936). Taylor’s fellow candidates for the Chair
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23. Eva Germaine Rimington Taylor 5
included Sidney William Wooldridge (1900–63), who had trained as a geologist at Kings
College London, where he subsequently taught geography for almost all his career (on
Wooldridge, see Geographers Vol. 8). Upon Eva Taylor’s retirement in 1944, he would
succeed her in the chair of geography at Birkbeck, only to return to Kings College in
1947 when a chair of geography was created in his home institution.
Eva Taylor was the fi rst woman professor of geography in the British Isles. A further
three decades elapsed before Alice Garnett (1903–89) at the University of Sheffi eld
became the second female holder of a chair of geography in a British university in
1962 (Maddrell 2009, 192). As professor and head of department, Eva Taylor exer-
cised considerable infl uence in the powerful Board of Studies in Geography, which
administered and regulated every aspect of teaching and examining of the subject in
the federal University. She was also a member of its Higher Degrees Sub-Committee
in Geography, which approved, amended or disapproved areas of study and titles of
research submitted for higher degrees, as well as appointing internal and external
examiners for doctoral and Masters dissertations. The Minutes of the Board and Sub-
Committee reveal that she attended assiduously but, despite unquestioned effi ciency,
she was never elected to chair such meetings. That function was undertaken between
1903 and 1929 by Edmund Johnston Garwood (1864–1949), who was professor of
geology and physical geography at UCL from 1901 to 1931, and with Unstead as sec-
retary during the 1920s, followed by Charles Bungay Fawcett (1883–1952) in the chair
until 1946 (Clout 2003, 4) (on Fawcett, see Geographers Vol. 6).
The succinct nature of the handwritten minutes does not allow an appreciation
of Eva Taylor’s participation at these meetings. We do know, however, that she was
outraged by decisions taken at a meeting she could not attend, and which affected two
of her graduate students. She demanded that Fawcett convene a special meeting of
the Sub-Committee at which she expressed her grievances at length. Fawcett declared
that he and other members of the Sub-Committee had acted in the best interests of
the students, advising one to slightly narrow the fi eld of study and informing the other
of overlap with research completed elsewhere. Professor Taylor insisted that each head
of geography should be alerted in advance when issues relating to specifi c students
were scheduled to arise and that a deputy be invited in the rare instances when a head
of department was unable to be present to defend his or her corner. Two lined sheets
of handwritten minutes, inserted into the normal minute book, reveal that members of
the Sub-Committee acceded to Professor Taylor’s request. Nonetheless, Fawcett pro-
claimed: ‘The wording adopted by the University [clerks] in neither case embodied
the Committee’s recommendations exactly. He pointed out further that although the
Committee normally endorsed the judgement of a “recognised teacher”, it could not
regard itself under any obligations to do so’ (Archives of the University of London,
AC 8/24/1/2. Minutes of the Board of Studies in Geography, 14 December 1938: the
appellation ‘recognised teacher’ was specifi c to the University of London and related to
a scholar who had passed probation and had satisfi ed the Board of Studies in terms of
quality of teaching and productivity of research).
Following her elevation to the chair at Birkbeck College, Eva Taylor continued to
publish prolifi cally during the 1930s, producing a second major book, Late Tudor and 
Early Stuart Geography: 1583–1650 , editing volumes for the Hakluyt Society, and submit-
ting an array of scholarly articles and book reviews (Taylor 1934a). Founded in 1846,
the Hakluyt Society continues to publish works of travel and exploration that reveal the
state of geographical knowledge in the past. Eva Taylor joined its Council in the early
1930s, and delivered a lecture on Richard Hakluyt at the RGS to commemorate the
centenary of the Hakluyt Society (Taylor 1947a). During this period, she was one of
the 39 founder members of the Institute of British Geographers, which came into being
in 1933 as the professional body for university geographers, and as a mechanism for
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24. 6  Eva Germaine Rimington Taylor
publishing geographical research. She belonged to its fi rst editorial committee (1933–4)
and she assisted in securing what was deemed to be ‘a large grant’ [£60] from the
University of London to assist in the publication of Henri Baulig’s monograph on
The Changing Sea Level (on Baulig, see Geographers Vol. 4). She did not serve in any other
capacity or publish in its Transactions (Baulig 1935; Steel 1984a, 15). She did attend its
annual conferences, with several colleagues remembering that she enjoyed the company
of younger members of the discipline (Maddrell 2009, 179). With its long-established
concern for exploration, discovery and the history of map making, the RGS was the
appropriate forum for her particular brand of research. She had been elected into its
fellowship as early as February 1922, being proposed by Unstead and seconded by
Edwin James Orford, a teacher and writer of textbooks. She was the second woman
to be appointed to the Society’s Council, serving from 1931 to 1935 and again from
1937 to 1941, and, as befi tted her expertise, was a long-serving member of the maps
and library committee. It was this commitment to the value of maps that caused her
to make representations to the Director of the British Museum about the poor housing
of the map collections of the Museum (Steel 1984a, 105). Throughout her career, she
published many scholarly articles and book reviews in the Geographical Journal . Following
an early initiative by the British Association for the Advancement of Science (BAAS),
the RGS invited her in 1938 to assemble evidence on the distribution of industrial
activity in England and Wales, which would be used in national planning during and
after World War II. In 1947, the RGS would formally acknowledge her sustained com-
mitment to the Society and to the discipline of geography by awarding her its Victoria
Medal; she was further recognized when made an Honorary Fellow in 1965.
During the interwar years, Eva Taylor attended the meetings of the International
Geographical Congress at Cambridge (1928), Warsaw (1934) and Amsterdam (1938)
and presented research papers at each of them (Taylor 1934b). Like many geogra-
phers of the time, she was a strong supporter of the BAAS, being elected president
of Section E (Geography) in 1939 and in 1947, when she delivered her address on
‘Geography in War and Peace’ (Taylor 1947b, 1948). The press turned to her for a
pithy quote at these gatherings and one paper named her as ‘Queen’ of the BAAS
(Maddrell 2009). Despite problems of ill-health, associated with increasing age and
decades spent poring over books and manuscripts, she would in retirement write three
research monographs, edit other works and deliver further scholarly articles, some in
new journals. These included Imago Mundi , founded in 1935 to cover the history of car-
tography, which published fi ve of her essays, and the Journal of  the Institute of  Navigation ,
established in 1946, in which she published over thirty articles.
Professor Taylor assembled a small team of geographers at Birkbeck College to teach
the college’s evening and weekend students. In 1930, she successfully recommended
the appointment of Harry Cyril Knapp Henderson (1903–83), whose teaching abil-
ity in the fi eld had impressed her during a fi eldclass organized for the BAAS (Steel
1984b, 255). She subsequently supervised his doctoral research on ‘The agricultural
geography of the Adur Basin, in its regional setting’, which was completed in 1935.
The climatologist, Dr Hugh A. Matthews, who had trained at UCL, taught at Birkbeck
during the 1930s as well as at Bedford College, the LSE and UCL. In 1931, Andrew
C. O’Dell (1906–66), a graduate of Kings College London and of the LSE, joined
Birkbeck College as assistant director and part-time lecturer in geography (Anon. 1967;
East 1966). In 1933, Eva Taylor praised his research on the Shetland Isles, delivered
to the RGS and subsequently published in the Geographical Journal ; he was not made a
full-time lecturer, however, until 1937 (O’Dell 1933, 514). With the exce ption of ser-
vice in the Royal Air Force (Inter-Service Topographical Department) during the war,
Henderson would spend the whole of his career at Birkbeck, becoming professor in
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30. This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
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ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
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Title: The Silent Battle
Author: George Gibbs
Release date: April 13, 2017 [eBook #54544]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT
BATTLE ***

31. THE SILENT BATTLE
“The table rang from end to end with joke and
laughter.”

32. THE
SILENT BATTLE
BY
GEORGE GIBBS
AUTHOR OF
THE BOLTED DOOR,
THE FORBIDDEN WAY, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright , 1913, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

33. Copyright, 1912, 1913, by the Pictorial Review Company
Printed in the United States of America

34. CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.Lost 1
II.Babes in the Woods 11
III.Voices 22
IV.Eden 33
V.Woman and Man 46
VI.The Shadow 60
VII.Allegro 73
VIII.Chicot, the Jester 84
IX.The Lorings 95
X.Mr. Van Duyn Rides Forth 109
XI.The Cedarcroft Set 122
XII.Nellie Pennington Cuts In 136
XIII.Mrs. Pennington’s Brougham 151
XIV.The Junior Member 166
XV.Discovered 177
XVI.Behind the Enemy’s Back 190
XVII.“The Pot and Kettle” 200
XVIII.The Enemy and a Friend 212
XIX.Love on Crutches 225
XX.The Intruder 236
XXI.Temptation 247
XXII.Smoke and Fire 261
XXIII.The Mouse and the Lion 273
XXIV.Diamond Cut Diamond 285
XXV.Deep Water 297
XXVI.Big Business 310

35. XXVII.Mr. Loring Reflects 323
XXVIII.The Lodestar 338
XXIX.Arcadia Again 350

36. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“The table rang from end to end with joke and laughter.”
“‘Do tell me something more, Nina. Was she young and pretty?’”
“‘And you never cared for any one else?’”
“‘Father!’ Jane’s ... whisper was at his ear.”
THE SILENT BATTLE

37. G
I
LOST
allatin wearily lowered the creel from his shoulders and dropped
it by his rod at the foot of a tree. He knew that he was lost—had
known it, in fact, for an hour or more, but with the certainty that
there was no way out until morning, perhaps not even then, came a
feeling of relief, and with the creel, he dropped the mental burden
which for the last hour had been plaguing him, first with fear and
then more recently with a kind of ironical amusement.
What did it matter, after all? He realized that for twenty-eight
years he had made a mess of most of the things he had attempted,
and that if he ever got back to civilization, he would probably go
diligently on in the way he had begun. There was time enough to
think about that to-morrow. At present he was so tired that all he
wanted was a place to throw his weary limbs. He had penetrated
miles into the wilderness, he knew, but in what direction the nearest
settlement lay he hadn’t the vaguest notion—to the southward
probably, since his guide had borne him steadily northward for more
than two weeks.
That blessed guide! With the omniscience of the inexperienced,
Gallatin had left Joe Keegón alone at camp after breakfast, with a
general and hazy notion of whipping unfished trout pools. He had
disregarded his mentor’s warning to keep his eye on the sun and
bear to his left hand, and in the joy of the game, had lost all sense
of time and direction. He realized now from his aching legs that he
had walked many miles farther than he had wanted to walk, and
that, at the last, the fish in his creel had grown perceptibly heavier.
The six weeks at Mulready’s had hardened him for the work, but
never, even at White Meadows, had his muscles ached as they did

38. now. He was hungry, too, ravenously hungry, and a breeze which
roamed beneath the pines advised him that it was time to make a
fire.
It was a wonderful hunger that he had, a healthful, beastlike
hunger—not the gnawing fever, for that seemed to have left him, but
a craving for Joe’s biscuits and bacon (at which he had at first
turned up his pampered aristocratic nose), which now almost
amounted to an obsession. Good old Joe! Gallatin remembered how,
during the first week of their pilgrimage, he had lain like the
sluggard that he was, against the bole of a tree, weary of the ache
within and rebellious against the conditions which had sent him
forth, cursing in his heart at the old Indian for his taciturnity, while
he watched the skillful brown fingers moving unceasingly at the
evening task. Later he had begun to learn with delight of his own
growing capabilities, and as the habit of analysis fell upon him, to
understand the dignity of the vast silences of which the man was a
part.
Not that Gallatin himself was undignified in the worldly way, for he
had lived as his father and his father’s fathers before him had lived,
deeply imbued with the traditions of his class, which meant large
virtues, civic pride, high business integrity, social punctilio, and the
only gentlemanly vice the Gallatin blood had ever been heir to. But a
new idea of nobility had come to him in the woods, a new idea of
life itself, which his conquest of his own energy had made possible.
The deep aisles of the woods had spoken the message, the spell of
the silent places, the mystery of the eternal which hung on every
lichened rock, which sang in every wind that swayed the boughs
above.
Heigho! This was no time for moralizing. There was a fire to light,
a shelter of some sort to build and a bed to make. Gallatin got up
wearily, stretching his tired muscles and cast about in search of a
spot for his camp. He found two young trees on a high piece of
ground within a stone’s throw of the stream, which would serve as
supports for a roof of boughs, and was in the act of gathering the

39. wood for his fire, when he caught the crackling of a dry twig in the
bushes at some distance away. Three weeks ago, perhaps, he would
not have heard or noticed, but his ear, now trained to the
accustomed sounds, gave warning that a living thing, a deer or a
black bear, perhaps, was moving in the undergrowth. He put his
armful of wood down and hid himself behind a tree, drawing
meanwhile an automatic, the only weapon he possessed, from his
hip pocket. He had enough of woodcraft to know that no beast of
the woods, unless in full flight, would come down against the wind
toward a human being, making such a racket as this. The crackling
grew louder and the rapid swish of feet in the dry leaves was plainly
audible. His eye now caught the movement of branches and in a
moment he made out the dim bulk of a figure moving directly
toward him. He had even raised the hand which held his Colt and
was in the act of aiming it when from the shelter of the moose-wood
there emerged—a girl.
She wore a blue flannel blouse, a short skirt and long leather
gaiters and over one hip hung a creel like his own. Her dress was
smart and sportsmanlike, but her hat was gone; her hair had burst
its confines and hung in a pitiful confusion about her shoulders. She
suggested to him the thought of Syrinx pursued by the satyrs; for
her cheeks were flushed with the speed of her flight and her eyes
were wide with fear.
Comely and frightened Dryads who order their clothes from Fifth
Avenue, are not found every day in the heart of the Canadian
wilderness; and Gallatin half expected that if he stepped forward like
Pan to test her tangibility, she would vanish into empty air. Indeed
such a metamorphosis was about to take place; for as he emerged
from behind his tree, the girl turned one terrified look in his direction
and disappeared in the bushes.
For a brief moment Gallatin paused. He had had visions before,
and the thought came into his mind that this was one like the
others, born of his overtaxed strength and the rigors of the day. But
as he gazed at the spot where the Dryad had stood, branches of

40. young trees swayed, showing the direction in which she was passing
and the sounds in the crackling underbrush, ever diminishing,
assured him that the sudden apparition was no vision at all, but very
delectable flesh and blood, fleeing from him in terror. He
remembered, then, a tale that Joe Keegón had told him of a
tenderfoot, who when lost in the woods was stricken suddenly mad
with fear and, ended like a frightened animal running away from the
guides that had been sent for him. Fear had not come to Gallatin
yet. He had acknowledged bewilderment and a vague sense of the
monstrous vastness of the thing he had chosen for his summer
plaything. He had been surprised when the streams began running
up hill instead of down, and when the sun appeared suddenly in a
new quarter of the heavens, but he had not been frightened. He was
too indifferent for that. But he knew from the one brief look he had
had of the eyes of the girl, that the forest had mastered her, and
that, like the fellow in Joe’s tale, she had stampeded in fright.
Hurriedly locking his Colt, Gallatin plunged headlong into the
bushes where the girl had disappeared. For a moment he thought he
had lost her, for the tangle of underbrush was thick and the going
rough, but in a rift in the bushes he saw the dark blouse again and
went forward eagerly. He lost it, found it again and then suddenly
saw it no more. He stopped and leaned against a tree listening.
There were no sounds but the murmur of the rising wind and the
note of a bird. He climbed over a fallen log and went on toward the
slope where he had last seen her, stopping, listening, his eyes
peering from one side to the other. He knew that she could not be
far away, for ahead of him the brush was thinner, and the young
trees offered little cover. A tiny gorge, rock strewn, but half filled
with leaves, lay before him, and it was not until he had stumbled
halfway across it that he saw her, lying face downward, her head in
her hands, trembling and dumb with fear.
From the position in which she lay he saw that she had caught her
foot in a hidden root and, in her mad haste to escape she knew not
what, had fallen headlong. She did not move as he approached; but

41. as he bent over her about to speak, she shuddered and bent her
head more deeply in her arms, as though in expectation of a blow.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly.
At the sound of his voice she trembled again, but he leaned over
and touched her on the shoulder.
“I’m very sorry I frightened you,” he said again. And then after a
moment, “Have you lost your way?”
She painfully freed one arm, and looked up; then quickly buried
her head again in her hands, her shoulders heaving convulsively, her
slender body racked by childish sobs.
Gallatin straightened in some confusion. He had never, to his
knowledge, been considered a bugaboo among the women of his
acquaintance. But, as he rubbed his chin pensively, he remembered
that it was a week or more since he had had a shave, and that a stiff
dark stubble discolored his chin. His brown slouch hat was broken
and dirty, his blue flannel shirt from contact with the briers was
tattered and worn, and he realized that he was hardly an object to
inspire confidence in the heart of a frightened girl. So, with a
discretion which did credit to his knowledge of her sex, he sat down
on a near-by rock and waited for the storm to pass.
His patience was rewarded, for in a little while her sobs were
spent, and she raised her head and glanced at him. This time his
appearance reassured her, for Gallatin had taken off his hat, and his
eyes, no longer darkly mysterious in shadow, were looking at her
very kindly.
“I want to try and help you, if I can,” he was saying gently. “I’m
about to make a camp over here, and if you’ll join me——”
Something in the tones of his voice and in his manner of
expressing himself, caused her to sit suddenly up and examine him
more minutely. When she had done so, her hands made two graceful
gestures—one toward her disarranged hair and the other toward her
disarranged skirt. Gallatin would have laughed at this instinctive

42. manifestation of the eternal feminine, which even in direst woe could
not altogether be forgotten, but instead he only smiled, for after all
she looked so childishly forlorn and unhappy.
“I’m not really going to eat you, you know,” he said again, smiling.
“I—I’m glad,” she stammered with a queer little smile. “I didn’t
know what you were. I’m afraid I—I’ve been very much frightened.”
“You were lost, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” She struggled to her knees and then sank back again.
“Well, there’s really nothing to be frightened about. It’s almost too
late to try to find your friends to-night, but if you’ll come with me I’ll
do my best to make you comfortable.”
He had risen and offered her his hand, but when she tried to rise
she winced with pain.
“I—I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “I think I—I’ve twisted my ankle.”
“Oh, that’s awkward,” in concern. “Does it hurt you very much?”
“I—I think it does. I can’t seem to use it at all.” She moved her
foot and her face grew white with the pain of it.
Gallatin looked around him vaguely, as though in expectation that
Joe Keegón or somebody else might miraculously appear to help
him, and then for the first time since he had seen her, was alive
again to the rigors of his own predicament.
“I’m awfully sorry,” he stammered helplessly. “Don’t you think you
can stand on it?”
He offered her his hand and shoulder and she bravely tried to rise,
but the effort cost her pain and with a little cry she sank back in the
leaves, her face buried in her arms. She seemed so small, so
helpless that his heart was filled with a very genuine pity. She was
not crying now, but the hand which held her moist handkerchief was
so tightly clenched that her knuckles were outlined in white against

43. the tan. He watched her a moment in silence, his mind working
rapidly.
“Come,” he said at last in quick cheerful notes of decision. “This
won’t do at all. We’ve got to get out of here. You must take that
shoe off. Then we’ll get you over yonder and you can bathe it in the
stream. Try and get your gaiter off, too, won’t you?”
His peremptory accents startled her a little, but she sat up
obediently while he supported her shoulders, and wincing again as
she moved, at last undid her legging. Gallatin then drew his hasp-
knife and carefully slit the laces of her shoe from top to bottom,
succeeding in getting it safely off.
“Your ankle is swelling,” he said. “You must bathe it at once.”
She looked around helplessly.
“Where?”
“At the stream. I’m going to carry you there.”
“You couldn’t. Is it far?”
“No. Only a hundred yards or so. Come along.”
He bent over to silence her protests and lifted her by the armpits.
Then while she supported herself for a moment upright, lifted her in
his arms and made his way up the slope.
Marvelous is the recuperative power of the muscular system! Ten
minutes ago Gallatin had been, to all intents and purposes of
practical utility, at the point of exhaustion. Now, without heart-
breaking effort, he found it possible to carry a burden of one
hundred and thirty pounds a considerable distance through rough
timber without mishap! His muscles ached no more than they had
done before, and the only thing he could think of just then was that
she was absurdly slender to weigh so much. One of her arms
encircled his shoulders and the fingers of one small brown hand
clutched tightly at the collar of his shirt. Her eyes peered before her
into the brush, and her face was almost hidden by the tangled mass

44. of her hair. But into the pale cheek which was just visible, a gentle
color was rising which matched the rosy glow that was spreading
over the heavens.
“I’m afraid I—I’m awfully heavy,” she said, as he made his way
around the fallen giant over which a short while ago they had both
clambered. “Don’t you think I had better get down for a moment?”
“Oh, no,” he panted. “Not at all. It—it isn’t far now. I’m afraid
you’d hurt your foot. Does it—does it pain you so much now?”
“N-o, I think not,” she murmured bravely. “But I’m afraid you’re
dreadfully tired.”
“N-not at all,” he stammered. “We’ll be there soon now.”
When he came to the spot he had marked for his camp, he bore
to the right and in a moment they had reached the stream which
gushed musically among the boulders, half hidden in the
underbrush. It was not until he had carefully chosen a place for her
that he consented to put her on the ground. Then with a knee on
the bank and a foot in the stream, he lowered her gently to a mossy
bank within reach of the water.
“You’re very kind,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming as she
looked up at him. “I’m awfully sorry.”
“Nothing of the sort,” he laughed. “I’d have let you carry me—if
you could.” And then, with the hurried air of a man who has much to
do: “You take off your stocking and dangle your foot in the water.
Wiggle your toes if you can and then try to rub the blood into your
ankle. I’m going to build a fire and cook some fish. Are you hungry?”
“I don’t know. I—I think I am.”
“Good!” he said smiling pleasantly. “We’ll have supper in a
minute.”
He was turning to go, when she questioned: “You spoke of a
camp. Is—is it near here?”
“N-o. It isn’t,” he hesitated, “but it soon will be.”

45. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
He laughed. “Well, you see, the fact of the matter is, I’m lost, too.
I don’t think it’s anything to be very much frightened about, though.
I left my guide early this morning at the fork of two streams a pretty
long distance from here. I’ve been walking hard all day. I fished up
one of the streams for half of the day and then cut across through
the forest where I thought I would find it again. I found a stream
but it seems it wasn’t the same one, for after I had gone down it for
an hour or so I didn’t seem to get anywhere. Then I plunged around
hunting and at last had to give it up.”
“Don’t you think you could find it again?”
“Oh, I think so,” confidently. “But not to-night. I’m afraid you’ll
have to put up with what I can offer you.”
“Of course—and I’m very grateful—but I’m sorry to be such a
burden to you.”
“Oh, that’s nonsense.” He turned away abruptly and made his way
up the bank. “I’m right here in the trees and I can hear you. So if I
can help you I want you to call.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, “I will.”

46. G
II
BABES IN THE WOODS
allatin’s responsibilities to his Creator had been multiplied by
two.
Less than an hour ago he had dropped his rod and creel more
than half convinced that it didn’t matter to him or to anybody else
whether he got back to Joe Keegón or not. Now, he suddenly found
himself hustling busily in the underbrush, newly alive to the
exigencies of the occasion, surprised even at the fact that he could
take so extraordinary an interest in the mere building of a fire. Back
and forth from the glade to the deep woods he hurried, bringing dry
leaves, twigs, and timber. These he piled against a fallen tree in the
lee of the spot he had chosen for his shelter and in a moment a fire
was going. Many things bothered him. He had no axe and the blade
of his hasp-knife was hardly suited to the task he found before him.
If his hands were not so tender as they had been a month ago, and
if into his faculties a glimmering of woodcraft had found its way, the
fact remained that this blade, his Colt, fishing-rod and his wits (such
as they were), were all that he possessed in the uneven match
against the forces of Nature. Something of the calm ruthlessness of
the mighty wilderness came to him at this moment. The immutable
trees rose before him as symbols of a merciless creed which all the
forces around him uttered with the terrible eloquence of silence. He
was an intruder from an alien land, of no importance in the
changeless scheme of things—less important than the squirrel which
peeped at him slyly from the branch above his head or the chickadee
which piped flutelike in the thicket. The playfellow of his strange
summer had become his enemy, only jocular and ironical as yet, but

47. still an enemy, with which he must do battle with what weapons he
could find.
It was the first time in his life that he had been placed in a
position of complete dependence upon his own efforts—the first time
another had been dependent on him. He and Joe had traveled light;
for this, he had learned, was the way to play the game fairly.
Nevertheless, he had a guilty feeling that until the present moment
he had modified his city methods only so far as was necessary to
suit the conditions the man of the wilderness had imposed upon him
and that Joe, after all, had done the work. He realized now that he
was fronting primeval forces with a naked soul—as naked and
almost as helpless as on the day when he had been born. It seemed
that the capital of his manhood was now for the first time to be
drawn upon in a hazardous venture, the outcome of which was to
depend upon his own ingenuity and resourcefulness alone.
And yet the fire was sparkling merrily.
He eyed the blade in his hand as he finished making two roof
supports and sighed for Joe Keegón’s little axe. His hands were red
and blistered already and the lean-to only begun. There were still
the boughs and birch-bark for a roof and the cedar twigs for a bed
to be cut. He worked steadily, but it was an hour before he found
time to go down to the stream to see how his fugitive fared. She
was still sitting as he had left her, on the bank of the stream, gazing
into the depths of the pool.
“How are you getting on?” he asked.
“I—I’m all right,” she murmured.
“Is the ankle any better? I think I’d better be getting you up to the
fire now. Perhaps, you’d be willing to cook the fish while I hustle for
twigs.”
“Of—of course.”
He noticed the catch in her voice, and when he came near her
discovered that she was trembling from head to foot.

48. “Are you suffering still?” he questioned anxiously.
“N-no, not so much. But I—I’m very cold.”
“That’s too bad. We’ll have you all right in a minute. Put your arms
around my neck. So.” And bending over, with care for her injured
foot, he lifted her again in his arms and carried her up the hill. This
time she yielded without a word, nor did she speak until he had put
her down on his coat before the fire.
“I don’t know how—to thank you—” she began.
“Then don’t. Put your foot out toward the blaze and rub it again.
You’re not so cold now, are you?”
“No—no. I think it’s just n-nervousness that makes me shiver,” she
sighed softly. “I never knew what a fire meant before. It’s awfully
good—the w-warmth of it.”
He watched her curiously. The fire was bringing a warm tint to her
cheeks and scarlet was making more decisive the lines of her well-
modeled lips. It did not take Gallatin long to decide that it was very
agreeable to look at her. As he paused, she glanced up at him and
caught the end of his gaze, which was more intense in its directness
than he had meant it to be, and bent her head quickly toward the
fire, her lips drawn more firmly together—a second acknowledgment
of her sense of the situation, a manifestation of her convincing
femininity which confirmed a previous impression.
There was quick refuge in the practical.
“I’m going to clean the fish,” he said carelessly, and turned away.
“I’d like to help, if I could,” she murmured.
“You’d better nurse your ankle for a while,” he said.
“It’s much better now,” she put in. “I can move it without much
pain.” She thrust her stockinged foot farther toward the blaze and
worked the toes slowly up and down, but as she did so she flinched
again. “I’m not of much use, am I?” she asked ruefully. “But while
you’re doing other things, I might prepare the fish.”

49. “Oh, no. I’ll do that. Let’s see. We need some sticks to spit them
on.”
“Let me make them;” she put her hand into the pocket of her
dress and drew forth a knife. “You see I can help.”
“Great!” he cried delightedly. “You haven’t got a teapot, a frying-
pan, some cups and forks and spoons hidden anywhere have you?”
She looked up at him and laughed for the first time, a fine
generous laugh which established at once a new relationship
between them.
“No—I haven’t—but I’ve a saucepan.”
“Where?” in amazement.
“Tied to my creel—over there,” and she pointed, “and a small
package of tea and some biscuits. I take my own lunch when I fish.
I didn’t eat any to-day.”
“Wonderful! A saucepan! I was wondering how—tied to your creel,
you say?” and he started off rapidly in the direction of the spot
where he had found her.
“And please b-bring my rod—and—and my shoe,” she cried.
He nodded and was off through the brush, finding the place
without difficulty. It was a very tiny saucepan, which would hold at
the most two cupfuls of liquid, but it would serve. He hurried back
eagerly, anxious to complete his arrangements for the meal, and
found her propped up against the back log, his creel beside her,
industriously preparing the fish.
“How did you get over there?” he asked.
“Crawled. I couldn’t abide just sitting. I feel a lot better already.”
“That was very imprudent,” he said quickly. “We’ll never get out of
here until you can use that foot.”
“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that,” demurely. “I’ll try to be careful. Did
you bring my shoe—and legging?”

50. He held them out for her inspection.
“You’d better not try to put them on—not to-night, anyway. To-
morrow, perhaps——”
“To-morrow!” She looked up at him, and then at the frames of the
lean-to, as though the thought that she must spend the night in the
woods had for the first time occurred to her. A deep purple shadow
was crawling slowly up from the eastward and only the very tops of
the tallest trees above them were catching the warm light of the
declining sun. The woods were dimmer now and distant trees which
a moment ago had been visible were merged in shadow. Some of
the birds, too, were beginning to trill their even-song.
“Yes,” he went on, “you see it’s getting late. There’s hardly a
chance of any one finding us to-night. But we’re going to make out
nicely. If you really insist on cleaning those fish——”
“I do—and on making some tea——”
“Then I must get the stuff for your bed before it’s too dark to see.”
He filled the saucepan with water at the stream, then turned back
into the woods for the cedar twigs.
“The bed comes first,” he muttered to himself. “That’s what Joe
would say. There’s caribou moss up on the slope and the balsam is
handy. It isn’t going to rain to-night, but I’ll try to build a shelter
anyway—boughs now—and canoe birches to-morrow, if I can find
any. But I’ve got to hustle.”
Six pilgrimages he made into the woods, bringing back each time
armloads of boughs and twigs. He was conscious presently of a
delicious odor of cooking food; and long before he had brought in
his last armful, she pleaded with him to come and eat. But he only
shook his head and plunged again into the bushes. It was almost
dark when he finished and threw the last load on the pile he had
made. When he approached he found her sitting motionless,
watching him, both creels beside her, her hand holding up to the fire

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