At the center of the novel is the great mansion called Penmarric. It is to Penmarric that Mark Castallack, a proud, strange, and sensitive man, brings his bride Janna--the first act in a tempestuous drama that was to span three generations....

    

    side at the top, and shot into the next hollow, twisting in the descent. A huge swell pushed up exactly under her middle, and her bow and stern hung free with nothing to support them. Then one joking wave caught her up at the bow, and another at the stern, while the rest of the water slunk 251 away from under her just to see how she would like it; so she was held up at her two ends only, and the weight of the cargo and the machinery fell on the groaning iron keels and bilge-stringers. "Ease off! Ease off, there!" roared the garboard-strake. "I want one-eighth of an inch fair play. D' you hear me, you rivets!" "Ease off! Ease off!" cried the bilge-stringers. "Don't hold us so tight to the frames!" "Ease off!" grunted the deck-beams, as the Dimbula rolled fearfully. "You've cramped our knees into the stringers, and we can't move. Ease off, you flat-headed little nuisances." Then two converging seas hit the bows, one on each side, and fell away in torrents of streaming thunder. "Ease off!" shouted the forward collision-bulkhead. "I want to crumple up, but I'm stiffened in every direction. Ease off, you dirty little forge-filings. Let me breathe!" All the hundreds of plates that are riveted to the frames, and make the outside skin of every steamer, echoed the call, for each plate wanted to shift and creep a little, and each plate, according to its position, complained against the rivets. "We can't help it! We can't help it!" they murmured in reply. "We're put here to hold you, and we're going to do it; you never pull us twice in the same direction. If you'd say what 252 you were going to do next, we'd try to meet your views." "As far as I could feel," said the upper-deck planking, and that was four inches thick, "every single iron near me was pushing or pulling in opposite directions. Now, what's the sense of that? My friends, let us all pull together." "Pull any way you please," roared the funnel, "so long as you don't try your experiments on me. I...

    W. Schultz (1859–1947) was an author, explorer, and historian known for his historical writings of the Blackfoot Indians in the late 1800s, when he lived among them as a fur trader. In 1907, Schultz published My Life as an Indian, the first of many future writings about the Blackfeet that he would produce over the next thirty years. Schultz lived in Browning, Montana. This Plains veteran's book "In the Great Apache Forest " was published in 1920 and is “real stuff,” vivid and exciting, with the value that comes from firsthand knowledge. Considered one of the best of Schultz' Indian stories, "In the Great Apache Forest," is the true story of 17-year-old George Crosby who being too young to serve his country in France becomes a member of the forest service in Arizona, where he encounters troublesome outlaws and helps to rout them. This book satisfies the reader's love of a struggle for he is fighting not merely the forest fires but real flesh and blood villains. The book introduces incidentally considerable interesting information about the Hopi Indians and a plea for fairer treatment of them. It is while at his lookout station high up on a hilltop that Crosby is visited by a group of Hopi Indians. One of these, trained in an American school, tells of the Indian customs. It is with these Indians' help he is able to protect the forest from a group of left-wing "fire bug" activists seeking to burn it down (members of the Industrial Workers of the World). Other antagonists include a giant grizzly and an Army deserter---both intent on causing havoc. A bit of mystery adds to the interest. The geography on which this adventure unfolds is Apache National Forest which covered most of Greenlee County, Arizona southern Apache County, Arizona, and part of western Catron County, New Mexico. Here is a high country; the altitude of Greer is 8500 feet, and south of it there is a steady rise for eleven miles to the summit of the range, Mount Thomas, 11,460 feet. And here, covering both slopes of the White Mountains, is the largest virgin forest that we have outside of Alaska, the Apache National Forest. It is about a hundred miles wide, and more than that in length, and contains millions of feet of centuries-old Douglas fir, white pine, and spruce. The great forest still harbors an abundance of game animals and birds, and its cold, pure streams are full of trout. Here the sportsman could still find in 1918 grizzly bears, some of them of great size. There were black bears, also, and mule deer and Mexican whitetail deer, and of wild turkeys and blue grouse great numbers. Cougars, wolves, coyotes, and lesser prowlers of the night were quite numerous and in most of the streams the beavers were ever at work upon their dams and lodges. Of Crosby and his home range, Schultz writes: "George Crosby was born and has lived all of his seventeen years, in Greer, a settlement of a halfdozen pioneer families located on the Little Colorado River, in the White Mountains, Arizona, The settlers of Greer are a hardy people. Theirs is one continuous struggle with Nature for the necessities of life. It was then, at the opening of the war, that George Crosby considered what he could do for the good cause. Came the summer of 1918, and the Supervisor of the Apache National Forest found himself woefully short of men, and the dreaded fire season coming on. The most of his rangers, fire lookouts, and patrols had gone to the war, and he could not find enough men of the right sort to take their places. . . . With this introduction, I let George tell his story, a story that I found exciting enough. "