San Diego Schutzenguilde

It wasn't my good fortune to work with Edwin Way Teale when he was contributing so many superb stories and photographs to OUTDOOR LIFE. I came to the magazine too late for that. 1951, the year that North with the Spring, first volume of his series The American Seasons appeared. I have never read a review of any of the abundant writings of this author, naturalist, and photographer that was anything but laudatory. It's always apparent to the reader why he was awarded the John Burroughs Medal for distinguished nature writing. I think readers will find this selection an entertaining change of pace.

If you want to visit the place where the world's finest rifle barrels are made, you have to climb four flights of fire-escape stairs zigzagging up the face of a red brick warehouse in Jersey City, N. J. At the top, you knock at a begrimed door bearing the faint letters: H. M. POPE.

Behind that door, for more than a quarter of a century, Harry Pope has been turning out precision barrels that have made him famous. A dozen times they have won hi the Olympic Games. Again and again they have smashed world's records. When Gustave Schweizer, not long ago, ran up the phenomenal record of eighty-seven bulls-eyes at 1000 yards in a Peekskill, N. Y., match, it was a Pope barrel that directed the bullets at the distant target. When the five-man American team captured the international rifle match at Milan, Italy, a few yean ago, defeating crack shots from Europe and South America, it relied upon Pope barrels to carry it to victory.

Harry Pope never advertises. Yet, orders come from all over the United States, from most of the countries of Europe, and from as far away as Australia, India, and China. Wherever lovers of fine guns meet, the name Pope is familiar.

Several minutes pass after you knock. Then you hear the shuffling of feet, the lock clicks, and the door opens. A stooped little man with a long white beard, a black mechanic's cap perched on the back of his head, and two pairs of spectacles—a gold-rimmed over a silver-rimmed pair—resting on his nose, peers out and invites you in. He is Harry Pope, an old-time craftsman in an age of mass production.

Inside the shop, you follow him down a narrow lane between dust-covered boxes, trunks, papers, yellowed magazines, toolkits, sheaves of rifle barrels, hogsheads of dusty gun stocks. A worn black leather couch is half buried under odds and ends. A small table, piled high with papers, looks like a haycock, white at the top and yellow toward the bottom. Pinned to it is a printed sign: "Don't lean against this table. If these papers are spilled, there will be Hell to pay."

The only flat object in the room that is not loaded down is a single board. Pope keeps it standing upright in a corner. Over two boxes, it forms an emergency table where he can lay his tools when working.

"You might think this is confusion," he says as you reach his workbench, almost hidden under odds and ends, "but what looks like order to other people looks like contusion to me. This room is like a filing cabinet. I can put my hands on anything in it, even if I haven't seen it for ten years. But if anybody moves something as much as three inches, it's as good as lost."

In the twenty-seven years he has been in the same building, he has washed his windows twice. He believes the accumulation of grime diffuses the light and enables him to see better. One of his windows he never will wash. It is covered with penciled notes. Half a dozen years ago, data he bad placed on a scrap of paper blew out the window. Afterwards, he made it a rule to jot down important notes on the walls or window where they can't blow away.

"No delivery promised. Take your work when well done or lake it elsewhere. When? If you must know when I will be through with your work, the answer is now. Take your work away. I don't want it. I have no way of knowing when. I work seventeen hours a day. Daily interruptions average IVi hours. Dark weather sets me back still more. I'm human. I'm tired. I refuse longer to be worried by promises that circumstances do not allow me to keep."

The lower edge of the sign is smudged with greasy fingerprints, records of the many times he has jerked the pasteboard from the wall to hold before non-observant customers who persisted in knowing when. In fact, most of the guns that come in are now accepted with the express understanding that they will be fitted with new barrels when and if Pope ever gets time to do it. More orders are turned down than are accepted, yet between 200 and 300 guns are piled up ahead of him. At seventy-three, he is working seventeen hours a day and answering correspondence after ten o'clock at night. He makes barrels for pistols and revolvers when he has to. But what he wants to do is make rifle barrels.

After hours, when the warehouse is closed, customers who know the procedure stand on the street corner below and yell: "Pope! Hey, Pope!" until he paddles down and lets them in. Everybody in the neighborhood knows him and when you set up the shout they all join in until he pokes his head out the window four stories above. He never has had a telephone and he frequently brings a supply of food and sleeps in his shop until his grub gives out.

Not long ago, a man brought him a gun he wanted fixed. He found Pope bent over a vise filing on a piece of steel. When he started to explain what he wanted, he was told: "Don't talk to me now!" A little later, he broached the subject of his visit a second time. Pope shouted: "I said don't talk to me now!" By the time Pope laid down his file, the customer was packing up his things and muttering something about "a swell way to treat a customer."

It was an obvious statement. But, what the man did not know was that Pope had been working for two solid weeks making a special too! to rifle the barrel of an odd-caliber gun. He had filed it down to two ten-thousandths of an inch of its exact diameter and the light was just right for finishing it. If an interruption had made him file a hair's breadth beyond the mark, his whole two weeks' labor would have been lost.

All his rifling is done by hand. He judges what is going on inside the barrel by the feel and the sound of the cutting took. To rifle out the inside of a .22-caliber barrel takes about seven hours. The cutter is fitted with a wedge and screwhead so the feed, or depth it cuts, can be varied from time to time. The steel shaving removed from the grooves at first is about l/5000th of an inch thick. Later, when the end of the work is near and there is danger of cutting too far, less than 1/40,000 of an inch is removed during a "pass." It takes about 120 passes to cut each of the eight grooves within the barrel. All his rifle barrels are drilled from solid stock, special oil-tempered fine-grain steel being employed. For fifteen years, he has been getting his steel from the same company after trying almost every kind on the market. Some batches of steel cut more easily than others and he has to "humor the stock." The worst steel he ever got came during the last days of the World War. It was so full of grit and cinders he had to sharpen a reamer fourteen times to get through one barrel. Ordinarily he can get through twelve on a single sharpening.

When he nears the end of a job, he pushes a bullet through the barrel and with a micrometer measures the exact depth of the grooves recorded on the lead. Sometimes it is two weeks before he is satisfied with a barrel he has produced. To him, they are almost like children and he will never do another job for a customer who abuses one through ignorance or neglect. On the other hand, he has made as many as nine barrels for a single individual who appreciated fine guns.

The high-pressure, smokeless ammunition and jacketed bullets used today are especially hard on the inside of barrels. Three or four thousand rounds is all they can stand. Owners of Pope barrels usually save them for important contests and practice with other rifles. In contrast, Pope has a .33-caliber black-powder rifle that has been fired 125,000 tunes and is still in almost as good condition as it was in 1892, when it was first made.

All told, Pope has turned out more than 8,000 hand-tooled barrels, fitting them on almost every make of gun produced in America and on many of those manufactured abroad. Most of the demand now is for .22- and .30-caliber barrels with only an occasional .32 or .38.

Thirty years ago, Pope records for off-hand shooting were almost as famous as Pope barrels. Once over a period of several days, he made 696 consecutive bulls-eyes at 200 yards and another time he placed fifty consecutive shots all within three and three fourths inches of dead center. His fifty-shot record, made shortly after the turn of the century, was 467. Today it is only 470. His hundred-shot record was 917. Today, the record is only 922.

But for a fluke during a match at Springfield, Mass., on March 2, 1903, Pope would still hold the world's record for 200 yards on the standard American target. He was putting bullet after bullet into the bulls-eye, when a spectator disturbed him by asking questions. He forgot to remove the false muzzle, a one-inch auxiliary barrel placed on the end of the gun to protect the real barrel when the bullet was rammed home, and did not see it when aiming through the telescope sight. The shot blew the false muzzle off and counted as a miss. In spite of this break in luck, he ran up a score of 467 for the fifty shots, was high man for the day, and advanced the existing record four points! Some time later, after his gun had cooled off and conditions had changed, he tried an extra shot just to see what his score might have been without the miss. He scored an eight. If that could have been added to his mark for the day, the total would have been 475, five points beyond the world's record in 1934!

As he tells you of these old-time matches, he fishes yellowed score cards from the inner pockets of an ancient wallet or digs into a pile of odds and ends like a squirrel finding a nut buried in a forest and brings forth a crumbling target riddled by his fire decades ago.

From time to time, as he 'illcs, he lights a cigarette with a cigar lighter. But it is no ordinary lighter. It is e glass syrup jug a foot high filled with soaked cotton batting and having a flint wheel soldered to its top. One filling win last a year.

As long as he can remember, Pope has been interested in guns. He was born in 1861 at Walpole, N. H. By the time he was ten years old, he was running errands for a firm in Boston. Every noon he would duck up alleys from one sporting-goods store to another to gaze at the firearms in the windows. When he was twelve, he had one of the largest collections of free catalogs in the world. He wrote to European as well as American manufacturers for pamphlets and price lists.

In 1881 he graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with an engineering degree. For twenty-three years afterwards he was in the bicycle business, ending as superintendent of a plant at Hartford, Conn.

While he was turning out bicycles, he worked with guns on the side. At least twice a week, he used to get up at three o'clock in the morning, climb on his high-wheel bicycle, and pedal out to a target range, his muzzle-loader over one shoulder and a fish basket filled with ammunition and targets slung over the other. After shooting for two hours, he would pedal back uphill to town and be ready for work at seven.

When he traded in his .40-caliber Remington for a new .42-40 which had appeared on the market, he found himself confronted with a mystery which led him into making barrels of his own. His shooting dropped off as soon as he began to use the new gun. He blamed himself at first. Then he began making tests of various loads, bullets, and powders. He built a machine rest for the gun to take the human element out of the experiments. In the end, he discovered that the trouble lay in the pitch of the rifling. The twist was so slow it didn't spin the lead fast enough to keep the bullet traveling head-on. The slug was actually turning somersaults.

Working nights on an old foot lathe in his basement, he turned out his first gun barrel in 1884, and fitted it to the defective gun. His shooting scores not only equaled his old marks with the Remington but exceeded them. Some of his friends at the local gun club wanted barrels on their guns. Immediately, their scores jumped. The records made by the club attracted attention all over the country and letters of inquiry began coming in. In 1895, Pope took a few outside orders. In two weeks, he had enough to keep him busy nights for six months.

A few years later he headed for California. San Francisco was then the center of shooting interest in the United States. He set the opening day of his gun shop for the eighteenth of April. 1906. At five o'clock in the morning, the great earthquake and fire struck the city and wiped out his shop and everything it contained. Returning east, he settled down at 18 Morris Street, Jersey City, in the building he still occupies.

Only once in his half-century of handling guns has he had an accident. A friend asked him to fit a rifle barrel to one side of a double-barreled shotgun so he could hunt deer with the rifle side and ducks and small game with the shotgun side. Pope finished it just in time to catch a train for a week-end visit and hunting trip without being able to give it shop tests.

The next day, he took the curious combination gun out for a trial. On the first shot, the rifle side drove the firing pin bade out of the gun almost with the speed of a bullet. Only the fact that it struck the stock a glancing blow and a cross grain deflected its course kept it from striking Pope squarely in the right eye. As it was, the spinning piece of steel, an inch long and a quarter of an inch thick, hit flat just above his left eyebrow, burying itself in the bone. After a surgeon extracted it. Pope went on with his hunting trip and bagged the first buck shot by the party.

It is just fifty years this spring since Pope made his first gun barrel. After half a century of machine-age progress in which most manufacturing has been turned over to automatic mechanisms. Pope remains a New England mechanic. Still using home-made tools, still employing time-worn methods, he is producing still, in his high-perched little workshop, gunbarrels that lead the world.

The declaration of war between France and Germany in 1870 produced great excitement in the ranks of marksmen, natives of above countries in San Francisco . Some of them declared their intention to return to their native homes, and use their skill in battle against the enemy. Mr. Emil Weil, a young tobacco merchant on Front Street , a native of Elsas and a fair rifle shot, left in August for France , he joined the French army in Paris and during the siege of that city while the first time under fire, at a sortie, was taken prisoner by the Prussians and sent for detention to Berlin . Here Herman Jacoby a banker, brother of the writer, met him and made his involuntary visit to the capital of Germany as pleasant as possible. August 14th 1870 the German Consul Duisenberg and the writer organize a shooting festival for the benefit of the wounded in the Franco-German war. The festival took place at Harbor View and proved an immense success. Many and valuable prizes were offered by the San Francisco citizens and were competed for with the globesight, open sight, and military rifle targets. A unique feature was the competition with the Needle Gun which Philo Jacoby had brought from Berlin in 1868. Of the 200 cartridges presented to him together with the gun, he had 158 felt, which were shot off at $1.00 a piece at a bullseye target.

Wm. Ehrenpfort, with the best center won first prize at the needle gun competition, a splendid silver goblet; 1st prize, globe sight, went to Joseph Hug with 34 out of possible 36 rings. Philo Jacoby won the first prize at the open sight target with 33 rings and Captain McElhenny the first prize at the military rifle target. Markers and secretaries all worked without reward during the prize shooting and the sum of $1285.00 was realized which was sent the following day by Consul Duisenberg to the relief committee at Berlin .

Having accepted a position as war correspondent of the “ Alta California ” that time the most prominent daily morning paper in San Francisco the writer, August 27th, 1870 left for the seat of war in France . Arriving September 3rd in Chicago , he learned the news of the battle of Sedan and then capture of Emperor Louis Napoleon. Under guidance of police inspector Herman Mueller whose acquaintance he had made at the steamer on his return trip from Europe in 1868, he went sight-seeing through the town and witnessed the great procession of about 20,000 patriotic Germans, which was formed in a few hours, and whose singing and shouting could be heard for miles. Believing war was about over, Jacoby, attended the American Sharpshooters Bund Festival in Washington, where he won Kingship by scoring 101 four inch bullseyes at 200 yards, in one day’s shooting, winning the king medal (yet in his possession) and $100.

In 1871 the National Rifle Club was organized and held its practice and prize shooting at Harbor View. Prominent members were A. Lohse, the manager of The California Powder Works, James Stanton, and many members, among whom the writer, of the Deutsche Schuetzen Club. At the first public prize-shooting of the National Rifle Club in October, Joseph Hug won first prize for most bullseyes, and Wm. Ehrenpfort won a large handsome silver goblet presented by A. Lohse.

The first of the California marksmen to compare his skill with that of the world celebrated European champions was Philo Jacoby who left San Francisco in May 1873 to attend the great Shooting contests in Germany Switzerland and Austria . The Cantonal Shooting festival in Zurich June 20 to 30th of above year was the first in which he competed. There were 95 targets being placed at 1000 feet distance. The range was perfectly open, each target having a large number, corresponding with a place of like number in the shooting stand, which was a temporary erected wooden building. Jacoby had brought his heavy muzzleloading rifle along, but only open sight breechloaders were allowed to be used, so he hired from Joseph Staub (the celebrated shoott1g king) who had the keening of the armory in the shooting hall, a Vetterly rifle. This rifle was built after the pattern of the Prussian needle gun, but much handier than that weapon, weighing less, and requiring but three movements in loading to the needle guns six; it also had a good fine trigger.

At 1 P. M. of the first day of the festival a cannon shot gave the signal to begin the contest, the first event being for 10 goblets, for the first of which the main honor, the champions Joseph Staub, Haury, Knecht, Streif, Luchsinger and Emil Pfenniger, were the favorites to gain the first 100 numbers (10 inch bullseye) needed for the goblet. Staub and Haury finished at the same time but Haury was the first to announce and prove his score at the official counter, and so was awarded the much coveted honor and trophy which he received on the grounds with due ceremony, music, speeches, etc. Jacoby not being used to the light Vetterly which weighed about 10 pounds (his muzzleloader weighed 18) did not shoot well at first but gradually made better scores, and gained his goblet during rue afternoon. The following day Jacoby devoted to shooting on the Honorary targets. There were six sets of them, the main prizes being on “Vaterland” at which each competitor was allowed to fire two shots which were measured from the center.

The writer was present when Staub made his two shots, His first was a very good one, probably within an inch or two from the possible. When he had fired, his second shot he ex— claimed: “I got it! Right in the center!” but the marker on the target he thought he shot at, showed a miss, while on the next target, in the stand of which nobody had fired, a dead center was shown. Poor Staub had shot at the wrong target and lost, what surely would have been the first prize which on “Vaterland” amounted to 5,000 francs. He was so disgusted with the ill luck that he did not fire another shot during the festival. The main event of the festival, shooting for’ King took place the fourth day Wednesday: the conditions were unlimited shooting for most numbers, all day.

Jacoby had engaged the son of Staub, and his father’s rifle, and so was enabled to shoot continually, while young Staub was kept busy cleaning the other rifle. During the afternoon from 4 to 5, a heavy rain storm came down from the mountains, the black of the targets became scarcely visible and nearly all marksmen ceased firing except Jacoby who, by holding away on the left (where the wind came from) succeeded after a few misses, In scoring 15 numbers in succession. When the storm had passed away the firing opened again on all targets. But when at 6 PM at the sound of a cannon, the targets disappeared, Jacoby had gained the honor of the day. He had fired 1158 shots and scored 589 numbers, 54 more than the next highest Emil Pfenniger of Reinach.

After the result had been ascertained by the committee, a procession was formed and the California marksman crowned with a laurel wreath escorted with music to the banquet hall where on immense tables many hundreds of marksmen enjoyed a splendid meal with wine as a libation. (Over 500 francs which Jacoby won that day, he gave to the Schuetzenwirth for extra “Schuetzen Wine.”)

During the banquet many eloquent speeches were made by representative marksmen, over different objects, among others Jacoby was complimented as being the first Non-Swiss Shooting King in the history of shooting in Switzerland . In answer the writer truthfully stated that his teachers in the art of marksmanship were his Swiss comrades in California , Ebhner, Rahwyler and others who would be delighted when they heard of his success.

Well, they can hear of it very quickly, stated the president of the festival and at the close of the banquet he brought Jacoby in a carriage to the office of the Atlantic Cable operator, where Jacoby dictated the following message: John Mengel, Sutter and Stockton Streets, San Francisco “Schützenköenig – Philo.” When Jacoby wanted to pay for the

cablegram he was not permitted to do so; in fact he was royally treated throughout, and will surely never forget his comrades and good friends in Switzerland .

John Mengel (who died only a few mouths ago), a member of the S. F. Schuetzen Verein when he received the cablegram lost no time in making its contents known in San Francisco, and, as the writer later ascertained, winning many bets from unbelievers.

Jacoby next contested one day at the Cantonal shooting a Zofingen where he won goblets and other prizes, and having bought Staub’s Vetter Ii, a splendid shooting rifle in Zurich for 150 francs, he became quite at home in the Numbers. The week following, the great eight-day Cantonal shooting festival in Solothurn took place. From Zurich , Jacoby took the train to the festival place; his car was an open one and when the train entered the station in Solothurn it ran straight into another train left standing on the same rails. All occupants of the open car jumped; Jacoby was one of the first, the fall did not hurt him much but a 200 pound Swiss mountaineer marksman who jumped upon him with the spikes of his boots tore a deep cut in his right hip. Jacoby was carried to the station house where doctors soon attended him, sewed up his wound and made arrangements to send him to a hospital. The accident happened about 11 A. M. and the Cantonal shooting was to begin at 1 P. M. The Swiss marksman (his name was Streif Luchsinger,) who was the innocent cause of Jacoby’s accident, remained with him and helped to make him as comfortable as possible. He said he would leave for the shooting range at 12:30 as he had entered for the first goblet contest. Of course, the writer felt double sore; on his hip and that he should not be able to be at the opening of the festival. He asked Streif Luchsinger to help him on his legs, and when Jacoby found that he could stand fairly steady, he insisted on accompanying his new comrade to the Schuetzen Platz in spite of the advice of the doctors. Streif Luchsinger called a carriage and soon they were at the range. Jacoby’s baggage and rifle had been left at the station and he was supplied with weapon and ammunition by his friend. The contest began for the first goblet. Streif Luchsinger scored the first 100 numbers, and won the honor. Jacoby although somewhat unsteady on his legs, kept pegging away, and when he finally won his goblet (he was 7th on the list) he could scarcely keep upright. Streif Luchsinger carried him, accompanied by great many marksmen, on his shoulders to the Gaben Temple , where the gritty Californian received his hard earned trophy under resounding cheers. Then the doctors got hold of him and brought him in a carriage to a hospital where for the next three days he laid in high wound-fever.

When Jacoby regained consciousness on Wednesday, (the accident happened on Sunday) he found himself in a large finely furnished room, with a handsome young Swiss nurse bending over him congratulating him on his return from the land of Nod. On Friday he was able with the aid of crutches to visit the place of the Cantonal Shooting festival, and was lucky enough to win, with his two shots on the Honorary Target, “Solothurn’, the second prize, consisting of 500 francs, a fine silver ornamented Vetterly military rifle, and three cases champagne. The latter Jacoby donated to the Festival Committee and the Vetterli went up in flames together with Jacoby’s 20 other rifles, in the great earthquake and fire, April 18, 1906 .

After resting in Solothurn for eight days, the California rifleman, having secured credentials from the Mayor of the town, traveled to Thun, where the Federal Ammunition Factory is situated, for the purpose of securing 1000 each 41 caliber cartridges for his Vetterli, for neither in Germany or Austria, where he intended to compete, could this ammunition be had. The way to the factory led over the Lake of Thun , one of the most beautiful and romantic situated lakes in Switzerland on the southern border of which the ammunition works are situated. The officials received the strange rifleman very kindly, having heard of his success at Zurich , and let him have 1000 cartridges at a very reasonable rate.

At Vienna in July that year, during the world’s exposition, there took place a great contest with military rifles; all competitors had to use the Austrian Werdle Gewehr, a rifle which opened sideways near the breach, had plain open sights and a triggerpull of about six pounds, the distances shot over were 200, 400, and 600 meters, the targets were divided into 4 points, with the black counting 4, 23 by 26 centimeter (about 9 by 10 inches) and larger in proportion at 400 and 600 meters. The ranges were at the Militaer Schiesstaette in the Prater, about mile from the World Exposition buildings. At 200 meters the condition was standing, while at 400 and 600 meters kneeling was permitted, and chance was given competitors to fire 10 practice shots at each range.

The use of Werdle rifle with ammunition was given free to all competitors and Jacoby had the luck to get a very correct shooting one; he scored 38 at the first range; 37 at the second: and 38 at the 3rd range, together 113 points, which gained for him the first prize, a grand gold medal 500 Gulden and a fine large field glass. Next to him was Lord Elko Jr. from England with 106 points, whose father had given the great Elko Shield for yearly competition between an English, Irish and Scotch rifle team. The Shield, about 3 feet by 4 in size, of solid silver, beautiful workmanship and artistically engraved was on exhibition in the English department of the World’s Fair.

The next contest the California rifleman participated in was the Rheinische Bundes Shooting Festival in Düsseldorf. It was against the law to have cartridges as baggage, but he smuggled them through, having them in a big leather satchel hidden by underwear. When passing over the border into Prussia, the commanding officer at the station asked him what he bad in the satchel, he answered truthfully, “my washing,” “Well it seems pretty heavy washing, I noticed you carrying it,” said he. Then Jacoby told him all about coming from California to participate in the great German shooting and bringing his cartridges along from Switzerland a there were no 41 caliber ones for his Vetterli to be had in Germany. The officer laughed good naturedly, made some cabalistic chalkmarks on the satchel and wished the Californian good luck at the festival. In Düsseldorf where he arrived two days before the beginning of the event he was well received by the officers of Rheinische Schuetzen Bund, especially by the president C. de Loew, who knew of his success in Switzerland and Vienna .

There was a great procession in which Jacoby had a place of honor and he carried in the muzzle of his Vetterli one of the handsome small American flags with a golden bear painted upon it, which Mr. Pasquale of San Francisco had furnished him. When passing a large building many young ladies rushed out and, marching along cheered the flag most lustily. There were American students at the Düsseldorfer Painting Academy . The contest for the first 10 goblets began at 5:30 P. M. the shooting stand was near the Rhein river from over which a strong wind was blowing and Jacoby by holding accordingly had little trouble in gaining the first goblet and silver set, which were presented to him later in the evening, during a banquet and ball in the “Rathaus Halle” with great ceremony. He has them yet among his most cherished trophies.

The second day of the Rheinische Bundes Schiessen Jacoby devoted to the Honorary Targets of which there were four, “Deutschland, “Düsseldorf”, “Rhein” and “Lorely” the two former were at 300 meter (976 feet) distance and the two latter at 175 meter (569 feet.) There were a great many marksmen competing at these targets, and it took Jacoby nearly all day to complete his scores. At “Düsseldorf” and “Deutschland” he done well, making out of possible 60 rings, 53 on one and 51 on the other. “Rhein” and “Lorely” were center targets with one shot allowed on each; on “Rhein” his shot went too high, so when his turn came to shoot at “Lorely” he aimed away below the black; he pulled the trigger steadily and the marker showed a dead bullseye. The shot proved to be about one-half inch from the true center and gained for the Californian the third prize, 500 marks (about $115) and a beautiful bronze trophy “Diana” which was on exhibition at several Mechanics Institute Fairs in San Francisco . The great event of the festival, the competition for “Schützen Köenig” took place on the following day; the conditions were most points all day; the shooting distance 300 meters, at targets with an oblong black, 15 inches high and 9 broad with an inner ring 9 inches high and 3 broad, the former counting one, the latter two points. The target stands were crowded and Jacoby was only enabled to fire about 300 shots, but when the cannon sounded the close of the competition, he had scored 389 points, 87 more than B. Koerting, from Hanover, the Shooting King of the last Bund Shooting. Among the competitors for King were several good marksmen from Brussels, the champion of whom, Monseur Doreaux who had won the second goblet the rest day, generally shot at the same stand with the Californian, and followed him when he changed to another, but, although Doreaux shot well in the forenoon, once scoring seven two’s in succession, the Californian soon passed him; Doreaux broke up badly during the afternoon and bereft Jacoby of his company. The Kingprizes, a laurel wreath, a hand some goblet and 250 marks were presented to the Californian during the evening in the Pavilion at the Festival Place, with due ceremonies, among which occurred a Schuetzen Reigen, namely many marksmen, those from Brussels and Düsseldorf in the lead, clasped hands and danced around the Californian while singing a Schuetzen song.—Many young people from the Painting Academy were present and enthusiastically aided in honoring their successful American representative.

When Jacoby returned to San Francisco , his comrades of the rifle gave him a grand reception. The San Francisco Turner Schuetzen (whom he represented and in its, (at that) time white uniform he competed in all his contests in Europe) under command of Captain C. K. Zimmer (yet hale and hearty, and a resident of San Rafael) turned out in a body, while hundreds of other marksmen and friends (among them August Browning who had won the first prize, a silver goblet, at a free prize shooting given by Jacoby to his comrades before his departure for Europe) each bearing torches and headed by a fine band, escorted Jacoby through the principal streets to Martin’s restaurant on Commercial street, where an excellent banquet was enjoyed by all and the returned champion, his many trophies spread before him, related to his comrades the history of his struggles for the supremacy of California marksmanship over that of the best riflemen in Europe.

During 1872 the National Rifle Club was organized by the members of the old “Deutsche Schuetzen Club” which had ceased to exist, Joseph Hug, Alois Schneider, Wm. Ehrenpfort, John Bach, George Schmidt, Chas. Slotterbek, Philo Jacoby and others were original members. Their shooting range was at Harbor View where they practiced every Sunday and held several public prize shootings.

About that time there came to San Francisco a young man, about 19 years of age named Adolph Strecker. He was a journeyman barber of delicate built and in the shop he .was engaged in he came in contact with several riflemen, among them, Jacoby. The latter on Christmas Eve in 1872 invited him to be present at a turkey shooting which was held in a place on Kearny Street . To win a turkey the competitors had to fire at a small ring target, 75 feet away, and having a bullseye of one half an inch, in diameter, counting 10. There were 20 competitors and Jacoby had made two bullseyes and a nine, when Strecker who fired last scored, to the astonishment of all present three bullseyes and won the Christmas bird; a new champion had surely arisen. Strecker carried his prize in triumph to his boarding house in Morton Street , kept by Mr. Maas, and showed it to his friends. Sad to relate, the turkey escaped out of his hands, flew against the looking glass which it broke and for which damage Mr. Maas kindly accepted the hard earned prize of the young champion. Strecker soon afterwards joined the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein and became the champion of that association. The shooting that time, was at the distance of 150 yards and at a black target having a white bullseye of 4 inches in diameter counting 10, 11 and 12, the other rings being in the black. In his practice and prize shooting that time, Strecker seldom missed the bullseye.

In June 1874 occurred the American Bund Shooting Festival at Baltimore, and the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein resolved to send Strecker as their delegate to that event. The distance shot over at Baltimore was 200 yards, and as there was no range at that distance that time in San Francisco, Jacoby, who had taken Strecker in hand, improvised one by measuring off in the Alameda Schuetzen Park range, 50 yards from the firing point towards the entrance, and from that point shooting through a window of the shooting house at the target which was a duplicate of those to be used in Baltimore (25 inches in diameter having 25 one half inch rings and a 12 inch black, 14 to 25 rings in black and the others in the white)

Several times a week Strecker, under guidance of the writer, practiced and soon became very proficient at the new distance. One afternoon, Strecker after firing three shots, held his rifle In position for the fourth, and exclaimed: “Philo I cannot see the target, what is the matter!” I turned around and there inside the shooting house, before the window through which Strecker was shooting, stood a woman on whose back Strecker with his finger on the hair trigger had moved the sight of his loaded rifle around in the vain endeavor to find the target. Running to the shootinghouse we there found a well dressed woman to whom we stated the danger she had escaped of getting killed. She was greatly scared and explained to us that, while visiting the park she had strayed into the house, had heard the shots, and also, the zip of the bullets as they passed through the window to the target, but thought that the latter sound came from bees of which there were many around; well, she left for home in short order.

June 10th, 1874 Strecker started on his trip to Baltimore ; the writer escorted him to Oakland and gave him good advice on the way. At the American Bund Shooting festival William Ehrenphfort also participated, Strecker proved a great surprise to the champion marksmen assembled there. The fame of his great skill had not reached them, and when the young Californian, boyish looking and scarcely of age, beat the best of them, day after day for most bullseyes, and it became sure that an unknown youngster would become the Shooting King of the United States, they did not like it very much. The great event of the Bund’s Festival was the honor of being Shooting King, to win which, a marksman had to score most (4 inch) bullseyes during the 6 days of the contest. Shooting began Sunday afternoon June 21st after the great parade, and when it closed, Strecker had the most bullseyes, and he had the most during every day of the contest, beating his next opponent Wm. Hayes (who as Shooting King of the National Bund Shooting of 1898, competed at the Bund Shooting in 1901 in San Francisco) over 100 bullseyes. At the Honorary Target he won the third prize out of many hundreds, a very valuable one. He was declared shooting king of the United States and received honors and many prizes.

When young Strecker returned to San Francisco , the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein gave him a grand public reception. The whole company in uniform, headed by a music hand and accompanied by torchlight bearers, received him at the ferry and escorted him to the Wintergarden, a large public building on Stockton Street , near Sutter, where a grand banquet was given in his honor.

A. Palmer, the same Nevada hunter and sharpshooter who ten years before had shot a match against Joseph Hug losing not only $750, but also his ranch in betting, came to San Francisco in December 1874 and again challenged all marksmen for a contest. Philo Jacoby accepted his defy, and the match, for $100 a side, came off on Christmas day in Harbor View. Conditions were 20 shots, 220 yards offhand, each shot measured from the center of the target. Betting was in favor of Jacoby who won the match. His 20 shots measuring 61 inches against Palmer’s 99.

In October 1875 a communication from the Centennial World Fair Commission, Philadelphia was received by Philo Jacoby requesting him to organize a team of California riflemen to represent the Golden State at a champion rifle contest to be held under auspices of the American Sharpshooters Association during the Fair. The conditions being seven men to the team, each man to fire ten shots at the 25 one-half inch ring target, the first prize to be the World Champion Goblet (now in possession of the California Schuetzen Club). To be able to compete in the team match and also in the Bund Shooting Festival which preceded the same and lasted a full week, all members of the team had to be also members of a rifle association affiliated with the American Sharpshooters Association, the entrance fee of such membership being $50. As the then existing local rifle associations were not in favor of expending such a sum, Philo Jacoby, A. Rahwylcr, A. Strecker, Wm. Koenig, Captain C. K. Zimmer, Wm. Heber, Wm. Streuly, J. Ingold, 0. Momenthy and Leutgeb met Jan. 5 th at the musical headquarters, N. E. corner Kearny and Sutter Streets and organized “The California Schuetzen Club” for the purpose of representing California at the Centennial World Rifle Contest. Jacoby was elected president, A. Rahwyler vice-president, Wm. Koenig treasurer, Wm. Streuly secretary and Wm. Heber shooting master. The president offered a fine silver goblet to be contested for the following Sunday at Alameda Schuetzen Park . Mr. Ehrmann, an expert carpenter, and good marksman and hunter, made a double target frame on which handmade targets with 25 half-inch rings were pasted.

Outside the Schuetzen Park to the east, with the aid of Schuetzenwirth Hermann Bremer, the father of the present treasurer of the California Schuetzen Club, a range of 200 yards was measured off, a pit dug, an old chicken house lifted bodily from Bremer’s yard, carried through the opened fence and placed at the 200 yard mark from the rifle pit, and so the first 200 yard range in California came into existence. The signals to the marker were given with a large fishhorn, and the result of the shots on the target shown by numbers hastily painted on pasteboard pieces by William Koch. Sunday, January 7th the first prize-shooting of the California Schuetzen Club took place. The contest was for the best centers, and Wm. Koenig won the first prize the silver goblet, while several other prizes donated by members and friends were won by the other contestants. Seventy five dollars were realized by the Club of which sum 50 dollars were sent the following day as initiation fee of the California Schuetzen Club to the American Sharpshooters Association in Philadelphia . At the first meeting of the California Schuetzen Club, after its inauguration on January 12th, 12 new members, among them Wm. Ehrenpfort, A. Bauer, the German General Consul Duisenberg, Alois Schneider, John Horstman, August Browning. Freese, all good marksmen, joined the Club. Those who expressed their willingness to represent California , at their own expense, at the Centennial were Philo Jacoby, A. Strecker, A. Rahwyicr, Wm. Koenig, Wm. Streuly, Wm. Ehrenpfort and A. Bauer. Twice a week, Fridays and Sundays, up till the midst of June, the team and their comrades practiced at the new range and improved rapidly in their markmanship. A. Strecker and Wm. Koenig were active members, and A. Bauer, Wm. Ehrenpfort and Philo Jacoby passive members of the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein. At the May festival of that Society, members, both active and passive had as usual three shots at the company target, each shot being measured from the center. Adolph Strecker and Philo Jacoby scored three (4 1-2 inch) bullseyes each, Strecker’s shots measuring together 3¼ inches and Jacoby’s 2¾ the latters prize consisted of a 50 dollar slug, and the former’s of a gold watch. August Browning became Shooting King of the S. F. Schuetzen Verein by hitting and knocking down from the pole the last piece, no larger than a man’s hand, of the wooden Eagle.

Early in June the team left for Philadelphia . They competed individually with success in public prize shooting in New York and Newark City , N. J., in the latter city Jacoby had the good luck of winning the best center prize, $100, which was handed him by Wm. Hayes, the opponent of Strecker’s in Baltimore .

June 20th the team assembled at Capt. Busch’s Hotel in Hoboken, (Busch was captain of the N. Y. Independents Schuetzen; he weighed over 400 pounds,. but was lively and active; he paid a visit in the 70ies to San Francisco and the Schuetzen Verein gave in his honor a banquet in the Alameda Schuetzen Park) and proceeded to Philadelphia where they arrived in good order but had to wait for some time at the station before a member of the festival committee appeared and directed them to their hotel. June 24th the Bund Shooting festival of the American sharpshooters Union opened with a grand parade through the principal streets of Philadelphia . The California Schuetzen Club team was given a place of honor in front. They carried with them their handsome standard ornamented in gold with the seal of California, and their golden bear, carved in San Francisco, out of California Oak by a Swiss artist and heavily gilded It was the first time that the California flag and golden bear was shown in the East, and they and the team were greeted with cheers and received many floral offerings. The place of the Shooting Festival was situated in Germania Park , about 10 miles from Philadelphia , and the contest began at I P. M. Strecker, Rahwyler and Streuly competed for the most bullseyes, while Ehrenpfort, Bauer, Koenig and Jacoby entered the competition for the first goblets. The bullseye targets had a 12-inch black with a bullseye 4 inches in diameter, while the goblet targets had an oblong black 10 inches wide and 16 inches high,, counting one point with an inner line 3 inches wide and 9 inches high, counting two points. Strecker shot the most bullseyes in the afternoon, Rahwyler the second and Streuly the third most, while John Meunier of Milwaukee (our good friend who has paid his comrades in San Francisco several visits), won the first goblet, Wm. Ehrenpfort the second, Philo Jacoby the third, Wm. Koenig the fourth and A. Bauer the fifth.

The members of the California Schuetzen Club Team all resided during the week of the Bund Shooting Festival at a hotel near the Germania Schuetzcn Park . In the evening of the first day of the contest (and in fact on every evening during the week) Jacoby took train to Philadelphia and from there telegraphed the result of the day’s shooting to the comrades in San Francisco . When he returned he found Strecker a very ill man on the veranda of the hotel; it seems that the march and the excitement of the first day’s contest had been rather too much for him, and, although he shot fairly’ well the second day, he was not in usual form, and Wm. Hayes, whom he conquered in Baltimore two years before and who was in splendid trim, passed him in the contest for Kingship, shooting in one day 126 (4 inch) bullseyes. With the exception of Hayes, the seven Californian’s beat air other marksmen in the King Contest for most bullseyes during the week, and of the ten master sharpshooters diplomas, captured seven. Strecker was second, then came Rahwyler, Jacoby, Streuly, Koenig, Ehrenpfort and Bauer. Streuly won the first prize on the Stich Target (best center); Strecker and Rahwyler were the highest of the Californians on the Honorary (ring) target. On the Honorary (man) target each contestants had two series of five shots; the highest counted for prize, the lower for tie. Rahwyler and Jacoby shot together, both scored in the first series 86 out of possible 100; in the second series Rahwyler scored 83 and Jacoby again 86, the latter winning 2nd prize ($100) and the former 3rd prize ($80.) All the other Californians shot well on this target. An incident took place during the week of the festival which is well worth recounting. The first Bund Shootingsmaster who already on the first day of the contest had shown himself as an overbearing loudmouthed fellow, shot on Wednesday his score (3 shots) on the Honorary ring target. From the gallery in the shooting stand Rahwyler and Strecker were looking on. The schuetzenmeister’s first shot was a 21, and second a 3 and the last a 24 - (48) On the following day his score was placed as 68. Rahwyler and Strecker entered protest, so did other marksmen who had seen him shoot, and when the committee investigated the score-book, it was found that the noble schuetzenmeister, who had access to them, had written a 2 in front of the three (his second shot.) The miscreant was stripped of his schutzenmeister badge, had to forfeit all his prizes won, and was expelled from the shooting grounds.

The prize distribution of the Bund Shooting Festival took place in Germania Park . Win Hayes of Newark N. J., was crowned Bund Shooting King for having shot most bullseyes of the festival, thereby getting even with Strecker who defeated him in Baltimore . The latter promised to return the compliment when next they meet, a promise which he faith— fully kept by defeating Hayes and all other champion marksmen for Shooting King of the National Bund Shooting festival in San Francisco 1901. The Californian’s gathered in, each 7 silver and 7 gold medals, 7 silver goblets, each a handsome trophy on the Honorary Ring target, about $500.00 on the Honorary Man and Stick targets and about $500.00 for daily and weekly premiums for bulls- eyes.

The following week, the Californian’s devoted themselves to sight seeing at the World’s Fair and in Philadelphia . Strecker, Rahwyler Koenig and Streuly continued to reside in their hotel near Germania Park , while Ehrenpfort, Bauer and Jacoby had rooms in the Nord Deutsche Hotel in Philadelphia . The general meeting of delegates to the American Sharpshooters Association Bund took place July 2nd and on motion of the California delegation, the present point target, and present ring target (misnamed German ring target) were accepted as Bund targets.

In the evening of Jury 3rd, the evening of the great Centennial celebration, Ehrenpfort, Bauer and Jacoby sauntered forth to enjoy the sights in the streets of Philadelphia . The principal thoroughfares, all handsomely decorated, were crowded with all classes of humanity. Towards 12 all bells and whistles of the town started in with might and main to celebrate the Centennial year. Bauer and Jacoby (Ehrenpfort had lost himself) stood on the sidewalk opposite the old Town Hall and watched the procession of which the old Liberty Bell, resting on an artillery wagon and surrounded with ñ immense wreath, was the most prominent feature. The crowd rushing along with the procession swept the Californians off their feet and they and many others tumbled about 10 steps down to tile entrance of a large saloon in which they sought refuge, and after ascertaining that they escaped unharmed refreshed themselves, glad that they had seen the Liberty Bell and entered the hundredth anniversary of America’s Freedom without broken bones.

When July 6, 1876 , Bauer, Jacoby they found at the door Wm. Ehrenpfort, who accused them of having given him the slip, and enquired where they had been. Bauer, who was a great kidder) informed him, that he and Jacoby had been at a very interesting fancy masque ball on Gallow Hill, the Red Light district of Philadelphia, and Ehrenpfort has not forgiven Jacoby to this day that he had not taken him along to witness the great sights.

When July 6th, 1876 Bauer, Jacoby and Ehrenpfort arrived at Germania Park, they found the other members of the team Strecker, Rahwyler, Koenig and Streuly busy practicing. Capt. F. Greiner a member of the California Schuetzen Club, who was present was elected as Captain of the team and A. H. Lochbaum (now capitalist in San Mateo ) general supervision. Greiner was sent to supervise the shooting of the Helvetia Rifle team from New York , while the captain of the Helvetia supervised the shooting of the California team. Twenty one teams were originally entered, but the marksmanship displayed by the Californians during the Bund Festival probably discouraged some of them, for when the contest began there were only nine, but the members of these were composed of the best marksmen of the twenty-one originally entered.

Trainload after trainload of spectators arrived; there were trains from Baltimore , Washington , New York , St. Louis and Cincinnati , besides an immense throng from Philadelphia . The shooting committee assigned the Californians a stand where they could practice up to 1 P. M. when the Centennial team match was to begin. Five minutes before one the targets were lowered. From John Wieland the pioneer San Francisco Brewer, the team had received several cases of bottled beer, and from Kohler & Frohling select California Wine, while Rahwyler smuggled a bottle of fine Burgundy from a Centennial French Restaurant, so their table in front of their stand was well supplied. Jacoby asked the boys to drink to the success of California and that not one of them would pull the trigger of his rifle till his bead was on the spot where he wanted it to be. “I have no glass”, said Strecker. “Well, take a bottle,” answered Jacoby; so Strecker grabbed Rahwyler’s Burgundy and tilted it 45 degrees. Just then the cannon sounded and the targets appeared. Strecker jumped for his rifle (it was first in the rack) aimed scarcely two seconds and fired the first shot of the tournament. Instantly the red flag waived in front of the Californian’s target, indicating that the 25 ring (one inch in diameter) had been hit. Immense cheering broke out from the many thousands of spectators, and the Californians could also be heard. Next to them the Helvetia Team had their stand and their schuetzenmeister, Philip Klein turned towards the audience, yelling to them to keep quite, but he might just as well have yelled in a storm towards the breakers on a rocky coast and at the information from Jacoby that he had better watch his men who were shooting badly he desisted.

Strecker’s 25 was followed by a 24 by Koenig and every member of the California team scored well. Koenig’s first 3 shots were three 24’s. He was looking around for applause but his comrades thought they might break the spell, arid kept quiet, till Koenig said, “what do you think of it boys?” “nothing more than we expect of you” they answered. Strecker made four bullseyes in his first 5 shots. Jacoby had been shooting a good average, when, at the 6th shot, although he pulled the trigger steadily, he was shown a high 7, and every one of the team was shown a similar shot, When Jacoby’s turn came he, noticing that the light had changed from hazy to bright sunshine, aimed about 6 inches lower than before and was shown a 22. He informed his comrades of his experience and nearly all followed his advice and shot good again. Ehrenpfort in his second last shot was up high again, and he became badly disgruntled; but after the writer gave him something to steady his nerves, he scored a bullseye the last shot. By this time all had finished their scores but Jacoby; he had made a 23 his second last shot and when he raised the rifle for his last one, he was not satisfied with his holding and rested the rifle. Twice more this happened. Then a member of the shooting committee requested him to fire the last shot, as the other marksmen had all finished. The writer answered, that as he had come 3000 miles to fire 10 shots for California and as it was yet one half an hour from the closing time of the team shooting, he would use every minute of the time, if need be, to make a good shot. When next Jacoby raised his rifle he pulled the trigger just when his bead was where he wanted it to be, and as the shot sounded he took off his hat and threw it in the air; the marker showed a 23 and Jacoby had won the championship of the California Schuetzen Club team which had defeated the next highest team the Helvetia of New York by 68 rings. The representative marksmen of the Golden State were cheered to the echo. A procession was formed with the Californians, each crowned with a laurel wreath, at his head, and, when, after a march through the park the banquet hall was reached, they were called upon the stage where the high officials were assembled. Here after eloquent remarks, complimenting the Californians upon their marksmanship, the Governor of Pennsylvania presented them with the Centennial Champion Goblet under cheers of the thousands of spectators in the hall. Jacoby, in behalf of the team answered with a few heartfelt remarks and invited the donors to initiate the goblet with sparkling wine.

When the team retired from the stage J. A. Bauer, pointing to the box in which the golden bear of the California Schuetzen Club had been Packed, ready for shipment home, called out: “Comrades! Marksmen! Do you hear the jolly growling of our grizzly in the box? He wants to come out to help celebrate California ’s victory.” Well the Californians and their comrades celebrated in magnificent form and many a time the champion goblet was filled with sparkling wine and emptied in honor of our Golden State .

Wm. Hayes, the Shooting King of the Bund Shooting and Captain of the Newark, N. J. rifle team which won the 3rd prize in the Centennial Champion contest (the Helvetia team of New York having taken 2nd prize), was one of the first to congratulate the Californians upon their great achievement and invited them in the name of the Newark Schuetzen, to pay their town a visit. The Californians accepted his invitation, and in a few days took train in a body to Newark . Here they were received by a delegation of marksmen, placed in carriages and brought to a large hall in one of the principle streets, presented to the City Dignitaries and offered refreshments of the very best. After a short rest they were again escorted to their carriages and brought through the principal streets accompanied by many dignitaries of the city, Wm. Hayes and others were brought to the handsomely situated Newark Schuetzen Park, .of the city, Wm. Hayes and others where they were received with a salute of twenty-one cannon shots. In the large dining hail of the park they 1ound a splendid banquet waiting for them which they, seated between the representative marksmen and citizens of Newark , heartily enjoyed. Wine flowed freely and many laudatory speeches were made by the officials of the city, Wm. Hayes and others. After the banquet the Californians inspected the park, a most beautiful one, containing fine large trees, suitable buildings, large shooting house and extensive target stands. An impromptu rifle match was arranged between the Newark marksmen and the Californians, but as all of them saw more than one bullseye, owing to the splendid quality of the wine they had imbibed, the shooting was rather wild, and it has never been determined which team had won.

A. Rahwyler and Wm. Koenig embarked on a steamer to their respective homes, Rahwyler to Switzerland , where he engaged in many shooting festiva1s and won many prizes, and Koenig to Hanover , where, after he returned to San Francisco and resided here two years, he married and settled down as a Boniface and tiller of the soil. Three years ago he and hi good wife paid San Francisco an extended visit and received a hearty welcome from his brethren of the rifle, especially from his comrades of

The universal use of the rifle in California dates from the discovery of gold in California . Before this time a few rifles were owned by the doughty General Sutter at Sutter’s Fort, what is now Sacramento . Among the first gold seekers were many hardy hunters from Kentucky and Missouri who brought their hunting rifles along; rifles with barrels over five feet long, shooting a small round bullet. With these rifles they hunted deer, elk, black and brown bear, and the formidable grizzly. Courageous and good marksmen they were, for not to hit a vital part of a grizzly at close quarters meant death or terrible wounds to the hunter. Even after being shot through the heart with a small bullet a grizzly has been known to mangle his assailant. A living example of this fact is our comrade of the California Schuetzen Club and S. F. Turner Schuetzen, William Nolden, who while hunting near Mount Hamilton , shot a grizzly bear at close quarters through the breast. With one stroke of its immense paw the grizzly knocked Nolden down and then chewed his left leg to shreds. When his comrades found him, the grizzly, was lying near him stone dead. The hunters skinned and opened the bear and found that his heart had been perforated by Nolden’s bullet. Nolden was carried by his comrades to Oakland , and from there he came to the German Hospital , just then erected on Brannan Street near Fourth. Nolen gave the perforated heart of the grizzly to Dr. Loehr, the principal physician of the Hospital, which the Doctor kept for many years in a glass jar in his office. Nolden after being in the hospital for many months, left it cured of his wounds, but with a crooked leg, the large sinews under the knee having been bitten through by the grizzly, and in healing were shortened.

Valentine Ehrmann, one of the party who were with Nolden at the grizzly hunt, a first class carpenter and mechanic made for his friend a wooden contrivance for the lame leg with many fine screws which were tightened every night till Nolden’s leg became perfectly straight.

Several Swiss Gold hunters brought the first fine target rifles to California . Many of the citizens from the land of William Tell domiciled in Sacramento, the main attraction being no doubt the presence there of General Sutter. Here in 1853, the Sacramento Swiss Rifle Club (now Sacramento Helvetia Rifle Club) the oldest rifle organization in California was started. First the club had a shooting stand across the Sacramento River in Yolo County , and here in August 1859 the writer first learned to load and shoot the muzzle loading heavy Swiss rifle. General Sutter presented the club with a formidable cannon which was used in announcing the beginning and closing of the shooting festivals then held regularly twice a year, and at which later on many of the Swiss and German marksmen of San Francisco attended. In 1860 the Sacramento Swiss Rifle club moved its shooting range to the Tivoli Grounds near the town where the marksmen shot through alleys of grape vines at a distance of 180 yards the targets having a 12 inch black containing a 6 inch bullseye. Here many a hard friendly battle was fought between the Sacramento champions, Captain Ruhstaller, C. Ebner, Chas. Wolleb, H. Koppikus, John Stuber, Philip Sheld, Messrs Reno, Harris, Heinrich, Landecker, Krebs, Klune, Flobert, and the San Francisco champions Joseph Hug, P. A. Gianini, Abraham Rahwyler, Alois Schneider, Philo Jacoby, George Schmidt, John Bach, Wm. Ehrenpfort, Colonel Fred Tittle, and later on A. Strecker.

In 1854 the Zurich Swiss Rifle Club presented to the Sacramento Swiss Rifle Club a handsome heavily embroidered silk flag and John Stuber was appointed as custodian of the same. Upon his death the flag passed to the keeping of Captain Frank Ruhstaller and upon his death in 1907, which was deeply mourned by all California marksmen, into the safekeeping of his eldest son, Captain Frank Ruhstaller Jr., who has charge of it now.

In 1855 the San Francisco Turner Schuetzen section was started. A charter member and today active in its ranks is Wm. Nolden. The oldest San Francisco independent Schuetzen Association, the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein was organized August 29, 1859 in Minerva Hall, S. W. corner Kearny and California streets, kept by Jacob Knell and Batteaux (Jacob Knell is yet actively engaged by Captain Louis Siebe & Son at Shell Mound Park.) The S. F. Schuetzen Verein elected as its first officers, Dr. F. V. Meierhofer, president; Louis Kiehlmeyer, vice-president; ‘William Reichel, Secretary. F. Morsch, assistant secretary, F. Seidenstreiker, shooting master. The uniform adopted by Captain and company consisted of black blouse and pants, soft hat with feathers and black belt. Their arms were good muzzleloading rifles made by Slotter & Co. of Philadelphia. October 17, 1859 , the S. F. Schuetzen Verein held its first annual shooting festival at Russ Garden (that time situated between 6th and 7th and Howard and Harrison Streets.) The Verein 35 men strong, headed by a fine brass band, marched from Minerva Hall to the Occidental Hotel, corner Bush and Sansome Streets, where General Winfred Scott, the conqueror of Mexico , who happened to be on a visit to San Francisco , held a review over them, and complimented them upon their fine appearance. The company then marched to Russ Garden, and each member fired three shot at a ring target at double rest; the distance shot at was 80 yards. Jacob Knell won the first prize, a silver goblet (which is yet one of his most cherished possessions); Louis Kiehlmeyer won the 2nd prize, a gold chain; Captain Seidenstriker the 3rd, a watch; E. Ewald, the 4th, a revolver, and John Bach the 5th, a silver dessert basket. Fifteen prizes were distributed the prize judges were:

John Wieland, Sam Brannan, Joseph Hug, Dr. Zeile and Dr. Raabe; L. Kiehlmeyer, acted as marker. After the shooting was finished, the company marched to the Volks Garden in front of Wieland’s Brewery on 2nd Street , where they enjoyed themselves with dancing and athletic games

September 1st, 1860 the Swiss Rifle Club of San Francisco was organized and of its charter members there are to our knowledge yet three living in our city. Peter Croce, now an active shooting member of the Swiss Rifle Club, P. A. Gianini, its president and Louis Jury. In November of the same year the S. F. Deutsche Schuetzen Club came in existence. Among its charter members were Joseph Hug, John Bach, Alois Schneider, Geo. Schmidt, Charles Slotterbek, Harry Cook, and Wm. Ehrenpfort; at present time with 82 years an active marksman. For the above two shooting societies, Col. Jack Hayes built a line 150 yard target range at Hayes Park, (at that time between Hayes and Fulton; Laguna and Buchanan streets.) Here on Sunday and Monday, October 20 and 21, 1861, the first great prize shooting took place under auspices of the Swiss Rifle Club, but open to all marksmen. The targets had a black 24 inches in diameter divided into 10 rings and with a white bullseye measuring 4 inches. Prizes were given for the best ticket of five shots, most bullseyes, first 25 each day, and best centers. The rifles in use were mostly made by three excellent San Francisco gunsmiths, John Bach, Alois Schneider and Charles Slotterbek and the principal marksmen used them to most excellent purpose. P. A. Gianini shot in the two days, 281 bullseyes and Joseph Hug, 262. The first prize on the ring target was won by M. Stuber with 44 rings. J. Locher made the best center shot; the first 25 bullseyes were made Sunday by Joseph Hug, and Monday by P. A. Gianini. The price for a ring ticket of 5 shots was $5.00, while 6 shots were given for $1.00 on the bullseye targets. Towards Christmas 1861, Hayes gave a turkey shoot for all marksmen, who had to hit the head of the turkey 75 yards to win the bird, the charge being 50 cents per shot. The Swiss and German champions slaughtered the birds at such a great rate that Col. Jack Hayes treated them with a fine wine dinner under the condition that they should discontinue shooting.

In August 1863 an interesting rifle match took place between Joseph Hug and A. Palmer, the latter being a champion rifleman from Nevada . The conditions were 20 shots offhand at 50 yards with open sight; twenty shots offhand, globe sight at 150 yards and twenty shots, globe sight double rest at 220 yards, each match for $250 a side. The contest took place in a little valley back of the present Catholic orphan asylum. Betting on the result ran high for the American sporting men had great confidence in Palmer who had given them privately proof of his skill with the rifle, while the German and Swiss marksmen were staunch supporters of Hug; so, many thousands of dollars were bet on the result. In the first match at 50 yards Hug beat Palmer by 15½ inches (each shot being measured from the center of the target.) At 150 yards Hug won by 30¼ inches, after a short intermission the match at 220 yards commenced. A friend of Palmer, an old time marksman named Billy Wulf had loaned him his heavy rest shooting rifle weighing about 30 pounds. The contestants shot from the window of a small house on the grounds. Palmer had the first 20 shots and it took him 3 hours to make them, he evidently intended to protract his shooting till darkness had set in so that Hug could not finish his score. When he had fired his last shot, daylight was waning, but Hug loaded and fired his 20 shots in less than 20 minutes beating Palmer’s score by 43½ inches. Then the backers of Palmer, especially Billy Wulf who had bet 500 dollars on his winning, attempted to mob him and it was hard work to protect the defeated marksman whose former friends left him on the field.

The German marksman brought him back to the city, and as he had lost all his money and his ranch in Nevada betting that he would win two out of the three matches, Joseph Hug paid his passage back to his home in Nevada .

Another sensational rifle match took place about that time between Dr. Pardee (father of ex-governor Pardee) and Warren Loud. Both were expert rest rifle shooters and had been selected as judges of the fire arms displayed at the Mechanics Fair. Charles Slotterbek and Robert Liddle had each a fine target rifle on exhibition and the two judges became involved in a quarrel about the merits of the two weapons. The result was a rifle match, or rather three between the two marksmen, conditions three times 100 shots, double rest, telescope sights, each 100 shots for $1000 a side, distance 220 yards. The place of the contest was at San Bruno and although they began the match in October, they did not finish until March of the following year. Loud won the first match, and Dr. Pardee the other two.

In February 1861, the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein held its first shooting practice in Hayes Park , to which place a steam dummy made regular trips from the corner of Kearny and Market Streets, at that time a sand lot. The first public prize shooting of the S. F. Schuetzen Verein and its first Eagle King shooting, the first contest of this kind in California was held in Hayes Park , September 8 th and 9 th, of 1861. Mr. Warmuth shot down the last piece of the eagle and was crowned King with great ceremonies. The crown was shot away by A. A. Schaefer; the scepter by Geo Schmidt, ring by A. Herz, throat by Kiehlmeyer, the two wings by H. Julitz; right claw, Mentel; left claw A. Siegfried and tail by M. Schoenfeld. The first prize on the Company target was won by M. Schorte. At the public shooting contest Joseph Hug won the first prize with 48 out of possible 50 rings. The Hayes Park shooting range was used by the Swiss Rifle Club, Deutsche Schuetzen Club and S. F. Schuetzen Verein, each having their separate stands in the fine shooting house on the west end of the Park, where they held practice and medal shooting every Sunday, and several times a year public prize shoot while the S. F. Schuetzen Verein also held its Eagle shooting every fall.

May 15th, 1865 , the first long range rifle match in California took place between Alois Schneider, an expert gunsmith and good shot and Philo Jacoby (the writer, that time a young marksman with some skill and more nerve). The match came about through Schneider challenging all marksmen to a contest at 600 yards, globe sight and muzzle rest, with him using a 30 pound rifle of his own make. Jacoby, who owned a good rifle weighing about 12 pounds, made by C. Slotterbek, had the latter make him a high globesight, and by practicing with the aid of an old marksman, A. Beschauman, on a level stretch (now Bryant Street between 16 th and 22 nd) soon found that his rifle, with a somewhat larger load of powder, shot true, but that the wind deflected his bullets greatly. First he tried to set the sight of his rifle, but soon found it better to hold according to his last shot. The match ($100 a side), was shot near the beach in Alameda . Dr. Pardee being the second of Jacoby, and Joseph Hug the second of Schneider. Severin and George Schmidt and John Bach were the judges who measured the shots while Severin Jr., acted as marker. The targets were black, six feet in diameter having a 20-inch white bullseye. There were about 100 interested spectators present when Schneider fired his first shot, scoring a bullseye, Jacoby following with a shot just outside of the bullseye and to the right. Schneider’s second shot was also to the right, while Jacoby, who held to the left, scored a good center. The wind then freshened, and Jacoby, who continued to hold towards the wind, in fact he held and fired his last two shots clear outside to the left of the target, beat Schneider who didn’t follow the advice of Hug to hold according to the wind, 79½ inches, to the great astonishment of all present. The Sixth (German) Regiment of Militia commanded by Col. Fred Tittel, held it annual prize shooting the same day as the Odeon, and as Jacoby had promised to act in the afternoon as their prize judge, he instructed the stakeholder, Mr. O. Wertheimber the treasurer of the Deutsche Schutzen Club to entertain all present at Fasking’s Park, a resort nearby. This Wertheimber did to such a good purpose that he spent only the $200 stakes, but also a little more in giving the boys a good time. When the next day Jacoby asked Wertheimber for an accounting, the latter showed him a receipt bill for $207 from Faskings Park for refreshments comprised of several dozen Rhinewines, most expensive liquors, cigars, many roasted chickens, ducks, etc. etc. Champagne was lacking only because Fasking’s didn’t have any. As the betting had been 5 to 1 in the match in favor of Schneider, and Jacoby had taken many bets, he consoled himself.

In 1867 when the country west of Hayes Park, called the Sow Ranch toward where the marksmen were shooting, began to he more settled, complaints were made that some pigs had been killed by stray bullets, which fact on investigation was found to be untrue and a sort of blackmail. Col. Hayes and the Schuetzen club refused to pay the damages claimed by pig-owners, who brought the matter before the court with the result that although the pig-owners lost their suit, shooting with firearms was forbidden in Hayes Park . The different shooting associations now, for a short time, wandered about homeless. The S. F. Schuetzen Verein m held its annual Eagle Company and public prize shooting in Green Valley some where about west of and near to the German Hospital. Toward the close of 1867, A. Siegfried built a fine shooting stand, blasted out of solid rock near the pleasure garden “Odeon,” on 14th and Dolores Street, where the Deutsche Schuetzen Club and S.F. Schuetzen held their practice and prize shooting, while Rudolph Hermann built a fine range at Harbor View (both stands having a range of 150 yards, where the Swiss Rifle Club contested.

The first Company turkey shooting in California was given at Harbor View by the Deutsche Schuetzen Club, the third Sunday in December 1867, and a most exciting and difficult contest it proved to be. It had been raining for several days at a terrible rate, and the land north of Union Street was covered with a sheet of water extending to and into the bay, the shore of which could not be distinguished. When the large express wagon containing the members of the Deutsche Schuetzen Club and about 20 large live turkeys reached Union street, and the Schuetzen came in sight of the inland sea out of which Harbor View stood forth like an island, “Guter Rath war theuer” how to get to Harbor View, that was the question. The road to the Presidio was open and there we went, but the commanding officer of the grounds would not allow us to shoot the turkeys there. Finally a soldier volunteered to guide the wagon through the water to our destination, and under the guidance of Uncle Sam’s pathfinder we plodded along with our wagon axel deep in water and not knowing if we traversed the bay or the Presidio flats, till we finally reached Herman’s Harbor View residence. Here a good dinner soon revived our spirits somewhat dampened by our semi-aquatic voyage, and in that afternoon we proceeded with our turkey shooting. The waters having somewhat subsided, we placed the turkeys in a box about 50 yards from the house, and in a short time ended their earthly troubles by a shot through their heads.

January 1st. 1868 Philo Jacoby departed from San Francisco as a delegate of the California marksmen to the first great American Bund Shooting Festival in New York. His comrades of the Deutsche and Swiss Clubs gave him a great send-off on board the Pacific Mail Steamer, and many a glass of wine was emptied with good wishes to his success. The festival took place during the month of June and Jacoby before that time, made a tour through Germany , Austria and Switzerland , where he successfully contested in many shooting festivals. In Berlin he was the guest of the Berliner Schuetzen Gilde in their shooting range in the Linienstrasse, in. the midst of the town. The range was 1200 feet long and 200 broad; it lay in the rear of a splendid old building, the “Frey Haus”, a present together with the range, from Frederick the Great (in 1751). The Berliner Gilde has now sold this property and bought the Royal Palace and large grounds of Schoenholz near Berlin , which they are now using; the Palace as shooting house and the grounds as rifle and pistol range. Here Jacoby learned to manipulate the needle gun and won a contest with Unteroffizier (Sergeant Hermann Friedrich) with that weapon. He was presented with a needle gun and 200 cartridges by King Wilhelm under conditions that he should use the same at the American Bund Shooting in the contest of army guns which was a feature of the great festival. He did so when the time came, and won the prize for most hits, 11; in one minute shooting, the American breechloader won the prize for most shots 21, but only recorded 7 hits (the targets were 2 feet wide and 5 feet 8 inches high, distance 200 yards.)

The procession at the opening day of the great Bund Shooting Festival in New York was a splendid one. General Sigel acted as Grand Marshal and thousands upon thousands of marksmen and citizens filled Broadway from the Battery to Jones Wood ( 72nd street ,) the place of the festival. Joseph Hug, Alois Schneider and J. Bach of the Deutsche Schuetzen Club in San Francisco had promised to be at the Festival and bring Jacoby’s rifle along, but they did not realize that Jacoby used a small 44 caliber breechloader (called the thunderbolt) the first ever used in a prizeshoot with which he won many prizes, although on complaint of some marksmen that he could shoot faster than they with muzzleloaders, he was repeatedly interfered with. In the contest for the most bullseye during the festival, he was second and Jacob Lehman, yet living in this city, third. He and Jacoby fired shot for shot together on one stand during the last day of the festival. On several occasions during the week’s contest, the police inspectors stopped the shooting, claiming that people had been

struck by bullets near the range (a fiction, for it was proven that those people had been overcome by heat, it being nearly 100 degrees in the shade every day of the festival.) A liberal donation of greenbacks generally satisfied the inspectors that all possible precaution for safety had been ‘taken.

In the beginning of 1868 the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein organized ‘The Schuetzen Land and Bau Verein” and purchased an 8 acre tract in Alameda , fronting the Southern shore of the bay, near Mastic Station. A fine 150 yard range with shooting- house was built, also a handsome pavilion, restaurant, bowling alley and residence building, and Mr. H. Bremer installed as Schutzen Wirth. The grounds were perfectly level and contained many and handsome trees.

March 29, 1868 the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein held its first prize-shooting there. The president of the Verein, W. Schulte, under due ceremonies christened the place Schuetzen Park, and at the company shooting which followed F. Martens won a find gold medal, presented by the Schuetzen Land and Bau Verein. The first prize at the public prize shooting, a gold watch, was won by D. Ehrich. An incident of the day during the afternoon was the killing in the park of a large rattlesnake by Alois Schneider and H. Bremer.

We have to go back eight years to relate an interesting incident in the history of the San Francisco Schuetzen Verein. In 1860 Mr. P. Neuman was a popular member of the Verein and his young and handsome wife who conducted a fashionable Millinery Store on Kearney Street , near Clay evinced great interest in all society affairs of the Society. On the birth of her first child, a girl, it was proposed that it should be adopted as Schuetzen daughter, and so it came to pass. At the Spring shooting festival in Russ Garden, the first held there, the company, lined up in an imposing front, formerly adopted little Ida Neuman as their daughter and Pastor Moshake, a most popular and liberal minded divine, baptized the child with champagne, as Schuetzen Daughter. Thereafter every year, at their spring festival, the Schuetzen company made front before the Neuman residence on Kearny street, and, as soon as Ida could walk, she, dressed in a neat uniform had the place of honor next to the flag, and marched bravely along with her company. This Daughter of the regiment of the S. F. Schuetzen Verein is yet living in San Francisco , a handsome mother and grandmother.

Schüetzenfest No. 1

July 15, 1901. The Goths have entered Rome! Aye, it is so, but there was no cry in the night, no clamor of hasty flight, no scurrying with household gods to the citadel. Rather, did San Francisco throw wide her gates and fraternize with her Teutonic invaders. On the other hand, these descendants of Germanic Tribesmen who swept down out of the forest of middle Europe some two thousand years ago, are quite unlike their savage forbearers. They are not clad in the skins of wild beasts, and though they bear weapons in their hands, we do not fear; for they come not in war, but in love; not as foes, but as blood-brothers. And though their ancestors of old time looted many a fair city, we need keep no anxious eye on our possessions. We have but one thing they might appropriate if they were able–and that is our climate.

It was a unique parade, that which passes through San Francisco’s peaceful streets Sunday forenoon. Beneath fluttering banners and between packed rows of spectators, to the martial music of band and fife and drum, marched two thousand men and picked men all. Not since our own “Californias” has so splendid a body of men been in our midst. And picked men they certainly are, picked from all the states, these men of the shooting clubs, these sharpshooters, these Schüetzenbrüder.

Men from the cities and men from the fields and forests; riflemen and sharpshooters from the Eastern centers, and hunters and fighters from the plains and mountains of the West. From Montana, Idaho, Arizona, Colorado and Iowa, from Chicago, New York and Boston, and even from Europe they have come to take part in the Third National Bundes Shooting Festival. They are skillful men, eagle-eyed and steady of nerve, who have won trophies everywhere-gun experts and crowned kings of the target, to say nothing of princes and knights galore, who have demonstrated their fitness on rifle ranges the world over, and who have come together here, by the shores of the Pacific, in friendly contest.

Promptly at the target The Examiner’s siren the parade swung into motion from the corner of Market and New Montgomery streets; and right here, in passing, it is meet to state that promptness pre-eminently characterizes these riflemen. No delays; no lagging. They achieve the impossible feat of doing everything on schedule time.

Grand Marshal Robert Weineke led the long column of many divisions, and with the assistance of innumerable aides on gaily caparisoned horses, went over the line of march in splendid order. The route was up Market Street to City Hall avenue, around the Lick monument, countermarch on Market to Kearney, to California, to Montgomery and down Market to the Oakland ferry. The banners were many and beautiful, but it was the uniforms that especially caught the eye. Gray and green predominated. And, it is indeed a pretty sight, a body of stalwart men clad in the traditional hunting green with black drooping plums of ostrich in their dark slouch hats. But with the recent development of machinery of warfare in one’s mind, one would forebear looking a second time at the unobtrusive, inconspicuous grays. They would surely conceal more easily a sharpshooter’s movements at the time when discovery would mean to invite a whirlwind of death-dealing missiles. And the grays were pretty, too-in fact, all uniforms were neat and tasty.

From the ferry a special boat, and from the Oakland mole a special train, carried the sharpshooters to Shell Mound Park. And there, at 12 noon, to the stroke, Captain F. A. Kuhls, President of the Shooting Bund made the opening address. Part of the program took place in the big pavilion, with the furled standards swaying beneath golden eagles of victory and the marksmen leaning picturesquely on their rifles.

Grand Marshal Robert Weineke, for all that he had done, was honored by the addition of another badge to the many on his coat. But he was not alone, for the breasts of the President and the group about him on the platform were bespangled and blazing with innumerable medals. It was a marital scene, and it dissolved in true marital manner to the rattle of drums, the unisoned tramp of feet and ringing German cheers.

Then the great crowed scattered and spread over the grounds in a quest of restaurants or quiet places where hampers and lunch baskets might be opened, and also in the quest of that national beverage that made Milwaukee famous

At 1 o’clock sharp the President F. A. Kuhls opened up the great shooting contest by firing three shots into the air. The first shot was “for our adopted country” the second “for the old fatherland” and the third “for the commonwealth of the National Shooting Bund.”

At once followed by a wild scramble for the honor of making the first bull’s-eye, and the hasty firing only eased down when loud cheers proclaimed the lucky individual.

Then what seemed like an indiscriminate fusillade set in. There were so many targets and so many shooting boxes that the whole thing seemed confused and disorderly. That there was any sanity about it, an adjacent lady could not be convinced. “How does anybody know anything?” she demanded excitedly, her voice pitched high in order to get above the roar of the guns. “Who is shooting what are they scoring? Who is judging? Who is keeping track? And where are the targets?”

Nay, she could not see them. There were no targets. Preposterous! But a young fellow in a United States Artillery uniform calmed her apprehensions after a quarter of an hour of endeavor, where upon she undertook the hopeless task of re-explaining everything to her Grandfather.

And well might she be forgiven her minutes of anxiety lest the whole shooting contest had gone to smash. At first glance it was indeed hard to locate the targets amid the maze of timbers and uprights that studded the range. Besides, two hundred yards is not to [be] sneezed at, and a black bull’s-eye at that distance does not appear overly large.

What really gave the impression of disorder however, was the smoothness with which the machinery was running. The whole trouble was subjective. There was no evidence of the mind of some man behind and directing it all; no creaking of the wheels, as it were; but gradually as one grew accustomed, order began to appear out of chaos. Each man was firing in turn. The shooting secretaries were at their posts; and down at the far end of the range the targets were constantly being replaced, and the long handled spotters and vari-colored flags of the markers were indicating the scores as fast as they were made.

And in this manner did the ten days’ contest commence; and not only is it the greatest shooting festival California has ever had, but it is the greatest ever held in the United States. It might put the tournaments of the middle ages to scorn; for in those same Middle Ages it is to be doubted if knights ever jousted for as princely prizes or for honors more highly esteemed and verily, in those days it was a rare knight who fared three thousand miles or more to a tilting match.

The glittering array of prizes in the Temple of Gifts cost not a cent less than $100,000, while the honor that accompanies them is something that can be measured by worldly and commercial standards; Yes, the standards are quite different from those of old time. Here at the Bundsfest they will crown a man king. He will be a common man king, crowned not because of what his father or grandfather chanced to do, but crowned because of the things that he himself has done; and to be king of the American riflemen; to possess the steadiest nerve, the keenest eye, the finest and subtlest judgment, and to be adjudged by one”s own fellows-surely this is finer and bigger than to sit vacuously in a high place because, forsooth, some greater and stronger robber-ancestor ground a people under his iron heel.

And while the sires and sons and husbands and brothers line up at the firing butts their womenkind and children are not a whit behind in enjoying themselves. All over the big grounds is frolicking and merrymaking of young and old; children in the swings and on the hobby-horses; lusty young fellows doing the giant swing on the bars or striking with heavy mallet tell they ring the bell three clips out of four; and then, since there are many men to shoot and only so many targets, there is dancing going on at both pavilions, and it must be confessed the floors are crowded with whirling couples. Everywhere is the clink of glasses to genial laughter, while over all, ringing and reverberating throughout the place, are the rifles. And for ten days without intermission, with balls, receptions and concerts in the evenings, this will continue.

This is the Schützenfest.

Schützenfest No. 2

July 16, 1901. –Promptly at 8 o’clock ere the sun had dissipated the morning mist, the contestants at the Bundes Fest let loose their rifles. They were canny marksmen, these, who left their snug beds at such a chill hour; for they knew when the light was good, and wished to try their skill when the air was quiet, before the sea-breeze came romping in from the Pacific.

And they were ambitious, too; for the cash prize was the reward of him who made the first bull’s-eye of the day. This early and successful bird was B. Jones, a local man of ability and reputation. After this first little flurry the marksmen settled down to business, and thereafter until noon, when they knocked off for an hour to go to lunch, there was no cessation from the continuous firing.

It was a rare treat to watch a sharpshooter sitting down to work. With the shooting-case and gun slung over his shoulder he would tread his way to a vacant place at the table, shaking hands, nodding greetings and bandying persiflage right and left. Once at a table, off with his coat, collar and cuffs, up with the sleeves and on with a short and very business-like apron.

Then comes the unpacking, for quite a bit must be done ere he burns his first powder. The gun must be set up and every part explained and wiped with painstaking care. The oil, which he so solicitously put into the barrel the evening before must as solicitously be taken out again with a cotton rag-if he wishes the weapon to do its very best possible by him. And one by one, he examines the cotton rags carefully as they emerge, until at last one comes forth immaculate and innocent of grease.

Then there is the loading outfit. The caps and cartridges and bullets must be taken out and arranged, ready for use. By the way all the sharpshooters load their own shells, and load them on the spot. They are very finicky these knights of the target, and very wise. They will not trust even the most reputable firearms company to do their loading for them, and they know just what is what when they do it for themselves. Each has a particular number of grains that constitutes his favorite charge of powder, and he sees to it that that particular number of grains, neither more nor less, goes into place behind his bullet. However, so fine have they got it down, there is little variation in the weights of their charges. The great majority shoot from 41 to 44 grains of semi-smokeless powder. Besides greater evenness, another advantage accrues in loading one’s own shells-one always knows the exact condition of his powder.

The tables in the shooting hall are pitted curiously with countless holes. One wonders; but when the sharpshooter screws his powder measure into the surface of the table the phenomenon is explained.

Screwing the palm-rest on and adjusting and blacking the sights with a burning match, he gives his rifle a final look-over and turns to the loading. Most of the guns are muzzle-loaders, that is to say, the bullet is loaded via the muzzle, the shell and powder by way of the breech. The bullet has a slightly wider base, and as it is shoved down cleans the bore as it goes, gathering and sweeping before it whatever dirt happens to be in its path. Thus, the marksman always shoots with a uniformly clean barrel, and uniformity is what he strives after, especially when he has scored two bull’s-eyes on the “honor” target and has only one more shot coming.

Deftly capping the shell, the sharpshooter slips it beneath the aperture in the powder-measure. A couple of twists of a thumb-screw and it’s filled with the precise charge of powder desired. A thin wad completes the process and with the rifle in one hand and a shell in the other, he proceeds to his shooting box and takes his first whang at the target. Then he must return and go over the whole performance again.

In the hey-day of a machine age, when we are accustomed to the finest mechanisms, these target rifles are nevertheless marvelous creations. And creations they may be rightly called, for to the exquisite article turned out by the gun maker we must add the personal equation of the owner. Each marksman makes his gun over to suit himself, recreates it so to say. Out of all the rifles it is to be doubted if any two would be found that are even roughly alike. The most cursory glance suffices to indicate that there is just as much individuality about them as there is about the men who fire them. With proper training one could doubtless study human temperament from these things of wood and steel.

In sights alone there are innumerable devices-in fact as many kinds as there are eyes. And out of the butt-plates longhorned and short, curling and straight, “Schützen” and “Swiss” and “Hunting,” rubber and nickel and brass could be epitomized to a complete course in comparative anatomy.

While as for the palm rests-there is no end to them. Among the throwing-sticks of the Alaskan Indians one may look in vain for two alike, and so with the palm rests of the Schützenbrüder. Just as each man possesses a hand quiet his own and quite dissimilar to all other hands, just so does each palm rest resemble no other palm rest under the sun.

And they are expensive affairs, these rifles, the average cost of each being somewhere around $100.00. Nor are they toys either. To be under fire from one at a half mile would be more edifying than comfortable, while at even a mile or more a man would be struck with an irresistible desire to head for the tall timber.

Pope rifles seem to be the favorites, and though calibers up to 45 are permitted, the 32-40 is the standard. And here in a way is illustrated the infinite care and study which must be taken by a man if he would be a sharpshooter. The bullet of a 38-55 is larger than that of a 32-40. Being larger, the chances are, with precisely the same aim and landing in precisely in the same spot, that it would cut the ring a little bit closer, get in a little bit farther-in short, make a little bit better score. But on the other hand the recoil is heavier, as it naturally is in proportion to the caliber. So the sharpshooters after delicate and prolonged experiment have concluded that better results can be obtained with minimum recoil, than with a maximum cutting bullet; and the 32-40, for all around target purposes, seems to give the greatest satisfaction.

It is not all in the mere aiming and firing, in the loading, cleaning and handling, important thought hey may be, there are other things which must be taken into consideration. A man must bring into play the finest and subtlest of judgment. He must be able to estimate on the instant the true values of virtually intangible things. And the ability or non-ability to do these this constitutes the chief difference between a crack shot and a luckless bungler. The study of the light is a science in itself, while the wind drift is probably harder to calculate than all other things put together.

No cause is without effect, and no force can be without result when acting upon a flying object cut free from everything save gravitation. And so with the wind upon a bullet. In the two hundred yards which the bullet must transverse between the muzzle and the target there is ample time for the wind to deflect it from its course. And the least deflection will prove fatal to the score, while the wind, acting with never twice the same velocity and veering ever often in its direction, must be mastered or the marksman fails. And since there are men who make good scores, it is obvious that the wind is often mastered.

Again a good sharpshooter must know himself-must know his own physical condition to a nicety. The dictum of a physician that a healthy stomach is the correlative of a sound mind, is something that a mouth full of words. And all public speakers have learned a severe cost that their best efforts have been made when their stomachs were in best trim. And it is so with the sharpshooter, who if any man ever does, must call upon the finest and most delicate resources of his mind. If a man be not at all his best and if he knows his business, he will not attempt any of the big shooting.

King Hayes, who has hit a ten inch bull’s-eye 198 times out of a possible 200, at 600 feet, and who has won the crown of the Schützenfest for three years, thoroughly understands this. “No, I shall not shoot” he said today; “not until I feel better, a heavy cold on the stomach you know; I dare not dream of entering the lists.”

Frank Dettling of the Sacramento Helvitia Club, the man who shot the first center bull’s-eye of the fest, was the only one in the morning who ventured his skill upon the Honor Target Germania. Each member of the National Bund is entitled to only three shots all told, so they are not in a hurry to try conclusions with it. But Dettling, unafraid, made a score of 55 out of a possible 75, and so many prizes have been offered he is not anxious to sell his score card.

A. H. Pape, king of the California Schützen Club, scored 46, 47 and 49 out of a possible 150 on the standard target, 8 shooters on the ring target scored 71 and 72 out of a possible 75.

The most splendid shooting, however, fell to the credit of C. M. Henderson of the Golden Gate Rifle and Pistol Club. At the man target he made three flags and a 19 in succession- that is to say in four shots he made 79 out of a possible 80, beating Harry M Pope by three points.

That this be appreciated by the non-elect it were well to explain this man target. It represents the head and upper part of a man’s body, the whole figure being black. It is divided in perpendicular lines half an inch apart, the center line counting 20 and the numbers running down each side to 1. Now, at 600 feet the target simply appears black to the eye, yet Mr. Henderson put three shots dead into the center and a forth but a half an inch off.

“Pretty close to $200 for the ten days!” his friends cried jubilantly as they crowded around to congratulate him. It is highly improbable that any competitor during the remainder of the fest will make the 80, while possibilities of a tie-score are not many. Anyway Mr. Henderson does not see his way to accept $190 for his chance at getting the $200.

It will not come amiss, in conclusion, to speak of the precautions taken against accidents. No smoking is allowed in the shooting hall. In the same place, under all circumstances, the rifle must be carried perpendicularly, the muzzle toward the ceiling. And all manipulations with the rifle, and all alterations and aiming for the purpose of regulating the sights, must be done on the stand, the muzzle pointing toward the targets.

But all this is in the very nature of the men of the Bundes Schüetzenfest. What else could be expected of men who are so definite and coherent in what they do and who take such fastidious care of their guns? No horseman ever tended his pet racer so tenderly than do they their rifles, and many a lover loves his loved one not half so well.

Schützenfest No. 3

July 17, 1901. – Tuesday was California Pioneers’ and Native Sons’ day and many of the men who shot swiftly and sure in the “days of gold” were in evidence at the firing boxes where they watched how the young idea had learned to shoot. As for the young idea-the native sons-why many of them were doing the shooting, being members of the National Bund as well as sons of California.

The native sons of California Schützen Club, appropriately celebrated the day by capturing the first bull’s-eye.

The knights of the target turned out in stronger force than on Monday morning. They had learned the best time for shooting when the light is more equal and the air is calmest. But yesterday was a good all-around shooting day, for even in the afternoon the wind was nothing to speak of. As far as they arrived the markmen fell into a business-like way, working steadily and the task of gathering in their fair share of the trophies arrayed in the Temple of Gifts.

C. M. Henderson’s remarkable score of Monday on the man target, by which he tied the world record, did not seem to deter the bold hearted men of the Schützen clubs. The shooting at that difficult target was fast and furious, and early in the day Mr. Ross scored a 73 and Mr. N. L. Vogel made 70. But this is out of a possible 80, and Mr. Henderson hugs his score card of 79 closely and laughs. But then there are other prizes to be won on the man target, valuable ones too, and plenty of them.

The men are beginning to warm up as the Schüetzenfest wears on, and there was shooting all along the line. The glass shooting-boxes of the Honor Germania and Eureka Targets were in use all day; though no record-breaking scores were made. M. F. Blasse of the Golden Gate Rifle and Pistol Club had his card punched to 64, followed by Ben Jones of the San Francisco Turner Schützen Club with another 64, which was good but not quite so good. In case of a tie it will be found that the bullets in his targets will not have cut so closely as those in the targets of Mr. Blasse.

On the standard American target D. M. McLaughlin, at an early hour, ran up a 48 out of a possible 50. Mr McLaughlin is one of San Francisco’s best shots and a jolly good fellow to boot. W. W. Yaeger, the Colorado expert, followed with a 46, being tied by H. M. Pope and J. Utschig.

Jacob Meyer of the Sacramento Helvita Schützen made the best 71 out of a possible 80 no the ring target, being tied both by T. R. Geisel of Massachusetts and H. M. Pope, a member of the New York Club.

And now that the ice is broken the “king shooting” has likewise begun, though none of the contestants has yet completed the requisite 200 shots.

S. C. Ross [F. C. Ross], first king of the National Bundes, hammered steadily away at the butts all day, getting into trim. William Hayes, the reigning king, was also present throughout the day, though he did not touch hand to rifle. It is to be hoped he recovers soon from his severe cold, else, as he said yesterday morning, he will not be able to compete.

Jolly Louis Ritzau, with his American flag mascot, was pretty much to the fore in pinging away at the targets; and it is whispered on the side of Mr. Faktor has an abiding faith in that same mascot.

The outlook is bright that the next Bundesfest will be held at Denver, Colorado. Sentiment seems to favor some point midway between New York and San Francisco, and upon the map Denver locates near that very point.

At first thought it appears strange that the best marksmen hail from the cities. Both the present and past kings of the Schützenfest are city men. Mr. Ross Hailing from Brooklyn and Mr. Hayes from Newark, N.J.; but on second thought it is not so strange. There are specialists in shooting as well as in anything else. What more natural than that the city man does his work at the target, the country man his at big game? The methods are so different; different faculties, different powers are called into play. Not that the target man would make a poor hunter; far from it, but, rather, being a crack shot at the target does not indicate that he would be equally good at big game. And vice versa, of course.

Out of the twenty men from Colorado some five or six use the palm rest, while the remainder hold their guns in the old fashioned, ordinary way. They are hunters, these men-hunters primarily. They are used to drawing beads on big game at times when seconds and fractions of seconds count. And they have become expert without the aid of some of the intricate contrivances favored by their city brothers. None the less, they have well demonstrated their skill at the targets, these cool-eyed men from the mountains, and some dark horse may crop up among them to bear away the crown.

Schützenfest No. 4

July 18, 1901. – Most notable was the entrance upon the scene of Mr. Julius Becker, who, when it comes to Schützenfests, is one of the old warhorses. On his breast he proudly wore a silver metal cast in the figure of a war-harnessed knight and won at a fest of the Danzig Schützenguild of West Prussia in 1854.

Among other metals, and some imperial, he had with him, won in competition from the early fifties to the late seventies. Very young it makes us Americans feel to sit at the knees of such a man, who calmly relates that he became first knight of the 525^th annual fest of the Marienwerder Schützenguild, and that happened a quarter of a century ago!

Nearly six centuries gone, Winrich von Knieprode, first knight of the name, made his stronghold in a castle perched on a rock near Marienberg. This same castle it was that the Maltese knights built when they gave over crusading and fell to conquering the pagan Prussians; and from that this same castle Winrich von Knieprode waged successful war against the Robber Knights and gave law and order to the devastated land.

And this was the knight who founded the first Schützenguild 550 years ago. And that guild, of which Mr. Becker is a member, still flourishes today and treasures the great metal chains of silver presented to the first Schützen König by its founder. These chains weigh twenty-one pounds and each year the target determines which member of the club is to receive the great honor of holding them in charge.

When Napoleon Bonaparte brought Prussia to her knees, he entered Danzig with the express intention of looting these chains. But in vain were the royal servants browbeaten and threatened, and in vain were the gardens and cellars of the King dug up. The unconquered Corsican went on his way empty-handed; and the only thing, but the greatest thing saved, the King produced the chains and caused the glad tidings to be sent to all the people.

Mr. Becker’s shooting days are over, but as he sits and watches us younger men and measures us by the traditions of centuries, we feel very young indeed. Many a long cycle and strange event must come to pass ere our children’s children and their children’s children shoot for kingship at the 550^th of an American Schützen

Wednesday was All Peoples Day, and all peoples day it turned out to be, with smoke thick on the firing line and the men lining up for a chance at the targets. It was an ideal day, with just enough wind to cool the air and not enough to discommode the marksmen.

That is, it was cool except in the glass shooting-box of the honor targets. Here strange and startling temperatures ranged, and, to judge from the sweat dripping from some of the men as they emerged, even a government thermometer could not have withstood the pressure.

“Hot?” one of the unfortunates remarked, sweeping the moisture from his fevered brow; “just let me tell you that the steam-room of the Olympics is out of the running.” And threat he turned away, weak and tottery, to meditate upon the mystery of things in general and honor targets in particular.

All the sharpshooters have balked at these three targets for three days now, and not a few of them are still balking. And small wonder. During all the fest a member is entitled to but three shots on them, while the prizes to be gained thereby are most valuable and the honors overwhelming.

The fun has begun, however though it is anything but fun to the nerve-tied men who venture in to the glass box. Finally, when they have steeled themselves to the ordeal, they walk up very quickly, with determined faces, and duck in without a glance to right or left.

Here is where A. H. Pape fell down yesterday. Pape is reigning king of the California Schützen Club, and from the opening of the festival has backed his reputation with skill and credit. Yesterday morning, having just made 23, 24 and a 25 on the ring target, and feeling rather good because of it, he decided that then was the time to tackle the Honor Target Eureka. Well, each shot is a possible 25, and his first shot netted him 9. His next shots brought him 21 and 22, but too late to avert the Waterloo. Then he grew reckless, and went up against the Honor Target Germania, dropped the red flag the first shot, missed the second and declined to fire the third.

What causes merriment among the sharpshooters is the fact that his father F. Pape, who is 63 and who was never reckoned a crack shot, stands third high on the same target, with a score of 67. It is rumored that Pape the younger made the failure out of filial respect; that he could not bear to beat his father. But Papa Pape says nothing, though his eyes wink significantly.

Schützenfest No. 5

July 19, 1901. - Things are warming up at the firing butts. The fest opened Thursday morning with a rush, and swept onward and upward, from climax to climax, throughout the day. Rifles blazed at the stroke of eight and kept the secretaries and markers on the jump until the night-bell, when the Temple of Gifts opened its gates to the victors.

Records were broken and smashed, and scores deemed impossible were made. Ringing cheers heralded these performances, and rushes to where the Rhine wine flowed free followed them. Hands closed on hands in the grip of fellowship, and men ordinarily decorous, clasped arms about one another’s necks and shouted congratulations.

It was a great day, with King-shooting and honor-shooting furiously hot all along the line. But greatest of all was the breaking of all the records of the previous kings of the Schützenfest. The dark horse has been sprung, and midway in the game, and lo, he belongs to us of the Golden West, and nothing less than a San Francisco man is Adolph Strecker, who when the Fest is ended, will doubtless be crowned king of American Riflemen.

It is an education to watch these target princes at work, and the more one watches the more marvelous does their work appear. In the mere facing the firing butts, individuality is the most manifest. All of them, except the left handed ones, of which there are several present, present the left side of the body to the target; but at that point similarity ceases. Nevertheless, somehow in one way or the other, they manage to approximate results-that is bull’s-eyes.

First of all, they lean the muzzle of the rifle on the board before them, and snuggle the butt in against the arm just outside of the shoulder. Then the muzzle is elevated with a quick movement and there is more snuggling of the butt-plate. No child’s play this Bund shooting! It is noticeable that many of the men draw two or three long breaths before aiming, completely exhausting and expanding the lungs each time and doing the work on a full breath.

After the gun is up, and before they go any farther into the matter, they shake their legs a bit, as though to settle down any shifted ballast, or, perhaps to polarize any fleshy molecules for greater firmness. And this notwithstanding the fact that their feet rest on solid cement. Then comes the sighting about which they are very deliberate, often dropping the muzzle to the board and beginning all over again, and it’s not unusual for them to leave the firing stand without having fired a shot. Slowly, back and forth and around, the rifle wavers and then, suddenly, it freezes and the man freezes too.

There is no better way of describing it, unless to say that they petrify before one’s eyes-man, gun, everything turns to stone. Think it is hard? Try it. Never mind the gun or position; just stand upright, with arms to the side, and discover how unstable you are; feel one muscle after another slacking up and giving way, and your weight shifting, and your body swaying this way and that. Further, and just to enter into the psychology of it a bit, suppose you have two bull’s eyes on the Honor Germania target, and this is your last shot, and you know you’ll have to wait three years before you are entitled to three more shots-just suppose all this and take just into account the reputation you have to sustain and the critical eyes of your comrades focused upon you, and you will understand something of what the target princes have to endure, and you will gain somewhat of a knowledge of the tremendous self-control they must exercise.

A 32-40 range rifle, charged with forty to forty-four grains of semi-smokeless powder, gives a report heavy enough to jar the atmosphere and shock the nerves of the bystander. And yet the marksman, when he has petrified with whole body, brain, and gun, and every faculty and thought finely poised, shows not the slightest apparent disturbance when a gun goes off in an adjoining box a yard away.

But to return, when the rifle has stopped its wavering and the man has petrified sufficiently he presses the trigger, the gun goes off and the score card is made or marred. But the trigger! It may respond to the slightest pressure and the man may be able to hold the gun motionless for ten seconds, and for all that his shots may yet go wide. He is so constituted that he fails when it comes to pressing the trigger. Just at the moment that everything is in line and he knows that everything is in line, at the moment when from the brain a message flies to the finger “to pull,” at that moment of moments there is an involuntary preparation, an unpreventable stiffening of the muscles and the aim is spoiled and the bullet sped.

If by mere thought a gun could be discharged without the transmitting of a nerve message or the consequent movement of a muscle, far higher records could be made. The man who best overcomes this, other things being equal, runs up the biggest scores. But right here at the pulling of the trigger is where many men fall down, and they fall down all along the way, so that the skilled sharpshooter is a creature of the keenest selection. He has passed scores of successive tests at which his fellows have been weeded out.

The prize shooters discover a variety of ways in holding their guns. The majority use a palm rest, but among them they bring up the rifle to a nearly erect head and others lower the head to the rifle. Other men shoot with right elbow up and left arm straight and supporting the gun far out near the muzzle. Others balance the gun under the chamber with extended thumb and fingers of the left hand. And still others rest the trigger hand in hollow of left arm and clasp left hand about right elbow. Then some elect to stand with both legs firm and stiff, the weight of the body divided evenly between them; some with feet together; some with feet wide apart, and some with one leg stiff and carrying the whole weight and the other slack and idle.

Most of the shots use the pinhead and aperture sight interchangeably, though a few stick to one or the other. These sights are a revelation to the ordinary non-shooting man, whose only knowledge of such things comprises the beads on revolvers and shotguns, and they explain, to some extent how the sharpshooters are able to do such marvelous work.

Take the pinhead sight for instance, which is used by some when the light is dim or flickering. With it the aim is not ordinarily taken at the center of the twelve inch blank spot 600 feet away. At that distance the center would only be conjectural. So, with the pinhead sight the aim is directed at the lowest point of the circumference of the black circle. And if the aim is directed precisely at this lowest point in the circumference, the bullet will strike just six inches above in the dead center of the bull’s-eye.

The aperture sight operates quite differently. It is, as its name indicates, a small circular opening, and is used as a front sight. When the gun is in proper position and the marksman looks through the aperture, it is seen to encircle the twelve-inch black bull’s-eye with just a bit to spare. This bit to spare rings the black with a circle of white. And when this ring of white is uniform in width all around the black, it is time to pull the trigger. Thus the shooter is not concerned with the center of the bull’s-eye at all. It does not in the slightest enter into his calculations. As with the pinhead, his business is with the bottom edge of the black spot, so in this case it is with the circumference of the black spot-a big improvement, it must be granted, on the old time method of sighting.

Sighting is an intricate matter, and requires a wide knowledge of many things. In the morning when the light is gray, there is a tendency to shoot low. This is countered by elevating the sights, and all is well until the sun comes out full and strong, when the tendency is to shoot high, until the sights are readjusted.

All good game shots shoot with both eyes wide open, the right eye making the sight, the left following the game. In target work this is not to be expected, but nevertheless many men so shoot. In such cases the left eye does not work, its line of vision being intercepted by the black card surrounding the back sight. But the advantage sought and gained is the placing of nothing more than a working strain on the right eye. The man who squints his left eye tightly is looking in an un-natural manner with his right. At the end of a heavy day his right eye will be unduly fatigued; and not only for that, for if he persist through a long period of time chances are large that his eyesight will be ruined.

So it is not all beer and skittles and Rhine wine for these men who go up to the firing butts and with definiteness and coherency split the air with their little pellets of lead. In the days of old the mightiest muscle drew the longest bow; but today it is the finest and most delicate nerve that touches off the trigger. Brain has conquered brawn in the struggle for human mastery, and it is well that it is so.

Schützenfest No. 6

July 20, 1901. – But, while the rifles are cracking, and little fortunes in powder are going up in smoke and little fortunes in lead are hurling through the air, the complicated machinery of this huge shooting gallery is running so smoothly that it seems automatic.

Every bullet has its billet and of the countless shots fired not one goes unrecorded. Yet the targets duck up and down, vari-colored flash messages through the air, wires move backward and forward, wheels speak in cipher, and all the time not a human being is in evidence. The casual observer, without thought, is prone to accept it as part of the cosmos; on first thought it seems uncanny; and on second thought he is seized with an itching desire to go and see how it is done.

But there are obstacles to be overcome. The casual observer will learn that the target-pit is the holy of holies, and that not even the National President of the bund can enter it unless accompanied by two of the shooting masters. For the markers have it in their power to make or break the scores of the sharpshooters, and the sharpshooters are only human men, and ambition is oftentimes an overpowering passion.

Surely, I thought it must be great to go down there into the pit and listen to the swift-winged bullets singing their song of death not a yard above my head-all the effects of a modern battle, where the bullets are thickest and swiftest in the hottest part of the zone of fire! So I made it an object in my life to get there.

The shooting masters swung off down the path in a long stride as though they had a long journey in prospect, and ere that journey’s end was reached, I, trotting at their heels, realized fully the distance traversed by the bullets from gun-muzzle to target.

“Shooting master” was an open sesame; and given in response to the gruff “Who’s there?” the barred door swung open and the pit yawned at our feet. It was dug between to great bulkheads of sand, one of which received the bullets fired at the targets, and the other protected the men at their work.

It was very cool and quiet in the pit, with the waters of the bay dashing softly beneath and the catspaws of sea breeze drifting by now and again. There was no sound of voices and the put-put of the rifles came to the ear faint and far off.

But where was the battle? Where was the impact of the bullets and the zip of their flight? True, the long line of men and their scarlet-banded markers’ caps produced a military effect, heightened by the lacelike spotters held in their hands and by the colored pennants; but that was all.

All traditions on the subject are violated at Shell Mound. These bullets do not fly shrieking through the air. They sing no song of death or score. I know that a yard above me, invisible to the eye, a steady stream of lead is flying, hundreds upon hundreds of bullets as the minutes tick off; and yet there is absolutely no sound. Bullets may sing at one hundred yards and they may sing at three hundred yards, but I, here and now, make affirmation that they do not sing at two hundred yards, soldiers and war correspondents to the contrary.

It was fascinating-the contemplation of that silent, invisible stream, replete with potentialities of death and defying objective realization. One knew that it flowed there above, steady and unceasing, but the knowledge was based largely on faith. There was no direct evidence, for the evidence furnished by the double line of markers and targets was what the counts of the land constitute “hearsay.”

Put! Put! Put-a-put! put! went the rifles, and the markers’ flags and wheels, in a constant motion, signaled the result of each shot. I looked at the target before me-a twelve-inch circular black spot in midst of a white paper square. On its unchanging surface I saw nothing occur, yet the markers waved a blue flag in token that it had been pierced somewhere within six inches of the center

A fresh target takes its place and I resolve to watch more intently. Put! Put! Put! go the rifles, but they do not guide me. There are twenty and odd other targets and the men of the fest are shooting at all of them. So I put my soul into my eyes and strain at the paper object. The marker suddenly thrusts up a white flag and indicates the tiniest of holes, low down and to the right. Yet the paper had not even quivered as the bullet passed through it.

I watch more intently. Time and the world and the Schützenfest swing on unheeded. My whole consciousness, life and being are summed up in that paper target. And there even as I look, a little hole has taken shape. But I did not see it take shape. The instant before it was not. The instant after it was. But so swiftly had it come that it escaped the eye.

Behind the target line the sand flies up to sprays of diamond dust. A snug fortune of lead must lie in that heap of sand and I should like to grubstake a couple of men into it with a pick and a shovel and I would, too, were it not for the fact that Captain Siebe located the mine years ago.

Friday was Ladies’ Day, and the jolliest day of the week. The traditional hospitality and sociability of the Teuton were ably vindicated by the wives and daughters of the local sharpshooters. These ladies of the Schützenfest received the ladies of the ladies of the visiting members.

There was a concert by Ritzau’s American ladies orchestra, dancing in the pavilion, and singing and merrymaking everywhere; and at last, but not least, the charming Schützen Liesel, her picturesque costume giving the quaint old-time touch necessary to complete the picture and make the color true.

When night drew down, the festivities increased, and after the laurels of the day had been distributed from the Temple of Gifts, the park was illuminated, and amid the sputtering of fireworks and blazing rockets a grand ball and general jollification wound up the day. Nor were the marksmen idle. The smell of powder was strong in the shooting hall, O. J. Barnes of the Colorado contingent, probably made the record of the Fest in successive bull’s-eyes, dropping the red flag eight times. In the king-shooting the members of the Bund, undaunted, hammered steadily away at the targets on the heels of Adolph Strecker, and their cards are running big. That they will overtake him is not probable. If they do it will mean that they will have broken the record of a phenomenal recordbreaker.

Schützenfest No. 7

July 21, 1901. – Never before in the United States, nor probably in the world, has there assembled a finer aggregation of marksmen that are now breaking records at Shell Mound Park. And as one watches them in their work, keen-eyed and iron-nerved, displaying the most delicate adjustments and subtlest judgments, one cannot avoid speculating on the part these men would play in modern warfare.

And right here let it be stated that these target knights are not knights of the carpet merely. In every war the United States has undertaken, the sharpshooter companies have been among the first to gird on their harness and to go forth. And the work they have done has been the kind which may be classed as spectacular. A thousand men, molded into a huge projectile, and sweeping irresistibly across the field of carnage, is something that catches the war correspondent’s eye and which later blazons the pages of history. But the lonely sharpshooter, perched precariously in a tree or groveling in a scratch in the earth, fights his fight by himself. He must be General and army and observation corps all in one. He must do his own scouting, map out his own campaign and advance or retreat as he sees fit. And to do all this requires the highest individual efficiency, and to do it well is to make the extreme demand upon a man’s courage. Men are bravest in bunches, and the man who could storm the ramparts of hell with a thousand fellows may falter at facing one foe in a lonely wood.

But to return. The sharpshooter has always played an important role in war, but never so important as now. The conditions of war have changed. Armies no longer come into close contact. The bayonet and cavalry charge are obsolete. Cold steel is no longer possible. Where the squadrons once thundered to victory are now the barbed-wire fence, the electric mine field and the inexorable zone of fire.

Rapidity of fire, greater range, greater precision and smokeless powder have revolutionized warfare. The substitution of chemical for practically mechanical mixtures of powder and the reduction of calibers have given greater range, and by flattening the trajectory of the bullet, greater penetration. At half a mile a bullet will go as easily through a pile of men as through the body of one. And for a mile and a half it is deadly. And because of all of this the function performed by the sharpshooter in battle has become a hundred-fold more important.

Julian Ralph, writing from South Africa, said; “Place Germany in a trench, and all the world could not drive her out until her ammunition or her supplies were exhausted.” And bearing this in mind, we realize the value of the community of men of the Schützen clubs now in our midst. Several hundred of them, anywhere in our mountains, would block the passage of Europe’s proudest army.

Nor is this an empty boast. >From the facts of the case let us speculate. The development of the machinery of warfare has invested frontal attack with overwhelming fatality. The British at the battle of Omdurman opened fire on the advancing dervishes at 2,000 yards, and with deadly effect; and the nearest any dervish approached was 200 yards. The whole dervish army was slaughtered beyond that distance.

Our men of the Bund are disposed in the mountains, no one knows how. The enemy, not knowing how many men oppose it, would devote itself to skirmishing, scouting and tentative flank movements, all the while exposed to the withering, exasperating fire of sharpshooters. The air would be filled with little invisible messages of death, and remember, at more than a mile smokeless powder makes no sound.

Watch a scouting party, a “feeler” detach itself from the great army and fare forth to the mountain enemy. A half-dozen mounted men it is, and they push forward quietly and unobtrusively. There is nothing to be seen, so they must “feel”- that is, expose themselves to the enemy’s fire in order to discover the enemy, and, if possible, find out its force.

The horsemen ride out on an open place. The mountains and ravines, patched with clumps of trees and bare spaces, stretch out before their eyes. All is silent. Not a foe is in sight They alone seem to draw breathe in that wide expanse. They rise slightly in their saddles to search more closely the peaceful scene.

Suddenly one of the men grunts and whirls in the saddle with throat a-gurgle, and pitches to the ground. His comrades are shaken. Not a sound has been heard. There was no warning. They search carefully. No smokewreath floats slowly up to indicate the position of the hidden sharpshooter. There are a thousand spots in the field of vision where he may lie hidden, and with him may lie hidden a thousand others But where? Ay, that’s the agonizing question, for even if they ask it, for aught they know, the bullet that brings them death is on the way.

Another falls; a horse goes down; and they turn tail and fly madly. This is not war. There is nobody to fight. What else can they do but flee before the silent and invisible enemy? And their report to the waiting army-How many men? They do not know. Where? Up there, somewhere, they know not where.

In such a region, under such circumstances, several hundred sharpshooters could multiply themselves into many thousands. Always between them and the enemy, would intervene a mile of death which the enemy would be chary of venturing into.

And if the exasperated general would send heavy “feelers” forward, with orders to go on and on; and if they did come in touch with the sharpshooters and charge, be it remembered, still, that with the new, self-charging, six-millimeter Mauser, a man can fire seventy-eight unaimed, or sixty aimed shots per minute. Thus, one hundred men of the Bund, securely ensconced, could pour into the advancing force 6,000 aimed shots a minute.

But suppose things get too hot. All the sharpshooters have to do is retreat a bit. There are many mountains, and for each of those mountains the enemy would have to sacrifice many men, as witness Buller on the Tugela. And each mountain would mean that the thing would have to be done over again. But time is precious, and large armies are expensive, and never was an economic problem of warfare so important as it is today.

But suppose the great army gives over and tries elsewhere. Large bodies move slowly, and the men of the Bund, in small detachments, could speedily outstrip the army and confront it again. And this is not theoretical. It is costing England a million dollars a day in South Africa, and British are anything but cowards. A lesson is being taught down there, and the world is looking and learning while Great Briton does the work and foots the bills.

In the evolution of the weapon from the first hand-flung stone to the modern rifle, the conditions of warfare have changed many times. What the next change will be, we do not know. But, just now, for today and tomorrow, the sharpshooter is one of the most important factors; and in the battles to come, the nation with the largest number of sharpshooters and the best equipped, will be the nation, other things being equal, that lives. So all hail the men of the Schützen clubs! Every record they break adds to our strength and fits us better to face whatever dark hours may betide.

Schützenfest No. 8

July 22, 1901. – There are times when sensation is more potent than thought; when intuition exceeds reason and obedience to the subconscious promptings produces bigger results than can the finest skill of the world. And the men of the Schützen clubs who make and break records out at Shell Mound are aware of this. And when they listen to the still small voice whispering admonition or encouragement and obey, they very often avoid spoiling their records or succeed in placing them a notch or so higher than ever before.

Between himself and his audience the public man knows when he has established a perfect correspondence. The demagogue knows when his listeners are with him; so the actor and the preacher. Mark Anthony knew when the Romans were hanging upon his every word when he made his historic speech, knew that ten were responding perfectly to each secret suggestion, were being swept unwittingly along with him to the end designed.

Likewise the sharpshooter. There come times when he feels that everything is with him, his eyes, his hands, his muscles, nerves, the gun, the target, the shooting range, and all the natural forces. He does not know why; he cannot tell why; he simply “feels.” He feels that then is the accepted time, that then he can perform prodigies of marksmanship.

And if he be in normal condition, this feeling is true. He can go ahead and shoot far more ably than is his wont. But if he be in abnormal, nervous condition, the chances are large that this feeling or intuition is false. Ay, and there’s the rub-how to tell? Is the feeling the result of over-excitation? Or is it produced in some sub-conscious way by through co-ordination of all his parts?

This through co-ordination comes but seldom, yet it is when it does come that that the greatest shooting is done. Every part of his complex organism must be fitted and running smoothly. The digestive juices must be doing their work. The heart must be pounding away the same as it would be if the man were asleep. There must be no inflammation of or fatigue of the eye. There must be neither too much nor too little blood pulsing through the brain.

In short, the most delicate balance must exist between his parts. If the equilibrium of one be disturbed, all must work to re-establish that equilibrium. No one part may act without the instant communication of that act to all the other parts, and all the other parts must then and at once act in correspondence.

But the marksman, when he is in perfect condition, does not know it. It must be impressed upon him somehow. Hi shooting if it has been commonplace before, begins to pick up. The red flags are dropping in quick succession He is doing well. Then, like a flash, and without thinking, there comes to him a feeling that now is the time.

He warms up to the work, loading and firing rapidly. His blood is bounding, fresh and vigorous. His vision becomes clarified. He is aware of an exhilaration, of an elevation of the spirit, and he is no longer aware that he has a body, so perfectly does that body correspond.

All sluggishness has departed from him. His brain is lucid and working without effort. Every fact recorded there through out his life, and related to shooting stands out clear and sharp. He may utilize them as it is not given often to him to utilize them; for they are all there before him and he may select from them all. When he estimates the wind drift, or the flickering light, or the changing atmosphere, he does so without exertion, so easily and quickly that that he does not know that he is doing it. He knows where each bullet strikes before the marker can give the signal. He has become a god and knows all things without thinking. In reality he is thinking, but so perfect is the whole correspondence that he is unaware.

This is exaltation, inspiration. He is keyed up to concert pitch, He is oblivious to everything save the work he is doing. His brain, clear on shooting, is dim to everything else about him. He hardly knows himself. Faces of bystanders appear vague and indistinct. He moves as in a dream, aware of nothing but shooting, shooting, shooting.

In such exquisite poise is he, such delicate balance that he has become like a somnambulist. The slightest thing may upset him. The least intrusion of the world he has withdrawn from may snap the tension. At a man’s speaking to him he may collapse. Then is the time for his friends to keep away from him and keep everybody else away from him. And it is not too much to say that he would consider himself justified in killing on the spot a man who harshly aroused him.

Many call this condition luck, but the wise marksman, King Hayes among them, will shake their heads when questioned about.

“It is perfect trim,” they will say, and they are right. It is when in such condition that the artist, the man who creates with head and hand, produces his greatest and most enduring works. It is, to sum up, the condition when no part of the organism is unduly excited or unduly lethargic, but when an equitable excitement has been communicated to all parts, has elevated their pitch and given them unity.

This is the condition of Strecker on that memorable Wednesday afternoon, when he fired the 160 shots that put him on the high road to the kingship. He was dreaming and dreaming greatly. He waved congratulating friends from him in an absent minded way, for he knew his inspiration was upon him and did not wish to waken. Nor did he waken until the targets closed down at 7 o’clock, when he came back to the world and his friends.

On the other hand, this is a condition marksmen try to induce. Before venturing their fate, for instance, upon the Honor Eureka, they devote themselves to the ring target, and shoot, and shoot, and strive to bring about a perfect co-ordination of parts, This conscious effort to produce an exalted condition which will sweep them on to victory tends to bring about overexcitation. After three or four good successive shots they are prone to believe that the time has come. They feel it, but they feel it falsely. Then they tempt the honor target and are undone A lying spirit has whispered them to destruction.

A. H. Pape had an experience of this kind. He was shooting exceptionally well on the ring target, which is twin to the Eureka. He was striving after the manner of marksmen, for that exalted condition, and he thought it had come to him. And when he made in succession 23, 25, 24 out of a possible 25, he was sure of it. So he presented his honor card to the secretary and trained his rifle on the Eureka and, lo! His first shot, that should have brought him a 25, brought him a 9. He had not run upon his luck, or, in other words, had not established the fine poise to delight equilibrium of mind and body.

There is another phase of range psychology, quite different from exaltation. It is the itching to know one’s fate, the excitation produced by a good score and the knowledge that the next and last shot will make or mar everything, and the inability to overcome this excitation or to wait until it has passed away of itself. On Tuesday McLaughlin the crack San Francisco shot, made four 10s in succession on the Standard American Target. All he had to do was to repeat what he had already done four times, make one more 10, and the record of the Fest was his. This very knowledge was sufficient to produce a strong nervous excitement, while the desire to know the best or the worst was irresistible. So he fired his fifth shot and scored an 8.

Wednesday morning on the same target, Strecker made four 10s. But he had the will requisite to prevent him from going up at once to know his fate. He restrained himself for two days before he fired the fifth shot; but even then he only made a 9. However, had he taken his chance at once the probabilities are large that he would not even have made an 8. As it was, his waiting enabled him to beat McLaughlin and to tie the high man.

And finally there is F. E. Mason, who is displaying perhaps the most splendid self-resistance of all. On Friday he got in 150 shots on the king-shooting, making an average of 1.9½ per shot. Strecker’s average for his 200 is a fraction under 2. This makes Mason the only rival for kingship in sight, and his next fifty shots will decide. Yet for two whole days he has restrained himself and attempted nothing. “Waiting until conditions are favorable,” he says; which means waiting until he feels the right serenity of soul and body that accompanies perfect coordination, and until he hears the still small voice whispering to go in and win. Upon his ability to feel and hear correctly trembles the kingship the kingship of American riflemen.

Schützenfest No. 9

July 23, 1901. – Whenever men do things with head or with hand, a pardonable curiosity is aroused, and thus it is with the big men of the Bundesfest. Who are they? What are they like? How and why do they do these things? Are these not facts to generalize from? Can we not learn some of the qualities which enable a man to shoot his way to pre-eminence at the butts.

This is the tenor of the questions asked by other men who do not line up at the butts or expect to line up, but who nevertheless would like to know. In answer one can only say that the facts are many and oftentimes contradictory. The nationality of the crack sharpshooters varies; likewise experience with rifles and targets. Some are old and some are young, while some seem to be all nerves, and others have no nerves at all.

S. C. Ross [F. C. Ross] for instance, the first king of the National Bund, is a slender brunette of medium height. He is native-born and his clean-cut features are not distinctive of any particular race, but portray rather the cosmopolitan admixture of diverse races which is common of the American.

He has an eye, black, with clear whites, and of quick movement. When it does come to rest, which it rarely does, it betrays that peculiar piercing quality as though he gazed right through one. In repose his face sometimes takes on a sad expression, which is quickly put to flight by the least human occurrence around him. He has a bright smile, quick to come and quick to vanish; nor is he slow to acknowledge a greeting or pass the good word along. His mind, as his eye, travels everywhere and is alert, eager, quick to see the point and cap it with another.

Quickness characterizes him. He seems to be a bundle of nerves, to have more than his share of the American kind of nerves-the kind that makes men get up and dare things to the ends of the earth-the high-tension, finely strung, concert pitch kind-the kind that cannot brook defeat and fight to the death on a stricken field.

But for all that Ross possesses restraint, control. When it comes to holding a sight on the target no man petrifies more solidly than he. His powers of concentration are likewise large, and necessity seems to have developed them. When he is shooting he is shooting, and that’s all there is about it. He’ll see you later; just then, no. And it is an emphatic “no.”

William Hayes, the reigning king, is a medium sized blond, and not withstanding his fifty four years he has not put on flesh. He is slow of gesture and occasionally his speech lapses into a just perceptible drawl. Looking him full in the face and listening to him talk reminds me in a vague sort of way of Mark Twain. There must be something temperamentally akin in the two men. His full blue eyes move fully and steadily, without haste, but with certainty and dwell upon whomever he is talking with or upon what ever his hands are doing. Sever in response, his face and eyes break into the most winning of smiles. These smiles have a habit of lingering, and in this respect are quite unlike those of Ross, whose smiles come and go in a flash.

Steadiness seems to best characterize King Hayes. Not that he is slow, though. He conveys an impression of potency, of powers to do, and while there is less nervous waste one feels in that wiry figure all the quickness of a cat.

Like Ross he is no big game shot and has little field experience, though a veteran of the target. He is native-born and first began to shoot in 1869. He has been at it ever since, having attended most of the important contests of the intervening years.

W. W. Yaeger, the crack Colorado shot, is also native-born and a blond. But he is a big game shot as well, and wind and sun have bronzed his fair skin and put upon it the weatherbeat common to men who live in the open. Further and worthy of comment, he is the only one of the big marksmen who really shoots offhand. He is remarkably slight of figure and weighs but 114 pounds. His cheekbones are prominent, with large hollows underneath. And although he has a wan and cadaverous look, after a cursory look one would deem Yaeger to be the most nervous of men. But on the contrary, if ever a man was the most devoid of nerves, he is. He has all the steadiness and solidity of poise a carriage one would expect to accompany 250 pounds.

His movements are very slow and very deliberate. Nothing shakes him. There is never a quiver or tremor, and it is a joy to see him handle a gun. There is no flash to the eye or haste in his actions. It simply appears that he has something to do and is doing it. He may be characterized as deliberate, or, rather as the nerveless incarnation of deft deliberateness.

But what ever generalizations may have been arrived at so far are knocked in the head by Adolph Strecker, the heir apparent to the Schützenfest crown. He is the last man in the world one would pick as a sharpshooter, much less as the king of the sharpshooters-that is, until he faces the target. His record extends over a quarter of a century. Crowned king of American riflemen in 1874 at Baltimore, his star has shown brightly ever since, but never so brightly as today. And still he does not look like a marksman.

Long and lean of limb and tall, narrow-shouldered and narrow-chested, with grizzled iron-gray beard and hollow cheeks, his forty-nine years have weighed far more heavily than have the fifty-four of Hayes. The latter looks much the younger man. Strecker is also blue-eyed, but a native of Germany. His face is sad in repose, even melancholy, and when he smiles he looks boyish to a degree. He appears far from strong and one wonders that he was capable of the prolonged strain of firing 160 of his king shots in a few consecutive hours.

His eyes are unlike those of other fine marksmen. They are not keen and sharp and piercing, but seem filmed over with a dreamy softness of the kind that one would expect eyes of a maid, Yet those are eyes that out of 200 bullets guided 197 into the bull’s-eye.

But when he faces the target he undergoes a transformation. He becomes cold, absolutely cold, as though as though cast in chilled steel. His whole nervous organization seems to stiffen and harden. And there lies his power. Nothing freazes him, startles him He has that peculiar ability to utterly forget the world and he can call upon the last least thread of his strength and knowledge and concentrate it all on the work at hand. On the day he did his remarkable shooting the rest of the sharpshooters ceased shooting and joined the spectators at his back. The excitement grew intense. Every time he raised his rifle hundreds of eyes were focused upon him, boring into him, and he knew it, but did not permit it to affect him. In fact, the more he fired the better he scored, and he was grieved when the lists closed for the day.

By the way Strecker is extremely conservative and never goes in for improvements until he is forced. He was the last crack shot to give up his old-style muzzle-loading rifle, and he only gave up then and purchased a Winchester because the progressive men were overtaking him.

Then came the Pope sharp-shooting rifle, with the Pope system of loading, and the progressive younger element invested and began to catch up with him. But Strecker fought and shy until the record was in peril, and until the thirty-two caliber bullets were rattling in the worn barrel. Then he sent the old Winchester to Harry Pope and had it bored out to a thirty-three caliber, and built over to accommodate the Pope loading system. This is the gun with which he did the work at the present Bundesfest, the same old Winchester he first used, battered and worn from over ten years’ service. It reminds one of the small boy with the bent pin and a piece of twine catching the biggest trout in the stream.

Ittel, the Pennsylvania expert who cropped up late in the fest and came within three points of beating Strecker, is native-born, but of remote German ancestry. Strecker is the only one of the big experts who is foreign born. While the majority are of German decent, in from two to half a dozen generations, Hayes traces back to the little green isle and Ross’ name speaks for itself.

In looking over these men one striking thing is manifest, none of them is unusually tall or stout. The men big in stature or girth, while they have done good work, have not done the very best. On the other hand, the men who have done the very best are of medium height or under, and are prone to leanness. This is hardly a coincidence. There must be some reason for it, biological, or psychological, or otherwise.

Schützenfest No. 10

July 24, 1901. – The king is dead-long live the king! Ay, and the Schützenfest is dead-long live the Schützenfest! Amid a great furor of enthusiasm King Strecker received his crown from his comrades-in-arms, and the last hours of the festival waned away in wassail and revelry that required special trains and boats to see the heroes home.

And the Schützenfest died hard. All of Tuesday morning the rifles barked and the bullets thudded home. The smell of powder was strong, and to the last men lined up at the honor targets. And at the stroke of twelve, when the twenty and odd targets went down on the run, there were rifles steadied an eyes straining along the sights for the last bull’s-eye.

At once the Temple of Gifts was rifled of its precious hoard, and on the long tables of the shooting hall was displayed the glittering array of prizes. Gold there was galore-gold yellow and mellow, rippling down the tables in shinning streams, spreading out into miniature lakelets and dazzling the eye with its shimmering witchery. And there were tall mugs, huge bowls and loving cups of precious metal; nor was the flash of diamonds or the glint of gems wanting to complete the splendid picture. It was the loot of a province spread fittingly there where the rifles had fought out the battle, and the beribboned and be-medaled Prize Committee apportioned the plunder among the men who had done the work.

The rafters rang and rang again with cheers of greeting to the prize winners, and it was noted that the high score men smiled broadly, and continued to smile broadly. May the affliction become chronic. Next in honor to king Strecker was Dr. Schumacher, who made the record on the Honor Eureka and received the magnificent Hearst Trophy. On the shoulders of his brother marksmen, to the strains of “America” from the band, he made an exit from the shooting hall, madly waving in either hand his hat and a silver laurel wreath.

Well, it is over. Never in the history of the bund has there been anything like it, and many a day will come to pass ere the like is done again. Nor has it alone been a spectacular affair with success achieved through lavish expenditure and magnificence. There has been shooting done besides, and the greatest of its kind. Every record of the previous test has been broken, and many records have been broken many times. From every standpoint it has been an unqualified success.

And now that it is over, let us make confession. There are things our German-American brother can teach us. We can, among other things, sit at his knee and learn how to be sociable We understand democracy, but our democracy is Anglo-Saxon in it’s traditions and there is an aloofness and an aggressiveness about it. We are not prone to come together in large numbers and forget our individual sovereignty. One man is as good as another, therefore let one man get out of another man’s way. No crowding. Toes are liable to be stepped upon, and then there will be trouble.

But while we understand democracy in its political sense, the German understands it better in its social sense. We have much to learn from him in democratic good-fellowship, for in that he excels. In his past history he has not had so much to say as others concerning liberty, equality, and fraternity; he has been too busy doing them. In the Fatherland straining against feudal forms and harsh lines of caste, he has been handicapped; but in the United States there was opportunity, and right well has he advantaged by it.

He takes life less seriously then we, and more slowly. He puts a rhythm into it, as it were, and works and plays; while we race along, keyed up to the highest tension, at break-neck pace, always a jump ahead of the second hand. We haven’t time to laugh. Faith, life is too short and too strenuous. We sweat over our pleasure as well as our work, and take a vacation when the doctor forbids us our desk or shop. The Epworth Leaguers came in a flurry of special trains, jammed into our city, and departed in a tangle of baggage-they haven’t caught their breaths yet; while the men of the Schützen clubs were here first and in leisurely full swing, and are still here, and though the shooting is over have an unfinished itinerary of feasts, picnics and excursions.

And though the German takes time to laugh, it is a jolly laugh, and in it is none of our haste-induced hysterias and none of the cynic levity of the French, which is the antithesis of laughter. There is room in life for a healthy, wholesome, good time, and if life over here seems crowded the German none the less makes room. Let the world and its cares wag on; he knows all about it and shoulders his fair share; but when he packs his lunch basket for a good time he sees to it that the world and its cares are left out. Sufficient unto the day, he holds, is the pleasure thereof.

Last Sunday, out at Shell Mound, there came together a huge family party of ten thousand heterogeneous men, women and children. But the Teutonic influence was over them and they danced, played and made merry, and went home in glee. There was no wrangling or fighting or harsh words spoken. Good nature ruled the day and each did as his fancy dictated-so long as it did not infringe on the happy fancies of others, in which case he didn’t. Some elected to dance, others to shoot. Hundreds stripped their lean lithe bodies and pitched the shot, did gymnastics, and flashed through the air running, in high jump; hundreds preferred to dance, hundreds sang in chorus on the elevated platform, and for variety carried their leaders around on their shoulders; and hundreds chose to sit around the tables drink beer and look on. And it was well. Each followed his particular bent, extracted his maximum joy out of the day, and contributed his share to the general hilarity.

Innate in the Teuton is the spirit of democracy. He believes in equality of opportunity and that a man should stand on his own two legs. The history of the Bund, taking its rise as it does out of the old Schützen-guilds of Germany, corroborates this. There the man who does the finest shooting receives the highest honors, and no matter who his father was, class distinctions fall away. A cobbler, if he is crowned Schüetzen König, takes precedence over the Emperor during the festival. The Emperor may sit beside the cobbler on his throne, but the cobbler’s commands are flat and the Emperor’s are not. As Julias Becker said the other day, “Not even the field marshal or the highest general would dare so much as brush the soot from his sights.”

And so today, transplanted to the fruitful soil of America, the same spirit obtains and it is the spirit of democratic good-fellowship. It is said that in one party from the East there are nineteen millionaires. Well, I looked for those millionaires, and I failed to find them. From appearances there were no millionaires, or else they are all millionaires.

A good illustration, and to the point, concerning fellowship is the little Teutonic trick in the giving of medals. In the average American contest, the medal-winner, if he is not over prosperous in the world’s goods, is usually forced to the verge of insolvency in standing for the crowed. But the Germans line their medal cases with gold pieces, so that the winner may hold up his end of good-fellowship and not have his good luck metamorphosed into calamity.

During the fest the Germans among many things, manifested that they were good trenchermen. But, unlike the Latin, who eats for eating sake and takes a pride in cookery, the German eats for sociability’s sake. Dinner is a god-given hour, wherein he may meet his brothers in closer contact then mere rubbing of shoulders in the course of carrying on the work of the world.

Nor did he neglect this hour out at Shell Mound, even when the firing was hottest and the excitement most intense. Promptly at the dinner hour the rifle was laid aside, and though there were records and records yet to break, he lingered for an hour or so at the table, where jovial company held forth and song and toast passed up and down. Surely the American tendency would have been to snatch a sandwich on the fly and go on with the shooting.

A spade is a spade, and when the men of the National Bund said they were going to have a festival they meant a festival. And, looking back, a festival it was. California outdid herself in her open-armed welcome; the fest committee outdid itself in its arrangements; and it is not hazarding too much to say that the visitors did likewise in the good time they have not only had but given. So here’s to you, and standing, men of the Schützen clubs, jolly good fellows all, as good in comradeship as in jollity and as good in citizenship both!