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<TH£ FEET 
 
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TH£ FEET 
 
 OF 
 
 TH£ YOUNG <MEU^ 
 
 By 
 RUDTARD KIPLINg 
 
 Photographically 
 
 Illustrated by 
 
 J^EWIS % FREEMAJ^ 
 
 QARDEJ^ CITY NEW TORK^ 
 
 •T>0UBL8DAT, PAGE & COMPANY 
 MCMXX 
 

 
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 COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 192O, BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
 INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 DEC 30 *9?C 
 
 ©C1A607219 
 
INT'HO'DUCriO^C 
 
 Dear Mr. Kipling: 
 
 /WONDER if you will recall a jaded photo- 
 graphic print I showed you just before I 
 returned to America, with the explanation that it 
 was one of a number I had been collecting during 
 the last fifteen years to illustrate as nearly as might 
 be the various lines and expressions in "The 
 Feet of the Young Men"? You recognised at a 
 glance the familiar skyline of Kinchinjunga 
 against its background of Himalayan storm-clouds, 
 and the lorn figure grovelling in the snows of the 
 foreground gave you instant clue to the title. 
 
 "' Belly down on frozen drift!" you commented 
 with a smile; "that must indeed have been a "long 
 day's patience* for you." 
 
 There was so much to talk about that night — 
 with the Armistice so recently signed and the new 
 world with its problems just emerging from the dis- 
 solving war clouds— that I don't think I found 
 further opportunity to tell you much if anything of 
 my long and fascinating quest for photographs to 
 illustrate the pathways where "The Feet of the 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Young Men" have trod, and of how I came to 
 fare forth upon that quest; but now that the collec- 
 tion seems as nearly complete as I can well be 
 justified in hoping to make it, and the quest is 
 therefore at an end, perhaps a few words of explana- 
 tion will be in order. 
 
 The first stirrings of the idea date back to the 
 Spring of 1904. "The Five Nations" was not 
 long from the press then, and some one had sent 
 me a copy of it when I sailed with some California 
 friends in their yacht for a year s cruise in the 
 South Pacific. 
 
 There was little time for reading in the early 
 days of that eventful cruise {you know how much 
 looking to an eighty -foot schooner needs in the fitful 
 Trade latitudes), and it was not until the Hawaiias 
 were long astern and the lazy, lolling days of the 
 doldrums were upon us that any one found a 
 chance to broach and browse among the boxes of 
 books. So it was that I did not turn the pages of 
 " The Five Nations" until a day or two after Lur- 
 line had picked up the humming southeast Trades 
 and won to an anchorage in the harbour of Taio- 
 haie, in the island of Nukahiva of the northerly 
 Marquesas cluster. Forthwith it- took its place 
 with an earlier volume of your collected verse — 
 that grimy sheaf of broken bindings and dog-eared, 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 pencilled leaves which you may recall as the one in 
 which I made marginal notation of my verification 
 of your soundings "by the Little Paternosters , as you 
 come to the Union Bank" where they buried 
 Mary Gloster — and in the decade and a half 
 which has elapsed since then I think I can count 
 on my fingers the nights that it has laid beyond 
 the reach of my outstretched hand. 
 
 From the evening — / recall quite clearly that 
 it was the hour of the slackening of the Trade Wind 
 which heralds the fall of the swift Marquesan 
 twilight — that I first read " The Feet of the Young 
 Men" I have no longer envied Keats the thrill 
 which he celebrated in his sonnet " On First Looking 
 into Chapman s Homer" and I fancy that it must 
 have been out of my inability to express myself in 
 verse that the desire to pay my tribute in another 
 way took shape. The poem, I saw {as soon as I 
 was able to still the music of it in my ears and con- 
 sider it objectively for a few moments), conjured 
 up one clear picture after another — scores of them, 
 vivid vignettes of river and sea, desert and mountain- 
 top, at the ends of the earth, wherever the restless 
 Feet of the Young Men have fared, and will fare, 
 when the loosed Hunting Winds stream through 
 the portals of the opened Four-way Lodge and the 
 Call of the Red Gods awakens the Springtime-fret. 
 
I NTRODUCTION 
 
 Why should not my tribute take the form of catching 
 the spirit of these Springtime visions with my 
 camera and bringing back such shadows of them 
 as did not elude me to hand you as a token of the 
 feelings your song had awakened in the breast of 
 at least one Young Man of the Restless Feet ? 
 The next day I landed from an outrigger canoe on a 
 crescent of coral beach and pushed on into the 
 verdant tangle of a tropical valley to make some 
 studies of "the steaming stillness of the orchid- 
 scented glade, when the blazoned, bird-winged 
 butterflies flap through." I found everything but the 
 butterflies. That was the beginning of" The Quest." 
 I have never heard how long Keats took to write 
 his "Homer" sonnet; but even if he spent a year 
 on every line he still will have had two years the 
 best of me. It was the spring of 1904. that I landed 
 to photograph thai "orchid-scented glade" in the 
 Marquesas, and to-day — when the just-finished 
 prints of some fairly satisfactory studies I made 
 in the Sierra Madres last week for "Who shall light 
 them to that shrine ?" take their place as the last 
 of the four-score and more photographs required 
 completely to cover the poem— is on the threshold 
 of the spring of 1920. Of course, there have been a 
 few other activities crowded into those sixteen years, 
 but there has never been a time when I have not 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 been "on watch." At one time or another I have 
 attempted some kind of a photograph upon prac- 
 tically every subject conjured up by the lines of the 
 poem. Naturally, many of these were not very 
 successful, due to the difficult conditions under 
 which the exposures have been made. One would 
 . hardly be justified in expecting to find "the beaver 
 busied" or the bull moose waiting the cow in the 
 lakeside lilies every time he went out with his camera 
 and flashlights; so it was inevitable that those who 
 had devoted months and years to taking that kind of 
 photographs, where I could only give occasional 
 days or weeks, should have better records to show 
 for their effort. Where this has been the case I have 
 invariably given "pride of place" to the most effec- 
 tive photograph. Many of the best pictures of my 
 final selection were not taken by myself, and by so 
 much have I deviated from my original resolve. 
 The result will, I think however, justify that devia- 
 tion, no matter how much of personal satisfaction I 
 have had to sacrifice in not being able to claim the 
 whole collection as the work of my own camera. 
 
 In all, I figure that I have made something like 
 six hundred trial exposures on subjects which 
 promised to fulfil the letter or the spirit of one line 
 or another, while the number of photographs of 
 similar bearing taken by others is only slightly 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 less. In my final selection about the same propor- 
 tion is preserved. Something over half of these 
 were taken by myself, or under my direction. 
 
 The early years of the quest were not very fruit- 
 ful, principally because you had directed the Feet 
 of the Young Men in paths somewhat apart from 
 those I chanced to be following at that time. Ta- 
 hiti, Samoa, Fiji, Hawaii and the other islands 
 we visited in the course of the South Sea cruise 
 yielded only two or three photos which survived 
 the final weeding out, and one of these — "To my 
 palms and flying foxes" — may still be supplanted. 
 The other — "The surf -bo at brings the rover" — 
 / took from the stern-sheets of the native whaler 
 which was landing me on the beach of Malatoa, 
 a little Samoan village on the west coast of Tutuila. 
 The negative suffered a good deal from the wetting 
 it received a half minute or so after it was exposed 
 when the native in the bows — who was giving more 
 attention to his singing than his piloting — missed 
 the narrow passage and put the whaler broadside 
 upon the reef. 
 
 The Far East, Australia, South Africa, South 
 America and the West Indies, among which I 
 divided the three years following the termination of 
 the South Pacific cruise, gave me a few studies 
 which " had place" for a while, but with two or three 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 exceptions these were subsequently superseded by 
 photographs taken of more favourable subjects. 
 On my return to California, the photographic 
 files from former hunting trips in the Pacific North- 
 west and Alaska — on all of which I had given a 
 good deal of attention to snapping with my camera 
 .as well as my rifle — turned out an unexpected 
 wealth of finds. Several photos suggestive of 
 11 noises of the night" — -flashlights of various kinds 
 of game surprised in the darkness — and a number 
 of camp and trail and mountain scenes were un- 
 earthed in this lot {all taken, of course, before the 
 Quest began), while a memorable hunting trip to 
 the delta of the Colorado, in old Mexico, yielded 
 two studies which had hitherto eluded me. The 
 copper-coloured Indian, who is '''waiting like a 
 lover" on the desert mountain skyline, is Monanza, 
 my Cocopah guide. I regret to have to confess 
 that, in "real life," waiting was about the worst of 
 several things which Monanza could not be counted 
 upon to do, for his precipitate haste in opening up 
 with his old "forty-four" — firing low-power black 
 powder, of course — spoiled the only two chances 
 we had at mountain sheep on the trip. He made 
 poetical if inadvertent compensation, however, for 
 the vigorous gestures employed by my hunting 
 companion in trying to impress upon the culprit 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 what would happen to him in the event that he 
 did not hold his fire in the future when sheep were 
 in range turned out quite the best pictorial inter- 
 pretation I have of" Unto each his . . . sign." 
 Several months between the coast of China and 
 the upper Yangtse in the latter part of ipio added 
 nothing permanent to my collection , but in the Phil- 
 ippine Archipelago , to which I fared next, luck 
 was better. Jolo, notorious for its juramentados 
 — or ghazis, as you will have known them along 
 the northwestern frontier of India — furnished 
 what was my ultimate choice for "the pilebuilt 
 village, where the sago-dealers trade" and a com- 
 posite of a water-front street in the " Chino" 
 section of the same colony of cut-throats, and a quay- 
 side snapshot up a muddy estuary indenting the 
 east coast of Siam, gave me the only ensemble 
 / could imagine that would suggest "the reek of 
 fish and wet bamboo." The Philippines also 
 furnished what proved to be the most engaging of 
 the many "gentle yellow pirates" I have tracked 
 down with my camera— a Bagobo, of the island of 
 Mindanao, with a smile as broad as the blade of his 
 murderous barong. The chef d'oeuvre of the 
 Philippine bag, however, was a picture which I 
 think you have already seen — "Yellow," waiting, 
 loverlike, behind his bunch of waxen Easter lilies ! 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The summer months of 1911, spent shuttling 
 back and forth across the Line among the Dutch 
 East Indies, furnished endless opportunities for 
 further studies of "pile-built villages" and "gentle 
 yellow pirates" but nothing came out of it which 
 suited me quite as well as the pictures I had al- 
 ready secured in the Philippines. "Quick I ah, 
 heave the camp-kit over V taken on the beach of 
 Manoekeri, Dutch New Guinea, was, I think, 
 the only picture to "qualify" among the several 
 score which I took in all parts of this loveliest and 
 most picturesque of tropical island groups. 
 
 All along through the Malay States and Siam, 
 and then up and down the Irrawadi,from Rangoon 
 to Bhamo, on the Chinese border of Burma, and 
 back, I was lured on to study after study of " The 
 steaming stillness of the orchid-scented glade" 
 (just as I had been along the Orinoco and Amazon 
 and Parana in South America, and in almost every 
 other densely tropical region I had visited), but 
 in the end it was a picture taken — not by myself, 
 and not in the tropics- — on the Teetsa, near Dar- 
 jeeling, which was first choice. In its literal 
 tapestry of flowering orchids, the photograph 
 brooked no rival, lovely as were a score of studies 
 of the same subject I already had in hand. 
 
 First and last nothing baffled me more than 
 
I NTRODUCTION 
 
 "misty sweat-bath 'neath the line" and I shudder 
 to think of the number of malarial germs I must 
 have sucked into my system through endeavouring 
 to transfer to a negative the miasmic vapours of 
 pretty nearly every swampy marshy and bayou from 
 Guayaquil to Sandakan. The words seem almost 
 to generate a taste of quinine in my mouth to this 
 very day. But mists, it appears, are not readily 
 photographable, especially on films badly of their 
 "edge" from absorbing tropical moisture. With 
 one fair study to my credit — made on the Esse- 
 quebo, in British Guiana — and some dozens of 
 indifferent ones, I had about given up of illus- 
 trating the expression effectively when a photograph 
 taken in the Terai of Nepal, during King George's 
 hunt there in ign, was brought to my attention. 
 Permission to make use of it relieved me of further 
 anxiety in the matter of "misty sweat-bath" even 
 though Nepal misses being "'neath the Line" 
 by a number of degrees. I am sure you will agree 
 with me that the matter of latitude is incidental to 
 the almost perfect interpretation of the phrase this 
 picture gives. I feel quite sure that it would have 
 been many years before I myself could have taken 
 anything to compare with it. 
 
 I might mention here that "Where the high 
 grass hides the horseman" was also taken during 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the hunting King George enjoyed following the igu 
 Durbar. The head and shoulders of that sterling 
 sportsman himself may be just made out, where he is 
 mounted on an elephant showing through a break 
 in the grass in the middle distance. I had long 
 been keeping a study I had made on the Pampas of 
 Argentina in 1906 to illustrate this line, but the 
 towering jungle grass of this Indian picture is so 
 impressive that there was no question of its being 
 first choice. 
 
 The Great Adventure of the Quest was now at 
 hand. Lingering in India after the Durbar, I 
 found myself on the Northwestern Frontier in the 
 spring of 191 2 {you may recall our swapping 
 Khyber yarns when I was down to see you just 
 previous to my going to the Grand Fleet), and 
 from there one could almost hear the drip of the 
 eaves of "the world's white roof -tree." Everyone 
 told me that it was too early to hope to get over the 
 higher passes — that I would never get beyond the 
 valley walls of Kashmir; but the "old Spring- 
 fret" was strong upon me and I simply had to go. 
 I may as well confess at once that the oath I so 
 lightly swore, "to keep it on the horns of Ovis Poli," 
 has, up to the present, never been kept outside of 
 the walls of the South Kensington Museum. The 
 fine old ram whom I have done the honour of choos- 
 
I NTRODUCTION 
 
 ing to appear with that title is, I believe, an Ovis 
 Canadensis, and he did not jail to my rifle. 
 
 Yet my attempt to clamber to the " Roof -tree" 
 must ever remain as a most memorable experience. 
 Avoiding the main tonga road by Rawalpindi, I 
 made my way to the Vale by one of the little used 
 footpaths through Jammu, enjoying some notably 
 good panther shooting in the way. Here, too, I 
 had a couple of meetings with your old friend, 
 " Adam-zad" whom I found rather easier to stop 
 (with a gun of "the newer style" of course) than 
 his weightier and bulkier cousin, the Alaskan 
 " silver-tip." The latter, by the way, in common 
 with Adam-zad and our late enemy, the Hun, has 
 the habit of " kamerad-ing" in a tight corner; but 
 the upright posture, and the paws "like hands in 
 prayer" only serve to uncover a heart which is 
 otherwise rather effectively masked by a very broad 
 shoulder-blade. 
 
 As I had been warned, I found the snow still 
 heavy on the mountains ringing the matchless valley, 
 and it was only at the third attempt — and then 
 rather by good luck than anything else — that I 
 got my ponies over the Zoji-la and on into half- 
 Tibetan Ladakh. The still loftier Karakoram, to 
 the north of Leh — ordinarily the most favourable 
 route to the Pamirs and the haunts of the Ovis 
 
I NTRODUCTION 
 
 Poll — was reported impossible to negotiate for many 
 weeks yet, and I reluctantly gave it up without 
 attempting a passage which would have had small 
 chance of success. As a forlorn hope, however, 
 I fared on down the big bend of the Indus to Hunza- 
 Nagar, on the off chance that the way might 
 be open across the Hindukush; but here, too, the 
 ice and snow barrier proved insurmountable , at 
 least to one of my' very restricted Himalayan ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Except for Ovis Poli, this jaunt was rich in its 
 yield of studies for the " Roof -tree" series, including 
 no end of "trusty, nimble trackers" among whom I 
 also picked a "velvet-footed" one as best qualified 
 to "guide them to their goal." The reason that 
 Kinchinjunga — some hundreds of miles east of 
 the Roof of the World proper — appears in the back- 
 ground of "the long day's patience, belly down on 
 frozen drift" is that the mountain in the negative of 
 my original study for this line was spotted in devel- 
 oping. 
 
 My continued westward journey , through Persia, 
 Mesopotamia and Syria, and a later trip up the 
 Nile, furnished a number of desert studies which 
 bade fair to find place for a while, but ultimately 
 all were crowded out by more effective pictures 
 which became available from the wastes of the Amer- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ican Southwest. One of the former, you may be 
 amused to know, was taken at the then railhead of 
 the Bagdad Railway near Samara, on the Tigris, 
 and was intended to illustrate "Where the rails 
 run out in sand-drift." 
 
 My only visit to the Baltic — where I went just 
 after the signing of the Armistice on the staff of 
 the Allied Naval Commission — was not made 
 under conditions in the least favourable to taking 
 photographs to illustrate a portion of the poem 
 which had always made an especial appeal to me. 
 There was a most explicit prohibition against 
 using cameras except aboard ship, and even had 
 this not been so the fact that our movements were 
 strictly limited, no less than the extremely dense 
 fog that prevailed during all of the time we spent in 
 German waters, would have made it impossible 
 to accomplish much. " The shallow Baltic where 
 the seas are steep and short" was taken over the 
 weather rail of the Viceroy — you may recall my 
 telling you of the consummate skill with which 
 that destroyer was handled by her commander the 
 time she came so near to ramming the ex-raider 
 Moewe in the fog of Kiel Fiord — on a windy 
 afternoon off the island of Rugen. The rest of 
 the lot are selected from such sailing pictures as I 
 had, or could get hold of, and I have not been very 
 
I NTROD UCTION 
 
 well satisfied with them. There is a suggestion 
 of the spirit of the lines in some of them, but for 
 the most part I am afraid you will find them rather 
 disappointiyig. 
 
 In reviewing the Quest in retrospect, one of the 
 most gratifying things to recall is the enthusiastic 
 cooperation I always had whenever I had to go to 
 some one else for an indispensable photograph 
 which had eluded my own best efforts. I think 
 this must have been because that in a man which 
 will make him go to the trouble of taking Nature 
 photographs will also render him especially sus- 
 ceptible to the appeal of " The Feet of the Young 
 Men." From the native shop in Manila, where I 
 found " Yellow" and his Easter lilies, to the Bureau 
 of Forestry in Washington, where they looked me 
 up "that blackened timber" and "that racing 
 stream with the raw, right-angled log-jam at the 
 end," no amount of trouble seemed too great to take 
 once they understood what I was driving at. So, 
 too, at the American Museum of Natural History, 
 where I finally netted the "blazoned, bird-winged 
 butterflies," and at the New York Zoological So- 
 ciety, where "my little wailing lemurs" {how many 
 nights' sleep have I not missed in vain endeavours 
 to take flashlights of the sly hypocrites in their 
 native habitat?) were at last treed. But more than 
 
I NTRODUCTION 
 
 to any others, I am indebted to Mr. Albert Britt, 
 Editor of Outing, of New York, and to Mr. J. A. 
 MacGuire, Editor of Outdoor Life, of Denver, 
 for permission to turn through their voluminous 
 files of Nature photographs and to make use of any 
 suited to my purpose. To the unidentified "out- 
 of-doors-men" whose photographs have come to me 
 in this way, I wish also to acknowledge my great 
 obligation. 
 
 Several months ago I was showing to a New York 
 friend a number of my more recent finds for the 
 "Young Men" collection, and incidentally de- 
 tailing for him a few of the incidents, such as I 
 have mentioned in this letter, in connection with 
 my running down of certain other pictures. 
 
 " That's all very interesting" he said after a 
 while; " but from a practical standpoint I think 
 you have gone to a lot more trouble than there was 
 any need of. Between the various New York photo 
 agencies, I am almost certain that I could find, 
 inside of a week, pictures that would illustrate 
 acceptably every line and expression you have been 
 ten years and more covering." 
 
 About all I found to say to this was, "But look 
 
 at the fun I would have missed doing it that way "; 
 
 for, you see, I was not — and am not — at all 
 
 sure but what he said was quite correct. But even 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 if that chanced to be the case, I should still be able 
 to find my justification and consolation in a slight 
 paraphrase of the words of your "Explorer": 
 
 "Anybody might have done it but — the Whisper 
 came to me /" 
 
 If the pictures, when they reach you, give you 
 the smallest fraction of the pleasure in the perusal 
 that they have me in the finding I shall be more 
 than satisfied. I know that you will understand 
 why I had to find all that I could of them in my 
 own way. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 Lewis R. Freeman. 
 
 Pasadena, California, 
 February 8, ig20. 
 
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 For the Red Gods call us out and we must go ! 
 
They must go — go — go away from here! 
 
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 ' 'Send your road is clear before you when the 
 old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 
 
 And the Red Gods call for you! 
 
II 
 
Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are 
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Where the bluff \ lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride? 
 
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 On the other side the world he's overdue. 
 'Send your road is clear before you 
 
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 And the Red Gods call for you ! 
 
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And the Red Gods call me out 
 and I must go ! 
 
 He must go — go — go away from here! 
 
 On the other side the world he's overdue. 
 'Send your road is clear before you when the 
 old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 
 
 And the Red Gods call for you! 
 
Now the Four-way Lodge is opened- 
 
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 Now the Smokes of Council rise- 
 Pleasant smokes^ 
 
 Ere yet 'twixt trail and trail they choose — 
 
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Who shall light them to that shrine ? 
 
'<&**% 
 
 Velvet-footed, who shall guide them to their goal ? 
 

 Unto each 
 the voice 
 and 
 vision: 
 
Unto each his spot 
 
L-* 
 
 and sign — 
 
Lonely mountain in the Northland, 
 
Misty sweat-bath 'neath the Line- 
 And to each a man 
 that knows his 
 naked soul ! 
 

 White 
 
 or 
 
 yellow , 
 
black 
 
 or 
 
 copper, 
 
 he is waiting, 
 
 as a 
 
 lover, 
 
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or beat of train — 
 
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Or the glaring flats discover- 
 

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When the old Spring-fret 
 
 comes o'er you, 
 
 And the Red Gods call for you ! 
 
THIS VOLUME WAS PRINTED BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, LONG ISLAND, N. Y. 
 
 THE PRINTING WAS COMPLETED 
 
 IN THE MONTH OF SEPTEMBER 
 MCMXX 
 

 
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