974 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 19, 1909. 
After a short colloquy, during which my 
cavalier looked most fierce and determined, Poin¬ 
dexter informed me that “he’d fight it out on 
that line if it took all summer,” or words to 
that effect. 
“More ammunition to carry,” I sighed, as I 
pocketed a couple of boxes of sardines. My 
artistic sense could not bear an incomplete pic¬ 
ture, so handing the heavy villain my rifle I 
mounted and we were off. 
We traveled through some really beautiful 
groves of immense trees, decorated with Spanish 
moss and creepers of many sorts. We saw cac¬ 
tus, palmettos and the graceful bamboo trees. 
Once on entering a small clearing we saw an 
animal which in the dusk resembled an opossum. 
It was very dark when, the path following for 
a space the shore of the lagoon, we spied a 
short distance ahead a lone horseman. With a 
sharp word of command my highwayman threw 
the rifle to his shoulder. My hopes of seeing 
something happen were, however, quickly dashed, 
for the two sombreros drew close together, while 
the people under them engaged in friendly con¬ 
verse. It was about 8 o’clock when we drew 
rein at the ranch to which our friend Aurelio 
had directed us. It consisted of one room en¬ 
tirely surrounded by a large field of sand. A 
small fire burned outside, and before it sat the 
smallest, flabbiest little man imaginable. 
Most Mexicans have rather delicate hands, but 
a Lynnhaven oyster would hqye felt firm by 
comparison with the thing this little creature 
extended to me. After an hour’s wait, still in¬ 
comprehensible to me but to a Mexican undoubt¬ 
edly perfectly natural, the curtain rose for the 
real farce. The little man, whom I called 
“Shorty,” fastened an antiquated bicycle lamp 
to his sombrero, and carrying over his shoulder 
what passed for a single-barreled shotgun, he 
led the way while I followed, and my man with 
the large carving knife brought up the rear. 
Even in the open field we made noise sufficient 
to frighten cattle a hundred yards off, but the 
guides appeared to take it all very seriously and 
there was no sense in hurting their feelings. 
It was a hot, “itchy” night, and furthermore I 
felt that it would make him very happy, so re¬ 
luctantly I handed the rifle over to the rear 
guard. After spending two hours in tramping 
over sandhills and stumbling through the black 
woods along root-covered paths, I decided that 
my knowledge of tiger hunting was about com¬ 
plete, so by means of some linguistic efforts 
that would have made Ollendorff turn in his 
grave, I succeeded in making my Nimrods com¬ 
prehend that a return to the ranch was not only 
desired, but absolutely demanded. As we had 
been circling about, at no great distance from 
the ranch, it was not long before we saw the 
fire flickering through the trees. We divided 
the sardines and then the Mexicans went for the 
horses. On our arrival they had simply turned 
the animals loose, and a full hour passed before 
they were finally recovered. But then, your 
Mexican is a mere child, so why get angry? 
The ride home was hardly a pleasant experi¬ 
ence. The woods were so black that even the 
white mule directly in front of me was invisible, 
therefore as I was wearing a small cap, my 
eyes were in constant danger from the overhang¬ 
ing branches. I would resolutely try to keep 
my arm before my face, when the horse, with a 
sudden jump, would bring me back from my 
friends thousands of miles away. It is no ex¬ 
aggeration to say that on at least twenty dif¬ 
ferent occasions I must have been sound asleep. 
The siesta, indulged in every day at noon, 
even by people accustomed to the climate, does 
not seem as silly as it once did. It was 3 
o’clock when I finally got to bed and five minutes 
later, if sensations are to be relied upon, we 
were eating breakfast. 
Mr. Poindexter had frequently mentioned the 
beautiful camping grounds and the abundance 
of game on the Tancochin River, a large stream 
which empties into the lower end of the lagoon. 
As the wind was strong and fair we determined 
to go our full distance on this, our third day, 
and to make our return trip by easy stages. 
During the afternoon we found the water pretty 
well covered with burned oil from the famous 
San Geronimo well.* We gave the matter little 
heed, and late in the night, when we finally an¬ 
chored Marguerite, Poindexter with one of the 
boys put out in the tender to find a good camp¬ 
ing ground. The fire they built on shore shone 
very brilliantly, and when Poindexter returned 
he said with a cheerfulness plainly assumed, 
“We’re burning pure oil—everything is covered 
with it.” By the way, after finding his favorite 
camping ground irretrievably ruined and spend¬ 
ing two hours hunting for us in the open lagoon, 
Mr. Poindexter’s attitude was little short of 
heroic and proved him to be one of that sadly 
rare class—a real, true sportsman. Although it 
was dirty work to carry our belongings up the 
oil-covered bank and arrange the camp, we 
nevertheless had a midnight banquet, consisting 
of fried eggs and beer, and pretended to be happy. 
Only in the morning light was the entire sad¬ 
ness of the catastrophe apparent. The bank, as 
far as the eye could reach, was covered six 
inches deep with the nasty black substance. 
Every few yards there were the remains of a 
turtle or an alligator that had tried to return to 
the water and died in the attempt. The large 
quantity of oil on the lagoon kept down the 
ripples, and in spite of a fairly brisk wind the 
water had a glassy appearance that was most 
uncanny. Truly it was a shore of death. Words 
were unnecessary. Silently and sadly we broke 
camp and started back up the lagoon to see the 
inanimate monster, unchained by man, that had 
wrought such havoc. The well stood at no great 
distance from the lagoon, so anchoring Mar¬ 
guerite we attempted to reach shore in the ten¬ 
der. We had still a quarter of a mile to go 
when the little boat stuck in the soft mud. For 
a distance of two miles north and south, where 
the water was formerly ten feet deep, the lagoon 
is literally filled with soft slimy mud all belched 
up by that gigantic subterranean force. 
Turning to the south we entered the Pearson 
Oil Company’s canal, and by a circuitous route 
reached their headquarters, known as San Diego 
de la Mar. Ten minutes’ walk took us to what 
was once an oil well. In spite of the many 
graphic descriptions and excellent photographs 
so familiar to everyone, the actual sight of it 
was appalling. It reminds one very strongly of 
the whirlpool at Niagara, but it appears even 
more a thing alive; for while the whirlpool 
keeps on and on in the same monotonous spiral, 
the San Geronimo is for several minutes as still 
and quiet as an immense mill pond. Gradually 
in the center a little steam arises. In a few 
seconds it is a small cloud. Suddenly there is 
a mighty upheaval and an area at least a hun¬ 
dred feet in diameter is raised, curling and hiss¬ 
ing to a height of perhaps fifteen feet. Seen 
through the veil of steam, the writhing, tumb¬ 
ling waters appear like the incarnation of all the 
fabled monsters. The disturbance lasts about 
five minutes*, then gradually subsides, the steam 
slowly disappears, and the monster again sleeps. 
The lake, which before the holocaust was marsh 
land, is fifty acres in extent and the upheaval 
is at such a distance from the shore that the 
photoghaphs are absurdly inadequate. 
Returning from the well we met Mr. Gothe, 
the amiable and efficient superintendent of thb 
company, whose thankless task it is to attempt 
the reclamation of the practically ruined wells 
in the immediate vicinity. It was my first visit 
to an oil well of any kind, and I determined to 
acquire some first hand knowledge, but alas, Mr. 
Gothe, proving to be a sportsman of wide ex¬ 
perience, the hour spent in his society was de¬ 
voted to fish and game, while oil was completely 
forgotten. 
In accordance with Mr. Gothe’s advice, we 
sailed a few miles to the north and camped a 
short distance up the Cucharas River, otherwise 
called the Boca a la Mar. The current here is 
sufficiently strong so that little oil has found 
its way up, and the ground was in every way 
suited to our respective tastes. The first morn¬ 
ing we secured sufficient ducks for our imme¬ 
diate needs, and in the afternoon, while Mr. 
Poindexter hunted snipe, I amused myself with 
books and camera with an occasional plunge in 
the mild waters of the Cucharas. 
After supper the boys asked me to come and 
watch them spear fish. A stiff breeze was blow¬ 
ing and we returned empty handed. Still we 
were repaid. It so happened that at the instant 
the boys lighted the torch we were in the midst 
of a school of mullet. When the light flared 
up they started jumping on all sides, and four 
of the little acrobats landed in the boat. 
Next morning, as soon as there was light 
enough to shoot, we sallied forth with the guns 
and soon returned to camp with six large canvas- 
backs and one rabbit, all of which the boys took 
with our iompliments to Mr. Gothe and his 
charming little wife, while we spent another 
ideal dream day. 
We were finishing a late lunch when there oc¬ 
curred an incident, difficult to imagine anywhere 
outside of Mexico. A large barge, poled by 
three men, had come to a stop a short distance 
below our camp. One of her crew, a surly little 
Mexican, came up, ominously twirling a typical 
Conan Doyle strangling noose. He stood around 
apparently absorbed in the scenery and finally, 
entirely uninvited, squatted up against our tent 
pole. As Poindexter arose to go to his ham¬ 
mock he jokingly remarked, “In case you need 
me shoot twice.” This speech, combined with 
the funny looking little stage pirate, set me 
laughing. The invader evidently caught the drift 
of the conversation, but except for a scowl be¬ 
hind Poindexter’s back, he gave no sign. 
Late in the afternoon the stillness was broken 
by the familiar puff-puff of a gasolene engine, 
and soon the Pearson launch hove in sight, bear¬ 
ing our boys, the tender and best of all, Mr. 
Gothe. He was on his way up the river to in¬ 
spect some property belonging to the company, 
and very kindly offered to take us up and give 
us, as he expressed it, “a civilized supper.” 
