oT~, i
 
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 D'ARTAGNflN WILL NOT HflVE HIS HORSE. LAUGHED AT
 
 THE ALL SORTS 
 OF STORIES BOOK 
 
 BY 
 
 MES. LANG 
 EDITED BY ANDEEW LANG 
 
 WITH 5 COLOURED PLATES AND 
 NUMEROUS OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS BY H J. FORD 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA 
 
 1911 
 All rights reserved
 
 PL 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 (N.B. There are stories in this Preface) 
 
 THIS new Story Book is of a, new sort, for the tales are 
 of many different kinds ; some are true, like the history 
 of the man who met in America the other man whom he 
 had been hanged for murdering in England. This may 
 to any unthinking person seem all very natural, but 
 if you think hard you will wonder how the first man got 
 to America after being hanged in England, and how 
 the second man, after being murdered in England, 
 arrived in America. Neither event seems possible, yet 
 both actually occurred. But this happened a hundred 
 and fifty years ago, and could not happen now, when 
 people do not hang a person for murder before they 
 are quite certain that somebody has been murdered 
 that the man said to have been slain is really dead. 
 Again, the man who was hanged would, in our time, 
 have been buried as soon as he was believed to be dead ; 
 but in tunes not so very far from ours a murderer, when 
 once thought dead, was suspended in iron chains in a 
 conspicuous place, so that his crime and punishment 
 might not be forgotten. 
 
 If you read The Fair child Family, by Mrs. Sherwood, 
 who wrote about eighty years ago, you will find that 
 good Mr. Fairchild took his naughty children to see a 
 body of a murderer hanging in irons, so that they might 
 know what to expect if they let their angry passions 
 rise. This was what people call an * object lesson,' but 
 your dear papa cannot give you this kind of lesson now, 
 
 802S23
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 because in our fields there are now no such disgusting 
 objects. 
 
 Come, now, I will tell another true story about a 
 man who was hanged, but escaped. It was in the year 
 1429, when the English were fighting in France, and the 
 Scots were on the French side. The English were strong 
 in Brittany, and a Scot named Michael Hamilton, from 
 Bothwell in Lanarkshire, went with other Scots and 
 French to burn and plunder in Brittany. Near a 
 place called Clisson they found an empty tower, and 
 there they dwelt and did all sorts of mischief. They 
 caught, one day, a Breton who was spying on them and 
 tortured him cruelly till he told them about the inten- 
 tions of the English soldiers. They learned that a great 
 company or the English were going to attack their 
 tower on that very night. So they determined to mount 
 and ride ; but Michael Hamilton went for his horse later 
 than the others because he could not deny himself the 
 pleasure of hanging the prisoner from the bough of a 
 tree. Just as he had finished he saw the English coming 
 up ; they were between him and the stables ; he could 
 not reach his horse and was obliged to run away. But 
 he was in full armour, and nobody can run fast when he 
 is wearing things like steel cricket-pads on his legs. 
 The country people who were with the English wore no 
 armour ; they ran after Michael and threw the noose of a 
 rope over his neck. At that moment Michael prayed a 
 prayer to the holy Saint Catherine, the patron of his 
 village church at home. He vowed that if she would 
 help him now he would make a pilgrimage to her chapel 
 at Fierbois, in France. In spite of his prayer he was 
 hanged by the son of the man whom he had hanged 
 himself , and now you might think that all was over with 
 Michael. However, he lived and made his pilgrimage 
 to Fierbois, and told his story to the priest of the chapel, 
 who wrote it down in a book, which you may read hi 
 printed English.
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 Michael's story was this. On the night of his 
 hanging, the night of Maundy Thursday, the priest of 
 Clisson was going to bed, when he heard a clear voice 
 in his room saying, 'Go and cut down the Scottish 
 soldier who was hanged, for he is still alive.' 
 
 The priest thought he was dreaming or that some- 
 one was playing a trick on him. The voice kept on 
 speaking, and the priest looked into his cupboard, and 
 up the chimney, and under the bed, and everywhere, but 
 he could find no speaker. So the holy man went to 
 bed, and slept soundly, and next day did his services 
 for Good Friday. Then about noon he told the sexton 
 to go and look at the Scot, and find out whether he were 
 alive or dead. The sexton walked away whistling for 
 joy at the death of a Scot, but he came back running 
 with a very white face. 
 
 He could scarcely speak for fear, but his story was 
 that he had found the Scot, and, to try whether he were 
 alive or not, had taken out his knife and sliced one of his 
 toes. The blood came, and the foot kicked ! 
 
 The priest therefore, with other people, went to the 
 wood and cut Michael down, and poured wine into his 
 mouth, till he sat up and swore just like himself. The 
 son of the man whom Michael had hanged was looking 
 on ; he drew his sword and dealt a blow at Michael's 
 head, cutting off one of his ears. This is quite true, 
 for when Michael came to Fierbois he had only one 
 ear, also a great scar on his toe where the sexton 
 sliced it. 
 
 The priest and the others rushed on the man with 
 the sword, disarmed him, and drove him out of the 
 house. 
 
 Michael was then taken to a kind Abbess, who 
 nursed him till he was well ; but he was in no hurry to 
 fulfil his vow and make his pilgrimage. On the other 
 hand, he went into barracks with other soldiers, and mis- 
 behaved as usual. But one night, as he lay in bed in a
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 room where other soldiers lay, he received a sounding 
 slap in the face, though he could see nobody near him, 
 and heard a voice say, ' Wilt thou never remember thy 
 pilgrimage ? ' 
 
 On this Michael borrowed or stole a horse, and rode 
 to Fierbois, where he told his story, and it was written 
 down in the book of the chapel. 
 
 Thus we see that very strange things may happen. 
 Can you imagine anything more strange than the story 
 called ' What became of Old Mr. Harrison ' ? In 
 this tale two people were hanged for the murder of a 
 man who was alive and well, and one of them confessed 
 his guilt. This proves once more that it is a mistake to 
 punish one man for killing another before we are quite 
 sure that the other is dead. The law does not now allow 
 this to be done ; but in the reign of Charles II., when 
 old Mr. Harrison 'softly and suddenly vanished away,' 
 the law was not so particular, at least in country places. 
 Nobody can even guess why old Mr. Harrison vanished 
 away, from a place close to his own house, and why 
 he stayed away for years, and why he came back, and 
 where he had been, and how nobody ever saw him at 
 all, going or coming back. Lastly, nobody can believe 
 a word of the story which he told about his adventures 
 in foreign parts ; it is like a confused dream. Yet, 
 except Mr. Harrison's own tremendous fibs, the rest of 
 the story is all quite true ; it was printed at the time. 
 
 Then take the tale called ' The Vanishing of Bathurst.' 
 In a moment, under the eyes of several persons, as he 
 stood (in the dusk) at the heads of the horses of his 
 carriage, Mr. Bathurst disappeared. If you have read 
 The Hunting of the Snark, you may think that Mr. 
 Bathurst met a Boojum and ' softly and suddenly 
 vanished away.' People at the Zoological Gardens 
 may tell you that there are no Boojums, and certainly 
 they have none there. But this is a foolish argument, 
 for, while many people have seen Boojums, of course
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 they cannot describe these creatures, for they them- 
 selves vanish away, and are not able to speak or write. 
 
 There is a true story of a Boojum which, as you have 
 not heard it before, I now r proceed to narrate. In a 
 village in Dorset, about a hundred years ago, there lived 
 an old tailor named Owen Parfitt. He had long been 
 paralysed ; that is, he could not use his legs, but had to 
 be carried about by his maid-servant, and a sister even 
 older than himself. On a fine afternoon in summer 
 they took his great armchair out of doors into the sun, 
 laid his great-coat, folded up, on the chair, in case the 
 old man felt chilly, and then carried him downstairs, 
 and made him comfortable in the chair, as they had 
 often done before. There he used to sit and watch the 
 chickens and cats, and gossip to any neighbour who 
 bade him good-day. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour later his old sister 
 wanted to say something to him. She cried from the 
 upper window, ' Owen ! ' but there was no answer. He 
 might be asleep, he might even be dead, so the old 
 woman hobbled downstairs to the door. There was 
 Owen's chair, there was his great-coat where she had 
 placed it, but Owen was never seen again ! 
 
 Remember that he could not move, he had no power 
 in his legs, he had to be carried about. Nobody wanted 
 to steal old Owen. He had simply vanished away, and 
 it is perfectly clear that he must have seen a Boojum. 
 You cannot explain the thing in any other way. Even 
 if Owen had by a miracle recovered the use of his legs, 
 people must have seen him in the neighbourhood, if 
 he had marched off. But, in spite of all search, nobody 
 ever saw r Owen Parfitt again, and there were then no 
 railways, no means of getting quickly away. 
 
 As to Mr. Bathurst, his trousers were discovered 
 after his disappearance ; but never a trouser or hat or 
 anything of Owen's could be found. 
 
 The stories which I have mentioned, though true,
 
 x PREFACE 
 
 are not tiresome, I hope. The story of 'Old Jeffery' is 
 another kind of tale, also quite true. We read it in the 
 letters written at the time by the Wesley family, who 
 were so much puzzled and bored by what they called 
 * Old Jeffery.' They were not only good and truthful, 
 but very intelligent people. Who can explain what 
 they tell us ? Not I, for one. You cannot even call 
 the story a ghost story. Nobody who was likely to 
 play the tricks had died, so there was nobody to be the 
 ghost of. Some people think that Miss Hetty Wesley, 
 a very pretty, lively girl, played the tricks, but how 
 could she ? Anybody may try who likes : the tricks 
 are not so easy. 
 
 People who believe that there are Boojums also 
 think that there are Brownies ; if they are right, Old 
 Jeffery was a playful, not an industrious, Brownie. 
 
 Besides these stories we give a few fairy tales, such 
 as ' How a Boy became first a Lamb and then an 
 Apple.' There are Highland stories, too, like ' The 
 Battle of the White Bull,' and there are some fairy tales 
 that the old Greeks told each other so long, long ago, 
 even before Homer made the Iliad and the Odyssey. 
 Homer mentions ' Meleager the Hunter,' but not the 
 story of the Brand ; and he also mentions Melampus 
 and Bias in ' The Serpents' Gift,' but only just alludes 
 to them, as if everyone knew all about them already. 
 Of ' Heracles the Dragon-Killer ' you must have heard ; 
 here are many of his tremendous adventures. 
 
 Then we have several stories of adventures that 
 happened to real people, such as Charles II., while he 
 wandered in England with Noll Cromwell's hounds at 
 his heels. ' My Aunt Margaret's Mirror,' though a very 
 strange story, really happened to the grandmother 
 of the aunt of Sir Walter Scott. Then you have the 
 best stories of treasure-hunts, and some of the pick of 
 the adventures of the glorious Three Musketeers 
 Porthos, Athos, and Aramis, who were real men and
 
 PREFACE xi 
 
 Musketeers, as was d'Artagnan their friend. But 
 these stories are not necessarily in all points true, as 
 they were written by the greatest of all story-tellers, 
 Alexandre Dumas. 
 
 So, with other stories of wrecks and Red Indians, 
 I hope you will find something to your taste in 
 The All Sorts of Stories Book. 
 
 The stories were written, as they are given here, by 
 Mrs. Lang ; we hunted for and caught them in all sorts 
 of books. 
 
 A, LANG.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How a Boy became first a Lamb and then an Apple . 1 
 
 The Battle of the White Butt 13 
 
 The Serpents 1 Gift . 19 
 
 Meleager the Hunter 27 
 
 The Vanishing of Bathurst 36 
 
 In the Shadow of tlie Guillotine . . . . . . 50 
 
 The Flight of the King 68 
 
 The Seal Robinson Crusoe 83 
 
 How the Russian Soldier was Saved .... 99 
 
 Marbot and the Young CossacJe ...... 105 
 
 Heracles the Dragon-Killer 110 
 
 OldJeffery 129 
 
 The Adventures of a Prisoner ...... 144 
 
 What became of Old Mr. Harrison ? 160 
 
 Aunt Margaret's Mirror ....... 171 
 
 The Prisoner of the Chateau d'lf 181 
 
 The Hunt for tJie Treasure 205 
 
 The Story of the Gold Beetle 217 
 
 Loreta Velazquez, the Military Spy ..... 241 
 
 The Farmer's Dream 253 
 
 The Sword of D'Artagnan 257 
 
 The Bastion Saint-Gervais 277 
 
 Little General Monk . . 293 
 
 The Horse with Wings 315 
 
 Tlie Prize of Jeanne Jugan ...... 324 
 
 Unlucky John 330 
 
 How the Siamese Ambassadors reached the Cape . . 345 
 
 The Strange Tale of Ambrose Gwinett . . . . 355 
 
 With the Redskins 366 
 
 The Wreck of the ' Drake ' 373
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 COLOURED PLATES 
 
 (Engraved and printed by Messrs. Andre < Sleigh, Ltd., JBushey) 
 
 jy Artagnan will not have his Horse laughed at 
 
 [see page 258] . ..... Frontispiece 
 
 The Witch gets Pulja down from the Tree. . to face p. 6 
 
 Bias brings the Oxen of Iphiclus to Neleus . 24 
 How Atalanta and Meleager slew the Wild 
 
 Boar of Calydon ,,30 
 
 Bellerophon fights the Chimcera .... ,,320 
 
 FULL-PAGE PLATES 
 
 The Princess Pulja and the Murdered Lamb . to face p. 8 
 Queen Althea watches the Burning Log while 
 
 Meleager is dying outside .... ,,32 
 
 Charles II. in the Oak Tree .... ,,72 
 
 How Admetus won Alcestis for his Wife . ,, 122 
 
 Heracles brings Alcestis back from Hades . . 126 
 
 Little John Wesley saved from the Fire . . 132 
 
 The Soldiers search the Shed for the Prisoner 150 
 How Mr. Harrison was attacked by the strange 
 
 Horsemen ....... 166 
 
 TJie Cemetery of the Chateau d'lf ... 198 
 
 How the Napkin became a real Flag . . 288 
 ' Take this Bit and seek out Pegasus, the Winged 
 
 Horse 1 ,,316 
 
 How John refused to trust his Son to the 
 
 Queen Venus 330 
 
 The Chariot of Glory ,,334
 
 xvi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT 
 
 ttJM 
 
 The Boy becomes a Lamb 5 
 
 The Battle of the Wliite Bull 16 
 
 Pero, famous among her Friends at catching the Ball . 21 
 
 The Visit from the Fates 28 
 
 Lavalette and Emilie in the Garden .... 55 
 
 Madame Lavalette tries to hold back the Gaoler . . 64 
 
 Near Stratford they passed through a Troop of Cavalry 78 
 
 Selkirk implores to be taken back to the Ship . . . 88 
 
 Selkirk quite happy on the Desert Island sometimes . 91 
 
 Selkirk ! It is Selkirk ! !' 94 
 
 The Wounded Russian calls to Napoleon from the Ice 101 
 
 ' In the name of your Mother, spare this Boy ' . . 108 
 
 How Baby Heracles strangled two Murderous Snakes . Ill 
 
 A Ride on the Centaur's Back 113 
 
 Heracles fights the Hydra 116 
 
 Heracles fights the Stymphalian Birds . . . . 121 
 
 How Mr. Wesley's Trencher danced upon the Table . 141 
 
 The Frenchman fights tJie Sailors 155 
 
 The Magic Mirror 177 
 
 Dantes covets tlie Saucepan 184 
 
 Dantes left on the Island .210 
 
 The Treasure Found 214 
 
 Legrand puzzled by the Paper 221 
 
 It dangled in the Air 228 
 
 His Toe caught in an Iron Ring . . . . . 231 
 
 The duel between Athos and D'Artagnan interrupted. 274 
 
 Thus Athos induced Grimaud to come on . . . 282 
 
 Bellerophon fights against Myrina and her Amazons . 822 
 
 John chooses Death for Godmother .... 339 
 
 ' These are the Lights of Life,' said Death . . . 343
 
 HOW A BOY BECAME FIRST A LAMB 
 AND THEN AN APPLE 
 
 ONCE upon a time there lived a woman who had two 
 children, a boy named Asterinos, and a daughter called 
 Pulja. Her husband was a huntsman, and spent most 
 of his days in the woods and hills round the cottage, 
 generally bringing back something nice to cook for 
 supper. 
 
 One evening he came home earlier than usual, carry- 
 ing in his wallet a pigeon which he had just shot. The 
 woman took it out, and after she had plucked it, hung 
 it on a nail so that it might be handy to put into the pot 
 at the proper moment. Then she went next door to have 
 a chat with her neighbour and thought no more about the 
 pigeon till it was getting near the dinner hour. 
 
 Unluckily, when she left the house, the woman had 
 never noticed the cat, who was curled up under a chair, 
 pretending to be sound asleep, and on his part he was 
 very careful not to stir or to remind her that he was 
 there. But as soon as she was safely out of the way the 
 cat stepped briskly from his hiding-place, sprung at the 
 pigeon which was hanging from the nail, and bringing it 
 to the ground, ate it all up. When nothing of it was left 
 but a few bits of bones, he got up and arched his back 
 with satisfaction, and vanished through the door which 
 the woman had left open. 
 
 Scarcely had the cat disappeared when in she came, 
 and walked over to the place where the pigeon should 
 A.S. B
 
 2 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 
 
 have been hanging. The empty nail and the scattered 
 bones told their own tale, and the woman shivered with 
 fright lest her husband, angry at the loss of his dinner, 
 should give her a beating. 
 
 * What am I to do ? ' she cried, * the larder is empty ! ' 
 and in despair she cut off part of the calf of her leg and 
 threw it into the pot. 
 
 ' Is dinner ready ? ' asked the man, when by-and-by 
 he returned from a nap in the sun. 
 
 ' Yes, here it is ' said the wife, and the man sat down. 
 
 ' That was very good ! What was it ? ' inquired the 
 husband when he had finished, and his wife told him 
 all that had happened. 
 
 ''Well, now we can eat the children,' said he; 'they 
 will make us a fine dinner.to-morrow,' and away he went, 
 leaving the poor woman half dead with fear and sorrow. 
 She dared not disobey him, she knew, if he told her to 
 kill them, for she was terribly afraid of her husband, and 
 if she did not do it he would ; and in her despair the 
 poor woman dragged herself wearily upstairs and threw 
 herself on her bed. 
 
 Happily for the children, who were already fast 
 asleep, the dog, who was stretched out in front of the 
 fire with his ears cocked, had overheard the conversa- 
 tion, and as soon as all was still in the cottage he crept 
 to the corner where the brother and sister lay, and put 
 his cold nose against their cheeks. 
 
 ' Get up ! get up ! and run away as fast as you can, 
 or your mother will kill you,' he whispered ; but the 
 children sleepily pushed his nose away, and turned over 
 on their other sides. 
 
 * Get up ! get up ! there is no time to lose,' repeated 
 the dog, and taking a curl of the little girl's hair between 
 his teeth, he began to draw her gently out of bed. 
 
 * You must be quick,' he said again, when lie had 
 explained their danger. ' Wake your brother, and go
 
 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 3 
 
 with him into the forest, and above all make no noise.' 
 The girl did as she was bid, and in another instant the 
 boy stood on the floor beside her. 
 
 ' What shall we take with us ? ' asked he. 
 
 ' What shall we take ? I'm sure I don't know, 
 Asterinos. Yet, stay ! We will take a knife, a comb, 
 and a handful of salt. And the dog too, of course ! ' So 
 putting the knife and comb in the pockets of their two 
 little coats they ran into the wood, the girl grasping the 
 salt tight in her hand. But quiet as they fancied they 
 had been, their mother had heard them, and when the 
 dog glanced back along the path he saw that she was 
 following. 
 
 ' Look ! ' he cried to the children, and they looked 
 and froze with fear. 
 
 ' She will catch us ! ' screamed Asterinos, but his 
 sister answered : 
 
 ' No, no ! Never. Run quicker ! Run ! ' 
 
 ' She is close to us, Pulja,' he panted, a few minutes 
 later. 
 
 ' Throw the knife behind you,' said she, and he threw 
 it. Then a wide stony plain appeared lying between her 
 and them, so wide and stony that it seemed as if it would 
 take days to cross it, but the woman bounded from one 
 rock to another, gaining on them with every stride. 
 
 ' She is very near now,' whispered the boy again. 
 
 ' Run faster,' replied his sister, ' she shall never catch 
 us.' 
 
 ' But she must,' he gasped. ' I can ran no quicker.' 
 
 ' Here is the comb ; throw it behind you,' said she, 
 and he threw it, and behind them rose a thick, black 
 forest. But step by step the mother fought her way 
 through the trees, and for the third time she had almost 
 reached the children, when Pulja turned and let fall the 
 salt in her hand, and immediately a wide sea covered 
 the land, with the mother on one shore and the children 
 on the other. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 
 
 * Come back ! Come back ! I will not hurt you,' 
 cried she, but as they hesitated she grew angry and 
 struck herself on the breast. This frightened them, and 
 they turned away and ran on faster than ever. 
 
 They had gone quite a long distance, when Asterinos, 
 who was the younger of the two, suddenly stopped. 
 
 ' I am so thirsty, Pulja,' said he. 
 
 ' Go on a little longer,' answered she, ' for straight in 
 front is the king's fountain and you can drink there.' 
 But they had only gone a little way further when 
 Asterinos dropped behind, and called out a second 
 time : 
 
 ' I shall faint ; I want some water,' and as he spoke 
 his eyes fell on the print of a wolf's hoof, where water had 
 settled. 
 
 * Ah ! ' he shouted joyfully ; ' here is some, I'll drink 
 that.' 
 
 ' No, no ! ' cried Pulja, pulling him away as he was 
 stooping down ; ' if you drink that you will turn into a 
 wolf and will eat me. Come on a little further.' 
 
 ' Do you really think I should become a wolf ? ' 
 asked Asterinos, full of wonder. ' Well, perhaps I 
 might, but I don't believe I should ever want to eat you, 
 even if I was a tiger,' and the two walked on till they 
 reached a sheep track which was full of water. 
 
 ' I can't go on any longer ; I must drink this.' said the 
 boy. 
 
 ' No, no ! ' replied his sister, ' you will turn into a 
 lamb, and then someone will eat you ! ' 
 
 'They must eat me then, for I shall die of thirst,' 
 answered the boy, throwing himself down beside the 
 water. But hardly had he swallowed the first mouthful 
 when his hair grew soft and woolly and covered all his 
 body ; his legs and arms became the same length, and 
 he was no more Asterinos but a little lamb. 
 
 He ran up to his sister, who was standing with her
 
 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 
 
 5 
 
 eyes fixed on the path before her ; she had known what 
 would happen, and could not bear to see it. 
 
 ' Baa ! Pulja, Baa ! Pulja,' was all he could say, 
 
 though he could understand what was said to him as 
 well as he could before. 
 
 ' Come with me,' she called sadly, and on they went 
 till they reached the king's fountain, which was sheltered
 
 6 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 
 
 from the sun by a big cypress tree. Here the girl 
 knelt down and took a long drink, but the lamb was not 
 thirsty any more. When she had finished she stood 
 up. 
 
 ' Stay here with the dog till I return. And while he 
 grazed peacefully she went out of sight behind the 
 great cypress, and climbed and climbed and climbed up 
 its branches till at the very top she found a beautiful 
 golden throne, and sat herself down on it. 
 
 Soon there was heard the tramp of hoofs, and one of 
 the king's servants appeared leading two horses to the 
 well to drink. But as they approached the cypress tree 
 the rays which streamed from Pulja and her throne were 
 so bright that the horses shied and broke away, fearing 
 they knew not what. The man looked upwards to see 
 where the light came from, and when he beheld a beauti- 
 ful maiden on the topmost boughs he said : 
 
 ' Come down, for the horses must drink, and the 
 sight of you frightens them.' 
 
 ' No ; I shall stay where I am,' answered she ; ' I am 
 not hurting you. The horses can drink as much as they 
 like.' 
 
 ' (Dome down ! ' called the man louder than before, 
 but Pulja paid no heed to him, and did not stir. 
 
 Then the servant went to the king's son, and told 
 him that a maiden of wondrous beauty was sitting 
 in the cypress tree, and that the bright beams of 
 light which she shed had so frightened the horses 
 that they had refused to drink at the well, and had run 
 away. 
 
 So the prince hastened to the well, and standing 
 under the boughs thrice bade the maiden come down, 
 but she would not. 
 
 ' If you will not do as you are told we shall have to 
 cut down the tree.' he said at last. 
 
 ' Well, cut it down,' answered she. ' I mean to stay 
 where I am.'
 
 H 
 
 ^iJK:^
 
 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 1 
 
 The young man felt that further talking was useless, 
 so he sent a messenger to bring some wood-cutters from 
 the forest. They struck hard at the trunk with their 
 axes, but the lamb slipped unseen to the other side, 
 and licked the tree, so that it suddenly grew twice as 
 thick, and all the axes could do was to pierce the bark. 
 At length the prince lost his patience, and bade the 
 wood-cutters return home, for they were useless fellows, 
 and went himself in search of an old woman who was 
 held to be very wise. 
 
 * Fetch me down that girl from the tree,' he said to 
 her, ' and I will give you your hood full of gold.' 
 
 ' Oh, I will fetch her,' answered the old woman, and 
 taking from a cupboard a bowl, a sieve and a sack of 
 meal followed the prince to the tree. 
 
 Standing where she knew the girl must see her, the 
 old woman turned the bowl upside down on the ground, 
 and holding the sieve the wrong way up in her hand 
 began to rub some meal through it, which ought to 
 have fallen into the bowl underneath. She had done 
 this for a little while when suddenly she heard a voice 
 saying : 
 
 ' That is not the way ; you are all wrong.' 
 
 ' Is that anyone speaking to me ? ' asked the old 
 woman, pretending to look about. ' Where are you ? ' 
 but the girl only repeated her words. 
 
 ' Come and show me how to do it, and I will bless 
 you for ever,' cried the old woman at last, and the 
 maiden rose slowly from the golden throne and climbed 
 down the tree. The moment her feet touched the 
 ground the prince, who had remained hidden, sprang 
 forward and catching her in his arms swung her on to 
 his shoulder, carried her off to the castle, the dog and the 
 lamb following behind them. In a few days they were 
 married, and the people declared that never had there 
 been so beautiful a bride. 
 
 Now Princess Pulja was so pretty and pleasant
 
 8 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 
 
 that she won the hearts of everybody in the palace, 
 beginning with the king ; and the queen, who loved 
 admiration, became very jealous and spiteful. She did, 
 not dare to say anything as long as the prince was there, 
 but one day, when he had gone to hunt with his father 
 she ordered her attendants to seize the princess, who was 
 wandering in the garden, and to throw her into the 
 river. 
 
 ' That is a good riddance,' said the queen, when th< v 
 told her that her commands had been obeyed, and she 
 waited with a beaming face till her son returned in the 
 evening. 
 
 ' Where is my wife ? ' asked the prince as he entered 
 the palace. 
 
 ' Your wife ? Oh ! she went out for a walk,' 
 answered the queen, and the prince hastened to the 
 garden to look for her. As soon as he was out of sight 
 the queen said to her attendants : 
 
 ' Now that my daughter-in-law is out of the way we 
 can kill that lamb.' 
 
 ' Very well, madam,' answered they, but the lamb 
 happened to be under the windows and overheard, 
 and he stole away behind some bushes down to the 
 river. 
 
 ' Pulja, Pulja ! they are going to kill me,' cried he 
 in his own language, and though most people would 
 have thought he was saying nothing but ' baa,' Pulja 
 understood. 
 
 ' Never fear, dear child ; they cannot hurt you,' 
 whispered she, through the gurgling of the brook, but 
 the lamb cried again : 
 
 ' But, Pulja, do you hear ? they are going to kill 
 me!' 
 
 ' No, no ! do not be frightened. They shall not hurt 
 you ! ' 
 
 * But, Pulja, even now they are sharpening the 
 knife, and have begun to seek me,' and then with a
 
 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB II 
 
 shriek : ' Pulja, Pulja ! they have got me ! Pulja ! * 
 And Pulja heard, and with one bound burst the bonds 
 which held her in the brook, and rushed to the lamb, 
 who was struggling in the hands of his captors. 
 
 With tears and prayers she implored them to let him 
 go. but it was too late. One blow, and he lay dead at 
 her feet. 
 
 ' My lamb, my lamb ! ' screamed Pulja, flinging her- 
 self on the ground beside him, and the king, who was 
 walking in the garden, heard the noise and came to see 
 what was the matter. 
 
 ' Poor girl, poor girl ! ' said he, ' can I do nothing to 
 comfort you ? Shall I have his likeness made in gold ? * 
 
 ' What good would that do ? ' she ask d. ' My lamb, 
 my lamb ! ' 
 
 And the king could think of nothing to say but 
 ' What is done, is done.' 
 
 The lamb was roasted whole and placed on the 
 table, and the servants, who did not know that it had 
 ever been anything except a lamb, called to Pulja to 
 sit down and eat. 
 
 But the girl refused. 
 
 ' Come, princess, come,' they urged again, but still 
 she w r ould not listen, so at last they sat down to eat them- 
 selves. When they had finished, Pulja gathered up the 
 bones, and put them in a basket, and buried them in the 
 garden. And over the place there sprung up a great 
 apple tree, bigger than any that ever was seen, and on 
 its boughs a golden apple. Many people came by that 
 way and tried to pluck it, but just as it seemed within 
 reach of their hands they somehow found it was a little 
 above them, and jump as they would it was always out 
 of their reach. 
 
 When everyone about the palace had sought to 
 gather the apple and failed, Pulja said to the king : 
 
 * Now it is my turn ; I will see what / can do.'
 
 12 HOW A BOY BECAME A LAMB 
 
 ' But where ro many have tried in vain, is it likely 
 you will succeed ? ' asked he. 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; but with your permission I should 
 like to try,' answered she. 
 
 ' Then luck be with you,' said he. So she went straight 
 to the tree, and looked up at the golden apple shining 
 high over her head. And as she looked the apple sank 
 lower and lower, till at length it was within reach of her 
 hand, and a voice whispered, ' Now you can pluck me.' 
 When her fingers had closed tightly over her prize she 
 put it in her pocket, and returning to the palace she said : 
 
 ' Farewell, my husband and my father-in-law who 
 have been so kind to me ; and you, my mother- in-law, 
 may you suffer all the ill-fortune you deserve. As for 
 me, you will nevermore behold me.' With that she 
 went through the gate into the world, and whether the 
 apple in her pocket ever turned into her brother 
 Asterinos no man can tell. 
 
 From Halm's Griechische Marchen.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE BULL. 
 
 IF, when you are travelling through countries where 
 wolves are to be heard on winter nights, you should 
 happen to ask a peasant something about them, he will 
 tell you many strange stories of their cleverness, and of 
 the way one wolf will help another to outwit his enemies. 
 If you read this tale you will learn what happened in the 
 Highlands of Scotland in the good old times. 
 
 Many herds were feeding in Glen- Ampul, and fine 
 beasts they were, but among them all none was as big 
 and strong as the great white bull, the pride of his 
 master's heart. Bare were the hills, and little shade 
 they gave from the heat of the sun or the fierce storms 
 which beat over them, therefore down below by the 
 side of the burn a hut of turf had been built with a wide 
 door, so that the cattle or their herdsmen might find rest 
 and shelter if they needed it. 
 
 One day when the sun streamed hot down the hillside 
 where young Angus was walking with a heavy, old- 
 fashioned gun over his shoulder, he noticed a large wolf 
 coming towards him. Perhaps the gun was more for 
 show than for use, or it may have played Angus some 
 bad tricks before now, for certain it is that, instead of 
 aiming at the wolf who had so suddenly made his appear- 
 ance at a time of year when he was never looked for, the 
 young man scrambled noiselessly down hi to the burn, 
 so that he might destroy his scent, and the wolf should 
 not follow him. As it happened, the wolf had not
 
 14 THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE BULL 
 
 noticed him at all ; but Angus did not know that, and 
 made his way through the water, hi the direction of the 
 hut, expecting every moment to hear the baying sound 
 which no one ever forgets who has once listened to 
 it. But all was still, and Angus moved warily on till 
 he came exactly opposite the hut, when he dashed up 
 the bank, and without looking to the right or to the 
 left made straight for the place where he knew the front 
 door to be. 
 
 Now, unluckily for him, the great white bull was 
 standing there, enjoying himself after a good dinner 
 which had lasted ever since breakfast. He was thinking 
 of nothing in particular, unless it was where it would be 
 best to go for supper, when suddenly something heavy 
 tumbled across his face. The bull drew back angrily 
 and snorted, and Angus, who had tripped over a hillock 
 and fallen almost on the horns of the bull, began to 
 wonder if this second danger was not worse than the 
 first, when he perceived a clump of clover growing 
 close by, such as all bulls love. Stooping hastily he 
 picked up a handful and thrust it under the bull's nose, 
 nervously watching the creature's eyes, so that he might 
 not be taken unawares. One sniff and the bull lowered 
 his head to examine the clover more narrowly, but soon 
 decided that there was no occasion to eat it in a hurry. 
 This was a great disappointment to Angus, who had 
 hoped that the bull might have shifted his position a 
 little so as to enable him to slip past into the hut, but as 
 the big beast seemed to have forgotten him altogether 
 he stepped cautiously towards the door. Quiet as he 
 was, the bull heard him and looked round. His rolling 
 eyes and quivering nostrils warned Angus to give up 
 his attempt, so he resolved to try if there was any way 
 of entering by the back. 
 
 * Oh, this is luck,' thought he, as he beheld a pile of 
 logs standing against the wall to dry. In a moment 
 more he had swung himself up, and lying hidden on the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE BULL 15 
 
 ;slope of the roof, with his gun by his side, peered over the 
 top, that he might see what the wolf was doing. 
 
 It was a good thing for Angus that he had reached 
 the hut, for the wind had suddenly changed, and had 
 blown the scent of man and beast right into the wolf's 
 nose. 
 
 ' Fee, fo, fum,' said the wolf to himself, for he had 
 often been told the story of Jack the Giant Killer by 
 his grandmother. 'Fee, fo, fum,' and he crossed the 
 stream at the very spot under the hut by which Angus 
 had passed only a few minutes before. Then he 
 stretched himself out at full length till he looked like one 
 of the bare grey rocks scattered round, only keeping his 
 nose in the air, as he crept silently along, sniffing, 
 sniffing. 
 
 Soon he was too close under the hut for Angus to 
 watch him, and he waited with a beating heart, his ears 
 strained to catch the first sound. Then yap, yap ! a 
 roar and a skirling noise, a grey kicking thing flashing 
 through the air, and the wolf was on the further side 
 of the stream, with the bull standing on the other bank 
 pawing the ground and lashing his tail. 
 
 ' Don't come here again ! ' he seemed to be saying, 
 and the wolf, who quite understood that ' he who fights 
 and runs away shall live to fight another day,' bounded 
 up the hillside and never stopped to take breath till 
 he had reached the top. Giving a sidelong glance at the 
 bull and breathing a sigh of relief that the stream was 
 still between them, he lay down to rest, with his face 
 towards the hut, on the roof of which Angus was 
 watching. 
 
 Like many men whose lives are spent in the open air 
 Angus could see things quite clearly which are hidden 
 from dwellers in houses. Thus he noticed plain 
 signs that the wolf had had the worst of it in his battle 
 with the bull. Every now and then he leaned over and
 
 16 THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE BULL 
 
 licked Ids side, as if he was wounded there, and sonic- 
 times he shook his paw, as if it hurt him. But after all 
 
 he could not have been very bad, for in a little while he 
 got up and limped away in the direction of a fir-wood, 
 standing thick and black not far behind the hut.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE BULL 17 
 
 When the wolf could no longer be seen Angus 
 turned to the match with which he set fire to his clumsy 
 old gun, and found to his dismay that it had got wet 
 while he was climbing up the dripping logs, and would 
 not light. Of course it was not in the least like our 
 lucifer matches, but was paper soaked in saltpetre, 
 and set alight by a flint, and only burned very slowly. 
 But in spite of all his efforts the powder would not catch, 
 and at length he gave it up in despair. 
 
 In this manner half an hour passed away and Angus 
 began to think that his enemy must have gone for good, 
 and that he might do so likewise, when, as he gave one 
 last look up and down the glen before getting down off 
 the roof, he was startled to see two large black wolves 
 come out of the wood. So exactly did they keep step, 
 that at first Angus thought they were but one, but as 
 they drew nearer he noticed that the one who limped 
 had a stick in his mouth, the other end of which was 
 held by the second beast. 
 
 ' Why, he must be blind ! ' exclaimed the young man, 
 and so he was. But blind or not, he made straight for 
 the hut, and then Angus managed to perceive that when 
 they were within a few paces of the hut they dropped 
 the stick and sprang forward. Again they disappeared, 
 and once more the battle w r ith the bull raged, but this 
 time with greater fierceness than before. 
 
 One noise succeeded the other, till Angus's head was 
 in a whirl. Cries, bellows, roars, growlings, then at last 
 a rush and a spring and a heavy fall against the door 
 which shook the hut. After that all was silent, save 
 for angry mumblings of the bull. 
 
 ' But what became of the wolves ? ' asked the 
 young man to whom the old Highlander had told his 
 story. 
 
 ' Heaven knows,' he answered solemnly, ' but no
 
 18 THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE BULL 
 
 man saw them after that. And Angus just lay on the 
 roof a while longer till he made sure they would not come 
 out again. Then he was off through the heather like 
 a deer, taking care to keep the hut between himsell 
 and the bull. 
 
 Lays of the Deer-Forest.
 
 THE SERPENTS' GIFT. 
 
 MELAMPUS, son of Amythaon and grandson of 
 Eidomene the Wise, lived at Pylos, not far from the 
 famous plain of Olympia, where the Greeks in later 
 times held their celebrated sports. Near his house was 
 a wood, and just outside his door was an oak tree where 
 two serpents had built their nest. Now the servants of 
 Melampus feared the old serpents which reared them- 
 selves up and hissed and darted out their tongues when 
 they heard steps below the tree, and at length the 
 terror of both men and women grew so great that they 
 took sticks and killed the snakes. But Melampus would 
 not suffer them to slay the little serpents, as they 
 wished, but gave them milk to drink, which snakes love, 
 and put a warm cloth round the branch when the nights 
 were cold. And the little serpents were grateful and 
 asked each other if there \vas nothing they could dp for 
 him. 
 
 For long they pondered in vain, and the months 
 went by, and they grew to be as large as their dead 
 parents. Then at last they thought of a gift which 
 would be dear to the heart of Melampus, a gift that no 
 other man in the land possessed. He should understand 
 the language of birds and of beasts, and some day that 
 knowledge might save his life, as he had saved theirs. 
 
 So that night when Melampus slept the three snakes 
 wriggled down from the tree and wriggled in through the 
 open door, and each in turn approached him where he 
 A.S. c 2
 
 20 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 
 
 lay on his back, and licked the insides of his ears, though 
 he knew it not. And when he awoke in the morning and 
 heard the birds talking and asking each other where the 
 best food was to be found, and if the still hot air meant 
 a storm before nightfall, he wondered what had befallen 
 him. And he wondered still more when he listened to 
 the talk of the goats and the murmurs of the dogs who 
 grumbled to each other at having to follow their master 
 when they would rather lie in the sun, and at not bein<: 
 allowed to follow him when he went to the temple. 
 
 Now Melampus had a brother named Bias who dwelt 
 with him in his house, and Bias longed to wed Pero, 
 daughter of Neleus, the fairest of the maidens of the 
 West of Greece. Straight and tall was she, and a swift 
 runner, and famous among her friends as a catcher of 
 balls. Many young men sought her in marriage, but 
 Neleus would listen to none. His son-in-law, he said, 
 should be the man who brought him from distant 
 Thessaly the herd of great white oxen which Iphiclus 
 the king had received from his mother ; and this was no 
 light thing to ask, for the herd grazed in a field with a 
 wall twenty feet high all round it, and were guarded by 
 a dog the size of a lion, whose eyes were always open 
 and whose teeth were sharp. 
 
 Yet, many as were the perils that beset the journey to 
 that far country, and great as were the dangers of the 
 adventure, not a few undertook it for love of Pero, but 
 none had ever returned to their homes. 
 
 Thus when Bias, son of Amythaon besought Neleus 
 to give him Pero to wife, he received the same answer as 
 the rest : 'Go then to Thessaly and bring me back tin- 
 herd of white oxen which belong to Iphiclus, and you 
 shall have her. And gladly will I give her to you, for 
 I like you well. But I have sworn, as you know, 
 this oath, and I cannot break it.' 
 
 And with this Bias was forced to be content, and he
 
 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 21 
 
 left the house of Neleus to ask counsel of his brother, and 
 the eyes of Pero watched him as he went. 
 
 7\T CATCHING THE JBftLT-*Y 
 
 Melampus was sitting in the wood listening to the 
 talk of the birds when Bias found him.
 
 22 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 
 
 ' Be of good courage,' said he. ' Pero shall be your 
 bride and sit at your hearth, but first you must have 
 patience. As to the herd of white oxen, I will get them 
 for you, but not by skill or guile. The baying of the 
 great dog will awaken Iphiclus, and he will come out 
 armed with a spear. But as I shall not seek to flee or to 
 defend myself I shall not be harmed, only for a year 
 I shall remain in captivity. And now leave me, for I 
 have much to do before I can set out.' 
 
 The face of Bias shone with joy as he heard the words 
 of Melampus, for well he knew that what his brother 
 promised that would he perform. The rest of the day 
 he spent in sharpening the spear of Melampus and in 
 looking to the harness of the horses which were to draw 
 his chariot, that the leather reins should not snap nor 
 the thongs be broken. At sunrise he led forth the team 
 and placed them between the shafts, and then Melampus 
 mounted and drove away to the country whence he 
 and his brother had come, and where their forefathers 
 had lived and died. 
 
 For six days Melampus journeyed, spending the 
 nights lying on the ground under the sky, for it was 
 summer and the sun beat hotly down, and the cool dark- 
 ness rested him and gave him strength. At evening on 
 the sixth day he came to the mountains of Othrys and 
 knew that at their foot lay the pasture-ground of the 
 white oxen. Then he loosened the harness of his horses, 
 and fastened them to a tree, while he fell asleep for a few 
 hours. 
 
 The dawn was whitening the sky as he rose up, and 
 with his spear in his hand set forth on his quest. From 
 the top of a little hill he looked upon them, thirty 
 huge beasts with hides as white as milk, and wide grey 
 horns branching away. Then his glance fell on the dog, 
 black as night, which guarded the gate, his eyes gazing
 
 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 23 
 
 this way and that, his paws, big and hairy as a 
 boar's, stretched out before him. 
 
 Silently Melampus crept down the hill, and stole 
 along in the shadow till he was opposite the gateway. 
 Not till that moment did the dog know of his presence, 
 and with a great howl he sprang towards Melampus. 
 But the chain that bound him to the gate was strong, 
 and he stopped with a jerk, still baying furiously, though 
 not until Iphiclus had heard and understood and hurried 
 to the pasture, grasping his spear. 
 
 Shouting angry words, he flung himself upon 
 Melampus, who stood facing the dog, with his back to 
 Iphiclus, pretending not to be aware of the king's 
 approach, though his gift of prophecy had told him from 
 the first the manner of his capture. He struggled a 
 little in the arms of Iphiclus, that the lord of the oxen 
 might not think him a weakling ; then slaves arrived 
 with cords and bound him hand and foot, and thrust 
 him into the prison which held the robbers for whom 
 Thessaly was famous. 
 
 In this prison Melampus remained for a year, as he 
 had foretold to Bias ; but his gaoler, finding him gentle 
 of mood, loosed his bonds and brought him food from 
 his own house, and oil to rub his limbs, so that when the 
 time of his captivity was over he might still be able to 
 run and wrestle with other men. And for this Melampus 
 promised him a great reward when he should return to 
 Pylos. 
 
 The last day of the year had come, when Melampus 
 said to his gaoler : 
 
 ' There are wood- worms in this prison ; everywhere 
 they have eaten through the beams, and to-night the 
 house will fall in a tempest of wind, and all in it will 
 perish,' for Melampus had heard the wood-worms saying 
 this among themselves. 'Take me, therefore, to 
 Iphiclus the king, that he may set me free, lest my kins-
 
 24 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 
 
 folk, who are many in the land of Thessaly, will 
 avenge me on him.' 
 
 ' I will go first,' answered the gaoler, ' and tell him 
 somewhat concerning you and your prophecies, and that 
 I have proved that what you have foretold has come 
 true.' 
 
 ' Go then,' replied Melampus, ' and see you do not 
 tarry,' and the gaoler went. 
 
 Iphiclus listened in silence to the tale of the gaoler, 
 and put questions to him, to be sure that his story \\ as 
 true. When it was done, he thought for a little, and at 
 last he said : 
 
 ' Bring out Melampus, and any others who are hi the 
 prison, and put them in a place of safety for this one 
 night, that I may see what befalls. In the morning 
 I will speak with him.' 
 
 And so it was done. 
 
 At midnight a fierce wind suddenly sprang up, and 
 the houses of the city trembled in their foundations, but 
 the prison alone rocked so greatly that it fell. As soon 
 as this was told him, Iphiclus left his palace and hastened 
 to examine the beams of the walls, and found it was 
 even as Melampus had said, and that the wood-worms 
 had eaten through them. 
 
 'Bring the prisoner Melampus before me,' he cried, and 
 when Melampus was brought he turned to him and said : 
 
 * You have gifts and knowledge beyond other men. 
 Tell me, will the desire of my heart be fulfilled and 
 shall I have a son ? ' 
 
 ' And what reward wilt you bestow on me if you 
 have a son ? ' asked Melampus. 
 
 ' Anything in my kingdom,' said Iphiclus. 
 
 * Well, to-morrow you shall know,' replied Melam- 
 pus, * but for this night I must go free, as the gods have 
 not yet shown me whether you \\ ill have a son or not.' 
 And in that he spake truly. 
 
 When it was dark, Melampus wandered forth among
 
 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 25 
 
 the woods on the mountains, till he grew weary and sat 
 himself down under a tree, where he fell asleep. And 
 while he slept two vultures perched on a bough near him 
 and began to talk, and at the sound of their voices 
 Melampus awoke and listened. It was of Iphiclus the 
 king they were speaking and of what would happen at 
 his death. 
 
 ' If he only knew what he must do to have a son ! * 
 sighed one. ' It is so easy.' 
 
 ' Yes, verily,' answered the other ; ' he has only to 
 draw out the knife his father threw at him from the 
 tree in which it is sticking. But men have no wisdom,' 
 and they flew away. 
 
 Then Melampus jumped up and hastened to the 
 palace of Iphiclus. 
 
 ' I can read your riddle, O king,' he said, ' and it is 
 this : Draw out the knife which your father in anger 
 threw at you when you were a boy, and which, missing 
 you, stuck in a tree in the wood where you were 
 hunting, and then shall you have a son,' said Melam- 
 pus. 'And in return thou shalt give me the herd of 
 white oxen. But take heed, if you break your word 
 the curses of your father will work the ruin of you and 
 of your son also.' 
 
 ' What are the finest oxen in the world to a son ? ' 
 asked Iphiclus, and he commanded that they should be 
 given to Melampus, and ordered slaves to go with him 
 and drive them back to Pylos. 
 
 Great was the joy of Bias when the shining hides 
 of the oxen came over the plain. That night they 
 rested in the meadows of Melampus and were fed on all 
 the food which oxen deem the choicest. Next morning 
 Bias rose early and rubbed down their sides till the 
 snow on Mount Pelion was not whiter than they, and 
 he himself guided them over the softest grass till they 
 reached the dwelling of Neleus, where stood Pero arrayed 
 in her fairest garments.
 
 26 THE SERPENTS' GIFT 
 
 * Little did I expect ever to see those oxen within 
 these gates,' cried Neleus ; ' but tell me, how did your 
 brother succeed where everyone else has failed 
 and died ? ' and at the question the face of Bias 
 reddened. 
 
 * I know not,' he answered ; ' I did not think to ask 
 him. I only thought of Pero.'
 
 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 
 
 IN Calydon, the fairest city of the kingdom of /Etolia, 
 Althea the queen lay on a pile of silk cushions with her 
 seven-days-old baby beside her. Meleager was his 
 name, and he was large of limb and had golden hair 
 and brave blue eyes. He lay alone with his mother, 
 as her maidens had left her to 'rest, first laying a fresh 
 log across the ashes on the hearth, for the wind blew 
 keenly. Full of joy and peace was the heart of Althea ; 
 no mother in all ^Etolia had a son like hers, thought she, 
 and she began to dream of the years to come, and of 
 the strength and beauty that should be his. And as 
 she dreamed her dreams the door opened softly and 
 three women entered, old and bent and grey, holding 
 in their hands distaffs long sticks woven round with 
 the wool with which they spun the fate of men. 
 Silently they walked, spinning as they went, and they 
 sat themselves round the hearth, spinning, spinning. 
 
 ' The spinning women,' whispered the queen to 
 herself, and feared, she knew not why. 
 
 ' This is for strength,' said the first, as she spun her 
 thread. 
 
 ' And this for beauty,' said the second, spinning her 
 thread likewise. 
 
 ' And this for life,' said the third grey woman. 
 ' The child shall live till the burning brand of wood on the 
 hearth has wholly burned away into ashes.' 
 
 Then the women rose and glided a\vay, and as they
 
 2S 
 
 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 
 
 passed the child Meleagcr laughed up in their grim grey 
 faces, and put out his hands to catch the loose threads 
 that were hanging from the distaffs. 
 
 The door opened noiselessly and the women vanished 
 through it. Were they women indeed, or only 
 
 shadows ? Althea sprang from her bed, and seizing 
 a bowl of water which stood near, she flung it on the 
 burning wood and trod with her naked feet on the 
 dying flames and beat them with her hands till nought 
 remained save a black patch on the oaken brand.
 
 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 29 
 
 Then she placed the brand in a chest made of cedar 
 wood inlaid with ivory and silver, and locked it 
 with a key with a golden handle, and piled garments 
 above, that none might know where the brand was 
 hidden. 
 
 Meleager the child grew up and became a man, and 
 in all the land of Greece was none braver or more 
 skilful than he, to cast spear, or strike with sword. 
 From far and wide men came to beg his aid, and he 
 sailed with Jason in the ship Argo over the black waters, 
 to bring back the Golden Fleece from distant Colchis. 
 At the funeral games held in ^Etolia or in neighbouring 
 Locris he was ever to be met, and won the swords and 
 gold and vessels of bronze away from his friends. And 
 all watched him with awe, for neither spear nor arrow 
 pierced his flesh, no matter how deadly the combat. 
 
 But at length, in an evil hour, the father of Meleager, 
 CEneus the king, gathered in his harvest of corn and of 
 olives and fruits from the plains of ^Etolia, and stored 
 them in his barns without offering to Artemis the god- 
 dess the portion that was her due. Then she arose in 
 her wrath and sent a boar, huge and mighty as a moun- 
 tain flood, to lay waste the land of ^Etolia, and to root 
 up the trees, and to trample down the first shoots of the 
 young wheat. With the coming of the white- tusked 
 boar, fear stalked abroad in the country of Calydon, 
 and mothers kept their children close shut within their 
 houses, lest they should stray in the path of the great 
 beast and be trodden under his feet, or be pierced by 
 the tusks which stuck out long on each side of his mouth. 
 Even the men only ventured out in bands, and looked 
 to their spears that there was no flaw in the shafts. 
 
 Thus it was when Meleager returned home from 
 fighting in a war in the south country, across the Gulf of 
 Corinth. Full of anger was he when he beheld the white 
 faces of the people, and he sent messengers to the cities
 
 30 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 
 
 round, bidding their young men come and bring their 
 dogs with them, that they might hasten to Calydon 
 and slay the boar which had wrought such evil on their 
 lands. And the young men listened, and swiftly they 
 drove their light two-horsed chariots over the moun- 
 tains and across the rivers, and last of all came one 
 whom Meleager had not bidden Atalanta, the fleet- 
 footed, from the far land of Arcadia. Greatly they 
 wondered to see her, as all Greece had heard the fame of 
 her races with her lovers, for she vowed she would only 
 marry the man who could beat her in the foot-race. 
 Atalanta was the most beautiful girl in Greece, and most 
 dear of all her friends to the goddess Artemis, who chased 
 the deer all night in the forests. But Atalanta had 
 been beaten at last in the race by the cunning of 
 Meilanion, who had tempted her to pause and gather 
 up the golden apples from the tree of Aphrodite, which 
 he flung behind him. Now she came to /ttolia, and there 
 she stood with her hounds held in a leash beside her, 
 and the young men wondered at her beauty, and yet 
 each hoped that, though she was so swift a runner 
 and so good an archer, he would be before her in the 
 hunt, and be first to strike the boar, for it was then 
 the rule of hunting that whoever first struck the stag 
 or boar had the honour of winning its head and hide 
 to hang up in his hall. 
 
 The boar was strong, swift and cunning, and long 
 was the chase through forests and over mountains and 
 across rivers, till it headed back again to the plain of 
 Calydon. There the fight was fierce, and many a man 
 and dog was stretched on the field, and the boar dre^ 
 back to give a mighty rush into the midst of the rest 
 The young men stood still as if they had gazed on the 
 face of the Gorgon Medusa and become stone images, 
 but Atalanta ran forward in front of them all, and let 
 fly an arrow with a sharp head of bronze, and the arrow 
 stuck deep in the flank of the boar. Then they all
 
 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 31 
 
 knew that his hide and tusky head must by right be 
 the prize of the maiden, for she had been the first to 
 draw the boar's blood. 
 
 But he, with the bristles standing up on his back 
 like iron wires, dashed straight at the crowd of hunters, 
 and few would have seen that day's sunset had not 
 Meleager barred the way. As the breath of the boar 
 swept over his cheek he struck his lance deep through 
 its leathern hide, into its lowest rib, and with a yell 
 the monster rolled upon the ground, shaking the earth 
 as if it were rent asunder. 
 
 In this manner the boar was slain, and Meleager bade 
 the young men cut off its head and strip its skin from 
 its body and give them to Atalanta. But on this saying 
 great strife arose, especially among the tribe of the 
 Curetes, the people of Althea, mother of Meleager. 
 The brothers of Althea laid claim to the hide for them- 
 selves, and spake rough words to Atalanta, till the anger 
 of Meleager was kindled, and he slew them where they 
 stood. 
 
 Then Atalanta set forth to return to Arcadia, and 
 Meleager went back to Calydon to tell of the death of 
 the boar. 
 
 When Althea the queen heard that her brothers were 
 slain she wept bitter tears and would not suffer Meleager 
 to enter into her presence. So he called the young men 
 round him to fight the Curetes, who, to avenge the sons 
 of Thestias, brothers of Althea, had attacked the kingdom 
 of ^Etolia. And wherever Meleager was victory lay, 
 and no walls could keep him out of a city, neither could 
 any spear wound him. And word was brought to 
 Meleager that his mother had poured out curses upon 
 him for the death of her brethren, and in wrath he left 
 the fight, and returned to his house in Calydon and to 
 Cleopatra his wife, and would suffer no man to approach 
 him. Yet even so tales reached his ears, how that his 
 mother wept night and day, and prayed that some evil
 
 32 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 
 
 might come upon him not death, for his life was in the 
 brand and in her own hands. 
 
 The tide of battle went sorely against the men of 
 ^Etolia, and the Curetes battered against the gates of 
 Calydon, and the elders of the city shook their heads, and 
 whispered that they had never dared to be so bold 
 had Meleager stood on the walls. Then certain of 
 them went to the house of Meleager, and entreated him, 
 and offered him rich gifts of land for corn and vine- 
 yards if he would beat back the Curetes, but he would 
 not ; and the priests besought him, and his sisters, 
 but he would not ; and last of all came his mother \\ ith 
 words of repentance for the curses she had uttered, but 
 to her his heart was harder than a millstone. So she 
 returned to her palace and locked the door of her room 
 behind her, and none saw her till two days had passed. 
 
 It was Cleopatra, his wife, who at length prevailed on 
 him, with her stories of the fate of a city when foes are 
 within its gates, and the women and children are borne 
 away captive. His soul melted within him when he 
 thought that this also might be the doom of Cleopatra 
 and his sons and daughters now at play in the court- 
 yard. Silently he rose, and silently he buckled on his 
 shining breastplate and seized his spears, and once more 
 he stood on the walls where the fight was thickest. But 
 Althea, his mother, knew nought of it. At the sight of him 
 the men of Calydon took courage, and the Curetrs f. 11 
 back, and the elders, watching, whispered again together, 
 but this tune they said that now the gift of corn land 
 need never be paid, as Calydon was safe without it. 
 
 So the men of the Curetes fled back to their own 
 country, and not one who was alive remained at the 
 gates of Calydon. And the citizens crowded around 
 Meleager, fair-haired and tall, clad in shining bronze, 
 and gave him thanks for themselves, and for their 
 wives and children. But as he listened their words
 
 A.S.
 
 MELEAGER THE HUNTER 35 
 
 seemed to Meleager to fade in his ears, and their faces to 
 grow dim, as if a cloud came between them, and a fire 
 burned in his veins, and he staggered and fell. 
 
 ' Unloose his armour ; he is wounded,' cried they, 
 though even as they said it they wondered, for never 
 had spear or sword pierced his skin. But when the 
 armour was unbuckled no wound could be found, not so 
 much as a scratch, yet still the strength of Meleager 
 was passing away, and the whiteness of wax spread 
 over his face. 
 
 * He is dying,' they murmured ; then, ' he is dead, 
 he, Meleager, who hath saved us ! But why ? Where- 
 fore ? ' And no man knew. 
 
 If they had entered the locked room of Althea the 
 queen in her palace they would have been answered, 
 for there she was, on her knees before a burning log, 
 which she had drawn from out of the chest in which 
 it had lain hidden for five-and-twenty years. Snatching 
 a stick from the hearth, she had set the log alight, not 
 knowing that her son had repented him and had in the 
 end gone forth to fight the Curetes. And as the flames 
 crackled and the wood burned the life of Meleager was 
 consumed, as the spinning women had foretold when 
 he was a baby and had laughed and played with the 
 threads they had spun. It was not for long that Althea 
 knelt watching, for the log burned quickly, and as the 
 last spark flickered out the voice of CEneus her husband 
 was heard at the door. 
 
 ' Open : Meleager has saved the city and is dead. 
 We have brought him home : come thou and mourn for 
 him ! '
 
 THE VANISHING OF BATHURST 
 
 BENJAMIN BATHURST was thought both a very clever 
 and a very fortunate young man. He was the son of a 
 bishop, the Bishop of Norwich, a hundred years ago ; 
 and a hundred years ago bishops had ' little to do 
 and plenty to get.' When he was only twenty-five 
 Benjamin was the husband of a beautiful wife, 
 whose Christian name was Phillida, and the father 
 of three ' angel children ; ' and we can be sure that they 
 really were angel children, because Mrs. Bathurst 
 herself says so, in a letter to a friend. Very few young 
 men at the age of twenty-five have wives and three 
 children. 
 
 But Benjamin Bathurst was not only lucky ; he 
 was believed, by the English King and Government, 
 to be both very clever and extremely brave. This is 
 certain, for the Government sent him early in the year 
 1809 on an adventure which only a brave and clever 
 man could attempt with much hope of succeeding. 
 
 At that time the famous Emperor Napoleon Bona- 
 parte was master of almost all the countries in Europe. 
 He had beaten the Austrians, the Prussians, and the 
 Russians. He made his brothers and his generals kings 
 of the countries that he had conquered, and, though 
 the Russians did not really love him, still they did not 
 wish to offend him, nor did the Emperor of Austria, 
 Francis, the brother of Queen Marie Antoinette, whose 
 head had been cut off in the French Revolution.
 
 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 37 
 
 But Napoleon had not conquered England, and 
 England wanted to persuade Austria to make war on 
 Napoleon, while she herself sent an army under Wel- 
 lington to help Spain and Portugal to rebel against 
 him. 
 
 Now this message from England was a dangerous 
 parcel to carry from England through Europe, and 
 when the messenger did reach Vienna, if he succeeded 
 in making the Emperor of Austria beat Napoleon, it 
 was clear that Napoleon would have a grudge against 
 that messenger. 
 
 Benjamin Bathurst, young as he was, was sent on 
 this very difficult and dangerous adventure. He suc- 
 ceeded in getting the Austrians to fight the French, 
 but they were terribly beaten in a great battle in 
 July 1809, and had to make peace with Napoleon. 
 There was now nothing for Benjamin to do but return 
 to England, to his wife Phillida and his three children, 
 if he could. 
 
 In October he got leave from the English Govern- 
 ment to come back. 
 
 But he seemed curiously unwilling to take advantage 
 of the permission ; day after day he still lingered on in 
 Vienna, and at last began to hint to his friends of some 
 danger that threatened him, and of some deep grudge 
 that Napoleon had against him. Whether there was 
 any foundation for this idea no one ever knew, but 
 if so, the matter must have been a private one, as 
 Napoleon was not at all likely to attack him merely 
 on account of his position of British envoy, and that, 
 too, when peace was made and Austria lay at his feet. 
 Be this as it may, Bathurst evidently went in terror 
 of his life ; yet he never thought of remaining at Vienna, 
 where he would have been perfectly safe. 
 
 After a long hesitation he finally determined to 
 go to Berlin, and from there to Hamburg, where he 
 could get a ship to take him home. Of course it was
 
 38 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 
 
 a far longer journey than by the road straight to Trieste 
 or Venice, where he was certain of finding some ship 
 bound for Malta, but it seemed to him less dangerous. 
 So, changing his name to Koch, and pretending that 
 he was a merchant travelling on business, he started one 
 night from Vienna, accompanied by his valet, and by 
 his secretary, Krause, who undertook to pass as a 
 courier and to assume the name of Fisher. It is need- 
 less to say that Bathurst looked well to the pistols he 
 carried on him, and saw that those in the back of his 
 carriage were properly loaded. Over his grey suit he 
 wore a coat of the most expensive fur, sable lined with 
 purple velvet, and a cap to match, and a valuable 
 diamond pin. 
 
 For a man who wished not to be noticed, but to pass 
 as a quiet tradesman, it was odd to dress like a very 
 rich prince. 
 
 All seems to have gone well during the long journey 
 from Vienna to Berlin, but instead of Bathurst's spirits 
 rising on that account, they only grew more and more 
 gloomy. Indeed, perhaps the strangest thing about 
 all this strange story is the fact of a young man in 
 Bathurst's position being so cast down by his suspicion 
 of an unknown danger, which would have been only a 
 pleasant excitement to most of his friends. 
 
 On November 25 he reached a small town called 
 Perleberg, built on the banks of a little river which 
 flows into the Elbe. He was now nearly half-way 
 between Berlin and Hamburg, and a few hours more 
 would take him to Domitz, when the danger would be 
 past. But it was just in those few hours that he felt 
 he would run the greatest risks, and to enable him to 
 avoid them the utmost care and caution would be 
 needed. For French troops were quartered at Magde- 
 burg, within reach of his road, and he never doubted 
 that every movement was watched and known. 
 
 However, here he was at Perleberg, and entering
 
 THE VANISHING OF BATHURST 39 
 
 the Swan Inn near the gate which opened on the Ham- 
 burg road, he ordered dinner and bade fresh horses 
 be ready at the post-house whenever he should wish 
 to start. The post-house, where horses were kept for 
 travellers, lay just inside the gate, and beyond the wall 
 were a few small cottages inhabited by peasants. 
 
 After dinner, which was very early, Bathurst sent 
 for the landlord, and questioned him as to the Prussian 
 troops then in Perleberg. They consisted, answered 
 the man, of a squadron of Brandenburg cuirassiers, 
 commanded by Captain Klitzing, who lodged in a 
 house close to the town hall. On hearing this, Bathurst 
 lost no time, but went straight to ask for an interview 
 with Klitzing. He represented himself to the captain 
 as a traveller on his way to Hamburg, and having 
 reason to fear that he was in danger of capture, begged 
 that a guard might be told off to be with him during 
 the short time that ho was at the inn. As far as we 
 know, h& concealed his name, in case the captain should 
 know it. 
 
 Klitzing w T as not used to young men of this sort, 
 and scoffed at the idea of guards being necessary, but 
 seeing that Bathurst was trembling so violently that 
 he could hardly get into his sable coat, he agreed good- 
 naturedly to let him have the soldiers he wished for. 
 Then the two men parted, and Bathurst returned to 
 the Swan Inn, where he sent an order that the horses, 
 already harnessed and ready for the start, should not 
 be put into the carriage till nightfall. This he did to 
 ensure greater safety, but most probably it would have 
 been better if he had kept to his original plan and 
 pushed on to Domitz in daylight. 
 
 Till seven o'clock he sat in the inn, burning papers 
 and writing letters, but except one half -fini shed note to 
 his wife, afterwards found in the pocket of his trousers, 
 nothing was heard of the rest. Everything appears to 
 have been perfectly quiet, and the only guests arriving
 
 40 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 
 
 during the afternoon were two Jewish merchants, who, 
 like Bathurst, alighted at the inn to rest and change 
 horses. But during these hours something, we cannot 
 guess what, must have occurred to lessen Bathurst's 
 fears, as he dismissed the soldiers and ordered the 
 horses for nine o'clock. 
 
 As the clock struck the carriage came up to the 
 door. It was a dark night, and the oil lamp suspended 
 across the street cast but a feeble glimmer on the inn. 
 The postillion and the ostler, who carried a horn lantern, 
 were busy fastening the straps of the harness, for the 
 horses had been taken out of the carriage at the moment 
 of arrival and the vehicle left in the road. The secre- 
 tary, or courier, as he was supposed to be, was standing 
 in the doorway with the landlord, counting out the 
 money for the bill, and Bathurst was waiting till the 
 luggage was tied on behind. When all was ready he 
 went round to the horses' heads, to pat them, seemingly, 
 and the valet opened the carriage door for his master 
 to step in ; the landlord, anxious to wish the traveller 
 good speed and get back to his warm stove, stood 
 with his hat in his hand, while the secretary stamped 
 his freezing feet, and wondered what Bathurst could 
 be doing. 
 
 At length the waiting and the silence grew so un- 
 bearable that someone went round to see why Bathurst 
 did not get into the carriage ; but to his amazement 
 no Bathurst was there. When they had all assured 
 themselves that the man who they imagined to have 
 been standing within six feet of them had vanished 
 without a sound or a cry, they thought they must be 
 dreaming, but called loudly again and again. Call as 
 they might, no answer came out of the darkness. 
 
 ' He must have forgotten something,' suggested one 
 of the bystanders ; ' you will find him in his room, of 
 a surety.' But Bathurst was not in his room, and
 
 THE VANISHING OF BATHURST 41 
 
 where he was, or what had happened to him, no one 
 ever knew, and most likely no one ever will know ! 
 
 In the midst of the confusion the Jewish merchants 
 sent down a message that they wished to start at once, 
 and fresh horses were put in their carriage. Perhaps 
 jt might have been as well, considering how very mys- 
 terious the whole case was, if the inside of their carriage 
 had been searched ; but in the hurry nobody thought of 
 doing this, and, indeed, when afterwards the merchants 
 were examined, they proved themselves to be pros- 
 perous and respectable people, without any motive, 
 as far as can be seen, for desiring to make away with 
 Bathurst. 
 
 But the most curious part of the whole story is that 
 Bathurst, though in such mortal terror of his life, did 
 not confide to a single creature what it was that he 
 dreaded, beyond the fact that he expected to be seized 
 by the French ; nor, supposing this to be the case, why 
 he thought they would treat him so much worse than 
 any ordinary prisoner of war. 
 
 When they had sought Bathurst vainly about the 
 inn, it became clear to everyone that no time was 
 to be lost in making inquiries outside. 
 
 ' Perhaps,' observed the secretary, only half be- 
 lieving what he said, ' Mr. Bathurst may have gone 
 back to Captain Klitzing to beg for a guard to accom- 
 pany us to-night.' But the messenger sent brought 
 back an answer that he had not been to the captain's 
 rooms. The strange story, however, coupled with the 
 signs of deadly fear shown by Bathurst in the after- 
 noon, so startled Klitzing that, not content with 
 despatching soldiers on the heels of the messenger to 
 take possession of the carriage and its contents, he 
 hastened himself to the Swan Inn to question the land- 
 lord. While he was examining the men belonging to 
 the inn, and the room in which Bathurst had spent
 
 42 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 
 
 the day, without gaining the smallest information, a 
 chaise was being got ready. The moment it was brought 
 round he entered it with the secretary, placing the 
 valet on the box with a soldier. Then, leaving a guard 
 at the Swan, he drove off to an inn which was as far 
 as possible from the Swan, so as to prevent, as well as 
 he might, any communication being held between the 
 valet and secretary and the people of the Swan 
 till their innocence had been proved, and ordered 
 sentries to be sure that neither the secretary nor the 
 valet quitted their rooms. 
 
 By this time it w r as midnight, and nothing more could 
 be done, but early next morning the search was con- 
 tinued and every hiding-place about the town was 
 examined, as well as the woods and marshes outside 
 the walls, and the little river Stepnitz was dragged. 
 All in vain : not a sign of Bathurst could be discovered, 
 and when by noon everything had been done, Klitzing 
 mounted his horse and rode off to the neighbouring 
 town of Kyritz to take counsel with his colonel. After 
 discussing the matter fully, he proceeded straight to 
 Berlin, a long way from Kyritz, where he told his tale 
 to the government officials and police, and from them 
 received permission to do whatever was necessary to 
 find the missing man. 
 
 On Monday he was back again, and ready for a fresh 
 search. 
 
 In his first examination one thing and one only had 
 struck him as odd. Here was Bathurst starting on a 
 journey of several hours on a cold winter's night and 
 neglecting, according to the testimony of those who 
 saw him, to wear the warm fur coat in which he had 
 walked to Klitzing's house in the earlier part of the 
 day, and, what was moie curious still, the secretary 
 was without his travelling cloak also. He fancied, said 
 Krause, when questioned on this point, that both 
 garments must have been left at the post-house
 
 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 43 
 
 inside the gate, where they first stopped on entering 
 Perleberg. 
 
 This, however, Klitzing knew not to he the case, 
 as he himself had seen Bathurst in the sable coat some 
 hours later. Still, before quitting Perleberg on Sunday 
 he had informed the magistrate that this coat could not 
 be found and begged that a search should be made for 
 it, which was done quite fruitlessly. Everyone appears 
 to have taken for granted that when the coat was found 
 Bathurst was certain to be found inside it, and apart 
 from it no effort was made to trace him. Besides, 
 neither the police nor the burgomaster (or mayor) of 
 Perleberg would pay any heed to the authority which 
 Klitzing had obtained from Berlin, and they put all 
 sorts of hindrances in his way. So time was wasted, 
 and Bathurst's chances grew hourly less. 
 
 THE FINDING OF THE CLUES. 
 
 Still, whatever difficulties they may meet with, men 
 like Klitzing are not easily beaten, and three or four days 
 after the earth had swallowed up Bathurst the sable 
 coat was actually discovered, hidden behind a stack of 
 firewood in a cellar belonging to a family called Schmidt 
 the coat, but not Bathurst. The story told by the 
 woman Schmidt when asked how it had come into her 
 hands was a very lame one, and she was at once sent 
 to prison till further information could be got. Accord- 
 ing to Frau Schmidt she had found the coat in the post- 
 house, and had carried it away and given it to her scape- 
 grace son Augustus. What she was doing at the post- 
 house, who gave her leave to take the coat, and how she 
 was able to bring it home without its being recognised, 
 are questions no one seems to have thought of putting to 
 her ; but a woman came forward to say that she had seen 
 a strange man answering to the description of Bathurst 
 going down the lane where the Schmidts lived, so
 
 44 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 
 
 Augustus Schmidt the son was arrested and inquiries 
 made as to his movements. His story was as confused as 
 the other. His mother, he said, had been sent by the 
 strange man who had come to their house to buy powder 
 for his pistols, therefore he supposed he must have shot 
 himself. But in the orders for a close search of rivers 
 and canals issued by Klitzing on November 30 he re- 
 marks that he had discovered that Augustus Schmidt, 
 whom he had arrested, was not at home at nine o'clock 
 on the evening of November 25, the hour of Bathurst's 
 disappearance, and stated that it was the duty of the 
 authorities to look into the matter. This was really 
 what the authorities never did. They thought that 
 Klitzing was interfering in what did not concern him, 
 and Klitzing considered that they were stupid and 
 fussy. So for a fortnight they continued to drag the 
 ponds and to examine houses, and even to turn the river 
 Stepnitz into a new bed, but Schmidt and his mother 
 were merely condemned to two months' imprisonment 
 for stealing the fur coat, and then left alone. 
 
 Three weeks went by, and on the morning of Decem- 
 ber 16 two Perleberg women who were picking up sticks 
 in a wood (which had also been searched) outside the 
 gates, were surprised to see near the path a good pair of 
 trousers carefully turned inside out and laid out on the 
 ground as if to dry. They took them up and examined 
 them closety, and found that they were drenched through 
 and stained with earth. Two bullets had evidently 
 passed through them, although no blood was to be 
 noticed anywhere, and in the pocket of one trouser was 
 a paper with writing on it, and this was wet also. 
 
 Of course the wood-pickers, like everyone else in 
 Perleberg, had been greatly excited by the mystery of 
 Bathurst's disappearance, and at once guessed that the 
 trousers were his. Tying their faggots together and 
 rolling the trousers up in a bundle they went straight to
 
 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 45 
 
 the burgomaster, who on looking at the letter in the 
 pocket found it was from Bathurst to his wife. It was 
 in pencil and unfinished, so it could not have been one of 
 those which he had written in the afternoon of Novem- 
 ber 25 in the Swan Inn. It merely told her that owing 
 to the plots of the Comte d'Entraigues (once a French 
 spy in England) he felt certain he would be captured 
 before he could reach English soil, and entreated her not 
 to take a second husband should he never return. 
 Then the letter broke off abruptly, as if the writer had 
 been unexpectedly stopped as perhaps he was. 
 
 It was only now that the Bathurst family in England 
 were informed through Lord Wellesley of the young 
 envoy's disappearance, of which the Government had 
 just heard. A reward of 2000Z. was instantly offered 
 for his discovery, dead or alive, or even for intelligence 
 as to his fate, but this led to nothing, except a quantity 
 of contradictory stories. One account declared that he 
 had managed to get to the coast, and was drowned on his 
 way to Sweden ; another that his valet had murdered 
 him, and escaped afterwards in a boat down the Elbe 
 certain it is that after November 25 nothing was ever 
 heard of the man. 
 
 Then Mrs. Bathurst, wife of the envoy, went to seek 
 her husband in the spring of 1810, and, having entered 
 Germany from Sweden, obtained in Berlin a safe-conduct 
 from Napoleon. At Berlin she met Rontgen, who for 
 some months had been making a close search, by her 
 directions. From a lady living in Magdeburg he learned 
 that the governor of the city had informed her that the 
 English ambassador for whom everyone was hunting 
 was a captive in his charge. Upon this Mrs. Bathurst 
 hastened to the governor, but neither then nor later 
 would he admit the truth of the lady's statement, though 
 he acknowledged having made the remark to her. 
 
 ' What I said was a mistake,' was all that could be
 
 46 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 
 
 got out of him. ' I found afterwards that the real 
 name of the man was Louis Fritz, and that he was a 
 spy of Canning's, who had been captured by a band of 
 soldiers scouring the country.' 
 
 * Let me see Louis Fritz,' said Mrs. Bathurst. 
 ' He is gone to Spain.' 
 
 * Then let me see his wife.' 
 
 * She is gone with him,' and in despair Mrs. Bathurst 
 left him and returned to Paris. Here the Emperor gave 
 her leave to advertise for her husband in all the French 
 papers, which only increased her suspicions that he had 
 something to hide ; for in those days England, like the 
 rest of Europe, stood in such terror of Napoleon that 
 any story against him, however absurd, was held good 
 enough to believe. But no answer came to the advertise- 
 ments, and after six months' absence Mrs. Bathurst 
 returned to England, weary and disheartened. 
 
 Her first act on reaching London was to send Rontgen 
 to Canning, begging him to let her know if any pass- 
 port had been granted in the previous year (1809) 
 to a man named Louis Fritz. In reply, she received 
 a message that no person called Louis Fritz had 
 ever applied for a passport at the office. This 
 caused Mrs. Bathurst's spirits to revive, for if her 
 husband was alive in the fortress of Magdeburg she 
 might one day see him again. But an end was soon put 
 to her hopes. Very shortly a visit was paid her by 
 Comte d'Entraigues the very Comte d'Entraigues 
 mentioned in her husband's half-finished letter, the man 
 whom he feared would be his ill-doing and he abruptly 
 told her that she might put on widow's weeds as soon as 
 she liked, for her husband had died in Magdeburg. 
 
 Mrs. Bathurst heard him with alarm, but not with 
 entire faith, and asked him for proofs of her husband's 
 death and particulars as to how it had come about. 
 He answered that on leaving Perleberg, Bathurst had 
 been seized by some mounted soldiers and conveyed to
 
 THE VANISHING OF BATHURST 47 
 
 Magdeburg, and that the governor, having written for 
 orders to Fouche, chief of the French police, had re- 
 ceived instructions to put him out of the way. Still 
 Mrs. Bathurst did not feel satisfied, and declared that 
 his bare word was not enough for her. D'Entraigues 
 then offered to write in cipher to Paris and promised to 
 show her the reply, which the poor woman awaited 
 anxiously ; but at the very time when it was expected to 
 arrive he and his wife were suddenly murdered by a new 
 French servant, who then killed himself. This was 
 also considered to be the work of the French Govern- 
 ment, furious at their spy d'Entraigues having betrayed 
 them, though it will appear to any reasonable person 
 that with the many wars on his hands it was hardly 
 likely that Napoleon would take so much trouble over 
 what concerned one private individual. 
 
 As to Bathurst's condition of mind before he quitted 
 Vienna, his wife expressly remarks in a letter which tells 
 of her adventures, that * she does not deny that he was 
 in a state of excitement,' but we do not know the reasons 
 ho had for excitement, or what letters he had received 
 to warn him of danger. He was acting imprudently 
 by travelling in an enemy's country under a feigned 
 name. It seems that he suspected the king's messenger, 
 Krause (the secretary), because he found a bill for 500Z. 
 on him, and feared that after all the man might be 
 bribed to give him up. 
 
 For months and years the search continued, but not 
 a trace of Bathurst was ever found, though some 
 suspicious circumstances did come to light. In the 
 March after his disappearance, a friend writes from 
 Hamburg to Mrs. Bathurst stating that ' not the least 
 proof exists of his being deranged, murdered or detained 
 a prisoner,' adding that he ' knew from a witness ' that 
 the trousers had been placed near the path in the wood 
 on purpose, and also that while at Berlin Bathurst was
 
 48 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 
 
 warned that Krause was not to be trusted. Of course 
 this may have been intended, as his \\ile thought, to 
 induce him to discharge a man who was really faithful, 
 so as to leave the master at the mercy of his enemies 
 or it may have been true. Krause himself declared that 
 Bathurst had been standing about in the kitchen, while 
 the horses were brought from the post-house, warming 
 himself at the fire, constantly looking at his watch and 
 even pulling out his purse, in the midst of a crowd of 
 stablemen and postillions. Considering the terror which 
 possessed Bathurst, such conduct sounds very unlikely, 
 although the ostler, says Krause, who was present at the 
 time, also disappeared, and was never afterwards heard 
 of. 
 
 Six years later the search was opened afresh by Mr. 
 Underwood, a friend of the family, but with no greater 
 success than before ; and indeed it is curious how many 
 people from whom clues might have been obtained died 
 before they had a chance of giving their information. 
 Besides d'Entraigues, Mr. Rontgen had also expired 
 by the time Mr. Underwood reached Paris, but 
 Dr. Armstrong, another untiring seeker after the 
 unfortunate Bathurst, told Underwood that he had 
 visited Perleberg himself, and that everybody there 
 was quite convinced that Bathurst had been robbed 
 and murdered before he passed the walls, and that 
 the murderer was a man whom both himself and 
 Johnson had examined. 
 
 It is very disappointing that Underwood does not 
 say a word to inform us who the man was, but most people 
 will agree that the explanation is probably the right one. 
 Klitzing always held this view, and he knew more about 
 it than anyone. 
 
 But though the good Perlebergers were quite deter- 
 mined as to how and why Bathurst died, they were by 
 no means of one mind as to who killed him. Some 
 declared it was Augustus Schmidt, the possessor of the
 
 THE VANISHING OF BAT HURST 49 
 
 fur coat, others that it was one Hacker, a shoemaker 
 and keeper of a low tavern near the post-house ; but 
 whatever the talk, there was nothing to bring the crime 
 home to either of them. It was not till the year 1852 
 that a discovery was made which seemed really im- 
 portant, and it happened in this wise. 
 
 An old house near Perleberg, on the road to 
 Hamburg, was pulled down for repairs, and underneath 
 the kitchen a skeleton was found, stripped naked, and 
 with its skull fractured as if from the blow of an axe. 
 Of course there would have been nothing to connect this 
 skeleton with Bathurst but for the fact that the father 
 of the former owner, Mertens by name, had been a 
 servant at the Swan on the night of the fatal Novem- 
 ber 25. No suspicion had fallen on him at the time, 
 and indeed he was much thought of in the town, and it 
 does not appear to have been considered strange that 
 he was able to give his two daughters marriage portions 
 which were large for girls in their class. 
 
 A few months after the finding of the body Mrs. 
 Thistlethwaite, Bathurst's sister, came to Perleberg, and 
 was shown the skull of the newly discovered skeleton. 
 She positively denied that it could be the skull of her 
 brother, although it seems a difficult matter to swear to 
 after forty-three years. If she was right, then the story 
 remains as mysterious in its end as in the beginning, but 
 after reading the tale and considering the evidence, 
 most of us will share Captain Klitzing's opinion, and 
 believe that when Bathurst was standing in the dark 
 at the horses' heads he was struck dead from behind 
 and carried away silently to a safe place, where all his 
 valuables were taken from him. 
 
 Since the above story -was written, in August 1910, a skeleton 
 has been dug up near Perleberg which it was considered might be 
 that of Bathurst, though the reasons for this opinion were not very 
 clear. The discovery gave rise to a correspondence in which many 
 interesting particulars were disclosed, but none that really threw 
 any definite light on the matter. 
 
 A.S. E
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 IN 1769, the year in which Wellington and Napoleon 
 were born, the wife of a shopkeeper called Lavalette 
 had a little son in Paris. The parents were very proud 
 of him, and thought him a wonder, as parents often 
 do ; and, indeed, they were not so much mistaken as 
 they sometimes are, for he was a lively baby, and soon 
 began to take notice of what went on around him. As 
 he grew older, he was never so happy as when he had 
 a book in his hand, so his father thought it was quite 
 clear that he was intended to become a priest, and 
 saved every penny in order to give his son a good 
 education, while his mother dressed him like a little 
 abb6. 
 
 This was all very well when he was still a boy, but 
 as soon as he began to think for himself he made up his 
 mind that he did not want to be an abbe at all ; he 
 would rather be a lawyer, he said. So he began to go 
 to lectures and to read law books, till he was nearly 
 twenty, when the Revolution broke out, and the prison 
 of the Bastille was taken. Young Lavalette with a 
 band of his friends was present at that great sight, and 
 eagerly welcomed the captives who were released that 
 day, for a new France was born, he thought, and 
 everyone was to be free and happy. He enlisted 
 in the National Guard, which was to keep order and 
 prevent the nobles from oppressing the people ; but 
 by-and-by he found that the men who were now
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 51 
 
 governing Prance in the name of Liberty were quite as 
 tyrannical as those who governed it in the name of the 
 king, while nobody's life was safe if his neighbour 
 had a spite against him and denounced him as an 
 aristocrat or noble. 
 
 When he told his friends that all the bloodshed 
 which was going on filled him with horror they could 
 hardly believe their ears. ' What,' they cried, ' desert 
 the cause of the people, and throw in his lot with that 
 villain Louis Capet, once known as Louis XVI., and 
 his wife, the Austrian woman, who would have her 
 balls and amusements though her subjects paid for 
 them with their blood ? No, no ! there was an end to 
 
 all that, and let others take example lest ' But 
 
 Lavalette broke in impatiently, and said all that was 
 wild talk, and he was tired of hearing it. That what- 
 ever the kings before him might have done, Louis XVI. 
 had never hurt anybody, and the queen was a beautiful 
 woman, and he would be proud to die for her. And he 
 very nearly did, for he stood by the side of the Swiss 
 guards defending the royal family when the palace of 
 the Tuileries was attacked by the mob in 1792. 
 
 And Napoleon was sitting in the gardens with a 
 friend, and watched it all. 
 
 The taking of the Tuileries seemed to let loose all 
 the worst passions of the people, and after the horrors 
 of the September massacres Lavalette enlisted in a 
 regiment that was serving abroad, together with his 
 friend Bertrand and a few other comrades. Every large 
 town they passed through was in a state of wild excite- 
 ment, and, after many adventures, Lavalette was 
 thankful indeed to reach the place where his regiment 
 was stationed. He began at once to learn his 
 work, and to master every branch of it, and as men 
 who were energetic and capable came rapidly to the 
 front in those days, it was not long before he was made 
 
 E2
 
 52 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 a sergeant, while his colonel himself taught him how 
 to map out the countries they went through, and the 
 way to fortify a town or camp. 
 
 Soon he ceased to be a common soldier, and received 
 the rank of lieutenant. Like many young men, though 
 dauntlessly brave when actually fighting, it was a severe 
 trial to his courage to sit still on his horse amidst a 
 shower of bullets. ' I even sometimes caught myself 
 taking a circuit when I might have pushed straight- 
 forwards,' he says. He was horribly ashamed of him- 
 self on these occasions, and in the end got the better 
 of his fears. But, he adds, ' it was by no means the work 
 of a day. How often had I to turn back and take my 
 place in the thick of the fire ! But when I had stayed 
 there a good while I was pleased with myself, and what 
 can be nicer than that ? ' 
 
 Certainly, he must have got over all desire to run 
 away when Napoleon made him his aide-de-camp in 
 Italy after the battle of Arcole. Henceforth the General 
 always stood his friend, and when he was wounded, 
 went up to him and said before the whole army, 
 * Lavalette, you are a brave fellow, and when I write 
 the history of this campaign I will not forget you.' 
 
 The heart of Lavalette glowed. Was it possible for 
 any man to be a coward after that ? 
 
 No man ever lived with such a keen eye for the 
 characters of the men he came across as Napoleon, 
 and it was to this fact that he owed so much of his 
 success. Except when family pride misled him into 
 placing his brothers in positions for which they were 
 not fitted, he gave to every man the work he was best 
 able to do. He found Lavalette to be modest and con- 
 siderate of other people's feelings, quick to notice, and 
 capable of giving wise advice, besides being an excellent 
 soldier. So he was often sent on missions where a 
 pleasant manner and prudent words were necessary,
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 53 
 
 and where a blunt speech might spoil all the General's 
 deep-laid plans. Lavalette could always be trusted, 
 and at last Napoleon began to think he should like him 
 for a relation, as well as a friend. 
 
 Now, busy as he was, Napoleon was as fond of 
 arranging marriages as any old lady, and paid scanty 
 attention to the feelings of the two people concerned. 
 Just as the army was about to start for Egypt, the 
 General informed his aide-de-camp that he had found 
 the very wife for him, and the next morning they 
 should be introduced to each other. 
 
 ' A wife ? ' exclaimed Lavalette in dismay. * But 
 we are on the eve of a war ! And as likely as not I shall 
 be killed, and she will be left a widow.' 
 
 ' Well, if she is, she will be the widow of one of my 
 aides-de-camp, and have her pension and be received 
 everywhere. As it is, though she is pretty and charming 
 and clever, no one will have anything to say to her, 
 because she is the daughter of one of the emigrated 
 nobles who deserted France. Even Josephine, my 
 wife, can do nothing for her. Come, it is no use talking ! 
 Within a week you must be married, and there will be 
 just time for you to have a fortnight's holiday before 
 we sail.' 
 
 ' But the young lady ? ' asked Lavalette, who was 
 feeling quite bewildered. ' Not even for you, my General, 
 will I marry a girl who does not wish for me.' 
 
 ' Oh, that is all right. She must be tired of school 
 by this time, and will be only too glad to live at Fon- 
 tainebleau with her grandfather while you are away. 
 You won't be killed, I know, and in two years you will 
 be back a general yourself, perhaps.' 
 
 ' But who is she ? ' said Lavalette, who felt quite 
 helpless. 
 
 ' Didn't I tell you ? Mademoiselle Emilie de Beau- 
 harnais, daughter of the Marquis de Beauharnais, 
 brother-in-law of my wife. She is at present at school
 
 54 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 at Madame Campari's with my step-daughter Hortense. 
 We will drive you there ourselves and introduce you.' 
 
 It was a shy and awkward young man who fol- 
 lowed Napoleon, Josephine and her son Eugene Beau- 
 harnais into the garden at Madame Campan's. In 
 honour of the visit the girls had been given a holiday, 
 and somehow or other had guessed the reason. So 
 every window was crowded with heads, each one eager 
 to know if the choice was to fall upon her, while Lava- 
 lette, who managed to see a good deal without looking, 
 was wondering on his side which of them was his future 
 wife. At last Hortense Beauharnais stepped out of the 
 long drawing-room window, followed by a tall graceful 
 girl with a lovely complexion. Without taking any 
 notice of Lavalette, who stood a little apart, they 
 greeted Josephine and Napoleon, and then Eugene 
 proposed that they should have lunch on the grass. 
 This delighted the young people, and by the time they 
 had laid the cloth and set out the luncheon things 
 they had become quite friendly. 
 
 When coffee had been handed round by Eugene 
 they all got up, and Emilie de Beauharnais felt her 
 cousin's hand on her arm and was gently led into a 
 walk at some distance from the house. In a few minutes 
 they were joined by Lavalette, and with a bow and 
 smile Eugene left them together, and Lavalette 
 spoke. 
 
 ' You have heard, mademoiselle, of the flattering 
 proposal made me by your uncle the General. You 
 belong to the noblesse ; my father was a shopkeeper, 
 and I have nothing to offer you but my sword. Hardly 
 even myself,' he added, smiling, ' for in a fortnight I 
 must leave you, perhaps to go to my death. I feel that 
 I could love you with all my soul, but if you think you 
 cannot love me well, I will take care that the General 
 shall not visit his anger upon you ! ' 
 
 While he was speaking Emilie had been nervously
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 55 
 
 playing with some roses on a bush close by. When he 
 ceased she remained silent for a moment or two ; then 
 
 she broke off one of the roses and held it out to him. 
 This was almost more than he expected. Filled with
 
 56 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 joy, he stooped down and kissed her hand, then together 
 they went slowly back to the rest. 
 
 Eight days later they were married, not only in the 
 presence of the mayor, but secretly by a priest in the 
 chapel of a convent, for Emilie would be content with 
 nothing else. But Napoleon's promised holiday of a 
 fortnight dwindled into less than a week, as the army 
 was hastening to embark for Egypt. 
 
 During twelve years Lavalette followed the fortunes 
 of Napoleon, and his brilliant services both in battle 
 and on the various missions entrusted to him by the 
 Emperor earned for him the title of Count. Between 
 the various campaigns he returned joyfully to his wife, 
 or, whenever it was possible, she came to join him. 
 After the abdication of Napoleon in 1814 he, like 
 Marshal Ney and many other generals, swore allegiance 
 to Louis XVIII., but with the landing of the Emperor 
 from Elba all things were forgotten and Lavalette was 
 aide-de-camp once more. 
 
 After Waterloo, when all was lost, and Louis XVIII. 
 again entered Paris, a general pardon was offered to 
 those who had broken their vows and fought by the 
 side of Napoleon. There were, however, a few ex- 
 ceptions; one of these was Ney, and another was 
 Lavalette. 
 
 So little did the Count guess that his life was for- 
 feited that he made no effort to escape, as he might 
 easily have done. He remained quietly at home, and 
 was dining with his wife when he was arrested by the 
 police and taken to a temporary prison, where he was 
 kept for a week before his removal to the Conciergerie, 
 where Queen Marie Antoinette spent her last days. 
 Here for six weeks he saw no one but the turnkey, 
 and him only once in twenty-four hours ; he had no 
 books, and there was hardly light to have read them 
 had they been given him, though by straining his eyes
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 57 
 
 he contrived to make out his letters, which had, of 
 course, been opened by the officials. His wife tried 
 to keep up his spirits by writing that she was perfectly 
 well, but as he knew that she would never complain, 
 however ill she might be, he received little comfort 
 from her words. 
 
 As far as we can learn, his gaolers were kind, and 
 permitted their prisoner many small indulgences. He 
 was now and then allowed an interview with a friend, 
 provided the prison clerk was present. Occasionally 
 they let him see Marshal Ney, who was also confined 
 in the Conciergerie, and though Ney knew very well 
 that death awaited him shortly, he was very cheerful, 
 and passed his time in playing the flute. His friends and 
 fellow-prisoners listened eagerly for the notes which 
 told them the Marshal was still alive. One day in 
 November the flute was silent : Ney had gone to his 
 trial, and three weeks later was shot as a traitor to his 
 king. 
 
 In that same month of November Lavalette was 
 also brought before the court, and was sentenced to 
 die on the guillotine. His friends, some of whom were 
 in positions of trust about the king, did all in their 
 power to obtain a pardon, and high were their hopes 
 when Louis consented to receive Madame Lavalette, 
 whose father had, like himself, been an emigre. But 
 it all ended hi nothing, and Lavalette had only three 
 days left to live. 
 
 It was Tuesday night, and the Count said to his 
 gaoler, who was moving distractedly about the cell, 
 * It is usually on Friday, is it not, that the executions 
 take place ? ' 
 
 ' Some tunes on Thursday,' answered the man in a 
 low voice, looking away. 
 
 ' And the time is four in the afternoon ? ' asked 
 Lavalette again.
 
 58 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 4 Sometimes in the morning,' answered the gaoler, 
 opening the door quickly, so that nothing more might 
 be said. 
 
 And Lavalette understood. 
 
 In these last days his wife was allowed to come every 
 evening at six o'clock and dine with him. She had 
 suffered terribly during the last four months, but still 
 retained her old energy. When she was alone with her 
 husband she told him of a plan she had formed the 
 same as that employed by Lady Nithsdale a hundred 
 years before by which Lavalette was to escape dis- 
 guised as a woman. It was in vain that he assured her 
 it was absurd and impossible ; that the gaolers knew 
 him too well ; that the guards were too numerous, and 
 a thousand other things. 
 
 ' Well, if you are caught, you can only die once/ 
 she said ; ' but you won't be.' 
 
 The next night Madame Lavalette appeared in the 
 Conciergerie accompanied by her little girl, who was 
 then about thirteen, and the old nurse. The weather 
 was very cold, and the Countess had put on over her 
 dress a big loose cloak lined with fur, such as people 
 then called a ' pelisse,' and under it she carried a bag 
 containing a black silk petticoat. 
 
 ' You must put on these,' she said quicldy ; ' they 
 will disguise you completely. How fortunate you are 
 no taller than I am ! I should have liked to give you 
 a veil, but as I never wear one I am afraid. Here are 
 your gloves, and hold my handkerchief to your face 
 as if you were crying. Be sure you walk very slowly, 
 and don't forget to stoop your head when you come 
 to a doorway, for if you were to catch your feathers 
 and your bonnet was to be pulled awry you would be 
 discovered at once. 
 
 ' Of course the gaolers will be in the ante-room, 
 and remember that the turnkey always hands me out, 
 and to-day my sedan chair will be drawn up close to
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 59 
 
 the staircase. M. Baudus will be on the look-out for 
 you, and will take you to your hiding-place. 
 
 ' That is all, I think no, don't touch me ! If we 
 break down we are ruined ! ' 
 
 Pausing for a moment, the poor woman fought 
 fiercely with herself ; then she turned to her daughter, 
 whom she had sent out of ear-shot : ' Josephine,' she 
 said, ' I shall leave to-night at seven instead of eight. 
 Keep behind me as we go out the doors are so narrow ; 
 but when we get into the outer hall take care to be on 
 my left, and then the turnkey won't be able to hand me 
 out, which you know I hate. After we get outside the 
 grating and are going up the steps, come round to my 
 right, or else the soldiers will be peering under my 
 bonnet, as they are so fond of doing. Do you under- 
 stand ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I think so,' answered the girl, and then they 
 all sat down to dinner, and for an hour both husband 
 and wife sat in silence, almost choking with every 
 mouthful they tried to swallow. 
 
 At a quarter to seven Madame de Lavalette arose 
 and rung for her faithful valet, who was waiting out- 
 side. She hastily whispered something to him, and 
 added aloud : 
 
 ' Go and see if the chairmen are there. I am just 
 coming.' 
 
 As soon as the valet had left the room she drew 
 her husband behind a screen and began to dress him. 
 It did not take long ; then, calling her daughter, she 
 said to her : ' What do you think of your father ? ' 
 
 ' My father ? ' gasped the child, staring. 
 
 ' Yes, will he do ? ' 
 
 ' I think so : he isn't at all bad,' answered Josephine, 
 who was beginning to understand ; but she looked, very 
 frightened as she spoke. 
 
 Her mother took no notice, as the heavy footsteps
 
 60 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 of the gaoler were heard along the passage, and she 
 hastily sprung behind the screen, which shut off one 
 corner of the room. The door of the cell was unlocked, 
 and Lavalette, holding his handkerchief to his eyes, 
 and carefully bowing his head, walked out, followed by 
 Josephine and the nurse, and entered the hall which 
 was full of warders. Of course the little girl should have 
 been on his left side, but in her terror she became con- 
 fused and went round to her father's right. Full of 
 sympathy for Lavalette was a favourite hi the prison 
 the turnkey laid his hand on the lady's arm and said : 
 
 ' You are leaving early to-night, Madame.' But the 
 only answer was a deeper bowing of the shoulders and 
 a slower walk. 
 
 At last the end of the hall was reached, and here day 
 and night, sat a gaoler in a big armchair between two 
 doors, one with a grating through which he could see 
 everyone who came out of the prison, and the other 
 which led through a small court to the street. The 
 man stared hard at Lavalette ; not that he had any 
 suspicion, but because a wife who had bidden her 
 husband a last farewell was always interesting ; but he 
 did not unhook his two keys till Lavalette impatiently 
 shook the bars. Then he unlocked both doors, and the 
 prisoner was outside. But well he knew he was not 
 yet free. In front of the court was a guard-room con- 
 taining twenty soldiers, all as anxious as the gaoler to 
 see Madame Lavalette, and he had to go up twelve steps 
 under their eyes before he could get into the sedan chair 
 which was waiting for him. If he should stumble over 
 his dress, as he so easily might, nothing could save him. 
 
 By this time Josephine had remembered her mother's 
 directions, and was clinging to his right arm, so as to 
 put as much space as possible between him and the 
 soldiers. Together they mounted the steps where the 
 sedan chair was waiting, and, as if overcome with grief, 
 Lavalette flung himself into it, though he had noticed
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 61 
 
 to his horror that not a single chairman was in sight 
 and that a sentry was posted not six feet away. 
 
 A lifetime seemed to have passed, though in reality it 
 was not more than two or three minutes, before he heard 
 his valet's voice whispering that one of the bearers had 
 failed, and he had been obliged to search for another. 
 Then the chair was caught up and carried across the 
 court, Josephine and the nurse folio whig behind. Now 
 they were really out of the prison, and after turning one 
 or two corners the chair was set down, and the door 
 opened by Monsieur Baudus. 
 
 ' Madame,' he said, ' may I remind you that you 
 have an appointment with the President? You will 
 travel quicker in the cabriolet which is waiting for you.* 
 
 Lavalette took his hand and stepped out of the chair 
 and into the cabriolet, which stood a little further down 
 the dark narrow street. The horses started off at a 
 sharp trot, and Lavalette caught a glimpse of his 
 daughter on the pavement with her hands clasped in an 
 agony of fear for his safety, before she took his place in 
 the empty chair. Very soon, as Baudus well knew 
 would happen, the chair was overtaken by soldiers, who 
 had orders to bring back the escaped prisoner, but 
 finding only the child in it they allowed it to go on. 
 
 To Lavalette the drive appeared endless ; on they 
 went, down one street and up another, till he thought 
 every moment he should see the dawn, though it really 
 was not much past eight. At length, as they were 
 crossing a lonely square, Lavalette cautiously peered 
 out, and by the light of a flaming torch stuck upright 
 near a doorway he perceived that the driver was his 
 friend the Comte de Chassenon. 
 
 ' Is it you ? ' he asked in amazement. 
 
 ' Yes, it is I, and at your back are four good loaded 
 pistols, which I hope you will use in case of need. Woe 
 bs to the person who tries to stop us.'
 
 62 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 Then on they went as fast as ever, and on the way 
 Lavalette slipped off his woman's clothes and put on a 
 groom's livery, which he found under the seat, and a 
 laced hat. At the Boulevard Neuf the coach stopped 
 and Lavalette took out a white handkerchief, as he had 
 been told to do. At this signal Baudus appeared from 
 some dark corner and signed to him to follow. It was 
 pitch dark and rain was pouring, so it was easy to escape 
 detection, though more than once they heard police 
 gallop by, and guessed, perhaps wrongly, that they 
 were seeking for him. For an hour they walked, and in 
 crossing a muddy road Lavalette lost one of his shoes, 
 so that he was half dead with fatigue before Baudus 
 paused in front of a large house. 
 
 ' I am going in here,' he said, ' and while I am talking 
 to the porter, you slip into the courtyard and go up a 
 staircase you will find on the left. At the top is a dark 
 passage, and at the end of it a pile of firewood. Stand 
 behind it and wait ; you will be quite hidden,' and as he 
 spoke he turned and knocked at the door, which 
 Lavalette, to his surprise and horror, recognised as that 
 of his enemy the Due de Richelieu, Minister of Foreign 
 Affairs. 
 
 He was about to point out the danger when the gate 
 opened, and Monsieur Baudus entered. 
 
 ' Where is that man going ? ' cried the porter, as 
 Lavalette disappeared into the courtyard. 
 
 ' That ? Oh ! he is only my servant who is waiting 
 for me,' and while Baudus began to question the porter 
 as to some story he had invented about his master, 
 Lavalette had reached the top of the stairs. Here his 
 arm was taken, and he was pulled into a room and the 
 door locked behind him. 
 
 Giddy and bewildered with all that had happened 
 to him in the last three hours, the poor man was thank- 
 ful to sit down on a sofa and rest in the darkness. For 
 a time his mind seemed a blank ; he could think of
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 63 
 
 nothing, but with rest and quiet and the sense of safety 
 his reason gradually came back to him. 
 
 ' Ah, now I know why they brought me here,' he 
 said to himself . ' Of course it is the very last place they 
 would dream of seeking for me,' and in the duke's house 
 he stayed, carefully looked after by the wife of the 
 cashier, Madame Bresson, who sometimes stole in to give 
 him news of the outer world, and how Paris was rejoic- 
 ing at his escape. She even invented stories about the 
 kind way in which his wife had been treated, which were, 
 alas ! very far from the truth. 
 
 Had he guessed how she was really suffering he 
 would probably have left his hiding-place and have given 
 himself up, for Madame de Lavalette was at that very 
 moment undergoing terrible hardships. Her husband's 
 escape had very soon been discovered, for though she 
 had at once retreated behind the screen, and had made 
 the noise of a person moving about, the gaoler had paid 
 her two visits within five minutes of each other, and the 
 second time had pushed aside the screen. 
 
 At the sight of the lady he gave a loud cry. 
 
 * You have ruined me, madame ! ' he said, and was 
 rushing to give the alarm, when the Countess grasped 
 his coat with such violence that he left part of it in her 
 hands. 
 
 'The prisoner has escaped,' he shouted as he ran 
 through the passages, hastening to give instant news 
 to the prefect of police, who was responsible for his 
 safety. 
 
 Not a moment was lost in search parties being 
 organised and sent to every single place where he might 
 be expected to be hiding. Even the city gates were 
 closed, lest he should make for the country. All was, 
 however, vain, and the rage of the baffled prefect was 
 visited on the wife. She was removed to a cell which 
 formed part of the quarters of the worst and wickedest
 
 64 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 female prisoners ; letters were strictly forbidden her, so 
 that she could not tell if her sacrifice had borne fruit or 
 
 not, and her constant anxiety as to his fate, together 
 with the perpetual change of sentries, almost entirely 
 prevented her sleeping, so that little by little she fell
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 65 
 
 into a nervous state which finally ended in the loss of 
 her reason. 
 
 Unconscious of what was happening, Lavalette 
 entered with his whole heart into the plans of his friends 
 for his escape from France. Everything proposed had 
 some flaw, and was reluctantly rejected, and, strange to 
 say, it was through the English, whom Lavalette had 
 been taught to consider the enemies of his country, 
 that freedom finally came. 
 
 A brigade of British troops was at that time stationed 
 at Compiegne, not far from Paris, and Sir Robert Wilson, 
 a friend of the general in command, gladly undertook to 
 convey the fugitive out of France, with the help of 
 Captain Hutchinson of the Guards. The plan was that 
 Lavalette should be dressed in the uniform of a British 
 officer, and should drive with Wilson in an English 
 carriage beyond the barriers of Paris. At Compiegne 
 Sir Robert's own carriage would pick them up, and 
 together they would cross the frontier into Flanders. 
 A passport was obtained for Lavalette, under the name 
 of Colonel Losack, and as a young aide-de-camp of the 
 general at Compiegne was returning there, Wilson 
 begged him to find a hiding-place in the neighbourhood 
 where a man might be concealed if necessary for a few 
 hours. 
 
 As soon as it was dark Lavalette was taken to 
 Captain Hutchinson's rooms, little knowing that the 
 judge who had condemned him to death lived on the 
 floor above. Here he was joined by Sir Robert Wilson, 
 and by Bruce, one of the chief movers in the plot, who 
 made some final arrangements, and then left him to get 
 what sleep he could. It was not much, and at six he was 
 thankful to jump up and dress himself ; but a long hour 
 had still to pass before Sir Robert arrived in full uniform 
 and bade him take his place in Brace's cabriolet, while 
 
 A.S. F
 
 66 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 
 
 Hutchinson rode beside them in order to give his horse 
 to Lavalette, in case of danger. To add to his peril, 
 it was a lovely morning and the streets were full of 
 people, many of them pressing towards the Place de 
 Greve, where the guillotine was being set up. 
 
 At last they were at the barrier, and here they were 
 obliged to stop and show their passports. Lavalette 
 had of late years lived so much in Paris, being head of 
 the Post Office, that his face was very well known, and 
 Wilson advised him to sit well back in the carriage, while 
 he himself leaned forward and answered the questions 
 of the official. The soldiers took a good look at him, 
 but were obliged to present arms to the British general, 
 and with their heads thrown up and their muskets held 
 in front they could not be quite certain that the man 
 in the carriage was as much like Lavalette as they had at 
 first thought. So they drove on, and after some terrible 
 frights reached Compiegne safely. For some hours 
 Lavalette lay hidden in the place provided by the young 
 aide-de-camp, and at night Wilson's own carriage 
 arrived from Paris. Relays of post-horses had been 
 already engaged, so that they continued their journey 
 much quicker than before. They were just beginning 
 to breathe freely with the frontier in sight, when at 
 Cambrai the English guard refused to awaken the porter 
 who had the key of the gates, declaring they had had no 
 orders, and it was three hours before the party could 
 get through ; while at Valenciennes the guard was not 
 satisfied with the passports, and insisted on earning 
 them off for the commandant to examine in person. 
 Luckily, the morning was cold and the co.aniandant 
 lazy ; so he signed the passports in bed, instead of 
 coming himself to inspect the travellers. No further 
 objections were made, and hi a little whiJe the first 
 farmhouse in Belgium lay straight before them. 
 
 Then Sir Robert bade his friend farewell and returned 
 to Paris, which he had left only sixty hours before.
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUILLOTINE 67 
 
 After resting a little while in the Netherlands, 
 Lavalette went to Bavaria and lived for six years in a 
 tiny out-of-the-way village with a poor artist for his 
 companion. Would you like to know how they spent 
 their days ? They got up at six and worked till nine, 
 when they breakfasted. Then followed more work till 
 twelve, and again from two to five. At five Lavalette 
 read for two hours, and at seven walked with his friend 
 till supper time, after which they played chess till ten. 
 But though at that hour Lavalette bade the artist good- 
 night, he never went to bed till one o'clock. What was 
 the use ? He was too miserable to sleep, thinking of the 
 sacrifice that had been made for him by his wife, whose 
 state he now knew. 
 
 How great was his joy when after six years of exile 
 he received a pardon and was able after a while to have 
 his wife to live with him ! Here, visited frequently by his 
 daughter Josephine, who long since had been married, 
 Lavalette passed the rest of his existence, and the news 
 of his death in 1830 came as a surprise to a world which 
 had ceased to remember the man in whose adventures 
 it had once been so deeply interested. 
 
 F 2
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 EVERYBODY who has read the story of the great Civil 
 War in England will remember the fierce battle that 
 was fought outside Worcester in 1651, two years after 
 Charles I. had been executed at Whitehall. His son, 
 young Charles, was present, and showed that he cared 
 as little for his own life as any Stuart before or after 
 him ; but Cromwell's troops were better trained, and 
 their generals were more skilful, and in the end the 
 Royalists were forced to fly and Charles II. with them. 
 
 THE FIRST STAGE 
 
 There was not much time for the king to consider 
 where he should go, but he hastily called a few of his 
 nobles together, and asked their counsel. 
 
 ' From London I might get to The Hague,' said he, 
 and Lord Wilmot supported him, but the rest cried 
 out that it was madness, and he must take the north 
 road. So urgent were they that Charles gave way, and 
 choosing out a body of men whom he could trust, set 
 out for Kidderminster, only to find before they had gone 
 half the distance that their guide had lost his way, and 
 that at any moment they might fall into the hands of 
 the enemy, for Cromwell had a strong outpost stationed 
 at Stourbridge. Then there stepped forward a private 
 gentleman known as Mr. Charles Giffard. 
 
 ' My house of Boscobel lies not far off,' said he, ' and
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 69 
 
 the woods around it are thick and wide. More than 
 that, the woodmen who dwell in the forests are faithful, 
 and it was but the other day that my Lord Derby found 
 shelter there. Hiding-places and priests' holes there are 
 in plenty, and I will undertake that his Majesty shall 
 remain unsuspected for as long as he pleases. Once 
 through Stourbridge he is safe. This is my counsel.' 
 
 ' It is mine also,' added a voice, ' and mine,' ' and 
 mine,' and so it was agreed upon. 
 
 Midnight had struck from the church towers before 
 the little party crept softly past the lines of the enemy. 
 Not a horse neighed, not a man stirred in his sleep, and 
 when the fugitives stood on a bend of the road out of 
 sight of the camp their spirits began to rise and they 
 breathed more freely. 
 
 'A king's man lives in that cottage yonder,' whis- 
 pered a stout fellow r with long flowing hair ; ' I know him 
 well, and dare swear that he will give us what food he has 
 in the house.' 
 
 ' You speak wisely,' said Mr. Giffard, ' but we must 
 not tarry long, for we must bring the king to my manor 
 of Whiteladies ere the dawn breaks. Therefore hasten.' 
 
 Long seemed the minutes before the messenger 
 returned, but at length he was back, bearing with him 
 some cold meat and half a cheese. 
 
 ' Your Majesty must eat as we go along,' said Mr. 
 Giffard, and the king took out his clasp knife and cut a 
 huge chunk off the cheese, vowing as he did so that it 
 was the best cheese which English churn had ever 
 produced, and that when he came to his own again he 
 would not forget the churner. 
 
 In this way they pushed on till the faint light of 
 dawn showed them some stacks of chimneys, which Mr. 
 Giffard assured them belonged to Whiteladies. 
 
 ' Thank God you are here,' cried their guide, kneeling 
 to hold the king's stirrup as he dismounted and entered 
 the doorway ; then, lest some curious person should be
 
 70 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 spying about, the horse was led in afterwards and 
 stabled in the hall. 
 
 THE OAK TREE 
 
 But as Giffard very well knew, Charles could not re- 
 main for many hours at Whiteladies, which was much 
 nearer the high-road than Boscobel,andwasoften visited 
 by travellers who had missed their way, or were hungry 
 and tired. So about noon Giffard wakened the king 
 from the deep sleep in which he had fallen, and taking 
 off his buff coat and the ribbon of the Order of the 
 Garter that he wore across it, representing St. George 
 killing the dragon, put on him a leathern jacket and 
 coarse breeches belonging to one of the Penderels, 
 a family of five brothers, tenants and loyal friends of all 
 the Giffards. Then Charles bade farewell to the followers 
 who had fled with him from Worcester, and leaving them 
 ' with sad hearts but hearty prayers,' he was let out of 
 Whiteladies by a back door, and accompanied only by 
 Lord Wilmot and William and Richard Penderel, 
 plunged into a wood known as the Spring Coppice. 
 Here he parted from Wilmot, who was guided by John 
 Penderel to the house of a Mr. Huntbach, where he was 
 to lie hidden till it was safe for him to ride to a shelter 
 that had been found elsewhere. While Penderel was 
 cautiously making inquiries of the men whom he met 
 he came across a Roman Catholic priest called Hodleston, 
 chaplain to Mr. Whitgrea ve of Moseley Hall, near Wol ver- 
 hampton, and informed him of the battle and of the 
 plight of Lord Wilmot, who had fled with the king. In 
 Whitgreave's name, Hodleston promised him an 
 asylum, and it was settled that Wilmot should arrive at 
 Moseley Hall at midnight. 
 
 King though he was, Charles was by no means so 
 fortunate. Cold rain poured down on him even through 
 the thick leaves of the trees, and he dared not stand up,
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KINO 71 
 
 lest he should be seen by Cromwell's soldiers, whose 
 shouts and clattering swords he could faintly hear. 
 Thankful indeed was he when Richard Penderel appeared 
 with a thick dark blanket on which he could lie, followed 
 by his sister with some eggs, butter, and milk she had 
 beaten up together. After he had taken this he felt 
 more cheerful, and ready to look on the bright side, for 
 though he was only twenty-one he had suffered hard- 
 ships of all sorts, and now and always he was ready to 
 make light of them. 
 
 At nightfall, Charles, wet and hungry, saw with 
 relief Richard Penderel approaching. The brothers had 
 left him alone all these hours, and had shown themselves 
 to the neighbours from time to time, in order that no 
 one might suspect that they had any hand in the king's 
 escape, for they were well known to be Royalists. Now 
 it was safe for Charles to quit the damp wood, so Richard 
 went to fetch him, and brought him to his own house of 
 Hobbal Grange, where he had supper, and put on some 
 dry clothes belonging to his host. Then they set out 
 for a walk of seven miles, hoping to find shelter with 
 Mr. Wolfe, who lived at Madeley, near the Severn, with 
 the design of putting Charles under the care of the 
 loyal Welsh until he could escape to France. On the 
 way they were more than once heartily frightened, and 
 great was their dismay when Mr. Wolfe refused to take 
 them in. ' You may be escaped Royalists, as you say 
 you are,' was his answer, ' but while my son remains a 
 prisoner at Shrewsbury I can do nothing which will 
 draw down the wrath of Cromwell on his head. No 
 man, Royalist though he be, shall shelter here, save 
 only the king.' 
 
 ' It is the king,' said Penderel, and Wolfe slowly sank 
 on his knees and kissed his Majesty's hand. 
 
 ' Pardon me, sire,' he whispered, glancing round him 
 as he spoke, ' but all my hiding-places are known to the
 
 72 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 rebels, and should they come along this road they 
 would not pass them without a visit. But in my bam 
 they will not look, and clean straw does not make bad 
 lying, as every soldier knows.' And the king sank 
 down joyfully on the heap of straw, while Wolfe piled 
 more over him as a coverlet. It was his third refuge 
 already, and forty-eight hours had not yet passed since 
 the battle of Worcester was fought ! 
 
 Early in the morning of September 5 young Wolfe, 
 suddenly released from his prison, appeared at Madeley, 
 bringing with him the news that the bridges and fords 
 over the Severn had been seized and the boats watched. 
 The plan of escape into Wales must clearly be aban- 
 doned, and by Penderel's advice Charles agreed to return 
 at night to Boscobel, taking Trusty Dick, as Richard 
 was afterwards called, as his guide. But Dame Wolfe 
 refused to let him go till she had stained his face and 
 hands with walnut juice, though one would have thought 
 he could hardly be blacker than he was already. 
 
 The night was very dark, and it was needful even 
 for Penderel to go slowly, and sometimes they had to 
 wait and listen till an alarm, real or fancied, was over. 
 Once they had to cross a stream, and now Charles, who 
 was a good swimmer, gave his guide a lead. A little 
 later they reached the cottage of John Penderel the 
 woodman, who told them that Lord Wilmot was in 
 hiding still at Moseley Hall, and that Major Carlis had 
 managed to evade his pursuers after the battle, and, not 
 daring to go to his own house in the neighbourhood, 
 was lurking somewhere in Boscobel wood. ' He does 
 wisely,' said Penderel, 'and it will be well if your 
 Majesty follows his example.' 
 
 * Then bring him to me that at least we may conceal 
 -ourselves in company,' answered Charles, and when 
 Carlis had been found and food had been given them, 
 they climbed into a thick oak from which they could 
 get peeps at Boscobel itself. The king was really not
 
 CH-71RLE.S H IN TttE OJIK
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 75 
 
 at all uncomfortable, for the bough was wide, and he 
 lay most of the day with his head on a cushion which 
 was placed on the major's lap. How the major enjoyed 
 the situation we do not know, but the scouts who 
 passed from time to time under the tree never guessed 
 at their presence, and by evening all was clear again, 
 and they were able to come down and enter Boscobel 
 House without fear of capture. Charles spent the 
 night in a ' priest's hole,' or cupboard, off the chimney, 
 so small that a tall man such as he was forced to double 
 himself up ; but like many soldiers he could sleep any- 
 where, and the knowledge that the five Penderels were 
 watching outside no doubt helped his slumbers. 
 
 ' Whiteladies had been searched, but there was no 
 further thought of Boscobel,' was the report they gave, 
 so he passed a quiet day reading in the garden, ready at 
 the first alarm to run into his hiding-place. 
 
 THE RIDE TO ABBOT'S LEIGH 
 
 That afternoon brought news indeed. As the king 
 knew, Mistress Jane Lane, the young sister of the loyal 
 Colonel Lane of Bentley Hall, not far from Boscobel, 
 was intending to set out on the long ride to Bristol, in 
 order to visit her friend Mrs. Norton at the little village 
 of Abbot's Leigh, on the other side of the Avon. Most 
 girls would have hesitated at undertaking such an 
 expedition through the very seat of war, and most elder 
 brothers would have put a stop to it ; but Mistress Jane 
 was both brave and headstrong, and declared she was 
 well able to look after herself. She had a passport, 
 and was allowed a man to protect her, and that was all 
 she wanted. 
 
 Now it had been arranged that this attendant should 
 be Lord Wilmot in disguise ; but suddenly John Penderel 
 came forward with the proposal that the king, and not 
 Wilmot, should accompany the lady, and once at Bristol,
 
 76 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 a ship could easily be found which would convey him 
 to France or Spain. But as there were signs that, in 
 spite of all care, suspicions were falling on Boscobel, 
 Charles was to go to Moseley without delay, and meet 
 Wilmot. A horse was brought from Humphrey Pen- 
 derel's mill, and with the five brothers and their brother- 
 in-law to guard him, the little party set out, each man 
 being armed with a bill, which was a long pole with a 
 knife at the end, a pike and a pistol. 
 
 The ground was uneven and the night dark, and 
 even the sharp eyes of the horse could scarcely see 
 where to plant his feet. 
 
 ' Odd's fish, friend Penderel, thy steed goes but 
 roughly,' said the king, when a stumble had more than 
 once nearly jolted him out of the saddle. 
 
 ' Can your Majesty blame him ? ' answered the 
 miller, who had the quickness of tongue that ever pleased 
 Charles ; ' can your Majesty blame him when he has 
 the weight of three kingdoms on his back ? ' And 
 Charles laughed and made no more complaints of the 
 paces of his horse, with which, indeed, he had to part 
 before they had gone much further. A wet walk of 
 three miles brought him to Moseley Hall, where he 
 lay for two days, most of which he spent in a little 
 room over the porch commanding the road from 
 Wolverhampton, now crowded with fugitives from 
 Worcester. Once a party of Cromwell's soldiers 
 actually visited the house, but were soon convinced 
 by the owner's calm manner of receiving them that they 
 were on the wrong track and went quietly away. 
 
 That night the king set out for Bentley Hall, as 
 Mistress Jane Lane was to start on her journey early 
 next morning. However, before he left he wrote 
 various letters to friends in London, commending to 
 their care the ' honourable gentleman Mr. Whitgreave 
 of Moseley and his lady mother,' who had risked their 
 lives in his cause. But he never knew that Wilmot,
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 77 
 
 who remained behind, had forced his host 'to promise 
 that should the king have been traced to the Hall, he 
 should be allowed to personate him, and go to prison 
 or the scaffold in his stead. 
 
 On September 10, about six o'clock, a black-haired 
 man in a suit of rough grey cloth, and holding his hat 
 in his hand, rode up to the front door of Bentley Hall, 
 where Mistress Jane in a riding-coat and broad-feathered 
 hat was awaiting him. The colonel had spent fully 
 an hour in the stables, teaching Charles the duties of a 
 lady's servant, but, in spite of his instructions, the king 
 held out the wrong hand to the young lady when 
 helping her to mount the pillion or double saddle, where 
 she had to sit behind him, holding fast by his leather 
 belt. The king, or ' William Jackson ' as he was now 
 called, was delighted at the thought of the many 
 adventures that would fall to their share, and was 
 quite convinced that he and his companions for Mr. 
 Lascelles, Colonel Lane's cousin, was one of the party 
 would come safely through them. And truly they 
 began soon enough. For scarcely two hours after they 
 had quitted Bentley Hall the horse cast a shoe, and 
 they had to stop at the nearest forge in order to get a 
 new one. Here the king enjoyed himself mightily hi a 
 gossip with the blacksmith over the search for ' that 
 rogue Charles Stuart,' and departed declaring loudly 
 that ' the villain richly deserved hanging.' Near 
 Stratford they rode quietly through a troop of cavalry 
 which ha'd called a halt, and when they stopped for the 
 night in the village of Long Marston, Charles went down 
 to the kitchen to eat his supper. To his surprise, the 
 cook made him wind up the jack that hung before 
 the fire, a thing which he had never seen before, and 
 scolded him soundly for his awkwardness. But the 
 king was never at a loss for an answer, and only shook 
 his head stupidly. 
 
 ' My father is a poor tenant of Colonel Lane in
 
 78 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 Staffordshire,' he said, ' and seldom enough do we taste 
 meat. When we do, the joint is so small that little need 
 have we for a jack.' And hearing this the cook, who 
 was kindhearted, cut him an extra slice. 
 
 Two days' hard riding brought them to Bristol, 
 where they crossed the Avon by a bridge in the town 
 
 and passed through some green meadows to the foot of 
 the wooded cliffs through which the river runs. 
 
 Trusting implicitly the loyalty of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Norton of Abbot's Leigh, it had been agreed on by 
 Colonel Lane and his sister that so dangerous a secret 
 had better be told to nobody, so Mistress Jane merely 
 begged her friends to allow Pope, the butler, to see after
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 79 
 
 the comfort of her servant, who was just recovering 
 from a severe illness. Charles was therefore given a 
 room to himself, but next morning, when he sat down 
 to breakfast with the rest, and the talk turned on the 
 battle of Worcester, fought just ten days ago, he 
 began to get rather uncomfortable. ' Why, I was in 
 his Majesty's own regiment,' said a man newly come 
 to help in the stable, ' and I saw the king as plainly 
 as I see you. A dark gentleman, not so unlike Will 
 Jackson there, but a good three fingers taller.' All 
 turned and stared at Will Jackson, who gave a sheepish 
 grin and had the presence of mind to keep his seat. 
 At the first opportunity, however, he rose and quitted 
 the room, though not before Pope, the butler, who 
 some years previously had served in his household, felt 
 sure that he recognised him. As soon as he could get 
 away, Pope contrived to see Mistress Lane, and informed 
 her that he was certain that Will Jackson was the king 
 himself, and swore that he would die for him. Then, 
 by the advice of Mr. Lascelles and Mistress Jane, Charles 
 sent for Pope and entrusted him with the secret, and 
 while he stayed in the neighbourhood the king had no 
 wiser counsellor than he. 
 
 THE WANDERINGS OP THE KING 
 
 But no vessel was to be found at Bristol which would 
 take Charles where he wished to go, so another month 
 was spent in wandering in disguise from one loyalist 
 house to another, till at length all seemed 
 clearly arranged for him to take ship for France 
 at a little place not far from Lyme Regis. Rooms 
 were taken at the inn for a runaway couple from Devon- 
 shire and their attendants, and thither on the night of 
 September 22 came Charles, riding pillion with Juliana 
 Coningsby, and escorted by his host, Colonel Wyndham. 
 
 Hour after hour slipped by, and the signal for the
 
 80 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 party to go down to the shore was never heard. In 
 vain Wyndham and his servant watched on the beach 
 for the first sign of the boat, and little knew that the 
 captain's wife, guessing something of the truth, had 
 locked her husband up in his room, fearing lest he should 
 bring trouble on the family. When the prison3r was 
 let out the moment for escape was past. 
 
 For several days the king moved up and down the 
 country, running terrible risks from people who declared 
 that they were sure they knew his face. His father or 
 his brother would have betrayed themselves a hundred 
 times over, but Charles's wits were quick, and he always 
 had an answer ready, and more than once cooked his 
 own food in his hiding-place, so as to prevent the 
 servants finding out his presence in the house. 
 
 At length it became clear to all that it was not the 
 West country which would provide a boat to carry the 
 king across the water, but that he must try some of 
 the little bays on the Sussex coast, so much favoured by 
 smugglers. It was on October 6 that he left Trent 
 and Colonel Wyndham for the second time, and started 
 eastwards for Salisbury with Colonel Phelips of Monta- 
 cute. Here again he was at once recognised by his 
 hostess, Mrs. Hyde, and advised by her to pretend to 
 depart early in the morning, only coming back at night 
 ' to a very safe place.' This seemed to the king good 
 counsel, and at dawn he and Colonel Phelips rode off 
 to Stonehenge, where Charles counted the great stones 
 twice over, and made the same number each time, 
 which has been held to be impossible. After sunset 
 he returned to the hiding-hole, as Mrs. Hyde bade him, 
 ' and stayed there all alone, very convenient and safe, 
 for four or five days,' when with two or three faithful 
 friends he took the road to Shoreham, where a ship had 
 been hired to take him to France. 
 
 As usual, adventures by the way were not lacking, 
 and Charles played his part with his usual zest, even
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 81 
 
 reproving his host for rapping out an oath when the 
 squire, looking at his short hair and plain, common 
 clothes, asked suspiciously if he were not ' some round- 
 headed rogue's son,' but was assured by one of the 
 gentlemen present that he would stand surety for honest 
 Will Jackson. 
 
 Deliverance seemed very near now, and a long day's 
 ride brought them to Brighthelm stone (or Brighton) 
 on October 15. Here they met Mansel, the merchant 
 who had hired the barque, destined, he had been told, 
 for ' a person of quality.' With Mansel was Tattersal, 
 the captain of the ship, who, says the king, ' looked 
 very much upon me,' and after supper informed the 
 merchant that ' he had not been clear with him, for he 
 was the king, and he very well knew him to be so.' 
 This statement much surprised Mansel, who declared 
 the captain to be wrong, but the captain shook his 
 head, and repeated his words, adding, ' he took my 
 ship together with other fishing vessels at Brighthelm- 
 stone in 1648. But be not troubled at it, for by the 
 grace of God I will venture my life and all for him, and 
 set him safely on shore, if I can, in France.' 
 
 Leaving the captain, the merchant brought this 
 wonderful tale to the king, who confessed that it was 
 true. But though Charles trusted Tattersal, he did not 
 trust his wife, who lived in the town, and, remembering 
 what had happened at Charmouth, he kept the captain 
 with him in the inn, drinking beer and smoking tobacco. 
 
 At four next morning, but not before he had been 
 recognised by the master of the inn who fortunately 
 'proved very honest,' the king and Lord Wilmot 
 climbed up a ladder into the vessel's side and went 
 straight to the cabin. Here Tattersal entered, and at 
 once fell on his knees and repeated the oath he had 
 sworn to Mansel, but, though relieved from fear of 
 betrayal by him, Charles must have spent some anxious 
 hours, till at seven o'clock the tide was high enough to-
 
 82 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 
 
 enable the little ship of sixty tons burden, with a crew 
 of four men and a boy, to spread her sails. For prudence 
 sake, the captain steered at first in a contrary direction, 
 but at five o'clock he made straight for the French 
 coast. A last and quite unfounded alarm drove the 
 king and Wilmot to land in a cockboat at Fecamp in 
 Normandy, whence they proceeded to Rouen, in order 
 to provide themselves with clothes. Then hi a hired 
 coach Charles took the road to Paris, and outside the 
 gates he met his mother, after a parting of seven years.
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 I DARESAY some of you have learned a poem beginning 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey, 
 My right there is none to dispute, 
 From the centre all round to the sea 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 
 When I was a little girl every child could say it, and 
 we were all told that it was written about the real 
 Robinson Crusoe, whose story you are going to read. 
 
 In the reign of Charles II. a family called Selcraig, 
 or Selkirk, lived in the fishing village of Largo, on the 
 coast of Fife. John Selkirk was a shoemaker, who did 
 a good trade and brought up his children very strictly ; 
 so strictly, indeed, that their mother was sorry for 
 them, and gave them many little treats to take the taste 
 of punishment out of their mouths ! Her favourite 
 amongst them was Alexander, the youngest, and as in 
 those days it was always thought that the seventh son 
 was bound to turn out a wonderful man, she took par- 
 ticular care that he learned all ths schoolmaster could 
 teach him. This was, to be sure, nothing more than 
 reading, writing and arithmetic, while from the sailors 
 in the little harbour he picked up the art of sailing a 
 ship, and told his mother that as soon as he could get a 
 captain to engage him he meant to go to sea. 
 
 His mother, who had never in his life said no to him, 
 was quite willing, though she felt it would break her 
 heart to part with him, especially as her other six sons 
 
 G2
 
 84 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 had left home and were working elsewhere. Old Selkirk, 
 however, grew very angry at the bare notion of such a 
 thing. 
 
 ' Alexander,' he declared, ' should stay at home and 
 be a shoemaker like himself ' ; and stay at home he had 
 to, and sit hammering away at the soles of boots while 
 his mind was out upon the sea. 
 
 Thus matters went on till the year 1695, when the boy 
 was nineteen, and then an event happened which, 
 though very trifling in itself, changed his whole life. 
 In those days the Scotch services were very long, and 
 the sermons full of things which no one could really 
 understand, least of all village boys and girls. Sunday, 
 or ' the Sabbath,' was a day of terrible gloom ; to speak 
 of anything except religion was considered a sin ; to 
 laugh was almost a crime, and time was hardly allowed 
 for a little food after the morning service before they 
 were all back in church for the afternoon preaching. 
 
 It was on one of these long dreary Sundays that 
 Alexander was sitting with his father under the pulpit, 
 wondering how much time had already gone by, and if 
 he could get away from his work the following evening 
 early enough to go out with the boats. He was so still, 
 that his father, who had often been vexed at his fidgets, 
 began to think that his son really was grow ing serious at 
 last, when suddenly the good man nearly jumped from 
 his seat at the sound of a laugh beside him. Every 
 head in the church turned and looked at Alexander ; 
 even the minister paused in his sermon, never guessing 
 that it was something he had said which had amused the 
 boy. Alexander tried hard to check himself, but the 
 more shocked grew the congregation the more loudly he 
 laughed, till his father, speechless with indignation, 
 dragged him, still laughing, out of church. 
 
 What occurred when they got home I cannot tell 
 you, but the next morning a notice was put upon the
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 85 
 
 door summoning ' Alexander Selkirk, son of John 
 Selkirk, elder, to answer for indecent conduct in church.' 
 This was more than the young man could bear, and 
 by midnight he was on board a fast ship out in the open 
 sea. All the same, the assembly was held, and as 
 Alexander did not answer to his name it was entered 
 in the parish records that his punishment would be held 
 over till his return. 
 
 When this return took place six years had passed by. 
 Alexander was now twenty-five, and had, it was 
 whispered, taken service with the pirates who were at 
 that time the terror of the southern seas. Whether 
 this w r as true or not, the elders of the church thought it 
 prudent to let bygones be bygones, and not to bring up 
 the subject of Alexander's ' indecent conduct.' They 
 ' made no doubt that he had mended his ways,' as 
 one grave old man observed to another, 6 and no more 
 should be said about it,' when conduct still more ' inde- 
 cent ' forced them out of their calm, and the whole 
 of the Selkirk family then in Largo had to appear before 
 the minister and the elders of the parish in November 
 1701. 
 
 ' Disagreement together ' was the cause of the notice, 
 and it seemed that the young pirate found life at the shoe- 
 maker's dull, and was always ready to pick a quarrel with 
 anyone who gave him a chance. This time his idiot 
 brother, Andrew, had contrived to make him take a 
 large drink out of a can of salt water, whereupon 
 Alexander, angered by his laughter, set to and beat him ; 
 the rest, hearing Andrew's cries rushed to his rescue, 
 and there was a general fight. 
 
 After a careful inquiry, sentence was pronounced, and 
 it was the most awful that the kirk session (for so the 
 assembly was called) could inflict. Accordingly, strange 
 as it appears in a man of his sort, on the following Sunday 
 Alexander, mounted on a high stool, facing the whole
 
 86 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 congregation, was rebuked publicly ' for his scandalous 
 carriage,' and bidden to leave the church. We may be 
 sure that the building was crowded that day, for it 
 was a sight no man would willingly lose. Why he did 
 not run away this time as he had done the last we do 
 not know, unless he thought it would not be easy to 
 find a ship so late in the year. In any case he stayed at 
 home till the spring, when he travelled to London, and 
 soon after took service with the celebrated pirate 
 Dampier, who was starting for South American waters. 
 
 At that period these pirates, or buccaneers, as they 
 preferred being called, constituted a greater danger to 
 peaceful vessels carrying merchandise from one country 
 to another than either tempests or sunken rocks. The 
 ships were the property of private people, and put to 
 sea from English or French ports, with the knowledge 
 and even protection of their governments, in order to 
 seize the Spanish galleons coming back from America 
 laden with gold. The wild life full of adventure proved 
 very fascinating to most young men, but if the expected 
 harvest turned out barren, the crews of the privateers 
 did not scruple to fill their pockets by plundering the 
 Spanish settlements on shore. 
 
 Among all the buccaneering captains none was better 
 known than Dampier, when in 1702 he enlisted Alexander 
 Selkirk among his crew. His two swift little ships, the 
 St. George, commanded by himself, and the Fame by 
 Pulling, were fitted out by some merchants and carried 
 twenty-six guns each. On this occasion it was not only 
 the Spaniards whom Dampier was at liberty to attack, 
 but as we were then at war with France, Queen Anne's 
 husband Prince George, the Lord High Admiral of 
 England, gave them permission to capture the French 
 vessels also. 
 
 The St. George and the Fame were already lying off the 
 Downs when a quarrel broke out between Dampier and
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 87 
 
 Pulling, who sailed off in a rage and was never heard of 
 after. So Dampier was forced to wait for another 
 vessel, and it w r as not till September 1703 that the 
 St. George and the Cinque Ports found themselves in the 
 Atlantic. They headed straight for Brazil, where they 
 stopped for repairs and to take fresh provisions on board, 
 and here violent quarrels broke out between Dampier 
 and his men, which so disgusted Selkirk that he deter- 
 mined to leave the ship at the earliest opportunity. 
 However nothing could be done at that moment, and the 
 two vessels proceeded on their way, till a tremendous 
 storm off Cape Horn drove them asunder, not to meet 
 again till they cast anchor, in February 1704, in the 
 harbour of Juan Fernandez. 
 
 This, the real Robinson Crusoe's island, lies out in the 
 Pacific Ocean, 400 miles due west from the coast of 
 Chili. It is twelve miles long by six broad, and a ridge 
 of lofty mountains crosses it. Under the high rocks are 
 deep bays full of curious fish, while on the sandy beaches 
 seals may be seen in hundreds stretched out in the sun. 
 Slender cabbage palms often a hundred feet high, with 
 their crown of leaves springing right at the top, were 
 found in plenty. The fruit or ' cabbage ' was cut out 
 from these top branches, and very good the pirates 
 thought it. And should they be thirsty after a long 
 walk, countless streams tumbled down the sides of the 
 mountains and through the woods. 
 
 Such was the pleasant place where the Scotch shoe- 
 maker's son was destined to spend more than four years 
 alone. But it was not till eight months later that 
 Selkirk took up his abode on the island. The interval 
 was spent in chasing ships up and down both coasts of 
 South America, sometimes catching a great prize, some- 
 times finding that it had just escaped them. During 
 these voyages Selkirk left the St. George and joined the 
 Cinque Ports, which in May parted company for ever 
 with its companion, and four months after put into Juan
 
 88 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 Fernandez in order to provision itself and to pick up two 
 men who had been left behind during its former visit, 
 
 when it had sailed off hurriedly in chase of a French 
 cruiser. 
 
 The ship brought away two men, but it left one ; for 
 Selkirk, wearied to death of the life he had been leading,
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 89 
 
 and the perpetual quarrels among the crew, suddenly 
 envied the two castaways who came on board looking 
 healthy and happy, without giving himself time to re- 
 member that to be entirely alone from morning till night, 
 never speaking for there was no one to hear you 
 never asking a question for who was there to reply ? 
 was a very different thing from having a companion to 
 talk and laugh with you. Selkirk did not think of this ; 
 he was always used to live in a crowd, and did not know 
 what a dreadful thing solitude could become. 
 
 So he w r ent gaily to the captain, and asked permis- 
 sion to be put on shore. Stradling made no objection, 
 and a boat was got ready and filled with his possessions. 
 Among them were his clothes and bedding, some in- 
 struments necessary to seamanship, a gun, some bullets 
 and a little powder, a knife, a kettle, a hatchet, a Bible, 
 and a few other books, together with some flint and steel 
 to kindle a fire. When they touched the beach the 
 things were put out, they then bade him good-bye, and 
 the boat was pushed off. It was only when they were 
 well away that he understood what he was doing. 
 Rushing out into the sea, he implored them to take him 
 with them, but the captain laughed, and shouted that 
 he had made his bed and now must lie on it. 
 
 Not for some days could Selkirk really believe 
 that the Cinque Ports intended to abandon him. It 
 was only a joke, he told himself, and when they had 
 frightened him well they would be sure to come back. 
 Therefore it was needful that he should always be on 
 the look out, and stay on the shore, where they could 
 easily see a signal. He even tried to keep awake, lest 
 he might miss the lights that were hung from the prow. 
 All in vain ; not a sail could be seen by day, not a speck 
 by night. He ate such food as he could get on the 
 beach till he grew to hate it and would eat nothing. 
 Next the power to sleep forsook him ; he seemed to hear
 
 90 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 ghosts in the rustle of the leaves, and the calls of the 
 seals became to his excited brain the cries of savage 
 beasts. At this time he was very near becoming a 
 madman. 
 
 But at length this stage passed. He grew used to his 
 position, and after a while even began to like it. He left 
 off sticking to the shore, and took long walks among the 
 mountains, where he found plenty of fruit besides 
 turnips and parsnips, and radishes and cresses. His 
 first care had been to cut down some trees with his 
 axe, and build himself a log hut a little way behind the 
 beach ; and he afterwards added a second higher up near 
 the woods, where he slept. The bedding he had brought 
 from the ship he stretched upon a wooden frame, and as 
 he was clever with his hands he soon had a table and 
 chair. When the second hut was built he used it as a 
 sitting-room and kitchen, and the hard wood of the 
 pimento or pepper tree served him both for coal and 
 candle. Like the Indians, he obtained his fire by 
 rubbing two pieces of stick together till they grew hot 
 and burst into flame. In this hut he passed most of his 
 days, as from it he could perceive any sail that went by, 
 and would be able to light a fire as a signal. But 
 though now and then he caught sight of something that 
 looked like a ship on the far horizon, for many many 
 months none ever came near. 
 
 Although Selkirk was quite alone during his stay 
 on the island, he was not the first person who had visited 
 it. It was not at all an uncommon thing in those days 
 for a vessel suddenly to quit its anchorage and give 
 chase to a Spanish ship, leaving part of its crew on some 
 island where they were enjoying a holiday. This, as 
 we know, had happened to two men of the Cinque 
 Ports, and it must have occurred to others before them, 
 for after the first year, when he had grown to be happy 
 in his solitude, and was not always pining to be taken
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 91 
 
 away from it, he paid visits to the other side of the 
 island, and found there a small colony of cats, evidently 
 left behind by some sailor. Selkirk had been fond of 
 the Largo cats, and never passed them without a 
 greeting, so he was delighted to carry over some to his 
 own hut. In the long evenings he taught them all 
 
 sorts of tricks, and he said afterwards that he had trained 
 them to dance, and had even brought up some kids to be 
 their partners ! Perhaps the dance may have been 
 unknown to the ball-rooms of Europe, but anyhow it 
 must have been very pretty to see. 
 
 As time wore on, Selkirk cared less and less about 
 leaving the island, and even the appearance of ships 
 some distance out to sea did not cause him the wild
 
 92 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 excitement he expected. Once, indeed, he got a great 
 fright, for while taking a walk among the mountains 
 he chanced to see, in a little harbour below, two Spanish 
 vessels. How he trembled lest they should cross over 
 and discover his huts, for he knew that should he be 
 captured, his captivity would probably only end with 
 his life. He hid himself for a whole day in a thicket 
 while he had reason to think that the crews might be 
 roaming the island in search of provisions, and only 
 ventured out when from the silence he imagined they had 
 returned to the ship. But on turning a corner, he fell 
 over them, sound asleep. They at once started up and 
 gave chase, but luckily Selkirk knew the ground better 
 than they did, and plunging through the undergrowth 
 swung himself up among the thick branches of a tree. 
 
 The next day the ship left the harbour, but not very 
 long after he ran a greater risk still when hunting a 
 goat in the lower hills, where the cabbage palms mostly 
 grew. In this part the rocks were full of holes dug by 
 puffins as roosting places, and consequently were very 
 rotten. The goat Selkirk was pursuing had sought 
 refuge on a spit jutting out from the main mass, and the 
 hunter jumped lightly after it. In a moment the rock 
 had broken off, and he and the goat fell together to the 
 bottom of the valley. When, after twenty-four hours, 
 the man recovered consciousness, the goat was lying 
 dead beside him, and he himself managed with great 
 difficulty to crawl to his hut a mile away. No bones 
 were broken, but he was dreadfully sore and bruised, 
 and it was three days before he could leave his bed again. 
 
 Now during all the years Selkirk was on the island 
 he had been careful to observe two very important 
 rules. One was to note carefully the days of the week, 
 so that he would be able to tell how long he had been 
 alone, and the other to talk aloud for several hours of 
 the day, so that he might not forget how to speak, if 
 ever he was rescued. For this purpose his kids and
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 93 
 
 kittens were a great help, and he used to tell them 
 stories of what had happened when he was a boy and 
 about the cats he knew in Largo. 
 
 One dread haunted the exile even in his happiest 
 hours. He did not want to die and pass out of remem- 
 brance with no man knowing what had become of him. 
 So he carved his name and the date of his landing on 
 several trees, and when the blade got worn down with 
 the hardness of the wood he made himself new knives 
 out of some iron hoops that were washed upon the 
 shore. He alwaj's ran down to the beach the morning 
 after a gale to see what treasures might be awaiting 
 him, and many a useful thing was added to his store. 
 
 Four years and four months had passed since 
 Selkirk had been left in solitude, when deliverance 
 came to him. Two ships called the Duke and the 
 Duchess perhaps after the Duke and Duchess of 
 Marlborough, then all-powerful with Queen Anne were 
 fitted out by some Bristol merchants on a privateering 
 cruise. With the Duke, commanded by Captain Rogers, 
 sailed Dampier as pilot, for though everyone acknow- 
 ledged he was a good seaman, his temper had made him 
 so unpopular that no shipowner would give him command. 
 
 The two vessels had been at sea for six or seven 
 months, when Rogers decided to put in to Juan Fer- 
 nandez, in order to take hi water. A boat was put off 
 from a long distance, but before it reached the shore 
 a light was seen on the land. Not knowing what to 
 make of this, orders were given to return at once, so as 
 to hear what Captain Rogers thought about it. His 
 opinion was that the light might have been shown by 
 French ships at anchor, and that it would be necessary 
 either to be prepared for battle or to sail away in the 
 darkness without the water they had come for. 
 
 ' Do nothing till morning,' was Dampier's advice, 
 ' and then sail round the south point of the island ,. 
 keeping a sharp lookout all the time.'
 
 94 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 Very cautiously the ships proceeded to follow the 
 counsel of Dampier, but could find no ships in any of 
 the bays. 
 
 ' They must have seen us and made off,' said the 
 captain. 'Let a boat go ashore with all the men 
 armed.' 
 
 The boat went, but did not return, so a pinnace 
 
 was sent after it to see what had happened. Very soon 
 it came back, bearing in it a quantity of crawfish and 
 a man dressed in goatskins. 
 
 The sailors crowded round him, staring with amaze- 
 ment, when suddenly Dampier's voice broke the silence. 
 ' Selkirk ! It is Selkirk ! ' cried he.
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 95 
 
 ' Yes, Selkirk,' answered the other in strange deep 
 tones, for in spite of all his talks to the cats and kids, 
 he did not speak as he had been used to do, and it was 
 not easy to understand him. 
 
 ' Tell us how long you have been there, and what 
 you did,' asked the captain, and slowly, as if finding his 
 words with difficulty, Selkirk told. 
 
 ' For four years and four months,' said he, ' I have 
 kept count. At first I was like one mad ; then I found 
 it a pleasant life, and did not wish to leave it, till I saw 
 that the ships anchored near w r ere English ships. When 
 I knew that I lit a fire, and watched all night. In the 
 morning I was afraid, for the ships sailed round the 
 island, and I climbed a hill and watched again. When 
 I saw the boat put off, I ran to my hut and tied on a 
 stick a bit of white rag I had kept for this, and they 
 came, and I was waiting for them. But I heard the 
 name of Dampier, and I would not go with them till 
 they said Dampier was not captain but pilot, as I 
 did not like Dampier. That is all now.' And they let 
 him alone, for they perceived that even those few words 
 had tired him. But Dampier had learned some wisdom 
 from years of hardships, and was besides glad to see his 
 old comrade, so he persuaded the captain to make 
 Selkirk mate of the Duke. 
 
 It was some time before Selkirk could adopt the 
 habits of the rest of the crew. Grog ne would never 
 touch ; it tasted nasty after the hill streams, and his 
 feet had grown unaccustomed to the use of shoes, which 
 hurt him. However, he picked up his old ways by 
 degrees, and had not been on board a month before he 
 was given the command of a prize which was captured. 
 Neither Rogers nor Selkirk was a cruel man, and both 
 did their best for the prisoners ; indeed, prayers from 
 the Church of England service were read daily on the 
 quarter deck, and always before a fight. The crews 
 were well looked after and kept in order, and altogether
 
 96 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 the ships were ruled more like a man-of-war in these 
 days than a privateer two hundred years ago. 
 
 A cruise through the islands of the Pacific as far as 
 China and a voyage to India took up more than two 
 years, and during that time the Duke and Duchess had 
 captured so many rich prizes that Selkirk's share when 
 he returned to England in October 1711 amounted to 
 800Z. How strange it must have felt to sail up the 
 Thames once more and to find himself in London again ; 
 and further to learn that the story of his lonely life on 
 the island had travelled faster than he, and that many 
 great people were anxious to see him and hear him tell 
 the tale himself. One of these, the writer Sir Richard 
 Steele, has told us what he thought of him, and declares 
 that if he had heard nothing of his history he \\ould 
 have known he had been much alone, from Selkirk's 
 way of never heeding the common things about him, 
 of which other men thought so much. To Steele, 
 Selkirk confessed that he often wished himself back 
 on his island again. ' I am now worth eight hundred 
 pounds,' he said, ' but shall never be so happy as when 
 I was not worth a farthing.' 
 
 Selkirk appears to have remained in London seven 
 or eight months before he set out for his old home. 
 It was on a fine Sunday in the spring of 1712 that at 
 last he knocked at the door of his father's house in 
 Largo, but as every one was out as he might have 
 known they would be he walked on to the church. 
 The noise made by the opening door caused the con- 
 gregation to turn their heads, and great was their 
 surprise to behold a strange man enter, dressed in 
 clothes covered with gold lace. The stranger hastily 
 dropped into a seat near the door, from which he could 
 see his family pew, now occupied by his father and 
 mother and some of his brothers. At his entrance his 
 mother had glanced up carelessly over her Bible like
 
 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 97 
 
 the rest, and having looked once, continued to look in 
 a puzzled sort of a way. At length a great light spread 
 over her face and she started up. 
 
 ' It's Sandy ! ' she cried. ' Sandy ! ' And staggered 
 down the aisle to meet him. The minister stopped his 
 sermon, and the people all rose to their feet. No one 
 remembered the scapegrace and his ' indecent conduct ' 
 in church in their desire to welcome the exile who for 
 so many years had been mourned as dead. 
 
 But there was some disappointment both to him 
 and his family in his homecoming, as there generally is. 
 Alexander was delighted to be back with his parents 
 and to make friends with his many new nephews and 
 nieces, but he had lived by himself too long to be able 
 to pass his whole time in the company of others, and 
 this nobody in Largo could understand. Very soon he 
 would go out when the sun rose, taking with him some 
 oatcake and cheese and never return till night had 
 fallen. If he was asked where he had been all day, 
 he would answer ' In Keil's Den,' a beautiful vaUey 
 where no one ever came. Then directly after supper 
 he would go up to his room, followed by the two house 
 cats, and there he would teach them to dance and to do 
 tricks, as he had done to his island friends. 
 
 ' If children were as good as cats,' he would often 
 say, ' parents would be happier.' 
 
 There was no denying that, in spite of the cats, 
 life on shore did not suit Alexander, and he often 
 grieved his mother by breaking out into loud laments 
 for his island. She grew a little happier when he 
 bought a boat, and spent all day in sailing it on the 
 Firth of Forth, for she hoped he might grow more 
 content, but when summer passed away and the bad 
 weather returned he became as silent and moody as 
 ever. 
 
 By this time Selkirk had decided that a wife was the 
 A.S. * H
 
 98 THE REAL ROBINSON CRUSOE 
 
 only cure for the ills he suffered from, and that he could 
 not do better than choose a girl whom he often met 
 driving home her mother's cow on his way from Keil's 
 Den. But not even for Sophia Bruce would he endure 
 all the questions and chatter which the talk of his 
 marriage would raise among his friends in Largo. So 
 he persuaded Sophia to meet him one day and let him 
 carry her in the boat to the opposite shore. There they 
 took the coach for London, where they were married, 
 and for years his family did not know where he was 
 nor what he was doing. Only two more records remain 
 of his life : one a will made by him in favour of Sophia in 
 1717 before going to sea again, and from the mention 
 in it of ' lands, gardens, orchards, &c., in Largo or else- 
 where,' he must have been a well-to-do man ; and the 
 other a claim seven years later by one Frances Candis, 
 who declared herself his widow. From the papers she 
 brought, it was found that Alexander Selkirk, described 
 as a ' Lieutenant,' had died on board his Majesty's ship 
 Weymouth in 1723, so he had left the privateering life 
 for the Royal Navy. But what drove him back to the 
 sea, or who offered him a commission, is not told, nor 
 can we find an answer to the mystery we should best 
 like to have solved namely, whether Defoe, whose 
 book was published in 1719, had ever talked face to 
 face with the real Robinson Crusoe.
 
 HOW THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER WAS SAVED 
 
 IT was on the morning of December 3, 1805, the day 
 after the Battle of Austerlitz when the French had 
 utterly routed both Austrians and Russians, that 
 Napoleon was crouching over a camp fire on the borders 
 of Lake Satschan, in Austria, talking about the fight 
 with some of his officers. The cold had been bitter 
 for a long while past, and the ice on the lake was so 
 thick that during the battle a corps of five or six thousand 
 Russians, defeated after a fierce struggle, did not hesitate 
 to retreat across it. They were nearly halfway over 
 and almost felt themselves safe, when orders were given 
 to fire on the ice itself. Crack ! crack ! came the noise 
 from a hundred points at once, and slowly the great 
 mass split and parted, swallowing up the wretched men 
 in the black water. A few managed to escape to the 
 banks, and there the French soldiers aided them to 
 land, but the bulk, exhausted as they were, and half 
 frozen, sank to the bottom. Then night fell, and the 
 living men on the shore lay wrapped in a sleep nearly as 
 deep as that of the dead. 
 
 The Emperor stood stretching out his hands to the 
 blaze, and exulting over the total defeat of the Austrian 
 army. Only on one subject he was silent, and that was 
 the capture of the French eagles in charge of his brother 
 Joseph by the Grand Duke Constantine, brother of the 
 Emperor Alexander. And even though the flags had 
 been retaken and given back to him, it hurt his pride 
 
 H2
 
 100 THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER SAVED 
 
 to think that they had been lost by the carelessness of 
 one of his own family. Still, his mind had a thousand 
 pleasant thoughts to dwell on, and plans for his next 
 move had to be formed, when in the midst of giving an 
 order he suddenly stopped. 
 
 ' Look there ! ' he said, and his generals, following 
 the direction of his finger, saw the sun flash on the face 
 of a Russian soldier, tying wounded on a floating lump 
 of ice about a hundred yards from the bank. The man 
 had received a ball in his thigh, and the little iceberg 
 was red with his blood, but at the sight of the group 
 of officers with the Emperor in their midst, he raised 
 himself with an effort, and crying out that after the 
 battle all soldiers should cease to be enemies and become 
 brothers, implored Napoleon to grant him his life. 
 
 ' What does he say ? ' asked the Emperor, and when 
 the interpreter had translated the man's appeal, Napo- 
 leon gave orders to General Bertrand, his aide-de-camp, 
 to do his best to save the wounded Russian. 
 
 Now there happened to be lying in the water, close 
 to the bank, the trunks of two large trees which it 
 seemed might be used as rafts. Astride of these several 
 of the French officers seated themselves, and tried to 
 make the logs proceed in the direction of the iceberg 
 by the movement of their knees. At first they wore 
 delighted as well as surprised by their success. The 
 strange horses they rode were actually advancing, and 
 the dull eyes of the Russian soldier grew eager with 
 hope. Then suddenly, they did not know why, one of 
 the trunks gave a lurch to one side, and in an instant 
 the men were in the water, clutching wildly as they 
 fell at the fragments of floating ice which surrounded 
 the log that their companions bestrode. In the 
 commotion of the waters, the tree trunk gave a plunge 
 and turned over, upsetting the men that were on it. 
 Weighed down by their dripping clothes, and caught
 
 THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER SAVED 101 
 
 as if in a trap by the blocks of broken ice, not a soul 
 would have escaped drowning had it not been for the 
 
 THE WOUNDED RUSSIAN CALLS Tt>. NAPOLEON) FROM THE ICE 
 
 ropes flung to them by their comrades, who hauled 
 them with great difficulty into safety. 
 
 ' How foolish of them not to strip themselves first,'
 
 102 THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER SAVED 
 
 cried a young cavalry officer, Marbot by name, who 
 had watched it all from the bank. ' As if it were pos- 
 sible to rescue a man from drowning, hampered by 
 heavy coats and furs.' He had really spoken to him- 
 self, but General Bertrand overheard him, and repeated 
 his words to the Emperor, who was standing near by. 
 
 * Marbot is right,' answered Napoleon, ' they have 
 risked their lives for nothing ; courage without common 
 sense is of little use.' In his turn the Emperor's reply 
 reached Marbot, who felt that after pointing out the 
 way to others, he could hardly avoid taking it himself. 
 So very unwillingly for swimming in freezing water 
 was a very different thing from rushing into battle 
 when your blood was up, he dismounted from his 
 horse, stripped off his clothes, and plunged into the 
 lake. Oh ! how cold it was ! For a moment all the 
 breath felt knocked out of his body, then, being young, 
 strong, and a practised swimmer, and knowing that the 
 Emperor's eye was upon him, he pulled himself together, 
 and struck out in the direction of the wounded soldier, 
 followed by a lieutenant of artillery, called Roumestain. 
 
 The task was even more difficult than Marbot had 
 imagined, for owing to the breaking up of the strong ice 
 on the previous evening there was hardly any left that 
 would bear the weight of a man, while the new coating 
 formed by the frost broke easily and was full of sharp 
 edges that pricked his body like so many needles. 
 Roumestain suffered less, for he had only to swim along 
 the path made by Marbot, and at length he noticed 
 this, and declared it was his turn to go in front. Slowly, 
 inch by inch, they fought their way, the poor man on 
 the iceberg looking on. How, weak from loss of blood 
 and the pain of his wound, he had survived the bitter 
 cold of the night before, and the chill of the ice on which 
 he lay, was of itself a miracle, and he had grown sick 
 at heart at the failure to deliver him from the prison 
 where he lay fast bound like the giant Prometheus.
 
 THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER SAVED 103 
 
 Could they ever break through that fast-forming crust, 
 and move their limbs in the deadly grip of that water ? 
 But yes, it was no dream, they were nearer than before, 
 always nearer, and at last they had reached the iceberg 
 and could touch him with their hands. 
 
 For a moment he closed his eyes, faint with the rush 
 of joy that swept over him. 
 
 To Marbot and Roumestain it appeared as if the 
 man was already saved, but in reality the worst was 
 yet to come. Their plan was to plunge into the lake 
 behind the iceblock, pushing it before them as they 
 went; but they soon found that the new ice through 
 which it broke gathered itself up in front into a dense 
 mass, which not only barred their progress, but was 
 strong enough to break off pieces of the big block of ice, 
 so that every moment they feared that it would cease 
 to bear the weight of the soldier, and that he would be 
 swallowed up in the waters. With eyes anxiously fixed 
 on the shore and silently measuring the distance, they 
 fought on, cut and scratched by the sharp ice which 
 surrounded them, till suddenly they felt the ground 
 firm under their feet. Then with a gasp of relief they 
 took the rapidly diminishing block of ice on their 
 shoulders, catching with their free hands the ropes that 
 were flung to them, which they fastened round the 
 Russian, who was thus drawn to shore. At length, torn 
 and bleeding, they were pulled out of the water by their 
 comrades, and sank exhausted on the ground. 
 
 Words cannot say how delicious the rough blanket 
 felt which Marbot' s friend Massy had warmed at the 
 camp fire and now wrapped round him. Hot water was 
 ready to bathe the wounds of both heroes, and, better 
 than all, the Emperor came and praised their courage, 
 and ordered his black servant Roustan to serve them out 
 some rum. As to the Russian soldier, Napoleon desired 
 that some gold should be given him, and after rolling
 
 104 THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER SAVED 
 
 him up in furs and giving him food he was taken to a 
 house in the neighbourhood, where the bullet was 
 extracted from his thigh by Larrey, the doctor. The 
 next day he was well enough to be removed to the 
 hospital hi the town of Briinn, and nursed till he was 
 strong again. Full of gratitude to those who had saved 
 him he refused to serve any more against the Emperor, 
 and as he was a Lithuanian by birth, though a Russian 
 subject not a Russian born, he was able to enter 
 Napoleon's legion without loss of honour. 
 
 From Marbot's Memoirs.
 
 MARBOT AND THE YOUNG COSSACK 
 
 IN all history there is no more terrible tale of suffering 
 than that of the retreat of the French army from 
 Moscow in the winter of 1812, and in all history there is 
 no greater record of heroism. 
 
 Across snowy plains where the snow lay feet thick, 
 through icy, half-frozen rivers they fought their way 
 step by step for hundreds of miles, till they reached 
 the deep river Berezina, where the bridges gave way 
 under pressure of the fugitives, and a vast mass of men 
 and horses were seen struggling in the stream. But at 
 length with enormous loss the barrier was safely passed, 
 and the survivors were protected by Marshal Ney and the 
 rearguard of the ' Grande Armee.' 
 
 It was on December 2, exactly seven years after the 
 battle of Austerlitz, that the event happened of which 
 I am going to tell you. The Russian troops had 
 pressed so closely on the French army that it was im- 
 possible to avoid a fight, and General Maison, in com- 
 mand of the second division, drew up his infantry in 
 squares so as successfully to repulse the charges of the 
 Russian cavalry. Marbot and his horse formed part of 
 the division, and when marching their post was in the 
 extreme rear. 
 
 Now in the beginning of the Russian campaign a 
 Dutch banker named Van Berchem, who had been at 
 school with Marbot, had placed under his old friend's care 
 his only son, a boy of sixteen, then just entering the
 
 106 MARBOT AND THE YOUNG COSSACK 
 
 23rd Horse. The young man was quick and clever, 
 eager to serve the Emperor. Marbot soon found him 
 useful and made him his secretary, ordering the boy to 
 ride behind him, carrying the notes for his despatches, 
 and it was here Van Berchem was to be found when the 
 French army, in the midst of a wide plain with the cold 
 more intense than w r e in England can dream of, was 
 attacked by the Russian troops. 
 
 At first the French merely stood on the defensive 
 and drove back their enemies, but when the hordes of 
 Cossacks dashed forward and picked off the Imperial 
 officers with their long lances, Ney ordered General 
 Maison to charge. 
 
 Marbot, riding with the 23rd Cuirassiers, came face to 
 face with a Cossack regiment from the borders of the 
 Black Sea, who, as was their custom, spread themselves 
 out, wheeled and gallopped headlong across the plain 
 till they were suddenly brought up by reaching a ravine, 
 a rare thing in that country. Seeing that further flight 
 was out of the question they turned and faced their 
 foes, forming rapidly into a compact body, and defend- 
 ing themselves with their lances. 
 
 The ground, covered with ice, was very slippery, and 
 it was impossible for the French horses to charge at a 
 gallop, and in that way to bear the Cossacks over the 
 edge of the precipice behind them. When, therefore, 
 Marbot and his force came up at a slow trot, they were 
 received by a wall of lances thirteen feet long, against 
 which the short sabres of the French were utterly use- 
 less. For a moment the two squadrons paused thus, 
 watching each other. Then Marbot shouted an order 
 that each man should seize one of the lances of the 
 enemy in his left hand, turn it away from his body and 
 dash on so that the French swords might be brought into 
 effect in a fight at close quarters. With a sudden 
 spring he carried out his own plan, and followed by the 
 rest of the regiment he succeeded in closing with the
 
 MARBOT AND THE YOUNG COSSACK 107 
 
 Cossacks, but not without receiving a bad wound in his 
 knee from a white-bearded man who stood far back in 
 the ranks. Even in the excitement of battle the pain 
 was frightful, and Marbot's only thought was to avenge 
 himself at once. But in his way there stood two young 
 men under twenty, whose splendid clothes proclaimed 
 them to be of rank, and by them, as a sort of guardian, 
 was an old man quite unarmed. 
 
 The elder of the youths flung himself on Marbot and 
 attacked him furiously, but he was so young that Marbot 
 could not bring himself to kill him, and merely dis- 
 arming him pushed him behind, and ordered Van 
 Berchem to guard him safely. Scarcely, however, had 
 Marbot turned his back than he heard a double shot 
 a ball whizzed past his ear and pierced the collar of his 
 cloak, while its fellow lay buried in the head of Van 
 Berchem. 
 
 In this manner did the young Cossack repay the life 
 that had been given him. 
 
 Mad with rage and grief Marbot advanced on the 
 murderer, who was already aiming at him with his 
 second pistol. But terrified by the look of Marbot the 
 Cossack cried, dropping his arm : 
 
 ' I see death, I see death in your eyes ! ' 
 
 ' Traitor, you see aright,* was the answer, as he 
 avenged the murder of Van Berchem whom he loved. 
 
 At this moment Marbot was as one possessed, and 
 riding to the other young Cossack he seized him by the 
 throat. Already his sabre was lifted when the old 
 tutor threw himself between them, crying : 
 
 ' In the name of your mother, spare this boy, he has 
 done nothing.' 
 
 The words made Marbot pause, and, his mind all on 
 fire as it was, he seemed to behold a hand that he knew 
 laid across the youth's bosom, and to hear his mother's 
 voice saying : ' Forgive, forgive ! ' His raised arm fell
 
 108 MARBOT AND THE YOUNG COSSACK 
 
 to his side, and he signed to his men to take his two 
 prisoners to the rear. 
 
 Between the agony of his wound and the strange 
 scene he had gone through Marbot was so overcome 
 that had the battle continued he was not in a condition 
 
 In tV n*u of vur MotW Sbare this 'boy 
 
 to issue orders, but luckily it was soon over. Some of 
 the Cossacks escaped by scrambling down the ravine, 
 but many of these perished in the snowdrifts. 
 
 In the evening he commanded the two prisoners to be 
 led into his tent, and there he learned from the old tutor 
 that this youth and the murderer of Van Berchem were
 
 MARBOT AND THE YOUNG COSSACK 109 
 
 the sons of a powerful Cossack chief who, having lost a 
 leg at Austerlitz, could no longer fight except by proxy. 
 
 As he looked at the thin and delicate face of the boy 
 before him, Marbot understood that the cold and hard- 
 ships of war would speedily carry him to the grave also, 
 so he desired both to be set at liberty. 
 
 This was almost more than the old tutor had dared 
 to hope, and as he left the tent he bade farewell to their 
 captor in these words : 
 
 ' When she thinks of her elder son, the mother of 
 these two boys will curse you, but when she gazes at the 
 younger she will bless you, and your mother too, because 
 you have spared her only remaining child.' 
 
 From Marbot's Memoirs.
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON -KILLER. 
 
 Two little boys lay in one cradle in the city of Thebes. 
 The world was very new to them, for they had only 
 opened their eyes on it a few hours before, and most 
 babies would have been as sleepy and helpless as little 
 blind kittens. But Heracles and Iphicles were much 
 wiser as well as much bigger than other babies, and 
 Alcmena their mother and her maids already felt half 
 afraid of them, as people often are of what they do not 
 understand. 
 
 ' Leave me now, I would rest,' said Alcmena, leaning 
 back on her pillows, and soon she was asleep, with the 
 children lying in the cradle in a corner of the room. Not a 
 sound could be heard, when suddenly from under a chest 
 against the wall two long thin black shapes moved 
 noiselessly across the floor. When they reached the 
 cradle they reared themselves up, one on each side, and 
 darted their flat heads and forky tongues at the 
 
 Iphicles shrank back with a cry, but Heracles sat up, 
 and seizing the snakes in his hands crushed the life out of 
 them. They were dead before they had time to sting, 
 but, dead as they were, Iphicles was sorely frightened, 
 and his shrieks brought back his mother's maidens, who 
 lifted the horrible things out of the cradle. Great was 
 the wrath of Alcmena when, waking, she heard what had 
 befallen her sons, and she spoke many hard words to 
 the women whose duty it was to watch over the.n, not
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON -KILLER 111 
 
 knowing that the serpents had been sent by a wicked 
 enchantress, who hated Alcmena because she had such 
 a brave and strong child as Heracles, while she herself 
 had none. In the old Greek story, told several 
 thousand years ago, this wicked enchantress is called 
 
 Hera, the wife of their god Zeus, but the real truth is 
 that she was just a cross old fairy or witch. 
 
 This time her wicked plan of sending the two serpents 
 had failed. They could not frighten the child Heracles, 
 and he was too strong for them. Then the witch thought 
 of a magical spell by which she compelled Heracles to
 
 112 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 do everything that he was told to do by a little weak 
 cowardly king named Eurystheus, who reigned over 
 another city of Greece called Mycenae. It was a small 
 town, but very strongly built ; the walls and the gate, 
 made of enormous stone, are still standing, and great 
 loads of golden ornaments worn by the old kings 
 have been found in their graves. 
 
 There was not a boy in all Greece so big and strong 
 as Heracles, or one who could wrestle so well and shoot so 
 straight at a mark. As to other lessons, his tutor was 
 a wise person called Cheiron. who had the body and legs 
 of a horse and the head and chest of a man. He and 
 Heracles were very fond of each other, and when they 
 were tired of talking, Cheiron would give the boy a ride 
 on his back, or they would run a race, and the kind old 
 centaur took care to let Heracles win sometimes. 
 
 Heracles was not more than seventeen when the fame 
 of his strength had spread so far throughout Greece that 
 kings of the great cities began to send for him to help 
 them in getting rid of their enemies, whether man or 
 beast. By this time he was the servant of Eurystheus, and 
 he seldom had time to help anyone because Eurystheus 
 sent him to do so many dangerous things, always 
 hoping that in one adventure or another he would 
 fail and be killed, to please the enchantress. 
 
 One day Eurystheus said to him ' Messengers have 
 arrived from my people at Nemaaa to tell me that a huge 
 lion has come down from the mountains and nightly 
 carries off some of their goats, or even their children. 
 Go, therefore, and destroy him, or it will be ill for 
 you.' And Heracles, taking his bow and arrows and 
 a thick club, hastened to obey. No adventure could 
 have suited him better. It needed both strength and 
 running, for no spear could pierce the lion's hide, nor 
 any sword-thrust wound him. Therefore Heracles 
 dared not attack the beast in open fight, but met 
 him where the trees grew close upon the mountain
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 113 
 
 side, and he could gain shelter among them. Thus, 
 dealing a blow with his club in the face of the lion, and 
 instantly leaping quickly aside behind a rock or a tree 
 
 trunk, he drove the lion step by step back into a cavern ; 
 then throwing himself on the great beast before he had 
 time to spring, strangled him in his arms as he had done 
 the serpents. When the lion struggled no more Heracles 
 A.S. l
 
 114 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 knew he was dead, and took the skin to cover himself, for 
 it was different from other skins, and he who wore it was 
 sa.fe from all weapons. 
 
 He had the skin made neatly into a kind of short 
 tunic, the hind legs passing over his shoulders, and the 
 head hanging down in front over his thighs. 
 
 As he returned through the city of Nemaea, dressed 
 in the lion's skin, the villagers came out to praise him 
 for their deliverance, but when he again stood before 
 Eurystheus he found that there was more work for him 
 to do. 
 
 * The nine-headed monster which dwells in the 
 marshes of Lerna southwards on the sea has poisoned 
 with its breath the fishermen who live by the coast, 
 till there is no man to sail his boat on the waters. Let 
 it be your task to destroy that beast, as you did the 
 lion ; only take heed that it does not destroy you. Out 
 of the nine heads there is one that cannot die, and as 
 to the others, for every one that you cut off two more 
 will spring forth, so that the slaying of the lion is but 
 child's play to this adventure.' 
 
 Thus spoke Eurystheus, and Heracles mounted his 
 chariot, which was driven by his nephew lolaus, son of 
 Iphicles. Together they drove many miles south of 
 Mycenae, taking counsel how best to overcome the nine- 
 headed monster. Anxiously they gazed over the 
 marshes of Lema, but nothing did they see of him, only 
 traces of vast feet and claws in the soft mud, and 
 flowers drooping and withered, as if some poisonous 
 breath had touched them. At last they traced the 
 marks of the feet down to the sea shore where huge 
 rocks were tumbled together, as if giants had played 
 with them. 
 
 ' He is in there,' whispered lolaus, ' but how shall 
 we get him out ? ' 
 
 ' Let us make a fire, and heat the bronze tips of our 
 arrows in it till they are red hot,' said Heracles, ' and
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 115 
 
 we will shoot them into his skin till it stings. But, 
 first, pick up those branches of trees which are lying 
 about, and kindle them till they burn brightly, and 
 as fast as I cut off one head lay the flaming boughs 
 on the place, lest the two heads grow again.' And they 
 two lit the fire, out of sight of the monster's lair, that 
 he might not spring on them before they were ready. 
 
 At length the arrows were red hot, and the logs 
 blazing. 
 
 ' I will climb up here,' said Heracles, ' and shoot 
 the arrows through this crevice, and when he is awake 
 and coming forth, I will stand behind that rock, with 
 my sword drawn, so that his breath may not poison me 
 as he rushes by.' 
 
 But the hydra's skin was tough, and the first arrows 
 shot by Heracles fell harmless. So he bade lolaus 
 gather fresh logs and heap them on the fire, while he 
 himself held his arrows in it till they glowed red hot. 
 Then he returned to the crevice and rained down the 
 arrows thick and fast, till the monster rose up with 
 a roar, and sleepily looked about him, to see whence 
 fell this terrible hail of blows. At that, Heracles hastily 
 leaped down and, drawing his sword, signed to lolaus 
 to hold ready his burning branch. 
 
 Yet, though no more arrows fell, those that were 
 lodged in the creature's hide began to prick him sorely, 
 and snorting loudly with pain he dashed out of his 
 lair, crashing through a small tree that grew at the 
 entrance. Heracles swung his sword and struck, and 
 the head nearest him rolled on the ground, but lolaus 
 missed his aim with the branch, and two heads vomiting 
 fire took the place of the dead one. Again Heracles 
 struck, and this time lolaus was quicker and, laying 
 his brand on the spot where the heads had been, stopped 
 the growth of fresh ones. 
 
 And so the fight went on, and never did Heracles 
 take part in so terrible a combat. Luckily for him, the
 
 116 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 hydra was big and clumsy, and his heavy body was 
 hard to turn, for both Heracles and lolaus were 
 forced to keep behind him, lest the poisonous breath 
 
 from the heads should overcome them. Swiftly though 
 they sprang from one side to the other, their blows 
 sometimes failed to hit, but at length eight of the heads 
 were lying on the ground, and there remained only the
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON -KILLER 117 
 
 ninth, which they knew could not die. Then the battle 
 raged more fiercely than before, and Heracles was 
 very weary and had less strength for it. Now lolaus 
 could not help him, and he must trust to himself, and with 
 the loss of his eight heads the hydra seemed to have 
 grown lighter and more nimble. Had it not been for 
 the skin of the Nemsean lion, which Heracles wore 
 about him, he could never have gained the day ; but 
 covering his head with the skin, so that he could escape 
 the monster's breath, he gave a mighty stroke at the 
 soft part under the neck, and the head which could 
 not die went to join its feUows. 
 
 ' Quick ! into that hole,' panted Heracles, and 
 lolaus dragged it by the mane, which seemed alive, 
 and thrust it in. 
 
 ' The rock,' gasped Heracles once more, for he 
 trembled with fatigue so that he could hardly speak, 
 and together they pushed the rock on top of the hole, 
 and the immortal head was imprisoned for ever. 
 
 ' I should be lying by it if it had not been for thee, 
 lolaus,' said Heracles when he had rested for a little ; 
 4 but now yoke the horses to the chariot, I have some- 
 what to do ' ; and while lolaus did his bidding, he 
 drew out his arrows from the carcase of the hydra, 
 and dipped each in his blood, so that henceforward 
 no wound that these arrows made could ever be healed. 
 After that he put one of the heads in his wallet, as a 
 token for Eurystheus. 
 
 But the king of Mycenae scowled as he listened to 
 the tale of Heracles, and instead of the praise the hero 
 had expected, for he gloried in his strength, Eurystheus 
 spoke cold words. 
 
 ' It is nought, Heracles, for the monster would 
 be alive now had not lolaus helped you. I have another 
 task for you which this time you must accomplish 
 alone. Go and capture the boar which has overrun 
 Arcadia, and bring it alive to me.' And with wrath in 
 Ms heart, Heracles set forth.
 
 118 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 Out from the land of Argolis he went, and across 
 the plain of Mantinea, till he reached the mountains 
 of Arcadia, where snow was lying soft and thick ; but 
 the boar was not there. Hastening to the nearest 
 \illage, he asked tidings of him, and was told that a 
 few days since he had passed that way carrying off 
 children, as well as goats and sheep, who were straying 
 in the road. From place to place Heracles followed 
 the boar, and the tale was always the same, but he 
 only came up with him in the west of Arcadia, on the 
 banks of the river Alpheus. How he longed to shoot 
 some of his poisoned arrows at this ravager of homes, 
 but Eurystheus had commanded that he was to be 
 taken alive, and Heracles had no power to disobey. 
 Then began a weary chase of the beast, when Heracles 
 tried to steal up to the boar in his sleep, and throw a 
 noosed rope round his neck ; but it was Heracles who 
 slept and not the boar, and more than once he only 
 awoke in time to save himself by flight from the great 
 tusks that were so near him. Still, in the end, he con- 
 trived to force the boar back and back, till they reached 
 the mountains which looked into Argolis. 
 
 Here at last the boar showed signs of fatigue. He 
 was used to resting for many days at a time after his 
 hunting, and Heracles had allowed him but little rest, 
 and no food. In the beginning of the chase he had 
 seemed tireless, but now he and Heracles appeared to 
 have changed places, and he felt as if he could walk no 
 more. It was so difficult, too, for the boar to drag his 
 feet up hill through this soft snow ; before long he 
 should have to give in. And then, blind with weariness, 
 he stumbled and fell, And the chance of Heracles had 
 come. 
 
 As Heracles returned to Mycenae with his prisoner, 
 roped up so that he limped on one fore and one hind 
 leg, the people ran out of their houses to stare at their 
 fallen enemy, and to offer their thanks to his captor.
 
 HERACLES TEE DRAGON-KILLER 119 
 
 But when the two had passed through the gates of the 
 city, and stood before the king himself at the entrance 
 of the palace, Eurystheus fled with a cry of fear. 
 
 ' Save me ! Save me ! ' he cried, almost dead with 
 fright at the sight of the hideous creature ; and he ran 
 down steps leading to cellars under his palace, and hid 
 himself in a huge pot, where he remained sitting until 
 Heracles had taken away the boar. 
 
 ' Never let such monsters come inside the city 
 again,' said he. ' When next Heracles conquers any- 
 thing I will behold it from the walls.' 
 
 Curious to say, that though Heracles was obliged, 
 by the magic spells, to do whatsoever Eurystheus com- 
 manded him, the king hardly dreaded the boar himself 
 more than he did his servant ; and no sooner had Heracles 
 overcome one foe than his master looked out for another 
 who might remove him far from Mycenae. So when he 
 at length felt sure that he could leave his pot without 
 the risk of being swallowed up in the jaws of the beast, 
 or being gored to death by his terrible tusks, he ordered 
 Heracles to be summoned to his presence. 
 
 * In the lake of Stymphalus, which lies in the land 
 of Arcadia/ said Eurystheus, ' dwell the man-eating 
 birds, with claws and beaks of brass, who can shoot 
 the brazen feathers of their wings as if they were 
 arrows. They live on a high rock with sides as smooth 
 as glass, so that none can climb it. The king of that 
 country is my friend, and he has sent messengers to 
 beg that you would help him, for his bravest warriors 
 have been carried away in the claws of these monsters.' 
 
 Slowly Heracles departed from the presence of 
 Eurystheus and took his way towards Arcadia. But 
 as he went he pondered in his mind how best he should 
 overcome the man-eating birds whose armour of brass 
 no spear could break. One plan after another he thought 
 of, but all seemed hopeless. Only one thing was clear ;
 
 120 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 he must not let the birds catch sight of him, or he, too, 
 would fall a victim. 
 
 ' What could he do ? ' It seemed quite hopeless. 
 Then all at once he knew. ' If I can't kill them, at any 
 rate I can frighten them from the country,' he mur- 
 mured to himself; and he turned aside to a village in 
 the hills, and stopped at a small house. 
 
 * I want you to fashion me a brazen rattle which 
 shall make so great and terrible a noise that they who 
 hear it shall be deaf to the day of their death,' he said 
 to the man who opened the door to him. 
 
 ' That can I do with ease,' was the answer ; ' wait 
 for a few hours, and you shalt carry it away with 
 you.' 
 
 All that day Heracles sat in the sun, his club by 
 his side, and his lion's skin on the ground before him, 
 till in the evening the man came out, bearing with him 
 the brazen rattle. 
 
 'If you would only have a little noise,' he ex- 
 plained, ' pull out this pin ; if a great one, pull out 
 this ; if one to sound to the ends of the world, then pull 
 out all the pins together. And now, farewell.' 
 
 Heracles mounted his chariot well pleased, and his 
 horses flew swift as the wind, till at noon next day he 
 reached Stymphalus. There he jumped down and 
 walked cautiously round the lake, keeping in the 
 shadow of the tall reeds which grew along the edge. 
 At length he saw the rock of which Eurystheus had 
 told him, and the sun's rays caught something bright 
 and glistening on the top. 
 
 'Those are the birds,' he thought, 'and they are 
 moving. Perhaps they are getting ready to seek their 
 prey. If they hunt in the village they will fly past here ; 
 I will hide myself in this clump of bulrushes, and it 
 may be that I can knock one or two of the hindennost 
 with my club.' 
 
 Thinking thus, he stepped in the water where the
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 121 
 
 reeds stood thickest, choosing a place from which he 
 could catch sight of the rock of the birds. Next he 
 took some wax from his wallet, and put a piece hi each 
 ear, and then, pulling out ail the pins in the brazen 
 rattle, he whirled it round, his eyes fixed on the rock. 
 
 With a screech nearly as loud as the noise of the rattle, 
 if Heracles had only been able to hear it, they sprang 
 up, turning round and round, not knowing what it 
 was or where that dreadful sound came from. Back- 
 wards and forwards they flew, hoping to escape from
 
 122 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 it, yet still the shrieking, roaring noise followed them. 
 At last, in despair, they darted low across the lake 
 towards the rushes where Heracles lay hidden, the 
 rattle in his left hand, the club in his right. 
 
 On they came, flying low, and Heracles let all pass 
 but two. Then he swung his club, and quick as lightning 
 he struck first one and then the other, till they fell into 
 the water and were drowned, the noise of the rattle 
 stifling their cries. The rest, not knowing, flew on 
 and on and on, and never stopped till they reached a 
 desert island in the Black Sea, where they could hear 
 the rattle no more. 
 
 To tell the tale of all the deeds of Heracles would 
 fill a book, for always as fast as he had accomplished 
 one, Eurystheus sent him forth to do another. Now 
 it was to get the girdle of the queen of the Amazons, 
 a race of warlike women, for the princess his daughter ; 
 now it was to bring a mad bull from the far-off isle of Crete 
 to Mycenae ; now it was to clean in a single day the 
 farmyard of Augeas, king of Elis, where he kept three 
 thousand cattle. If he succeeded, Heracles was to have 
 three hundred of the finest sheep and oxen for himself. 
 But when he turned the river Alpheus right across the 
 yard, leaving the stones as white and shining as those 
 at the bottom of the sea, the king refused to fulfil his 
 promise, saying that Heracles was only the servant 
 of Eurystheus, and therefore could claim no reward. 
 Far better would it have been for Augeas if he had 
 kept his word, for in wrath Heracles slew him and his 
 sons also. These and many more things he did, and at 
 last the spell cast over him by the goddess was ended, 
 and he was free. 
 
 It was then that he performed a deed very different 
 from any of the tasks which Eurystheus had set him, 
 or indeed from any which he had wrought for himself.
 
 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 125 
 
 In Thessaly lived Admetus, son of the King of 
 Pherae, a young man taller and stronger than any of 
 his fellows, who had sailed on board the Argo in search 
 of the Golden Fleece, and had joined in the chase of 
 the Calydonian boar. Of all the maidens of Greece, 
 none seemed so fair to Admetus as Alcestis, daughter 
 of Pelias, but her father turned away from his en- 
 treaties, declaring that none should be her husband 
 save the man who should yoke a team of lions and 
 bears to his chariot. So Admetus went away with a 
 sad heart, for he knew not how to accomplish the 
 bidding of Pelias. 
 
 With downcast eyes he wandered over the plain, 
 where he met with Apollo, the beautiful sun-god who 
 loved him, and with whom he had tended his sheep in 
 the flowery fields. And Apollo smiled when he heard 
 the tale of woe of Admetus, and bade him be of good 
 cheer, for he would catch the lions and bears and yoke 
 them to the chariot. This he did during the night, 
 and when Pelias rose from his bed he beheld them 
 yoked to the chariot in front of his house, and Admetus 
 standing by them. 
 
 Then, for very shame, he was forced to give Alcestis, 
 his daughter, to Admetus, and they went away and 
 lived happily together till Admetus fell ill of a mortal 
 sickness. 
 
 Now it happened that when Admetus lay in his 
 cradle by the side of his mother, the spinning women 
 entered the room and looked at him, as they had looked 
 at the baby Meleager, and Apollo the sun-god came 
 with them. At his prayer they bestowed on Admetus 
 the gift of immortality he should never die if he could 
 find someone else to die instead of him. Alcestis, his 
 wife, knew this, so when she beheld him white and still on 
 his bed before her she feared nothing, ' for,' she thought, 
 ' his father and mother are very old ; one is blind and 
 the other cannot hear, and nought in this world gives
 
 126 HERACLES THE DRAGON-KILLER 
 
 them pleasure. Surely they will not refuse to go across 
 the dark river into Hades, and leave him to me, who 
 loves him so much ? ' But the old people said ' No ; 
 truly they could not enjoy the sun and all beautiful 
 things as once they did, but still life was worth some- 
 thing after all ; and if the gods willed that Admetus 
 their son should die well, die he must.' 
 
 Thus they spake ; and Alcestis returned to her 
 husband, and stood watching him while he slept. 
 
 ' It is not true, my beloved ; you shall not die, 
 for I, thy wife, will go down into Hades instead of thee. 
 And the darkness of that underworld shall be bright 
 to me, remembering that you are in the sun.' So, 
 leaving him sleeping, she passed beyond the door, and 
 took her way to the underworld. 
 
 Soon all Greece had heard the story of Alcestis and 
 how, for love of her husband, she had entered the boat 
 of Charon the ferryman, and had crossed the river 
 Styx and dwelt among the shadows in the kingdom 
 of Hades ; and Heracles heard with the rest. 
 
 ' I will fetch her back,' cried he, ' for the gods will 
 not suffer this thing to be, and they will show me the 
 path, and bid Charon bring us again into the light of 
 day.' And the gods listened, and sent Hermes to be 
 his guide, and together they crossed the river and 
 entered the fields of asphodel, where Alcestis was 
 wandering alone. 
 
 ' Come,' said Heracles, holding out his hand ; and 
 she came, and was led back by Heracles to the side of 
 Admetus.
 
 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 WHO was Old Jeffery ? W hat was Old Jeffery ? 
 Nobody has ever known, nobody can explain how he, 
 or it, first frightened, and then amused and then 
 wearied, the large, lively, and well-educated family of 
 a country clergyman. They did not live in a haunted 
 house. Old Jeffery was not the ghost of anyone who 
 had died in the house, for it was quite a new house, 
 recently built after a fire. 
 
 Nobody ever saw Old Jeffery ; unlike good children, 
 he was * heard and not seen.' 
 
 THE WESLEY CHILDREN 
 
 First I must tell you who were the young people 
 and children that Old Jeffery played with, and some- 
 thing about their father and mother ; all of them were 
 very clever and remarkable people, well known in 
 their time, two of them becoming famous, but they were 
 not in the house when Old Jeffery played his pranks. 
 
 While queen Anne was still alive, and afterwards 
 when her cousin, George I., had newly come to the throne, 
 a large family of children were growing up in the rectory 
 of Epworth in Lincolnshire. Their father, Samuel Wesley, 
 was a man who had always depended on himself and 
 never troubled his friends to give him money or to find 
 him places. With 21. 16s. in his pocket he walked to 
 Oxford, and studied in Exeter College, earning money 
 A.S. K
 
 130 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 by giving lessons to those richer and more ignorant 
 than himself, till he was old enough to be ordained. 
 Soon after he married Miss Susannah Annesley, who 
 was no more afraid of poverty than himself. 
 
 In all they had nineteen children, but many of them 
 died when they were babies, and only ten were living 
 at the time when the strange things happened that you 
 are going to hear about. They were very poor, of 
 course, but luckily the children were all clever and 
 strong, and their mother took care that they did not 
 waste their time, and that they should give their whole 
 mind to whatever they were doing at the moment. 
 Samuel was the eldest of all ; he was in London, a master 
 in Westminster School, and secretary to the Bishop of 
 Rochester. And next came Sukey, her mother's name- 
 sake. Molly, Hetty, Emilia and Nancy followed, and 
 then the younger ones John, afterwards famous as 
 the founder of the sect of ' Wesleyans,' who took their 
 title from him, Patty, Charles who composed many 
 beautiful anthems, and little Keziah. 
 
 Nowadays, when children as a rule will not take the 
 trouble to learn to read till they are seven or eight, 
 and even then stumble and stammer over the words, 
 it is interesting to know how Mrs. Wesley managed. 
 ' None of them were taught to read till they were five 
 years old, and the day before, everyone's work was 
 appointed them, and a charge given that none should 
 come into the room from nine till twelve, or from 
 two till five, which were our school hours. One day 
 was allowed the child wherein to learn its letters, and 
 each of them did in that tune know all its letters, great 
 and small, except Molly and Nancy, who were a day 
 and a half before they knew them perfectly, for which 
 I thought them very dull ; but the reason why I thought 
 them so was because the rest learned them so readily, 
 and Samuel, who was the first child I ever taught, 
 learned the alphabet in a few hours.
 
 OLD JEFFERY 131 
 
 ' As soon as they knew the letters, they were first 
 put to spell and read one line, then a verse, never 
 leaving till perfect in their lesson, were it shorter or 
 longer.' 
 
 So what the little Wesleys knew they knew clearly 
 and well, and did not mix up one thing with another. 
 Somehow the parents contrived to save enough money 
 to send their sons to good schools Samuel and Charles 
 to Westminster, and John to the Charterhouse, then and 
 long after in the heart of the City of London. They all 
 worked hard and were specially fond of Greek and Latin, 
 and when they left school for Oxford, both Samuel and 
 John studied Hebrew, while Charles gave much of his 
 time to music. 
 
 It was after Old Jeffery's time, and during Charles's 
 school life at Westminster, that an event occurred 
 which, trifling though it seemed, might have altered 
 the course of European history. A letter was received 
 at Epworth Rectory, from an Irish gentleman, one 
 Mr. Wellesley, pointing out that though he was not 
 aware of any relationship between himself and the 
 Rector of Epworth, yet that their names were in reality 
 the same, and should one of the Rector's sons be called 
 Charles, he was ready to make him his heir and leave 
 him all his money. In the meantime he would pay all 
 his school bills. 
 
 This offer was gratefully received by the boy's 
 father, who could very ill afford the necessary fees 
 and the money for travelling between London and 
 Lincolnshire. For several years the matter was left 
 thus, when suddenly Mr. Wellesley visited Charles at 
 Westminster, told him what he proposed to do for him, 
 and asked if he would go back to Ireland with him at 
 once. The boy hesitated, saying that he would like to 
 think it over, and also to consult his father, but when 
 he did so, Mr. Wesley answered that he must decide 
 for himself. 
 
 K2
 
 132 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 Now Charles had set his heart on going to Christ 
 Church, Oxford, where he had just been elected to a 
 studentship. The life of a country squire in Ireland 
 with its hunting and fishing, so fascinating to most 
 boys, had no charms for him, so he wrote gratefully 
 to decline. Mr.Wellesley was surprised and rather dis- 
 appointed, but soon began to look for an heir in Charles's 
 place. He found one in a poor young man from a neigh- 
 bouring county, who, to please him, changed his own 
 name of Colley for that of Wellesley. The wealth of this 
 young heir, as well as his pleasant manners and talents, 
 brought him into notice. He was later made Earl of Mor- 
 nington and became the grandfather of young Arthur 
 Wellesley, better known as the Duke of Wellington. 
 Had Charles Wesley accepted the position, the other 
 young man would very likely have remained unknown, 
 and his grandson, the great Duke, would never have 
 had the chances of which he made the best. 
 
 However, it was almost a miracle that these two 
 most famous of the Wesley family, John and Charles, 
 had ever lived to go to school at all. When John was 
 six and Charles only two months old a fire broke out 
 one night in the old rectory, deliberately kindled by 
 some of Mr. Wesley's parishioners, who were furious 
 with him for preaching against their evil ways. Twice 
 before they had laid branches of burning wood about 
 the house, but each time rain had put them out. On 
 the third occasion one of the children was wakened by 
 part of the blazing thatch falling on her feet, and at 
 the same moment her father was aroused by a cry of 
 ' Fire ! ' in the street. He awoke his wife, who was 
 ill in another room, and bade Sukey and Molly not lose 
 an instant in taking her to a place of safety. Then he 
 rushed on to the nursery, and thrust Charles, the baby, 
 into the nurse's arms, and called to the others to follow 
 her. The little girls jumped up, and made their way 
 through the stifling smoke into the hall, which was
 
 
 
 Little John Wesley .saved from the fire
 
 OLD JEFFERY 135 
 
 locked, but John was a sound sleeper and heard nothing, 
 while in the darkness no one noticed that he was missing. 
 
 ' The key, the key of the front door ! ' cried Mr. 
 Wesley, but it was upstairs in his own room, and the 
 staircase was already in flames. 
 
 Now the door key must be got, or they would all be 
 burnt where they stood ; so, winding his handkerchief 
 over his mouth, Mr. Wesley dashed up the stairs, return- 
 ing with the key in his hand, and the staircase blazing 
 behind him. But even when the front door was un- 
 locked, safety seemed as far off as ever, for a violent 
 wind from the outside blew the flames inward, and 
 they all shrank back from them. Frantic with terror, 
 some of the children scrambled up to the high windows, 
 and squeezed themselves through, while others con- 
 trived to climb over a heap of smouldering furniture, 
 and reach a garden door at the back. 
 
 Mrs. Wesley was too ill to do either, and had almost 
 made up her mind to die where she was, but, gathering 
 all her courage, she sprung through the blazing door- way 
 and found herself in the street, only slightly scorched. 
 
 It was at this moment that John's voice was heard. 
 He had been awakened by the light of the flames, and, 
 terrified at finding himself alone in the burning room, 
 rushed wildly to the door, but as the way was barred by 
 fire, he managed to climb up to a chest under the 
 window and shouted for help. 
 
 The hearts of his father and mother stood still ; 
 they had quite forgotten him, or, rather, they had taken 
 for granted he was with his sisters. His father turned 
 to the staircase, but that fell in with the touch of his 
 foot. Then he ran outside again, to find that one man 
 had hoisted himself on the shoulders of another, and 
 was thus able to reach the window from which John 
 was crying for help. Hardly was John rescued and 
 placed in his arms when the whole roof fell in, but all 
 the members of the family were safe.
 
 136 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 THE NOISES IN THE HOUSE 
 
 In course of time a new rectory was built, and the 
 lives of the Wesleys flowed on quietly enough. Samuel 
 had become a clergyman and was married, John was at 
 Charterhouse, Charles at school somewhere, for though 
 in the year 1716, when the family were disturbed day 
 and night by strange noises, he was only six or seven, 
 children were sent early from home in those days, and 
 he is never once mentioned in the accounts given by 
 the rest. 
 
 The first allusion in the family letters to the dis- 
 turbances which for nearly two months upset and 
 perplexed the household is to be found in a letter of 
 Mrs. Wesley's to Samuel, dated January 12, 1717. 
 She writes to say how thankful she was to hear that he 
 was alive as they had all ' been in the greatest panic 
 imaginable almost a month,' thinking that either he 
 or one of his brothers must be dead. It seems odd that 
 being so frightened they did not hasten to inquire ; but 
 nobody thought of doing this, and they waited in fear 
 and trembling till Samuel's ' packet ' arrived. 
 
 The reason why they were so certain that someone 
 must have met with a misfortune was this. On Decem- 
 ber 1, six weeks before Mrs. Wesley's letter, the maid, 
 who had but lately entered the family, on passing the 
 dining-room door was startled by hearing groans close 
 to her, as of a person suffering agonies of pain. She 
 looked about but could find nothing, and then, sud- 
 denly taking alarm, she ran to tell her tale to her 
 mistress. Mrs. Wesley assured her she was dreaming, 
 and the girls all laughed at her ; but it was of no use. 
 She had heard the groans, she said, and it was vain to 
 pretend that she hadn't, and what was more, if they 
 would only have patience, they might hear them too. 
 
 For a few days all went on as usual, and then one 
 day Emilia, who was about seventeen, told her mother
 
 OLD JEFFERY 137 
 
 that for several nights they had all been disturbed by 
 loud knocks and groans like those Nanny Marshall had 
 spoken of. Mrs. Wesley paid no more heed to her 
 daughter's tale than she had done to that of the maid, 
 and made answer that ' the rats which John Maw had 
 frightened from his house by blowing a horn had come 
 into theirs.' She ordered that without loss of time a 
 horn should be got, and blown loudly, much to the 
 wrath of the second girl Molly, who declared that if the 
 noise really was made by a spirit it would be furious 
 at being treated as rats, and would probably make 
 itself ten tunes more troublesome. And so it proved, 
 for whereas hitherto the noise had only come by night, 
 after the blowing of the horn the knocks were heard 
 at all hours, and the latches of the doors lifted before 
 people's fingers touched them. 
 
 It was about seven in the morning, soon after this, 
 that Emilia came to fetch her mother to the nursery, 
 determined that Mrs. Wesley should know they w$J0* 
 not making a fuss about nothing. When she opened 
 the door the mother heard the noises for the first time, 
 and, though no more frightened than her daughters 
 had been after the first, was naturally very much sur- 
 prised. To begin with, the knocks seemed to come from 
 the foot of the bed, then from the head. 
 
 ' If you really are a spirit, speak to me,' cried Mrs. 
 Wesley, tapping the floor with her foot several times, 
 with little pauses in between. In an instant the knocks 
 were repeated under her feet, exactly as she had made them. 
 
 ' Answer me, too,' said little Kezzy, the youngest of 
 the family, jumping out of bed and stamping ; and 
 without a pause the raps were continued exactly as she 
 gave them. Kezzy thought that the spirit which 
 Emilia called ' Jeffery ' was nearly as good a playfellow 
 as the absent Charles, and used to run from room to 
 room, knocking as she went, and Jeffery never failed 
 to reply to her.
 
 138 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 ' Do you notice,' whispered at last one of the girls 
 to another, ' that when morning and evening my father 
 prays for the king and prince of Wales, Jeffery knocks 
 louder than ever, and, what is stranger still, that our 
 father never seems to hear it ? ' 
 
 * That is strange indeed,' answered the other. ' Does 
 mother know, think you ? Let us ask her.' And they 
 hastened to the schoolroom where the younger children 
 were just finishing their morning lessons. Mrs. Wesley 
 turned pale as she listened to them, for she called to 
 mind the belief in the village that the person whose 
 ears were deaf to such sounds was certain to fall ill or 
 die, yet, on the other hand, the fact that Mr. Wesley 
 did not hear them, might so frighten him when he 
 learned how other people did, that it might bring about 
 the very misfortune she dreaded. Therefore she pre- 
 tended that she thought nothing of it, and bade Molly 
 and Nancy be careful not to disturb their father with 
 such tales. 
 
 This is perhaps the strangest part of the story. 
 Why did Mr. Wesley not hear the noises overhead 
 when all the others did ? And why did the neighbours 
 opposite, who opened their windows and listened when 
 the noises were louder, never succeed in hearing them ? 
 The girls said Old Jeffery was a Jacobite, and on the 
 side of king James ' over the water,' the ' Old Pretender,' 
 for the noises interrupted the prayers for king George, 
 who was his reigning rival. 
 
 Jeffery had spent about a fortnight amusing himself 
 by annoying the family, who at length ceased to be 
 frightened at his tricks, when Emilia left her mother's 
 room one night, and went into Sukey's. The moment 
 she closed the door, the windows began to rattle and 
 the bells to ring, and then a tremendous noise was heard 
 in the kitchen below, as if some one had dropped a huge 
 piece of coal on the floor, and it had broken in pieces. 
 Snatching up Sukey's candle, Emilia went downstairs,
 
 OLD JEFFERY 139 
 
 but all was quiet and tidy as usual. She was passing 
 the great screen on her way to the door, when she heard 
 a loud knock close to her head. She ran round to the 
 inside of the screen, but as she did so the knocks came 
 from the place she had just left. Again she followed 
 it, and chased the noise several times, but finding it 
 always went somewhere else, gave it up, when she 
 observed that the latch of the back kitchen door, 
 leading to the ' worst stairs ' was moving up and down. 
 The girl then looked out, but could see nobody, and on 
 trying to shut the door found that it resisted, as if some 
 person were holding it back. At last, with a violent 
 effort she gave it a bang and locked it, but even after 
 this the latch continued to move up and down. How- 
 ever, Emilia was tired of Jeffery's freaks and went 
 away to bed, hearing as she did so a noise as if a great 
 stone had been thrown among the bottles under the 
 ' best stairs.' 
 
 When Emilia reached her room she found Hetty, 
 who never went to bed before her father, sitting on the 
 garret stairs. After telling her all that had happened, 
 the younger sister passed on, but scarcely was her door 
 shut when Hetty heard a heavy step, almost like a 
 man's, coming down behind her, with the sound of 
 rustling, as if some one were trailing a heavy silk dress. 
 She was more nervous than any of her sisters, and 
 trembled in her sleep if the knocks came near her ; 
 so at this new and quite unaccustomed sound, she 
 ' flew rather than ran ' to the protection of the braver 
 Emilia. 
 
 Except the big dog, which always shuddered and 
 took shelter with one of the family as soon as the 
 sounds began, the only people greatly alarmed by 
 Jeffery were the servants. At length, when the maid 
 grew almost incapable of doing her work, Mr. Wesley 
 was told even at the risk of his dying of fright through 
 having heard nothing. ' At first,' says Emilia, ' he
 
 140 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 smiled and gave no answer, but was more careful than 
 usual from that time to see us in bed, imagining it to 
 be some of us young women that sat up late and made 
 a noise.' This so provoked Emilia that she hoped the 
 sounds might go on till Mr. Wesley was quite con- 
 vinced it was not they who knocked ; and she was soon 
 gratified, as the following night nine knocks were 
 heard by his bed. After that both he and his wife, 
 hunting for the cause of the trouble, heard also the 
 crash as of the breaking of bottles, and, stranger still, as 
 if a bag of money was being emptied at their feet. In 
 vain Mrs. Wesley begged the spirit to speak, and say 
 if it were Sammy, bidding it knock if that was so, 
 but as it was silent for the rest of the night the parents 
 ' hoped that it was not against his death,' that is, was 
 not a death warning. 
 
 Mr. Wesley now began to keep a short diary, from 
 December 21 to December 29 ; he heard the noises 
 first on December 21, and on December 29 they ' were 
 very boisterous and disturbing.' 
 
 ' Jeffery ' was evidently no respecter of persons, and 
 neither servants nor children were safe from his tricks ; 
 but it was Hetty who was ' more particularly troubled 
 by him.' He ' commonly was nearer her than the rest, 
 which she took notice of, and was much frightened, 
 because she thought it had a particular spight at her.' 
 Still Hetty, like her sisters, saw nothing ; only Mrs. 
 Wesley declared that she once beheld an animal like 
 a headless badger run out from under Hetty's bed, 
 and of course the man and maid were not behind her 
 with stories. On the whole, however, Jeffery was 
 obliging, and when Mrs. Wesley ' earnestly desired 
 that she might not be disturbed between five and six 
 in the morning,' never made any noise at that hour, 
 and as long as the prayers for the king and prince of 
 Wales (George I. and his son) were left out, as hap- 
 pened on Sunday, when they were given in Church,
 
 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 141 
 
 he made no objection to any of the petitions offered 
 up by Mr. Wesley. 
 
 'For a month,' writes Emilia in her account to 
 Jack, nine or ten years later, ' it continued in full 
 majesty, night and day.' All this time great chains 
 were heard falling, the man in the ' trailing nightgown ' 
 walked up and down stairs at all hours, Nancy was 
 pursued from room to room, the bed on which she sat 
 
 was lifted up, and when she swept there was a sound 
 as of sweeping behind her, at which she grumbled, 
 thinking Jeffery might have saved her the trouble ; 
 the family pewter was thrown about the kitchen, and 
 one Sunday, to Mr. Wesley's ' no small amazement, 
 his trencher danced upon the table a pretty while, 
 without anybody stirring the table.' Unluckily, adds 
 Sukey, ' an adventurous wretch took it up and spoiled
 
 142 OLD JEFFERY 
 
 the sport, for it remained still for ever after.' Quite 
 clearly, Jeffery was a * spright ' who knew his own 
 mind. 
 
 He disapproved of cards, and one night when Sukey 
 and some of her sisters began to play, he hastened from 
 the nursery, where he had been busy with his usual 
 pranks, in order to knock loudly under their feet. 
 They understood the signal and left off, and immediately 
 Jeffery returned to the nursery, and remained there 
 till morning. On the other hand, he seems to have loved 
 dancing, and would lock himself in a ' matted chamber ' 
 next the nursery, where he could be heard by the 
 family dancing to his heart's content. 
 
 At length Mr. Wesley summoned another clergy- 
 man, Mr. Hoole, to come and help them, or if he could 
 do nothing, at least to bear witness that his family 
 had not invented these wonders. But Mr. Hoole, after 
 sitting up with Mr. and Mrs. Wesley till one or two 
 in the morning, and following Jeffery's knocks ' with 
 fear ' all over the house, was quite convinced of the 
 truth of the story, and not sorry when the morning 
 came, and he could return to his own peaceful house. 
 
 Mr. Hoole was luckier than Mr. Wesley, for old 
 Jeffery took great liberties with him. ' I have been thrice 
 pushed,' he writes, ' by an invisible power, once against 
 the corner of my desk in the study, a second time against 
 the door of the matted chamber, a third time against 
 the right side of the frame of my study door, as I was 
 going in.' 
 
 Whether Mr. Hoole's presence had frightened 
 Jeffery as much as Jeffery had frightened Mr. Hoole 
 we do not know, but certain it is that on the night of 
 December 28, 1716, he ' loudly knocked in the nursery 
 and departed.' Not for ever, as the family greatly 
 hoped, but he * remained pretty quiet ' till January 24, 
 when he began to knock again. Then, however, the 
 knocking only took place at night, as had happened at
 
 OLD JEFFERY 143 
 
 first, and * grew less and less troublesome,' for now 
 Jeffery only knocked outside instead of in, and ' seemed 
 farther and farther off,' till, on April 1, its last dis- 
 turbance is noted by Emilia. 
 
 By this time the whole village could talk of nothing 
 but the strange sounds in the Rectory, which were made 
 the most of by both the servants. The Wesley s them- 
 selves would gladly have dropped the subject. * Send 
 me some news,' writes Sukey to Sam on March 27, 
 ' for we are secluded from the sight or hearing of any- 
 thing except Jeffery,' while her mother adds, ' for my 
 part, I am quite tired with hearing or speaking of it.' 
 
 And that was the end of Jeffery.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 IT was during the war between England and Napoleon 
 that one August morning in 1809 a young Frenchman 
 was sailing in a ship belonging to his father between 
 Marseilles and Nice. Unluckily for him, the English 
 were keeping a strict look-out on all the ports, and 
 soon gave chase to the little vessel, which speedily 
 surrendered, and the men were immediately put on 
 board the cruiser. The young master, however, seeing 
 what was before him, filled his pockets with money 
 and anything else he thought of value, which, strange 
 to say, he was allowed to keep. 
 
 The next day he and his fellow-prisoners were 
 transferred to another ship, which spread its sails for 
 England, and as the wind was fair they arrived quickly 
 on the coast of Norfolk, where they found other ships 
 and other captives to the number of several hundreds. 
 These were at once taken to the different prisons 
 marked out for them, of which Norman's Cross, not far 
 from Peterborough, was the largest. It was built on 
 a hill, a rare object in that flat fen country, and was 
 dry and healthy. The great North Road between 
 London and Edinburgh ran past the gates, and as the 
 prisoner speaks of all the carriages and coaches he 
 saw going by, the windows of the cells must have been 
 larger and better placed than usual. Indeed, from the 
 young man's description, the whole place seems to 
 have been well managed, and he expressly says that
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 145 
 
 they were not treated with more severity than was 
 needed to guard so many captives. Their food was 
 good and plentiful, and consisted of fish or meat with 
 bread and vegetables ; and, wonderful to relate, the 
 greatest care was taken by the prison officials that 
 everything should be of the best, and that no short 
 measure was given. Besides the food supplied by the 
 English Government, who paid the French cooks 
 chosen out from among the prisoners, the country 
 people brought their goods to market every day, and 
 sold them to those who had money to buy, in a large 
 courtyard. There were also a school and a hospital, so 
 that in many ways the prisoners were really more 
 comfortable than their fellow-countrymen who were 
 fighting in Spain or in Bavaria. Even their amusement 
 had been thought of, which was not very common in 
 those days, and there were several billiard- tables, the 
 work of the prisoners themselves ; but these gave rise 
 to all sorts of disputes and quarrels, sometimes to 
 duels, w r hich more than once ended in the death of 
 either one or other. Of course their swords had been 
 taken from them, but they contrived to sharpen the 
 blades of their knives and fix them into sticks to which 
 they had added handles. With these weapons they 
 fought to the death. 
 
 What struck the young Frenchman most about 
 the gaol was the entire absence of the numerous high, 
 strong walls and deep moats and iron spikes which 
 made the strength of all the great prisons the young 
 man had ever seen or read of. Instead of these 
 were bands of sentries, constantly being changed, 
 so always awake. In one way this made escape 
 more difficult, in another more easy; for escape was 
 never absent from the young man's mind, night or 
 day. 
 
 But how to do it ? During the year and a half that 
 A.S. L
 
 146 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 passed by before he made the attempt many had tried 
 before him, and few had been successful. 
 
 Like a wise man he began by counting up all the 
 obstacles that he would have to triumph over, and to 
 think how he could surmount each one. First there 
 were the high wooden palings ; well, he was used to 
 climbing, and thought he could manage those. But 
 outside them were the sentinels, only a few yards 
 distant one from the other, with their muskets cocked 
 and ready to fire. For the moment he would suppose 
 that these were passed, and in that case a rope with a 
 hook could get him to the top of the wall, but below it 
 there were more sentries with more muskets. 
 
 And in addition to all these there was still another 
 difficulty, and that was how to make any preparations 
 without being discovered by his fellow-prisoners, who 
 were busy working at toys and other things which 
 they were allowed to sell, in the same room. One of 
 them was so clever that after being in prison some 
 years he earned 300/., and, being fond of drawing, he 
 readily undertook, under promise of secrecy, to map 
 out the country between Norman's Cross and the sea, 
 marking down all the roads and villages it would be 
 necessary to pass. But it was in vain for the young 
 Frenchman to try to learn the names of any of these ; 
 he could not even pronounce them. So he determined 
 that if ever he was to get to the coast in safety he must 
 never speak at all. 
 
 One difficulty he was spared, which in his own 
 country would have stopped him at the outset, and 
 that was the necessity of providing himself with a 
 passport, giving an exact description of his appearance, 
 of his age, his business, and all kinds of other details, 
 that would have constantly to be shown to anyone 
 who asked for it. 
 
 Little by little he changed some of his French 
 money for the English gold with which the prisoners
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 147 
 
 were paid for their toys and baskets. At last he had 
 about five sovereigns, with some silver and a few 
 pennies ; and these, with the French money he had 
 left, he hid in the pockets of his blue sailor suit. A rope 
 he had contrived to make out of wool, and a hook was 
 fastened to the end of it, to catch on to the top of the 
 wall. It is hardly possible that he could have done 
 all this without his fellow-prisoners guessing his inten- 
 tions, but they were good-natured creatures, and quite 
 understood that ' there are none so blind as those who 
 won't see.' 
 
 At last he was ready, and one dark night in February, 
 when the wind was blowing a gale and driving torrents 
 of icy rain in the face of any man who put his nose 
 outside, the prisoner felt that he would never have a 
 better chance of passing the sentinels. Into his jacket 
 he thrust a strong knife, and hid a tinder-box in the 
 lining of his cap. He also rolled a flannel shirt up very 
 tight, and got it with some difficulty into his trouser 
 pocket, while a pair of dry socks were stuffed in some- 
 where else. As for food, he had no room for anything 
 except a couple of biscuits. 
 
 As soon as it was dark he signalled to his friend 
 who was in the secret, and sitting behind him on the 
 floor pretended to be mending something by the fitful 
 light of the fire. What he really was doing was cutting 
 a piece out of one of the boards which would give him 
 room enough to pass into a cellar below, with a door 
 leading into the yard. This he managed to accomplish 
 more quickly than he expected. The board was replaced 
 by his friend, and the fugitive slipped unnoticed behind 
 a pile of faggots that were stacked in the yard. 
 
 As the night wore on the wind grew louder and 
 louder, and the rain heavier and heavier. The poor 
 man was nearly frozen, but he dared not move till 
 he heard the prison clock strike eleven. That was the 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 time that he had fixed on as giving him the best chance, 
 for he would have an hour in which to work before the 
 sentinels were changed at midnight. 
 
 The wooden paling was soon cut through, and then 
 came a breathless moment when he listened with 
 straining ears to know if the sentinels had heard him. 
 No ; there was nothing ; and as if to help him to escape, 
 there came such a furious blast of wind and rain that 
 nothing would stand against it. Seizing his oppor- 
 tunity, he threw up the rope, which luckily caught the 
 first time, and, after pulling it as hard as he could, to 
 make sure it would bear his weight, he climbed up it, 
 hand over hand. At the top he listened again, when 
 suddenly a door opened just under the wall. He 
 stretched himself out quite flat, and after a minute or 
 two of agonised waiting the sentry went back into 
 his box, and shut out the rain and the wind. Then the 
 Frenchman pulled up his rope and slid down the wall, 
 towards some lamps which must be passed. Here he 
 thought that all was over for him, as just as he was 
 about to step out of the darkness a picket of five or 
 six men crossed in front. But their heads were bent low 
 against the wind and the rain, and again he was saved. 
 
 The boundary ditch once left behind he was a free 
 man, and for several hours he walked on, keeping clear 
 of the high road, where coaches and carriages might 
 be met with at any time of night. The villages 
 all seemed asleep, and even in the town of Oundle 
 not a soul was stirring, though by this time the rain 
 had ceased, and the moon was peeping out, showing 
 him a small shed standing in a field near by, where 
 he determined to rest. Worn out by excitement 
 and fatigue he threw himself on the straw, and slept 
 soundly for a couple of hours. 
 
 With the earliest streaks of dawn he rose and looked 
 about him. It seemed he was in a manger, which he
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 149 
 
 had shared with a cow and a calf. 'Ah,' thought he, 
 ' I must get out of this at once, for the cowherd will 
 be coming ; but first I will have some breakfast,' and 
 taking his cap for a basin, he milked the cow into it, 
 for he had been brought up on a farm, and was well 
 used to such things. Then, feeling a new man, he 
 continued his journey. 
 
 His next resting-place was in a haystack which 
 had been partly cut, and here he took out his map and 
 examined the roads he had come, and those he had 
 still to pass. The sun shone bright and strong and dried 
 and warmed him, but he was rather dismayed to find 
 that he had taken a wrong turning in the dark and 
 gone in exactly the opposite direction to what he had 
 intended. However, he came to the conclusion that 
 he could soon mend that by striking straight east, 
 towards the sea. What troubled him much more than 
 having missed his way was the fact that he was very 
 hungry, and he had only one biscuit left in his pocket. 
 
 For two or three hours he walked on, keeping 
 behind hedges and waiting till the few passengers on the 
 roads had passed by. His spirits rose with the feeling 
 that a few hours more would find him on the coast, 
 when his heart stood still with horror. There on a hill, 
 only a few fields in front of him, stood the prison, 
 which he thought he had left behind for ever. 
 
 Fortunately for him, it was by this time nearly 
 dark, or some one would surely have noticed the strange 
 creature flying along as if he had wings, till he reached 
 the cowshed beyond the bridge of Oundle. This last 
 shock had exhausted him more than the whole of the 
 previous day, and he had no chance of breakfast any 
 more than supper, for the cow and the calf were no 
 longer there. However, he could still sleep, and sleep 
 he did till morning, when he found that the rain had 
 begun again as hard as ever. 
 
 It soon occurred to him that as the hut must belong
 
 150 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 to somebody, it was dangerous to lie there unconcealed, 
 so he looked about to see if he could make himself a 
 hiding-place. Yes, he was sure he could manage one, 
 for some hurdles and an old gate were already laid out 
 of the way across the beams in the roof, and he carried 
 up some straw to heap over them. When he had 
 arranged it, he carefully examined it from below, and 
 found to his joy that it really looked as if it had been 
 stacked on purpose. So he swung himself up, and 
 curled himself up out of sight close to a hole in the roof, 
 through which he could perceive the high road and the 
 fields adjoining. 
 
 He had been up in his perch for a couple of hours, 
 when he saw three soldiers with fixed bayonets crossing 
 the bridge. They came straight towards the shed, and 
 two of them entered and glanced round, but not imagin- 
 ing that anyone could be hidden in a place which had 
 the door open for all passers-by to look into, they took 
 their departure, but not before they had thrust their 
 bayonets up through the hurdles and straw where the 
 fugitive was lying. As it happened the points never 
 touched him, and that danger was over. 
 
 After this it seemed best to travel by night and along 
 the banks of a river if he could find one. So at eleven 
 he set out and reached Peterborough about three. 
 Hungry though he was, he did not dare to stop at any 
 of the inns which he passed on the way, and thankful 
 indeed was the poor wanderer to see the river Xene 
 in front of him, and to sit on a stile to rest. Always 
 proceeding with the greatest caution, that night he 
 arrived fainting with hunger at the town of Wisbeach, 
 which proved much larger than he expected, and in 
 spite of the vessels that gladdened his eyes, the sight of 
 some soldiers warned him to continue his journey as 
 quickly as possible. At length he reached a large village, 
 with canals and fens all round it, and at the end of the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 153 
 
 street, standing apart from the other houses, was a shop. 
 And what was more, a shop with bread and cheese in it. 
 
 At that moment the Frenchman would thankfully 
 have given a gold piece for a single slice of the loaf, 
 but though he had plenty of money, he knew quite well 
 that if he were to speak his accent would betray him. 
 He stood hesitating and staring through the window, 
 when there entered a waterman, who sat down in a 
 chair and silently passed his hand over his chin. The 
 shopkeeper seemed to understand, for without asking 
 any questions, he put a cloth over his customer's 
 shoulders, and began to shave him. As soon as he had 
 finished, the waterman put two pence on the counter, and 
 took from the window some herrings and a loaf of bread, 
 which he tied up in his handkerchief. Then holding out 
 four pence in payment, he left the shop. 
 
 Delighted at receiving such a good lesson of how to 
 satisfy his pangs, the Frenchman walked boldly in and 
 imitated the waterman in every particular, except that 
 he bought more food and some tobacco and a pipe. 
 
 The very fact of having provisions with him seemed 
 to make him feel less hungry, and he soon found a 
 tumbledown shed on the banks of a stream in w r hich he 
 could eat in peace. 
 
 The next day, Sunday, he washed his shirt and socks, 
 and rested in the hovel, and, a different man from the 
 worn-out creature of twenty-four hours previous, he 
 set off at nine o'clock for Downham. 
 
 Up to this point all had gone well, but on leaving 
 Downham he took a wrong turn, and found himself at 
 the very place he had been warned not to go near 
 Lynn, in Norfolk. 
 
 Now the young Frenchman had been so very lucky 
 in his wanderings ever since he had escaped from 
 prison that he had grown careless, and besides the sight 
 of the sea and the ships had made his longing for France
 
 154 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 and freedom almost unbearable. Therefore, instead 
 of going to one of the smaller ports along the coast, 
 he determined to try for a passage from Lynn itself. 
 although he had sense enough still to hide himself in 
 some fields by day, and wait till midnight before he 
 ventured out. 
 
 The old fishing town seemed fast asleep, and he 
 walked from end to end without meeting anyone except 
 an old watchman or two. 
 
 * I need not have been so cautious,' he said to him- 
 self ; ' to-morrow I will come earlier,' and so he did, and 
 entered the gates about ten o'clock while some of the 
 shops were still open, and sat down on a bench close 
 to the harbour. Here he remained for about an hour, 
 looking at the different boats and wondering which one 
 would suit his purpose. So absorbed was he that he 
 never noticed that the other people had disappeared and 
 he was alone. He was, however, recalled to himself 
 at seeing a band of six or seven sailors armed with 
 sticks, and accompanied by an officer with a sword, pass 
 close to him. They gazed hard at him but did not stop, 
 and the young man dared not stir, lest he should cause 
 them to suspect him. In another minute the men 
 were back again, and the officer, tapping him on the 
 shoulder, signed to him to follow. 
 
 The fugitive was so overcome at the downfall of his 
 hopes that his legs seemed incapable of moving. Upon 
 this, the roughest of all the band seized him by the collar 
 and shook him, which so irritated the young man that 
 he struck out with his own stick, and knocked over two 
 of the sailors. But they were seven to one, and he was 
 very soon overpowered by a sharp knock on the back of 
 his head, the officer in command looking on and saying 
 nothing. 
 
 In this way they went along two or three streets till 
 they entered, not a gaol as the prisoner expected, but a 
 small inn, where the officer gave one of the men some
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 155 
 
 orders in a low voice and then left, taking the rest of the 
 band with him. The man in charge took his prisoner 
 into a small room, where for some time they sat silently 
 on each side of the fire. 
 
 So they remained for about an hour, when suddenly 
 a loud noise was heard downstairs and the sailor was 
 frequently called by name to help. He rushed out of 
 
 the door, locking it quickly after him, and apparently 
 forgetting all about the window, which, though a good 
 height from the ground, was a possible means of escape 
 to anyone used to climbing. The instant the key turned 
 in the lock the prisoner rushed to the window and flung 
 it open, but before he could get out of it he heard his 
 gaoler's footsteps coming up the stairs. Without know- 
 ing why, the captive crept under a big oak table with two
 
 156 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 large flaps which stood on one side of the room, where 
 he was quite hidden. The key grated in the lock and 
 the sailor came in, but at the sight of the open window he 
 gave a cry of rage, and springing towards it swung him- 
 self down below. Then the Frenchman stole swiftly 
 from his hiding-place, and catching sight of the sailor 
 disappearing in the direction of the harbour, jumped 
 down in his turn, and took an opposite road, which he 
 hoped might lead him into the country. What was his 
 dismay when, on rounding the corner, he came on the 
 rest of the band of sailors, who with a shout gave 
 chase . 
 
 Tired as he was for the blow on his head had been 
 a very hard one he seemed to hear the gates of the 
 prison closing behind him, when he noticed a door 
 close to him standing a little open. It was in a dark 
 part of the street, next to a narrow lane, and he had 
 the good fortune to slip in without" their perceiving 
 him, and he held his breath while they dashed madly 
 up the lane. As soon as he felt quite sure that the 
 danger was over for the moment, he sank down on the 
 floor, in front of an old woman who had been sitting 
 by the fire stroking her cat when he had so unexpectedly 
 entered. 
 
 She understood in a moment that the young man 
 before her was a stranger imploring her help, and 
 seeing that he was almost fainting from exhaustion 
 and pain, poured some brandy down his throat and 
 placed a pillow under his head. 
 
 During the whole of the next day the helpless man 
 lay ill in her house, and as he understood a little English, 
 though he could not speak it, he learned that she also had 
 a son who was a prisoner of war in France, and for his 
 sake would shelter all who sought her protection. As 
 to accepting any of the money he held out, she pushed 
 it indignantly away. 
 
 Of course it was quite clear he could not remain
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 157 
 
 in the little kitchen close to the street, but there was 
 an empty room at the back which no one could see 
 into, and into this the fugitive was moved. In the 
 evenings when all was quiet she would lock her front 
 door, and come and talk to her guest. She was, he 
 found, the widow of a sea captain who had left her 
 with enough to live on comfortably. Her children 
 and grandchildren were all dead except the sailor who 
 was now a prisoner hi the town of Verdun. For two 
 years she had had no news of him but here, with 
 tears in his eyes, the young Frenchman interrupted her, 
 and exclaimed that if ever he got back to France he 
 would never rest till he had obtained her son's freedom. 
 
 As soon as the fugitive was able to leave his bed, 
 she gave him some clothes belonging to one of her 
 grandsons, as his own had been torn and spoilt in all 
 his adventures since he had left the prison, and besides, 
 these things were of English make, and would partly 
 serve as a disguise. 
 
 At the end of a week he declared he was perfectly 
 well again, and meant to continue his journey. She 
 begged him to run no risks and wait a little longer, 
 but he would listen to nothing, and at last she had to 
 content herself with giving him the best advice she 
 could how to escape detection. 
 
 ' To-morrow is market day,' she said, ' and if you 
 walk boldly along nobody will heed you, for they will 
 be far too busy with their own concerns. Go straight 
 eastwards, and you will find yourself on the coast 
 road. The place where I think you are sure to get a 
 ship is many miles off, and you will have to spend at 
 least one night on the way. But I will give you food 
 enough to last your whole journey, so that you need 
 never enter a shop.' 
 
 ' Ah, madame ! how good you are ! ' cried the young 
 man, seizing her hands. ' How can I ever thank you ? ' 
 
 ' Send me back my son,' said she, and was silent
 
 158 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 
 
 for a little. Then she continued : ' At Langham you 
 will catch sight of the sea, and leaving the village 
 behind you keep along the edge of the cliffs for half 
 a mile till you see below you on the beach a handful 
 of cottages, one of which stands by itself and 
 has a boat moored in front of it. Hidden among 
 some bushes is a path that leads downwards, but 
 be careful, for it is very steep, and the sand is loose 
 and slips easily. You can conceal yourself in the bushes 
 till it is dark, and when you notice a candle put in the 
 window of the house that stands alone, and has three 
 oyster- shells over the door, come out and knock. 
 You can trust yourself safely to the man who is 
 within.' 
 
 With a sad and grateful heart he bade farewell to 
 the kindest of friends, whom he never saw again, and 
 at eight o'clock in the morning the escaped prisoner 
 was already on his way. He followed carefully the 
 directions which had been given him, and at dusk on 
 the second evening entered the house with the three 
 oyster-shells a sign, he had been told, that the master 
 was at home. 
 
 Inside a man dressed like a sailor and wearing a cap 
 made of hair was sitting at a small table smoking a 
 pipe and drinking a glass of grog. A scar ran across 
 his forehead, and he wore a silver ring on his thumb ; 
 but at the entrance of his visitor he took the pipe 
 from his mouth and stared hard at the intruder. 
 
 The Frenchman, who had been warned by the old 
 woman what to do, made a sign over his head with two 
 fingers of his left hand, which was at once replied to by 
 the other, who told the young man in French to come 
 in and have some supper, and that he would see to the 
 rest. 
 
 The fugitive did not need to be informed that his 
 host was a smuggler, and that the good brandy he so
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A PRISONER 159 
 
 badly needed in his exhausted state had never paid 
 duty to King George. 
 
 That night with several others after was spent 
 by the Frenchman in a strange hiding-place with a tiny 
 hole in the wall, through which he could see everyone 
 that approached the house. Inside his door was a 
 strong iron bar, which the smuggler desired him never 
 to move unless a certain password was given, and he 
 was further warned not to leave the house on any 
 pretext whatever. 
 
 The days that followed were very dreary to the 
 captive. He was always in the dark, so could neither 
 read nor do any work with his hands, which had whiled 
 away some of the long hours in prison. His host was 
 busy with his own affairs, and it was only when the 
 rest of the village was asleep that he invited the 
 captive into another room, when the smuggler sought 
 to cheer him up with stories of hairbreadth escapes 
 from the Revenue men. 
 
 At last, when the Frenchman had almost given up 
 hope, he saw from his peephole a boat with two men 
 and a boy approaching the shore, and knew the boy 
 to be the son of the smuggler. As he was gazing the 
 smuggler himself tapped him on the shoulder. ' Come, 
 quick,' he said, and without a word more the French- 
 man was hurried into the boat, and the two men pulled 
 with all their might till, after two hours, they reached 
 a small Dutch vessel which was waiting for them. 
 ' Quick,' said the smuggler again, and hoisted his 
 passenger up on deck ; then, waving their caps, he and 
 his son picked up their oars and pushed off. 
 
 In two days the French prisoner was on the soil of 
 France, free !
 
 WHAT BECAME OF OLD ME. HARRISON? 
 
 IN the northern part of the county of Gloucester there 
 is a range of hills called the Cotswolds, and scattered 
 about them are beautiful ancient towns and manor 
 houses, often 300 or 400 years old, built of a kind of 
 soft yellow stone easily carved into curious shapes. 
 In Chipping Campden, one of the smallest of these 
 towns so small, indeed, that it only had a single 
 street very strange things happened in the years of 
 Cromwell's death and Charles II.'s restoration, and to 
 this day no one has ever been able to find out the exact 
 truth about them. The great family of the neighbour- 
 hood was the Campdens, and when news reached the 
 Cotswolds that Cromwell's soldiers were marching 
 that way, Lord Campden set fire to his own house lest 
 it should afford shelter to the rebels. In 1659, when 
 this story opens, the Cotswolds were quiet again, but 
 Lady Campden did not attempt to rebuild the old 
 manor, and lived in another house in the village, leaving 
 her agent Harrison and his family to make themselves 
 as comfortable as they could in a few rooms of the old 
 house which the fire had spared. 
 
 The Campdens were Royalists, but the Harrisons, 
 faithful servants though they were, were Puritans by 
 religion, and attended regularly the services or ' lec- 
 tures ' conducted by the Puritan ministers in the 
 parish church. On their return from one of these lec- 
 tures at noon on a market day in 1659, they noticed
 
 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON ? 161 
 
 with surprise that some iron bars of a window on the 
 second floor were missing, and the stone in which they 
 were fixed was broken. As the windows were high 
 above the ground, it was plain that the person who 
 had done this must have entered by the help of a ladder, 
 and old Harrison's heart sank at the sight, for this was 
 the room in which he put away Lady Campden' s rents 
 as soon as he had collected them. He hastily unlocked 
 the front door, and ran upstairs. Yes, what he feared 
 had come to pass, and 140 belonging to Lady Campden 
 had been stolen, and in those days this was a much 
 larger sum of money than it is now. He made, of course, 
 a great hue and cry, but though in general the villagers 
 were quick to note and to suspect any stranger who 
 appeared among them, nobody had seen or heard any- 
 thing out of the common, and Harrison was forced to 
 let the matter rest and make his peace with Lady 
 Campden as best he could. 
 
 So the weeks passed on, and the robbery was almost 
 forgotten, when one day a man called John Perry, who 
 did odd jobs for the Harrisons, was heard shrieking for 
 help in the garden. Everyone came running to his 
 aid, and when he could speak, it was an odd story that 
 he told. He had been attacked, he declared, by two 
 men dressed hi white with naked swords in their hands, 
 but had managed to beat them off, though he had only 
 a spud to defend himself with ; and he held up the 
 handle, all dented and scarred, to show how fierce had 
 been the fight. 
 
 The Harrisons heard this with astonishment, as well 
 they might. Again inquiries were made, but though 
 one would have thought that men in white were an 
 uncommon sight, and that someone must have remarked 
 them, they had vanished as utterly as if they had sprung 
 from the earth to attack John Perry, and then sunk 
 into it. 
 
 A.S. M
 
 162 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON ? 
 
 More than half of the year 1660 had passed away, 
 and no men, white or black, had assaulted any more of 
 the inhabitants of Chipping Campden. On August 16 
 Mr. Harrison told his wife that he must go to the village 
 of Charringworth and collect some rents that were then 
 due, though the date was not a usual date for gather- 
 ing rents. The day wore awaj r , and as evening drew 
 near old Mrs. Harrison grew very anxious. Charring- 
 worth was only two miles from Campden, and her 
 husband ought to have been back hours ago. When 
 eight o'clock came, and there was still no sign of him, 
 she could bear it no longer, and bade John Perry go to 
 Charringworth, and see what had happened. He could 
 take his lantern ; that would give him light enough to 
 make out the road. 
 
 All night long the poor lady sat up, having placed 
 candles in Harrison's window to cheer him as he walked 
 homewards, but dawn approached and both Harrison 
 and Perry were still absent. Then she roused her son 
 Edward, who did not share his mother's alarm, or he 
 would not have lain in bed so quietly. However, he 
 jumped up at once, and dressing by the rays of the 
 moon, set off to Charringworth. 
 
 Edward had scarcely gone beyond Campden, when 
 he met Perry, who declared he could get no tidings of 
 his master. But his search could not have been very 
 keen, for when Edward, who insisted that Perry should 
 accompany him, reached another little village not a 
 mile from Campden, he found that his father had 
 stopped there on his way home, in the house of a man 
 called Daniel. Starting from this clue, he inquired 
 further, and next learned that a woman had picked up 
 in a clump of furze bushes nearer still to Campden a 
 hat, a comb, all cut and broken, and a neckband with 
 blood on it. 
 
 At this news all the people both in Elrington and 
 Campden took for granted that Harrison was dead, and
 
 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON ? 163 
 
 at once began to look for his body in every possible 
 and impossible place. But, seek as they would, no 
 body could be found, and there was not even a trace of 
 blood or a sign of struggle, either on the road or on the 
 grass. Then it was whispered, none could say by whom, 
 that John Perry knew more about old Harrison's dis- 
 appearance than he chose to tell, and the following 
 morning John was summoned before the Justice of the 
 Peace, Sir Thomas Overbury, to give an account of his 
 doings on the night of August 16, and this was his 
 tale. 
 
 At Mrs. Harrison's bidding he had left Campden 
 House the evening before, about a quarter to nine, but 
 hardly had he started when he felt frightened at being 
 alone and in the dark, and meeting a man he knew 
 named William Reed, walking the opposite way, he 
 stopped and talked to him, and explained that he was 
 going back to get Mr. Edward's horse, so that he might 
 finish his errand the quicker. The two men went a few 
 steps together, and, as Reed afterwards swore, parted 
 at Harrison's gate. Instead of getting the horse, Perry 
 stayed where he was, within call of the house, till 
 another friend, Pierce, passed by, and with him Perry 
 summoned up courage to go as far as the fields, return- 
 ing, however, to his post at the gate. By this time he 
 was feeling rather chilly, so he sat for an hour in the 
 hen-house, waiting for the moon to rise, which it did 
 at midnight. He then started for Charrmgworth, but 
 as a mist came up, which hid the moon, he quietly lay 
 down under a hedge and went to sleep. At dawn he 
 awoke, and at length reached the village, two miles from 
 home, for which he had set out eight hours earlier. 
 
 Here he learned nothing, except that no one had 
 seen old Harrison there on the previous day ; but most 
 likely he did not waste much time in the search, and 
 on his way back he met, as has been said, with Edward 
 Harrison. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON ? 
 
 We do not know what the missing man's wife and 
 son thought of this amazing story. Probably they did 
 not believe a word of it, but Sir Thomas Overbury 
 ordered Perry to be kept under lock and key in the inn 
 for a week, while inquiries were made. To everybody's 
 surprise, however, Reed and Pierce and two Charring- 
 worth men, all stated that what he had said of them 
 was true, and perhaps this encouraged Perry, for his 
 tales grew more and more marvellous, and often differed 
 strangely from each other. At one time he declared 
 that Harrison had been murdered by a tinker, and his 
 body hidden in a stack of beans. Men were instantly 
 sent to search the stack, but no body was there. Next 
 he insisted on seeing Sir Thomas Overbury, as he would 
 confess to him and to no one else ; and when he was 
 brought into his presence, he vowed that Harrison had 
 been murdered by himself, his mother and his brother, 
 and further that the robbery of the year before had 
 been planned by him and carried out by his brother 
 Richard, who had buried the stolen money in the 
 garden. But no money was found in the spot he 
 indicated. Then, in order to have nothing left on his 
 mind, he ended by saying that there was not a word of 
 truth in the story of the men in white who had attacked 
 him. 
 
 Having once begun to talk about himself, Perry 
 found the subject so fascinating that he could not stop, 
 and, what was worse, in these new stories he made his 
 brother and mother play an important part. It was 
 they, he said, who were always asking him when the 
 rents were to be collected, and, forgetting all about 
 Pierce and Reed, he now told the magistrate that he 
 and Richard had followed Harrison home on the night 
 of August 16 ; that Richard, in the presence of his 
 mother, had knocked the old man down and then 
 strangled him, John apparently looking on ; that they 
 took his money, and meant, when John himself left
 
 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON? 165 
 
 them, to throw the body into the great sink by the 
 mill. But the body was not in the sink, any more than 
 it was in the bean stack, and though Perry allowed that 
 he had carried away the hat, comb and neckband, and 
 thrown them into the furze bush where they were 
 found, he did not explain why, as Harrison was 
 strangled, there should have been any blood on the 
 neckband. 
 
 At this point Joan Perry and her son Richard were 
 arrested, and with John committed for trial on the 
 ground that they had robbed old Harrison as well as 
 murdered him. There was no proof excepting John 
 Perry's own confession that they had ever been con- 
 cerned in one or the other crimes, and if they were 
 guilty so was he. Unluckily Richard and his mother 
 were advised by some foolish friend to confess to the 
 robbery, thinking themselves sure of pardon under a 
 law just passed by Charles II., but the murder charge 
 was proceeded with, though the first judge threw it 
 out, declaring that till Harrison's body was discovered 
 there was no certainty of his death. For what reason 
 we do not know, the case stood over for six months, 
 when another judge was sitting, and he seems to have 
 considered the bad reputation of the Perry family as 
 sufficient evidence for something being wrong. No one 
 had seen either the robbery or the murder, but plenty 
 of people came forward to swear that the old mother, 
 Joan, was a witch, and had worked much evil in the 
 village, and John and Richard were her sons, and therefore 
 must be as bad as she was. So they were all sentenced 
 to be hung, and hung they were, John declaring at the 
 last that he knew nothing of his master's death, nor 
 where he was, but this they might perhaps learn here- 
 after. 
 
 This is the end of the first part of the story, and one 
 cannot help suspecting that when John began these 
 wonderful tales he did not foresee that they would
 
 166 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON ? 
 
 lead him straight to the gallows, though he may have 
 been quite willing, or even anxious, that his mother 
 and brother should go there. 
 
 HARRISON'S REAPPEARANCE 
 
 It was two or three years after the hanging of the 
 Perry s that old Harrison came back to Campden, 
 where his son had taken his place as Lady Campden's 
 agent. Great was the surprise of all at the sight of the 
 man whom they had universally believed to be dead, 
 on the bare word of a lunatic given to behold visions. 
 Everyone was eager to hear his tale, but when he told 
 it,*it was to the full as marvellous as any nursery story 
 of robbers and giants or even as the inventions of Perry 
 himself. 
 
 He was returning home, he said, along the road 
 between Charringworth and Campden on the night of 
 August 16, 1660, having in his pocket 231., the rent of 
 one Edward Plaisterer. Dusk was falling, for he had 
 been kept in Charringworth later than he intended, 
 when suddenly out of the furze bushes by the roadside 
 there appeared before him a horseman who cried, ' Art 
 thou there ? ' Harrison, startled and frightened, hit 
 the horse on the nose with his fist, and then the horse- 
 man drew his sword and stabbed him in the side. In a 
 moment the rider was joined by two other mounted 
 companions, one of whom gave Harrison a dig with a 
 sword in the thigh, while a second dragged him up 
 behind his saddle and put handcuffs on his hands and 
 a great cloak over his shoulders. 
 
 The hat and comb, which, we know, had been found 
 among the furze bushes, might easily have fallen off 
 in the struggle, but the neckband required to be care- 
 fully unfastened, and Harrison says nothing of any 
 wound about his face that would account for the 
 blood on it.
 
 WHAT BECAME OF OLD MR. HARRISON ? 169 
 
 Well, this strange party rode on for some distance, 
 and ' tumbled ' the old man into a stonepit, first taking 
 away his 23Z. Here he was left for an hour, when he 
 was dragged out again, wounded afresh, and perhaps 
 to make amends had a ' great quantity of money 
 stuffed into his pockets.' 
 
 All the next day they pursued their way, and at 
 evening stopped at a lonely house, where somehow 
 or other they managed to get both broth and brandy, 
 with which they fed their bleeding captive. On Sunday 
 about three they arrived at Deal their horses must 
 have been astonishingly swift to have covered the 
 distance in three days and laid Harrison on the ground, 
 where one of the men stood over him. The other two 
 meanwhile held a conversation with a man who had 
 suddenly made his appearance, and though Harrison 
 was too far off to hear all they said, he caught the words 
 ' seven pounds ' and a glance at himself, followed by 
 the remark that he would probably die before he was 
 got on board a ship. 
 
 In 'this, it chanced, he was mistaken, as Harrison 
 declares that he stayed on that vessel with several 
 other prisoners for six weeks, during which time they 
 seem to have sailed about the Mediterranean, for at 
 length they encountered three Turkish ships who 
 attacked and captured them. The fellow-prisoners 
 appear to have been sold as slaves in the city of Smyrna, 
 while Harrison became the property of a Turkish 
 physician, who had travelled much in England, and 
 thought that there was no place like the old Fen town of 
 Crowland in Lincolnshire. Perhaps it was his affection 
 for England which induced him to buy Harrison, or 
 ' Boll,' as he called him, for a man of seventy is not 
 likely to be a very useful slave. However, seventy may 
 have been considered quite youthful by an old gentle- 
 man of eighty-seven, which was the age of the Turk, 
 who in spite of his years one day knocked ' Boll ' flat
 
 170 WHAT BECAME OF OLD 3/7?. HARRISON? 
 
 with a blow of his fist, and then gave him a silver 
 drinking- bowl to make it up. 
 
 Nearly two years passed in this manner, when 
 suddenly the Turk died, and Harrison, with his bowl 
 in his pocket for passage money, went on board a vessel 
 bound for Hamburg, but was faithlessly put on shore at 
 Lisbon. Here he was lucky enough to meet with an 
 Englishman, who took pity on his forlorn condition and 
 sent him back to Dover. How he came from there 
 to Campden he does not say. 
 
 It would be very interesting to know how many 
 people in Harrison's native place believed this wonder- 
 ful tale. In those times so little was really known of 
 what happened hi the world outside the village that in 
 some ways it was easy enough for the greatest marvels 
 to be accepted without question. Yet those there were 
 who thought that young Harrison, who had an ill name, 
 had arranged to have his father kidnapped and hidden 
 away. But even so, we should like to hear how it 
 was managed so near his own home, and where he was 
 kept for so long, and that is a point which no one has 
 found out yet. Only, we are certain of two things : 
 one, that the Perrys did not murder him, as he was 
 alive ; and the other, that wherever he may have spent 
 the two years of his absence, it was not in Turkey.
 
 AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR 
 
 WHEN Sir Walter Scott was a little boy he used often to 
 spend whole days, or sometimes whole weeks, with his 
 old Aunt Margaret, who lived in a little house near 
 Edinburgh, full of latticed windows, no two of them 
 exactly alike. At first some of his many brothers 
 and sisters went with him, but as the years passed on 
 the girls died and the boys sailed away across the seas, 
 till at length no one was left but the lame Walter to 
 knock at the honeysuckle porch. 
 
 What a long time it was since his earliest knock at 
 that door, thought Sir Walter to himself one day when he 
 was fifty-six, and a great man in the eyes of everybody 
 but himself. His hair was white now, instead of flaxen, 
 but, though other people might change, Aunt Margaret 
 looked exactly as she did when he had to be lifted over 
 the stile on the way to her house. Her brown silk gown 
 might have been the very one she had worn then, its 
 fashion was so precisely similar ; her hair was no whiter 
 now than it was or seemed to be as long as he could 
 recollect, and she still sat at her wheel by the fire in 
 winter and by the window in summer. When Sir 
 Walter was worried by family cares or distressed by 
 some misfortune that he could not help, it was a rest to 
 come and spend an evening with Aunt Margaret, who 
 never appeared to have any troubles at all. Certainly, 
 if she had, she kept them to herself, and did not share 
 them with her visitors.
 
 172 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 
 
 ' They have been clearing out the old chapel,' she 
 said to him one summer evening ; ' they brought me a 
 stone which bears the name of my kinswoman Margaret 
 Bothwell. I bade them lay it aside, as it may shortly 
 serve for me, in spite of the date, which is 1585.' 
 
 * You are really getting superstitious, I do believe,' 
 answered Sir Walter, with a smile. 
 
 ' Perhaps I am more superstitious than you know,' 
 replied Aunt Margaret ; ' at any rate, there are some 
 stories that I never could hear without shuddering a 
 little. Not too much, but just enough to make me 
 hesitate to look over my shoulder at the most thrilling 
 part, and reluctant to glance at my mirror when I am 
 alone. Or even when I am not, the sight of a large 
 blank mirror in a room which is only spotted with candles 
 gives me a feeling that something may be reflected there 
 I would rather not see. Then I send my maid to draw 
 the curtains across, so that she may get the first shock.' 
 
 ' So that is the reason of those curtains. I have often 
 wondered,' exclaimed Sir Walter. 
 
 * Yes, and it is possible I should not have had these 
 fancies if it had not been for a story told me by my 
 grandmother, Lady Bothwell, when I was a child. It 
 happened to her.' 
 
 4 1 wish you would tell it to me,' said Sir Walter. 
 * Nobody has such good stories as you.' 
 
 ' Listen, then,' and Aunt Margaret began : ' In the 
 days of Queen Anne no man was more famous for the 
 duels he had fought than Sir Philip Forester. He was 
 lively and clever and very handsome, and the greatest 
 ladies spoiled him to his heart's content, and were put 
 in a good temper for the whole day did he but bow to 
 them as they passed in the Mall. Of course report 
 constantly went that he was about to be married to this 
 lady or that, but in spite of it all Sir Philip still remained 
 a bachelor. Then it was announced that he had made 
 his choice at last, and that the fortunate woman who
 
 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 173 
 
 was about to become Lady Forester was Miss Jemima 
 Falconer, sister to my grandmother, Lady Both well, and 
 possessed like her of ten thousand pounds. 
 
 Unluckily for her, however, she was not possessed of 
 Lady Bothwell's good sense, and though she was devoted 
 to her husband he soon got tired of her foolishness and 
 snatched at any excuse to leave her and the children. 
 He was a very selfish man and terribly extravagant, and 
 in a few years all Lady Forester's money was spent, and 
 Sir Philip declared that he should go abroad and 
 fight under Marlborough. On hearing this poor Lady 
 Forester became crazy with terror lest he should be 
 killed, but though her husband did his best to soothe 
 her he would not give up his plan. At length the 
 question was settled by Lady Both well inviting her sister 
 and the children to stay with her till Sir Philip returned. 
 
 So away he went, and a single letter saying that he 
 had landed was all they ever had from him, though his 
 sister-in-law was almost as glad as his wife at a notice 
 they saw in one of the tiny newspapers of the day, 
 stating that he had distinguished himself in some 
 dangerous work. Lady Forester tried to make excuses 
 for him to her sister, who she was aware secretly blamed 
 him for his heartlessness. 
 
 ' He is always so careless, you know,' she would say, 
 ' and, like all men, he never will write a letter if he can 
 possibly help it ' ; or, ' Of course he would tell us if any- 
 thing dreadful had happened ; but he would feel that if 
 we did not hear we should be sure that everything was 
 going smoothly.' 
 
 Except for repeating these consolations, which 
 she did not really believe, Lady Forester became 
 more and more silent. Lady Bothwell watched her 
 with growing fears, but nothing she could do would 
 rouse her from her melancholy. The children, poor little 
 things, were glad enough to escape from her side and go
 
 174 AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR 
 
 to their more lively aunt, who had always something nice 
 for them to do : for the boys fishing or haymaking, for 
 the girls gathering fruit for preserves or the seeking of 
 herbs in the woods for medicine or ointments. 
 
 Suddenly an event happened which startled the 
 deserted wife from the stupor into which she had fallen. 
 
 There appeared in Edinburgh, which was only a 
 short distance from Lady Bothwell's house, a man who 
 was so different in all ways from the rest of the inhabi- 
 tants that he attracted the attention of everyone. 
 Nobody knew anything about him, but people lowered 
 their voices when they spoke of him they could not 
 have told you why and whispered strange tales to each 
 other. He was a learned doctor, they said, from the 
 Italian University of Padua, and had cured diseases 
 which the best physicians in Edinburgh had declared 
 hopeless. The ministers preached against him, and 
 pronounced him a dealer in magic and no better than a 
 wizard ; but, in spite of their sermons, both men and 
 women flocked to his dwelling, only they went by night 
 instead of by day, and wore large cloaks and shawls to 
 disguise themselves. 
 
 At first Doctor Damiotti for so he was called was 
 only consulted about aches and pains, but gradually 
 it began to be rumoured that if you paid him well 
 enough he would tell you what was happening to persons 
 at a distance. This report reached Lady Forester, who 
 at once announced to her sister that she intended to pay 
 a, visit to the man, and find out what had befallen her 
 husband. Lady Bothwell tried in vain to stop her. Lady 
 Forester would listen to nothing. ' I will go this very 
 evening,' was all she answered, ' and learn my fate.' 
 
 ' Then I will go with you,' said Lady Bothwell. 
 
 It was nearly dark when the two sisters, dressed like 
 working women, with their plaids drawn closely round 
 their heads, knocked at the door of the doctor's house.
 
 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 175 
 
 They were accompanied by an old servant bearing a 
 torch, who served as their guide, for neither of the ladies 
 was acquainted with the narrow ' wynds ' off the Canon- 
 gate. The door was thrown back, apparently by unseen 
 hands, and they crossed a small hall and entered a room 
 which was dimly lighted. 
 
 As they came in a handsome man, dressed, as all 
 doctors then were, in black, rose from the table and 
 signed to them to sit down. 
 
 ' We are poor people, sir,' began Lady Both well, 
 trying to play her part ; but the doctor stopped her 
 with a smile. 
 
 ' I am aware,' he said, ' that Lady Bothwell and 
 Lady Forester have honoured me with a visit, and also 
 that Lady Forester is in great distress. Oh, do not be 
 afraid,' he continued hastily, ' it is not your servant who 
 has betrayed you.' 
 
 Lady Bothwell was surprised, though she tried not 
 to show it. 
 
 ' Then, sir, if you know who we are, you also know 
 on what errand we have come.' 
 
 ' You desire to learn the fate of Sir Philip Forester, 
 now on the Continent, and husband to this lady,' 
 answered he. 
 
 Lady Both well bowed her head. 
 
 ' Have you the power to relieve my sister's anxiety ? ' 
 she asked. 
 
 ' I have, madam. But have you the courage to 
 see with your own eyes what Sir Philip is doing at this 
 moment, or would you rather hear it from me ? ' 
 
 ' I can bear to see whatever you can show me,' said 
 Lady Forester, speaking for the first time. 
 
 ' There may be danger in it,' observed the doctor. 
 
 ' If money can do anything,' and as she spoke Lady 
 Forester drew out her purse, but the doctor waved it 
 aside. 
 
 ' Your fee is paid already, madam,' he replied, ' and
 
 176 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 
 
 I cannot accept more ; but once again I ask you if you 
 are sure you have courage to bear what I may have to 
 show you.' 
 
 ' I confess to feeling some fear,' answered Lady 
 Both well, ' but as my sister is anxious to see with her 
 own eyes I will see with her.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said the doctor. ' For seven minutes 
 the picture will last, that is if you can remain steadily 
 silent during that time. For I warn you that if you 
 utter a single word the charm will be broken, and some 
 danger to the spectators may be the result.' 
 
 With that he bowed and left the room, saying that 
 he must make some preparations. 
 
 During his absence the two sisters sat hand in hand 
 without speaking, and, curiously enough, it was Lady 
 Forester who was the calmer of the two. 
 
 Neither could have told how long they sat there, 
 but at length the silence was broken by the sound 
 of music, played on some instrument which they did not 
 know. When it ceased a door opened at the further 
 end of the room, and Damiotti entered wearing a 
 dress quite unlike any they had ever seen before. 
 Sandals were on his bare feet ; short breeches clothed 
 his legs down to the knee, while over a tunic of crimson 
 silk flowed a white linen garment. His face was deadly 
 pale, and his expression that of a man who was about 
 to undergo a painful operation. Without speaking, he 
 signed to the ladies to follow him, and led the way into 
 the next room. The sight that met their eyes was 
 certainly startling at least, as much as they could see 
 of it. Black hangings covered the wall, and were 
 thrown over a kind of altar at the upper end. In front 
 of this altar was a platform raised above the rest of the 
 floor by two or three broad steps, and on each side were 
 five unlit torches. Filled with awe, the two sisters 
 obeyed his signal, and ascended the steps behind him. 
 He then held out his forefinger in turn to each of the
 
 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 
 
 177 
 
 torches, which instantly took fire. By their light the 
 ladies beheld two naked swords crossed on the altar, 
 and an open book in strange writing, with a human 
 skull beside it, while on the wall behind hung a very 
 large mirror in which these things were reflected. 
 
 The doctor pointed silently to the mirror, and then 
 slipped between the two ladies, holding their hands. 
 The eyes of all three were riveted on the mirror, and 
 gradually the sisters noticed, with a feeling of sinking 
 fear, that the reflection of the objects on the altar 
 gradually faded away, and that others which were not 
 
 A.S. N
 
 178 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 
 
 there began to appear within it. At first it was difficult 
 to distinguish exactly what they were, for their outlines 
 and shapes were blurred and indistinct, but little by 
 little the images grew clearer, and at length the aisles 
 and arches of a church stood before them. On the 
 pillars were coats of arms, while, judging from the 
 inscriptions, many people lay buried under the floor. 
 A clergyman in a black gown and bands, with a clerk 
 behind him, stood waiting at the side of a bare altar, 
 on which lay a Bible. Evidently it was a Protestant 
 church, and probably a foreign one. 
 
 The clergyman moved a step forward, and the 
 spectators beheld a number of people, beautifully 
 dressed, walking up the middle aisle. At their head a 
 tall, elegant man was giving his hand to a girl, who, as 
 far as could be seen, was not more than sixteen. Bride 
 and "bridegroom clearly, thought the ladies, but what 
 had all this to do with them ? Yet surely there was 
 something familiar in the bridegroom's walk and his 
 manner of holding himself. At this instant he turned 
 his face : it was Sir Philip Forester. 
 
 The forsaken wife gave a gasp, for it was hardly 
 a cry, and at once the surface of the mirror became 
 cloudy and agitated, as a pool does when you throw a 
 stone in it. But the pressure of the doctor's grasp 
 caused Lady Forester to recover her self-control, and 
 in the mirror the mist dispersed and the figures became 
 as plain as ever. The procession advanced up the 
 aisle, and the bride and bridegroom were standing in 
 front of the altar, when another group strolled care- 
 lessly into the church. They appeared to intend to 
 join the bridal party, when suddenly one of them, an 
 officer, hastened rapidly forward, drawing his sword 
 from its sheath. The bridegroom turned, and becom- 
 ing very pale, unsheathed his own. This was the signal 
 for a general disturbance, which the clergyman tried in 
 vain to quiet. But at this point the picture was again
 
 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 179 
 
 blurred, and soon nothing remained except the smooth 
 dark mirror and the reflection of the objects on the 
 altar. 
 
 Both ladies were by this time hardly able to stand, 
 and the doctor half dragged them back to the next 
 room, where they sank on chairs. They were too 
 much moved to speak, but Lady Forester's face wore 
 a strange look, as if she were still under the spell of the 
 picture. 
 
 The silence was at last broken by Lady Bothwell. 
 
 * Is the scene which we have witnessed taking place 
 at this moment ? ' asked she. 
 
 ' That I cannot tell you,' answered Damiotti, ' but 
 it is either now being acted or has taken place only 
 a short time ago.' 
 
 ' I must get my sister home at once,' said Lady 
 Bothwell, looking at her anxiously ; ' have you a mes- 
 senger you could send to fetch a chair or a coach ? ' 
 
 ' That is arranged already,' replied he. ' Your 
 servant has your carriage waiting at the end of the 
 street. But you need feel no anxiety about your 
 sister ; give her this soothing draught when she is in 
 bed, and to-morrow she will be very much better. 
 Few persons,' he added, ' leave this house as well as 
 they entered it. Farewell, madam.' 
 
 But in spite of the doctor's draught, Lady Forester 
 grew worse and worse. The strain she had undergone 
 for so many months had reduced her nerves to such a 
 state of weakness that they were unable to bear the 
 shock of the vision. Her mind was already almost 
 gone when the arrival of news from Holland upset it 
 altogether. 
 
 It came from the British Ambassador to France, 
 and informed Lady Bothwell and her sister that Sir 
 Philip Forester had fought a duel with Captain Fal- 
 coner, the brother of the two ladies, in which Falconer 
 
 K 2
 
 180 AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR 
 
 had been killed. Sir Philip, it appeared, had lost a, 
 great deal of money in gambling while he was with the 
 army, and one day had vanished, no one knew where. 
 As he had changed his name, it was not easy to trace 
 him, and it was only now discovered that he had gone 
 to live in Rotterdam, \vhere he had made friends with 
 a rich old citizen, who had a young and beautiful 
 daughter. The old man readily accepted his new 
 acquaintance's proposals for the young lady's hand r 
 and very imprudently asked no questions of anyone. 
 The wedding day arrived, and it happened that Captain 
 Falconer, who was stationed at Rotterdam, was invited 
 by a Dutch gentleman with whom he was staying to 
 join the party in the church. It was only when there 
 that he discovered that the bridegroom was his own 
 brother-in-law, and, rushing forward, proclaimed that 
 he was already a married man. Of course Forester 
 at once challenged him, and in the duel that was fought 
 next day Falconer lost his life. 
 
 ' And did all this happen exactly at the moment 
 when the ladies were looking on ? ' asked Sir Walter, 
 as Aunt Margaret paused. 
 
 ' No,' answered she, ' I can't honestly say it did, 
 but it took place a few days earlier, exactly as it was 
 represented. Of course Damiotti might have known 
 the facts ; that is quite possible ; but then, how did he 
 show them in the mirror ? ' 
 
 Shortened from 'Aunt Margaret's Mirror.'
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 EDMOND DANTES had been arrested at his wedding 
 feast, held in a little village near Marseilles, for plotting 
 the return of Napoleon from Elba. He was a young 
 sailor, not yet nineteen, but in his voyages up and 
 down the Mediterranean he had shown such know- 
 ledge of the coasts and such skill in avoiding dangerous 
 rocks and in steering his ship through violent tempests, 
 that the owners of the Pharaoh had resolved to make 
 him captain when the vessel set out on her next 
 voyage. Then suddenly, just at the moment when he 
 seemed to have nothing to wish for, this terrible blow 
 fell ; he was thrown into one of the strongest prisons in 
 France, and the gaoler was given strict orders to allow 
 him to speak to nobody. 
 
 For six years Dantes had remained in his cell, with 
 nothing to mark the time but the two daily visits made 
 by the turnkey, always at the same hour. His little 
 window was so high up in the wall that he could not 
 ven get a glimpse of his beloved sea for the Chateau 
 d'lf hung over the Mediterranean and it was only for 
 a few hours that the cell was really light. He had 
 nothing to do, and only the past to think of : for he 
 dared not let his mind dwell on the long chain of years 
 to come when he must die of old age, lest he should go 
 mad at the prospect. If he had only had a companion 
 Dantes felt he could have borne his captivity, but the 
 sentence of the judge was, ' to be strictly guarded
 
 182 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU U1F 
 
 and kept apart,' so there was no hope of that. And 
 after all, what had he done ? Carried a packet, of 
 whose contents he was ignorant, to the Grand Marshal, 
 and received a letter from him addressed to one Monsieur 
 Noirtier, of whom he knew nothing. Was that a crime 
 for which to condemn a man to solitary confinement for 
 life? 
 
 For a long while he tried to find comfort in the 
 thought that his imprisonment was owing to some 
 horrible mistake, and soon the wrong would be righted. 
 The letter that accused him of treason to King 
 Louis XVIII. at the end of February 1815 must surely 
 have been intended to apply to some other person. 
 He, Edmond Dantes, was much too humble a being to 
 merit such vengeance, and to-morrow a messenger 
 would certainly come to the prison, and his door would 
 be unlocked, and he would be free free to go back to 
 the sea and to his love, Mercedes. But many to-morrows 
 passed, and no message came. 
 
 At last he gave up hope, and he thought that sooner 
 than grow old and mad in that awful silence he would 
 die. It was easy enough ; he had only not to eat the 
 coarse food that his gaoler brought him morning and 
 evening, and in a little while he would be out of their 
 reach. So twice a day he swung himself up to his little 
 window and threw his breakfast and dinner outside 
 to the birds, at first gladly, then gravely, at length with 
 regret. But by-and-by there came a day when he had 
 no strength left even to do this, and the following 
 morning he was so weak that he could hardly open his 
 eyes, and when the gaoler spoke to him the words 
 sounded a long way off and he did not trouble to 
 answer. The man became anxious as he looked at 
 him, and he resolved that if his prisoner was not better 
 by the evening the doctor must be sent for. 
 
 All that day Dantes lay quietly on his bed, feeling
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU &IF 185 
 
 almost happy. His hunger had quite passed away, 
 and he was no longer thirsty, while through his half- 
 closed eyelids bright lights seemed to dance and brilliant 
 visions floated before him. 
 
 Suddenly his spirit was called back from the borders 
 of death by a noise coming from behind the wall where 
 his bed was placed. He raised his head, feeble as he 
 was, and listened intently. Yes, there was no doubt ; 
 it was a sort of regular scratching such as proceeds 
 from an instrument, and not at all like the sound made 
 by the rats which infested the prison. 
 
 For three hours he listened, and then something 
 appeared to roll down, after which there was silence 
 for a time. But when it began afresh it sounded 
 nearer than before, and went on till it was time for the 
 gaoler's morning visit. 
 
 ' I've brought you a breakfast fit for a king,' said 
 the man, who at bottom was not a bad fellow. And 
 he set down a basin of some good soup and some white 
 bread, and left the cell. 
 
 Ah, how nice they looked ! And now Edmond felt 
 he might really eat them, for was he not going to have 
 a companion, and might not the companion help him 
 to get free ? So he ate his breakfast, and by the aid 
 of that and of hope felt himself a new man. 
 
 The noise continued and drew nearer and nearer, 
 and at length Edmond determined to answer. If, he 
 said to himself, it should be a workman doing repairs 
 he will stop for a minute, and then go on again ; but 
 if it is a prisoner, he will be frightened and will stop 
 altogether, till he thinks everyone is asleep. With 
 that, he knocked thrice on the wall, and the noise 
 suddenly ceased. For three days the silence lasted, 
 and Edmond's first joy on being assured that it was a 
 fellow-captive who was hollowing out a passage had 
 passed into fear lest the work had been discovered. 
 Still, the new hope born in him had already done him
 
 184 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'JF 
 
 good. It had awakened in him the knowledge that if 
 lie was ever to leave his prison he must harden his 
 body and brace his muscles, which had grown weak 
 
 after six years of idleness. So he paced his cell so 
 many times a day till he had walked as much as eight or 
 ten miles, and raised himself up and down from the bars
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 185 
 
 of his window, so as to strengthen his arms. And even 
 at the end of three days he felt there was a difference. 
 
 On the third evening, after the gaoler had paid his 
 last visit, Dantes for the hundredth time placed his ear 
 against the wall, and at length he was almost sure he 
 heard a faint movement coming from behind his bed. 
 Wild with joy, he pushed aside the rough bedstead 
 and looked about for something with which he, on his 
 side, could attack the wall, and do his part in the work 
 of deliverance. But, look as he might, there was 
 nothing that seemed as if it could be of any use. Just 
 a table and chair, a pail and a pitcher ; that was all ; 
 yet perhaps if he were to break the pitcher the sharp 
 edges of some of the pieces might scrape away the plaster 
 of the wall. At any rate it was worth trying, and 
 flinging the pitcher on the stone floor it crashed into 
 fragments. All night long he scratched and scraped, 
 and certainly by degrees a small heap of plaster lay 
 before him ; then he reached a hard substance, against 
 which the bit of broken pottery made no impression. 
 It was too dark for him to see what it was, so he pulled 
 his bed back into its usual place and lay down on it, 
 listening to the workman who was labouring away on 
 the other side. 
 
 ' I have had an accident,' he said to the gaoler when 
 breakfast was brought him. ' Last night in the dark 
 I knocked over my pitcher.' 
 
 ' Well, you must learn to be more careful,' grumbled 
 the man, going out to fetch another. ' The State has 
 something else to do with its money besides buying 
 pitchers for prisoners.' 
 
 ' Yes, it was very careless of me,' answered Dantes 
 humbly, as the door was locked. 
 
 The instant he was alone he began again, and as 
 there had been heavy rains during the night the plaster 
 had grown damp and was easier to scrape away. In
 
 186 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 half an hour he had bored a small opening, and his 
 spirits rose. What might he not have done at this rate 
 in the six years of his imprisonment, if only he had not 
 given up hope so soon ? 
 
 At the end of three days he had scraped away all the 
 cement, and had touched the naked stone But how 
 was he to move this ? The broken bits of pottery were 
 useless, and after an hour's hard work Dantes was 
 forced to give it up, while a rush of despair came over 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly a smile broke over his face. He had an 
 idea. 
 
 Since the gaoler had found him a few days before in a 
 dying condition, he had brought him soup every day in 
 a little saucepan with an iron handle. Now, if he could 
 get possession of this iron handle, he might be able to 
 lift the stone. 
 
 The first thing was to arrange so that the gaoler should 
 leave him the saucepan, which contained enough soup 
 for another sick prisoner as well as himself. That even- 
 ing when the man came in he poured Dantes' portion 
 into an earthenware plate, and as soon as he had quitted 
 the cell the prisoner ate up his soup with the wooden 
 spoon, and then put the plate on the floor just where 
 the gaoler would be sure to walk on it in the darkness of 
 the early morning. And this is exactly what happened, 
 and again Dantes got a good scolding for his stupidity. 
 
 ' Well, leave me the saucepan, I can't break that,'' 
 said Dantes, who saw that the other had had his share ; 
 ' you can take it away in the morning when you bring 
 my breakfast.' 
 
 ' Yes, that will be the best,' answered the gaoler, 
 setting the saucepan on the table, and glad to save him- 
 self the trouble of another journey to the kitchen. 
 
 Dantes ate his soup with a better appetite than he 
 had ever eaten anything. Then he went back to his 
 hole, and inserted the iron handle under the stone.
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 187 
 
 By- and- by he began to feel a slight shake, and at the 
 end of an hour was able to lift the stone from its place, 
 leaving a hole a foot and a half wide behind it. The 
 plaster he crumbled very fine into dust and strewed in 
 a dark corner of his cell, where no one was ever likely to 
 find it. 
 
 At dawn he put the stone back into its hole, moved 
 the bed into its proper place, and lay down in it, glad 
 enough to rest, for the work and excitement of so many 
 hours had caused every bone in his body to ache. 
 
 ' You have not brought me another plate ? ' he asked 
 the gaoler, when the key turned in the lock. 
 
 ' No, you break everything ; you can keep the iron 
 saucepan, and I will pour your soup into that ' ; and he 
 went away. 
 
 Daily the work went on, and the hole grew deeper 
 and deeper ; but strangely enough there was no sound 
 from the opposite direction. Still he continued, hardly 
 pausing even for sleep, till at length the handle of the 
 saucepan struck against an iron bar, passing across the 
 hole and stopping it completely. 
 
 At this Edmond's courage gave way, and, regardless 
 of the danger, he broke into a loud cry : 
 
 ' God, have pity on me ! Have pity, lest I die 
 of despair ! ' 
 
 ' Who talks of God and of despair in the same 
 breath ? ' said a voice which seemed to come from the 
 earth, and at the sound Edmond's hair stood up and 
 he fell on his knees. 
 
 ' Who are you ? ' he exclaimed as soon as he could 
 utter ; ' speak once more, I beseech you.' 
 
 ' Who are you ? ' asked the voice, ' and how long 
 have you been here ? ' 
 
 ' Since February 28, 1815, when they told me I had 
 conspired to bring about the return of the Emperor. 
 But it was not true. As to my name, it is Edmond 
 D antes, and I am a sailor.'
 
 188 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 * The return of the Emperor, did you say ? ' repeated 
 the other ; ' but is not the Emperor still on the throne ? ' 
 
 ' No ; he abdicated in 1814, and was sent to the 
 island of Elba. But how long have you been a prisoner 
 that you did not know that ? ' 
 
 ' Since 1811,' replied the voice, and there was silence 
 for a little. 
 
 'Don't dig any further,' said the stranger at last, 
 * but tell me, how high is your hole ? ' 
 
 ' It is close to the ground behind my bed,' replied 
 Dantes. 
 
 4 What does your cell open on ? ' 
 
 ' On a corridor.' 
 
 ' And the corridor ? ' 
 
 ' On the courtyard.' 
 
 * Alas ! alas ! ' cried the voice. 
 
 * What is the matter ? ' 
 
 ' I have made a mistake,' answered the stranger, 
 and I fancied that the wall at which you were digging 
 was the outside wall of the prison, right over the sea.' 
 
 ' And suppose you had been right ? ' 
 
 ' I should have jumped into the water and have 
 swum to one of the small deserted islands that lie in 
 the group off the coast. But now I must think of a 
 new plan.' 
 
 ' When will you have one ready ? ' asked the young 
 man eagerly. 
 
 ' To-morrow, perhaps ; at any rate I will see you. 
 Ah, what happiness it is to feel one has a friend again ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ! yes ! ' murmured Dantes. 
 
 The rest of, the day Dantes spent in walking feverishly 
 about his cell, feeling as if he were a prisoner no longer. 
 Indeed, when in the evening the gaoler came to visit 
 him, and found him stretched on his bed (where he had 
 hastily thrown himself), his eyes bright and his cheeks 
 flushed, the man felt uneasy. 
 
 ' You look very strange ; are you going mad again ? '
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU VIF 189 
 
 he asked, but Dantes only shook his head. He dared 
 not trust himself to reply, lest his voice should betray 
 him. 
 
 The gaoler had paid his morning visit and gone, when 
 Dantes heard the sound of three knocks on the wall. 
 
 ' Is it you ? ' he asked, falling on his knees in front 
 of the wall. 
 
 ' Has your gaoler called ? ' inquired the voice. 
 
 ' Yes, he has just gone, and will not return till the 
 evening.' 
 
 ' Then I will come in,' and immediately a shower of 
 stones and dust fell into the cell, close to the hole which 
 Dantes himself had made, and a man slowly pushed 
 his way out. 
 
 This companion, so ardently longed for by Dantes, 
 was short, with a wrinkled face and a black beard, while 
 his long thick hair was snow white. He seemed pleased 
 and touched by the young man's warm greeting, but 
 soon began to look about, and to show Dantes how to 
 conceal the mouth of the hole, if their meetings were to 
 continue. 
 
 ' This stone you have here was very clumsily 
 removed,' he said. ' Had you no proper tools ? ' 
 
 ' Tools ! ' echoed Dantes, ' no, is it likely ? Have 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' Excepting a file I have all I need chisel, pincers, 
 crowbar.' 
 
 ' Oh, do let me see them ! ' 
 
 * Here is the chisel,' answered the old man. ' I made 
 it out of the pins of my bedstead, and with this I 
 tunnelled through the fifty feet between your cell and 
 mine.' 
 
 ' Fifty feet ! ' cried Dantes. 
 
 ' Hush ! do not speak so loud ; someone may be 
 listening. But help me up to the window ; I want to 
 see out.'
 
 190 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU fflF 
 
 In spite of his long imprisonment the stranger seemed 
 to have lost none of his activity, for, by the aid of 
 Dantes' hands, he climbed to the high window as lightly 
 as a cat. He even managed to pass his head between 
 the bars, but withdrew it hastily after a second. 
 
 ' I have found out what I wanted to know,' said he. 
 * The window looks out on a sort of terrace with sentinels 
 every few yards, and no doubt patrols of soldiers con- 
 stantly passing. I saw the helmet of one and the 
 muzzle of his gun.' 
 
 ' Well,' asked Dantes, ' what then ? ' 
 
 ' It is impossible to escape that way.' 
 
 The two men were silent for a little, but the mere 
 presence of a companion after so long a time had so 
 excited Dantes that even the failure of his hope could 
 not depress him for long, and he soon inquired his 
 friend's name. 
 
 ' I am the Abbe Faria,' was the reply, ' and for years 
 I was secretary to the Cardinal Spada in Rome, the 
 last of the family whose riches were once a proverb. 
 But in my time little remained except a library of five 
 thousand volumes, some valuable papers, and a breviary 
 over three hundred years old. All these he gave to me 
 when he died, as he did not leave a single relation 
 behind him.' 
 
 ' But why were you put in prison ? ' asked Dantes. 
 
 ' Because I wanted to make Italy into one kingdom 
 instead of a dozen, and Napoleon thought there should 
 be only one Emperor of the world,' replied Faria. 
 
 ' Then you are the priest who is said to be ill,' 
 said Dantes. 
 
 ' Mad, you mean,' answered Faria. ' Yes, it is I.' 
 
 ' But why do you say that flight is impossible ? ' 
 You cannot expect to succeed the first time you try. 
 Can't you begin again in another direction ? ' 
 
 ' Begin again ? ' Do you know what you are talking 
 about ? It took me four years to make those tools, and
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 191 
 
 two years to scratch away earth which is as hard as 
 granite. I had to loosen the soil round stones I could 
 hardly lift, and burrow under a staircase. One does 
 not do that twice in a lifetime, I tell you.' 
 
 If Faria had given up the idea of escape, his words 
 had awakened the longing for freedom more strongly 
 than ever in the heart of Dantes. Surely if the Abbe, 
 w ho was double his age, could do so much he, a young 
 man, might do infinitely more. In a moment he raised 
 his head and looked at Faria. 
 
 * I know what we can do,' said he. ' Let us pierce 
 a tunnel under the corridor, which will bring us out on 
 the terrace. Once there, we have only to kill the 
 sentinel and plunge into the sea. That part will be 
 quite easy.' 
 
 ' Perhaps,' answered Faria ; ' but I will allow no man 
 to be killed for my sake.' 
 
 ' Not. even to gain your liberty ? ' asked Dantes, 
 wondering greatly. 
 
 ' Not even for that,' replied the Abbe. ' Besides, 
 have you ever noticed that the successful escapes are 
 always those in which no blood has been shed ? If you 
 think of it, you will find it so.' 
 
 Dantes saw it was useless to say more, and soon the 
 Abbe returned to his own cell, where the young man 
 visited him next morning. It was paved with flagstones, 
 and it was under one of these, which he had raised, that 
 Faria had begun his operations. Hidden under another 
 was a rope ladder which he had managed to make out 
 of his shirts in his first prison, and a penknife he had 
 constructed from an old iron candlestick. From that 
 time they passed many hours together, but for a long 
 while the subject of an escape was never mentioned 
 between them. Then suddenly one day the Abbe 
 startled Dantes by exclaiming : 
 
 ' Oh, if it were not for that sentinel ! '
 
 192 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 ' Ah, you are still thinking about it ? ' 
 
 ' Always, always ! ' murmured the Abbe. 
 
 * And you have an idea ? ' 
 
 'Yes. If they would only place a blind and deaf 
 sentinel at that end of the terrace.' 
 
 ' The sentinel shall be both blind and deaf,' said 
 Dantes firmly. 
 
 ' No, no ! ' cried the Abbe" hastily, and they spoke 
 no more on the subject for three months. 
 
 ' Are your arms strong ? ' inquired the Abbe one 
 day ; and in answer Dantes picked up the chisel, bent 
 it like a horseshoe, and straightened it again. 
 
 ' You will promise not to kill the sentinel except in 
 self-defence ? ' 
 
 ' I promise, on my honour.' 
 
 ' In that case,' said the Abbe, ' we can set to work 
 at once.' 
 
 ' How long will it take us ? ' 
 
 ' A year at least ; for we must bore a tunnel under 
 the long passage till we reach the gallery where the 
 sentinel is placed. Exactly beneath the spot where he 
 walks up and down we will make a large hole, and wait till 
 he steps on the stone above, which will give way beneath 
 him. Then you will gag and bind him, and we will 
 escape by the help of the rope ladder down the wall of 
 the fortress into the sea.' 
 
 Dantes' eyes sparkled with joy. It was all so simple 
 that it was impossible it should fail, and that day the 
 work was begun which took fifteen months to bring to 
 an end. But at length everything was ready ; a post 
 had been discovered among the foundations which 
 they used to support the stone, that the sentinel might 
 not fall through till they were ready to escape, and 
 Dantes was busy arranging this firmly when he heard 
 a cry from the Abbe", who had gone back to his 
 cell.
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU &IF 193 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' cried the young man as 
 he beheld his friend with a livid face rolling on his 
 bed. 
 
 ' I am lost,' gasped the Abbe. ' Once before this 
 happened to me, and if I survive this attack I shall die in 
 the next. Go to my cell, and in the foot of the bed, which 
 is hollow, you will find a little bottle with red liquid. 
 No, stay ! You must drag me back to my own bed 
 while I can still move. I can't tell how long the fit 
 may last ! ' 
 
 With immense difficulty Dantes contrived to get the 
 Abbe through the passage and on to his bed. By this 
 time the old man was icy cold, and trembled so that he 
 could scarcely speak. 
 
 ' I shall fall into a trance,' he stammered out, ' and 
 when you think I am dead, thrust your knife between 
 my teeth, and pour some of that liquid down my throat. 
 Perhaps it may revive me. But if I cry out first, 
 wrap the coverlet over my head that no one may hear 
 me.' 
 
 The next two hours Edmond never forgot. The old 
 man flung himself about so that Dantes could scarcely 
 hold him still ; then he fell like one dead on the bed, 
 and his limbs stiffened. As soon as this occurred 
 Dantes gave him the red liquid, which he had ready, 
 and after an hour of anxious watching he noticed faint 
 signs of life. 
 
 ' Ah, you are safe now ! ' he cried joyfully, as the 
 Abbe opened his eyes, though it was some minutes before 
 he could speak, and then only in a whisper. 
 
 ' You will go to-night,' he said softly. 
 
 ' Without you ? Never ! ' replied the young man 
 indignantly, but the Abbe shook his head. 
 
 ' Last time it only lasted half an hour,' answered he, 
 
 ' and when it was over I could raise myself. Now my 
 
 right arm and leg are paralysed and helpless, and my 
 
 head is confused. The third time my whole body will 
 
 A.S. O
 
 194 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 be paralysed and I shall die immediately. You have 
 done all you can ; now escape.' 
 
 But Dantes would not go. He wished even to 
 carry out the plan they had made, and drag the Abbe 
 with him through the tunnel, and swim with him on his 
 back when they reached the sea. The old man smiled 
 and his heart warmed at the words, but he knew it 
 was all impossible, and bade Dantes fill up the hole at 
 the further end without delay, lest the sentinel should 
 fall through and all be discovered. 
 
 As soon as the gaoler had paid his morning visit 
 Dantes hastened back to the old man's cell. He found 
 him looking better, and holding in his hand the breviary 
 which he had drawn the previous day from under the 
 hollowed stone. 
 
 ' Do you see this paper ? ' he said, holding out two 
 fragments yellow with age. 
 
 ' Yes, I see ; what of it ? ' asked Dantes. 
 
 ' It is my legacy to you. Learn it by heart, for you 
 must destroy it. It is over three hundred years old, and 
 tells where the great Spada treasure is buried in the 
 desert island of Monte Cristo. If we had escaped I 
 would have taken you there myself. Now you must go 
 alone. The Spada family are all dead. You can accept 
 it with a clear conscience.' 
 
 Dantes read the paper and studied it carefully to 
 please his friend, but he thought much less of the 
 treasure than of whether the Abbe would ever be well 
 enough to share his flight. 
 
 One night, a short time after he had fallen asleep, 
 Dantes was awakened by a cry. He opened his eyes 
 and listened and the sound was repeated. Instantly 
 he bounded out of bed and crawled through the tunnel 
 to the Abbe's cell, where by the dim light of a little 
 lamp the old man had made he perceived Faria bent 
 double with the same horrible symptoms as before.
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU VIF 195 
 
 ' It is the end,' he managed to utter between his 
 teeth. 
 
 ' No, no ! ' cried Edmond ; ' I saved you before and 
 I will save you again.' 
 
 ' It is useless,' replied the Abbe, ' and this time it 
 will be quick. In twenty minutes I shall be a dead 
 man. Not even that liquid can revive me now.' 
 
 But Edmond would not listen, and when the Abbe 
 lay stark and stiff before him, he thrust all that remained 
 of the liquid into his mouth. In vain he waited for 
 some trembling of the eyelids such as he had seen 
 before. Nothing came. 
 
 At last he was convinced, and putting out the lamp 
 and replacing the stone, he crept back to his cell, just 
 as the gaoler's steps were heard along the passage. 
 Then, hastening through the tunnel, he crouched down, 
 so as to hear what happened when the turnkey discovered 
 that death had delivered his prisoner. 
 
 The man's shouts speedily brought other gaolers to 
 the cell, and then one went off to bring the governor and 
 another to fetch the doctor. 
 
 ' Poor fellow ! ' said the governor, stooping over him, 
 * he was quite harmless, but he always fancied he had 
 some secret about a treasure. Well, he shall have a 
 new sack for a coffin, and this evening we will bury him.' 
 
 ' At what hour ? ' asked the gaoler. 
 
 ' Between ten and eleven will be best.' 
 
 ' And is someone to watch in the cell during the 
 day ? ' said the man. 
 
 ' No. Why ? Lock the door as if he were alive. 
 That will be enough.' 
 
 All that day Dantes remained crouched on his bed, 
 once more possessed by despair. After the close com- 
 panionship of the last months, he was alone again, and 
 for ever ! How could he bear it ? ' If I could only 
 die,' he thought, as he had thought before he had known 
 
 02
 
 196 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU 
 
 the Abb6, and he began to consider the different ways in 
 which he might kill himself. ' I shall never leave my 
 cell till, like Faria, I do so in a sack,' he murmured half 
 aloud, and as he said the words he started to his feet 
 and cold drops broke out on his forehead. ' Is that the 
 way ? ' he whispered, with a frightened face. ' Well, 
 since only the dead leave here, I must take the place of 
 one.' And without giving himself time to think about 
 it, he quickly crawled through the passage to the cell 
 of the Abbe. Then, still in a desperate hurry lest his 
 courage should fail him, he leaned over the bed on which 
 lay the sack with the stiff burden outlined beneath it, 
 and cutting open the mouth, drew out the body. 
 Trembling all over, he placed it on his shoulders and 
 made his way along the tunnel. When he reached his 
 own cell he was almost exhausted and nearly fell on the 
 bed. With a great effort he stretched out the corpse, 
 turned the face to the wall, and tied round the head the 
 strip of bright handkerchief which he himself, like many 
 sailors, was in the habit of wearing, and stooping from 
 the entrance to the passage, pulled the bed in front of the 
 hole and returned to the vacant cell. Here he raised 
 the stone, and drew from its hiding-place the rough 
 needle and thread which the Abbe had made, and thrust 
 under the stone the few rags that were all that remained 
 of his clothes. Then he slipped into the sack, and, 
 sewing up the hole, lay flat and stiff, as a dead man, with 
 the knife beside him. But it was fortunate that nobody 
 came in at that moment or they might have heard his 
 heart beating. 
 
 Hours passed before he was disturbed, and he had 
 plenty of time to make plans and to unmake them again. 
 If he was buried in a cemetery he determined to allow 
 the earth to be thrown over him his grave was not 
 likely to be very deep, he knew and as it would be 
 quite dark, he could shake it off as soon as the grave- 
 diggers had departed. Of course, there was just the
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU VIF 197 
 
 chance that the men who were carrying him might 
 discover the trick, but in that case he would cut open 
 the sack with his knife and escape while they were still 
 paralysed with terror. In any case, he was resolved 
 not to be taken alive. 
 
 The first danger was the risk that the gaoler when 
 he brought in Dantes' supper at seven o'clock might 
 perceive that the figure on the bed was both shorter and 
 thinner than his prisoner. But luckily the man had 
 many times found Dantes lying in his bed, too miserable 
 or too sulky to speak, and had then just put his supper 
 on the table and had gone away without a word. And 
 this is what happened now, and as the hours went by 
 Dantes began to breathe freely again. So far he was 
 safe. 
 
 Ten o'clock passed, and steps were heard along the 
 corridor. Dantes knew what they meant. The two 
 grave-diggers entered to carry off the corpse, and a third 
 stood at the door bearing a torch. Stiffening his limbs 
 with an effort of will and holding his breath till he felt 
 as if he should burst, he waited, while the men took hold 
 of his head and feet. 
 
 ' He is pretty heavy for such a thin old man,' said 
 one. 
 
 ' They say we are half a pound heavier each year of 
 our lives ; perhaps that is the reason,' answered the 
 other, and the sack was lifted on to a hand-barrow and 
 carried down the corridor. 
 
 The rush of the fresh air, felt for the first time 
 after fourteen years, nearly made Dantes betray him- 
 self, and when the barrow was placed on the ground, 
 and one of the bearers departed, he wondered whether 
 the moment of escape had not come. Happily he 
 decided to wait, for in an instant the man was back 
 again. 
 
 ' Hold the torch lower,' he grumbled. ' How can I
 
 198 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU V1F 
 
 see to tie this knot ? ' and Edmond felt a cord wound 
 round his ankles and a hard knot tied. 
 
 ' That is all right,' said the man ; ' now let us go on,' 
 and on they went for a little distance till they heard the 
 waves lapping against the walls of the castle. 
 
 ' A dirty night,' remarked the other bearer. ' I 
 should not care to be at sea myself.' 
 
 ' No,' answered the first, ' the Abbe runs a chance of 
 getting wet,' and they both laughed loudly, though 
 Dantes did not understand the joke. 
 
 * Will this do ? ' asked one. 
 
 * No ; further on. You know the last one was 
 dashed against the rocks, and the governor told us we 
 were a pair of lazy dogs,' and they proceeded a few yards 
 further up a steep path. Here they halted, and Dantes 
 felt himself lifted by his head and feet and swung 
 backwards and forwards. 
 
 ' One, two, three,' and to his horror he was flying 
 through the air for what seemed an eternity. Then 
 suddenly he plunged into the water, with a leaden 
 weight attached to his ankles. 
 
 The sea was the cemetery of the Chateau d'If. 
 
 Great as was the shock, Dantes did not lose his 
 presence of mind ; ever since he had been in the sack he 
 had held the knife in his hand, and now he quickly 
 ripped a hole and pushed out his arm and his head. 
 But the weight kept dragging him down, down, and his 
 senses were rapidly leaving him ; he was almost lost 
 when, with a violent effort, he pulled himself together 
 and cut the cord which bound his legs. After that it 
 was easy to shake himself free of the sack, which sank 
 to the bottom with its weight of lead. 
 
 In former years Dantes had been noted among all 
 the young men of his native coast for his skill in swimming 
 and diving. A spark on the sea told him that the 
 torch-bearer was still there, so he took a long dive and
 
 THE CEMETERY OF THE CHATEAU I)'lF
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 201 
 
 came up a far distance out to sea. The light had 
 disappeared now, and he was alone ; alone with the 
 sea and sky, as he had never thought to be again. He 
 grew almost giddy with happiness, and had to remind 
 himself that he was not safe yet. 
 
 What course had he better take ? Of the many 
 islands which lay scattered about the Chateau d'lf the 
 three nearest were inhabited. Those he dared not visit ; 
 there was nothing for it but to swim to Tiboulen, over 
 two miles away. But after fourteen years of prison had 
 he not lost his strength? Could he do it ? Then there 
 flashed across his mind the words of Faria soon after 
 their first meeting : ' Dantes, take heed, and try to 
 harden your muscles, or you will be drowned in your 
 first attempt to escape.' 
 
 The wind was blowing and the sea rising, but to his 
 joy, and somewhat to his surprise, he was able to fight 
 through the waves nearly as well as of old. Still, he felt 
 the shadow of the prison upon him, though every stroke 
 carried him farther away. Would it ever be possible to 
 leave it behind ? But he resolved not to think of such 
 things ; fortune had favoured him so far, and perhaps, 
 after all, his luck had turned. 
 
 He had been swimming in the darkness for more than 
 an hour, but suddenly he was conscious of a sharp pain 
 in his knee. At first he imagined that he must have 
 been shot ; then he cautiously put out his hand and 
 touched a rock. He had reached his goal it was the 
 island of Tiboulen. 
 
 Shaking the water off him like a dog, Dantes drew 
 himself on to dry land, when a flash of lightning showed 
 him a towering mass of rocks. Feeling his way up these 
 for he could see nothing without the aid of the light- 
 ning he lay down at the top, and in spite of the noise of 
 the storm and the violence of the rain, which was falling 
 in torrents, went sound asleep, sheltered in part by an 
 overhanging cliff.
 
 202 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 It was still dark when he awoke, and the fury of the 
 tempest seemed to have increased. By a flash more 
 brilliant than the rest he beheld, only a quarter of a mile 
 away, a little fishing boat being driven straight upon 
 his island, with four men clinging to the masts. Dantes 
 gave a cry of warning, but it was blown back in his 
 throat, and in a few seconds a horrible cracking sound 
 was heard, of which he knew too well the meaning. 
 Then, silence. 
 
 Towards dawn the storm abated, and, as the sun 
 rose, Edmond turned to look at the Chateau d'If. 
 
 ' In two or three hours,' said he, ' the gaoler will 
 enter my cell, and will find out that it is the Abbe who 
 lies there, and not I. They will examine every corner, 
 and the tunnel will be discovered. The alarm will be 
 given and boats full of soldiers be sent in search of me, 
 while notices will be despatched all down the coast. If 
 I land I am at the mercy of anyone who cares to earn 
 twenty francs. Yet I am starving. What am I to do ? 
 But as he spoke his eye fell on a small ship, coming from 
 the direction of Marseilles, which he recognised as a 
 Genoese cutter. 
 
 ' Oh,' he cried a second time, ' what shall I do ? 
 In half an hour I could be on board if I was not afraid of 
 being questioned and given up. They are smugglers, 
 of course, and they touch at every port. But if I stay 
 here I shall die of hunger. Yes, I must risk it. Ato 
 least, no alarm has been given yet.' 
 
 Quickly he clambered from his perch, and was about 
 to throw himself into the water when he saw one of the 
 drowned fishermen's Phrygian caps, sticking on a rock, 
 while some planks of the wrecked boat were floating 
 close by. 
 
 ' I am saved,' he murmured, drawing the cap over 
 his head, and seizing the plank by way of support, he 
 struck out with it to the cutter. Hope gave him fresh 
 strength, but when he had approached within a quarter
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU D'lF 203 
 
 of a mile, to his horror he perceived the ship's course was 
 being altered. With a violent effort he raised himself in 
 the water, uttering loud cries of despair and waving his 
 cap in one hand. This time the sailors saw him ; the 
 helm was put about, a boat was lowered, and Dantes 
 was hauled on board just as an immense weariness came 
 over him and he felt he could swim no more. 
 
 When he came to himself he was stretched on the 
 bridge of the cutter, with a woollen covering thrown over 
 him. Rum was being slowly poured down his throat by 
 one man, while another was kneeling beside him rubbing 
 his limbs. For a while he lay still, but though his eyes 
 were closed his consciousness had returned to him, and 
 his brain was busily making up a story that he would tell 
 the sailors when he was questioned. 
 
 They left him alone for some hours, but as soon as 
 the captain thought he had recovered from his fatigue 
 he came and sat by his side. 
 
 ' I want to know,' he said, in bad French, ' who you 
 are and how you happened to be alone in the sea this 
 morning ? ' 
 
 ' I am a Maltese sailor,' answered Dantes, in equally 
 bad Italian, ' and the ship I was in was laden with 
 Sicilian wines. It was driven on to those rocks down 
 there and broken in pieces, and I only escaped by the 
 help of one of the planks. I was so exhausted when 
 your boat reached me that I could not swim another 
 stroke.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' remarked one of the crew who stood near by, 
 ' it was I who hauled you in, and I hesitated before I 
 did it, I can assure you, for with your hair and beard you 
 looked more like a brigand than an honest man.' 
 
 Then Dantes remembered that neither his hair nor 
 beard had been touched since he entered the prison. 
 
 ' Yes,' he answered hastily, ' I don't wonder. Ten 
 years ago I was in great danger, and I made a vow that
 
 204 THE PRISONER OF THE CHATEAU VIF 
 
 if I escaped I would not shave for ten years. Luckily 
 the time is up to-morrow, and the first thing I shall do 
 when we get into port is to visit a barber.' 
 
 ' And when we put you on shore what will you do 
 next ? ' continued the captain. 
 
 ' Oh, I shall be all right if you will lend me some 
 clothes to land in,' replied Dantes, ' for as you saw I 
 was perfectly naked. I know every harbour, little and 
 big, along the Mediterranean, and there are very few 
 that I couldn't steer into with my eyes shut. I shall 
 get taken on as pilot quite easily.' 
 
 ' Hum ! ' said the captain. ' I've heard other men 
 in your condition promise as much.' 
 
 * Try me,' answered Dantes. ' Where are you 
 going ? ' 
 
 * To Leghorn.' 
 
 ' I will engage to steer you by a course shorter than 
 any man on board.' 
 
 'Well, take the helm and we will see,' said the 
 captain. 
 
 The promise was kept, and when they cast anchor, 
 Dantes, in a shirt and trousers borrowed from one of the 
 men, presented himself before the captain. 
 
 ' I did not boast of what I could not perform,' said 
 he ; * and now farewell for the present, as I am going on 
 shore to seek a barber.'
 
 THE HUNT FOE THE TREASURE 
 
 DANT^S came out of the barber's shop a new man. 
 The thick black beard had entirely vanished, and several 
 inches of his hair had gone. For the first time in 
 fourteen years he looked at himself in the glass, and felt 
 sure that his own mother would not have known him. 
 The round merry face that he had worn on his wedding 
 day had disappeared for ever, and in its place was a pale, 
 stern countenance with sad eyes. No ; he was quite 
 safe, and could return with an easy mind to the smugglers' 
 boat and accept the partnership offered him by the 
 captain, who had never in his many voyages met with 
 so skilful a pilot. Dantes might remain on board as 
 long as he chose and nobody would suspect that he was 
 other than the Maltese sailor he had given himself out 
 to be. He had gone through one very bad moment a 
 couple of hours after being taken on board The Young 
 Amelia, when, just as he was drinking a glass of rum, 
 a distant gun from the Chateau d'lf came across the 
 water. For half a second he stopped, his blood turning 
 cold and a cloud dimming his sight. 
 
 ' What is the meaning of that ? ' asked the captain. 
 
 ' It is the signal for the escape of a prisoner,' 
 answered Dantes, as he lifted again the glass to his 
 mouth. The captain turned and looked sharply at 
 him, but on seeing him drinking quietly and with enjoy- 
 ment, concluded he was mistaken, and thought no more 
 about it. 
 
 But Dantes had understood.
 
 208 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 
 
 So the vessel left Leghorn and steered her course 
 for Corsica, passing a group of granite rocks which 
 bore the name of Monte Cristo. In half an hour Dantes 
 could easily have reached it, but he knew that before 
 he could hope to find the treasure he would need many 
 tools, and besides, it was necessary to lay his plans 
 carefully so that no one should guess what he was 
 doing. He had grown used to waiting by this time, 
 and as he had waited fourteen years for liberty, it was 
 not much to wait six months for riches. 
 
 From Corsica The Young Amelia set sail for Sar- 
 dinia, shipping a cargo of cigars from Havana and 
 Spanish wines which had paid no duty. Off Sardinia 
 they had a skirmish with the Custom-house officers, 
 in which Dantes received a wound. It was only a 
 slight one, but it was dressed daily by the sailor who 
 had rescued him, old Jacopo, his faithful friend. 
 
 Two months and a half went by, and his engagement 
 on board The Young Amelia was drawing to a conclu- 
 sion. He was now as good a captain as he was a pilot, 
 and had made acquaintance with all the smugglers 
 along the coast. He had also made a little money from 
 the cargoes which they had sold, and felt that he might 
 prudently carry out the plan he had formed for the 
 search in Monte Cristo. But before this happened an 
 unexpected event promised to place him on the island 
 without any risk to himself. 
 
 One evening after they had cast anchor in Leghorn, 
 the captain, who was most anxious to keep Dantes in 
 his service, begged the young man to accompany him 
 to supper in a tavern on shore, where the smugglers 
 round Leghorn were accustomed to meet. As soon as 
 they were all assembled, the captain, who presided, 
 announced that the subject they were about to discuss 
 was how best to arrange the exchange of their cargo 
 of wine and cigars for a shipload of Turkish carpets
 
 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 207 
 
 and the Cashmere shawls so highly prized by the French 
 ladies. It was necessary to find some place which the 
 Custom officers would not be likely to visit, and to his 
 mind no spot would suit them so well as the distant 
 and deserted island of Monte Cristo. 
 
 At the sound of the name so constantly in his 
 thoughts Dantes could hardly repress a cry of joy, 
 and to conceal his emotion he got up and walked to the 
 window. 
 
 ' What do you think, Maltese,' asked the captain 
 as he passed ; ' you know these seas better than any 
 of us.' 
 
 ' You will find no place more secure than Monte 
 Cristo,' answered Dantes ; ' only, if you are to succeed, 
 you should lose no time, or the affair may reach the 
 ears of the Custom-house people. To-morrow night, 
 if the wind is fair, let us start.' 
 
 At seven o'clock on the following evening they 
 weighed anchor and stood out to sea. One by one the 
 stars came out, and at length Dantes, who gradually 
 had obtained a sort of authority over the rest, told 
 the crew that they might all turn in to their bunks, 
 as he would be at the helm. ' The Maltese/ as they 
 called him, was glad to be alone ; he did not want 
 company when he caught sight of Monte Cristo. Often 
 as he had passed it, he had never landed on the shining 
 rocks, and when, after more than twenty-four hours 
 run with the wind behind them they cast anchor, he 
 was the first to jump on shore. 
 
 ' Where are we going to sleep ? ' he asked his friend 
 Jacopo, when they had been \vorking for some time 
 hiding casks among the high rocks. 
 
 ' Why, on the ship, of course,' answered the old 
 man. 
 
 ' Not in the caves ? ' said Dantes carelessly. 
 
 ' There aren't any caves,' replied Jacopo. 
 
 ' No caves on Monte Cristo ? ' exclaimed Dantes,
 
 208 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 
 
 amazed and horrified, for the paper given him by the 
 Abbe had stated plain that it was in the ' caves ' of the 
 island that the treasure lay buried. 
 
 4 No,' returned Jacopo, and Dantes stood thinking 
 what it could all mean. 
 
 ' Some rocks must have fallen and blocked the 
 entrance,' he said to himself at last. ' There is no use 
 searching for it in the dark ; I must make some excuse 
 to get away to-morrow, after the barque has been 
 unloaded. Here she comes.' 
 
 Dantes need not have troubled himself as to whether 
 he was to sleep on land or sea, for with the arrival of 
 the other boat every man was kept busy. By the 
 next day at sunrise the goods were out of one ship and 
 into another, and Dantes had told the captain he 
 meant to stretch his legs and shoot some wild goats. 
 So taking with him a gun and some ammunition, he 
 began to climb the rocks. 
 
 ' We shall be ready to sail in three hours' time, 
 and if you are not here we shall go without you,' called 
 the captain after him. 
 
 ' Oh, I shall be back,' answered Dantes, and went 
 his way. 
 
 He chose a path which soon hid him from the sight 
 of his companions, and which seemed no more than 
 the bed of a stream, as perhaps it was. After a while 
 he noticed little marks on the rocks that appeared 
 to have been made by man. 
 
 * Could they,' he thought, * have been traced by 
 the Cardinal himself ? ' 
 
 After the marks had continued for about sixty yards 
 they suddenly stopped. No cave was to be seen, but 
 instead the path was blocked by a large round rock. 
 Plainly the treasure was not to be found as easily as 
 he expected ; it was clear that he must remain on the 
 island, and let the ship sail without him. So he turned 
 back and clambered along the rocks to a point in full
 
 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 209 
 
 view of the place where the sailors were preparing 
 dinner on the shore. 
 
 He gave a shout, and they looked up to see him 
 bounding towards them from rock to rock as lightly 
 as a chamois. They watched him with admiration, 
 when his foot slipped. He staggered, and then with 
 a cry fell and disappeared. In an instant the men 
 were making their way over the sharp granite till they 
 reached Dantes, who was lying on the ground almost 
 unconscious. A few drops of rum poured down his 
 throat caused him to open his eyes, bjit as soon as 
 he tried to raise himself a spasm of pain crossed his 
 face, and he fell back again. 
 
 * It is my knee,' he said ; ' and I think I must have 
 hurt myself here,' and he laid his hand on his thigh. 
 ' If you leave me to rest a little, perhaps I shall be able 
 to move. Go and finish your breakfast,' and he leaned 
 his head against a stone. 
 
 The sailors were hungry and obeyed him, but when 
 they returned in an hour's time they found that 
 Dantes had only had the strength to drag himself a 
 few steps. 
 
 ' The pain is worse than ever,' he said to the cap- 
 tain, who proposed that some of the men should carry 
 him to the boat. ' It is no use ; I can't bear to be 
 touched. Leave me some food, and enough powder 
 and shot to kill some goats if I get better, and, in case 
 you should be very long absent, a pickaxe to hew out 
 a place to sleep in. The weather is warm ; I shall be 
 all right.' 
 
 ' No, no ! ' cried the captain, much to the surprise 
 of the sailors who were listening. ' I would sooner 
 give up the whole thing than desert you like that. We 
 will not sail to-night.' 
 
 ' But you must,'' answered Dantes ; ' it is not fair 
 to the men, who will lose their profits. It will not take 
 you more than eight days, and if, on the way, you 
 
 A.S. P
 
 210 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 
 
 should meet a fishing boat sailing in this direction, you 
 could send it after me. I would pay them well to carry 
 me back to Leghorn.' And so, after a few more words, 
 it was settled, and with many promises of a speedy 
 return they left him. 
 
 When the ship had disappeared in the distance 
 
 Dantes jumped up, and hastened to the path with the 
 marked rocks, pickaxe in hand. 
 
 The May sun shone hotly, bringing out the smell 
 of the myrtles that grew in the clefts. Grasshoppers 
 hummed among the bushes, and at every step brilliant 
 green lizards hastened to hide themselves. But there 
 was no man on the island save Dantes himself.
 
 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 211 
 
 The first thing he did was to trace back the marks 
 to their beginning, which he found ended in a creek 
 completely hidden till you were close to it, very small, 
 but deep enough to allow of the entrance of a tiny 
 boat. Here the Cardinal must have landed, and have 
 carried his treasure along the path, which, when all 
 was buried, he closed with the rock. Dantes stooped 
 and narrowly examined the earth around and beneath 
 it, and in spite of the grass and bushes which had 
 grown about it during three hundred years, he thought 
 he detected signs that man had once been at work 
 there, and that the great rock was not so firmly fixed 
 in the ground as it appeared. But in this he was mis- 
 taken, for a small stone was wedged under it placed 
 there, most likely, of set purpose and this no blows 
 from his pickaxe were able to dislodge. Then, just 
 as he was almost in despair, his eye lighted on 
 the powder flask which had been left him. Yes, that 
 would do ! 
 
 A mine was soon dug and filled with powder, while 
 Dantes twisted his handkerchief into a long fuse, and 
 set one end alight. Having made his preparations, he 
 retired to a safe distance, and throwing himself on the 
 ground face downwards, to avoid any splinters, he 
 waited for the explosion. 
 
 It came, very soon and very loud, and it was well 
 that Dantes before laying his train had first made sure 
 that no vessel of any sort was in sight. The lower 
 stone was blown to pieces, and the big rock, deprived 
 of its support, swayed to and fro, so that only a vigorous 
 push was needed to send it over. Down it rolled, down, 
 down the side, till with one great leap it was swallowed 
 in the sea. Fascinated, Dantes watched its progress 
 before he turned to see if his hopes were realised. Ah ! 
 he had been right after all, for under the rock was a 
 huge round hole, in the midst of which was a large 
 square stone with an iron ring. With the branch of 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 
 
 an olive tree he had cut down Dantes raised the stone, 
 disclosing a flight of steps leading into darkness. 
 
 His search had been successful ; yet, instead of 
 feeling triumphant, his legs trembled under him. He 
 was afraid lest a disappointment awaited him. 
 
 ' Come,' he said to himself, ' I am really too 
 cowardly. Supposing, after all, that the Abbe was 
 deceived, and the treasure has been discovered and 
 removed long ago. I shall be no worse off than I was, 
 and I am used to poverty.' And he went slowly down 
 the steps. 
 
 From the top it seemed as if no light could penetrate 
 into the cavern, but to the eye of Dantes, accustomed 
 for so long to the dim obscurity of his cell, the furthest 
 corners were perceptible. The emptiness at first struck 
 him with a chill ; then he remembered that the paper 
 had spoken of a second cave leading out of the first, 
 and he tapped carefully with his pickaxe on the granite 
 wall, listening lest one part should seem more hollow 
 than the rest. Once again he had nearly given up 
 hope, when at length he seemed to hear a difference 
 in the sound, but it was so slight that no ear except 
 that of an escaped prisoner would have heard it. 
 
 Here he began to work, but in a short time the 
 closeness of the air and the fact that he had eaten 
 nothing since the day before affected him without his 
 knowing it. The pickaxe slipped from his hands ; it 
 felt too heavy to hold ; and pretending to himself that 
 he would make sure that nobody was watching him, 
 he mounted the steps and sank on the grass. 
 
 After eating and drinking a little the fainting 
 passed off, and he lay still to thihk ; but it was 
 curious that the more proofs he had that the Abbe's 
 paper had spoken truth, the more he was convinced 
 that someone had been beforehand with the treasure. 
 
 However, he did not waste time in thinking. Very 
 soon he took up his pickaxe and went back to his
 
 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 213 
 
 cave, where he set to work to remove the plaster which 
 covered the stones. As these were only piled loosely 
 on one another, they were easily pushed aside, and 
 Dantes entered. This second cave was to all appearance 
 as empty as the first, but the corner on the left hand 
 was very dark, and he made up his mind that it was 
 here that the treasure must be buried. 
 
 Now that the moment had come when at last 
 Dantes was to know the truth, he trembled like a 
 child ; then with a violent effort at self-control he 
 struck at the ground. 
 
 The sixth blow fell upon an iron substance, and the 
 noise rang through the cave. Very pale, Dantes again 
 struck, but this time the answering sound was different. 
 ' It is a wooden box bound with iron,' he said to him- 
 self ; and stooping down he managed to touch the 
 coffer. It was larger than he supposed, and the earth 
 round it had still further to be loosened before it could 
 be moved. By the light of a torch made from a tree 
 he recognised engraved in the centre the arms of the 
 Spada family, which he had often seen on an old book 
 belonging to the Abbe ; this set all his doubts at 
 rest. The treasure was there, but he could neither 
 lift the box out of the hole nor open it. What was he 
 to do ? Curiously enough, he felt as bewildered and 
 helpless as a child. 
 
 He sat down for a few minutes to recover himself, 
 and then took up the pickaxe afresh. 
 
 ' I can't think what is the matter with me,' he 
 murmured ; and striking the lock, it gave way. Dantes 
 lifted the cover, and there, in three compartments, 
 lay the treasure which had been awaiting him for three 
 hundred years ; gold crowns in one, rough nuggets in 
 another, precious stones in the third. Edmond touched 
 them slowly one by one ; then, turning, ran out of the 
 cave.
 
 214 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 
 
 When he reached the sea he stopped and looked 
 about him, and by-and-by his excitement died away. 
 He walked quietly back to the cavern, and, kneeling 
 by the hole, tried to guess the value of the contents 
 of the box. But in the effort his brain grew dizzy, and 
 after replacing the stone across the entrance to the 
 
 outer cave, stretched himself across it, and went to 
 sleep. 
 
 His first care on awaking next morning was to make 
 sure that no one had landed on the island during the 
 night, and when he had satisfied himself that he was 
 alone, he removed the stone which concealed the stair- 
 case, and going into the further cavern filled his pockets 
 and some small leather bags which he had brought on
 
 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 215 
 
 purpose with diamonds and jewels of various sorts. 
 Then he put the rest back into the box, replaced the 
 soil above it, and sprinkled sand over the whole floor. 
 The stone covering the entrance to the staircase he 
 likewise concealed under earth, and planted some tufts 
 of heath and myrtle, which he carefully watered. This 
 being done, he set himself to wait for the return of the 
 boat and to get used to his good fortune. 
 
 On the sixth day after her departure Dantes beheld 
 The Young Amelia approaching Monte Cristo. He 
 dragged himself along the beach, and declared that he 
 found after all that no bones were broken, and that the 
 rest had nearly cured him. The sailors on their part 
 were eager to tell their own adventures ; they had sold 
 their cargo, it w r as true, but had narrowly escaped being 
 captured by a brig which had chased them from Toulon 
 till they had managed to get away in the dark. If the 
 ' Maltese ' had been there the brig would have been 
 shaken off sooner ; and what a pity, too, he had lost his 
 chance of fifty gold pieces ! 
 
 The Young Amelia headed straight for Leghorn, 
 and Dantes w r ent on shore at once, and disappeared 
 down one of the poorest and dirtiest streets of the 
 town, where lived a Jew whom he had known long ago. 
 This man agreed to give him twenty thousand francs, 
 or 800?. of our money, for four small diamonds, which 
 were worth a great deal more. 
 
 With this in his pocket he bought a small boat for 
 old Jacopo, bidding him go without delay to Marseilles 
 and find out all he could about a man who in former 
 days lived there, called Louis Dantes, and a girl named 
 Mercedes. On his way back Jacopo was to stop at 
 Monte Cristo, where Dantes would probably be. 
 
 Then he took leave of his friends on board The 
 Young Amelia, telling them that he had run away to 
 sea when he was a boy, because his family would not
 
 216 THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE 
 
 allow him to become a sailor, but that on his arrival 
 in Leghorn he had received news that a rich uncle had 
 died, and had left him all his fortune. They parted on 
 the best of terms, and Dantes took ship the same 
 day for Genoa. In this way ended the hunt for the 
 treasure.
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 Do you like stories of treasure hunts ? If so, read 
 this one, for it is the very best hunt in the whole world, 
 and was the first tale of the sort to be told. 
 
 A little way from the coast of South Carolina in the 
 United States lies an island, very narrow and green, and 
 no more than three miles long. On the land side there 
 was formerly a thick growth of reeds and rushes, full of 
 wildfowl, which love a marsh, and at this end a Fort was 
 built in which two or three men were always placed, in 
 order to keep a look-out. Towards the open sea was a 
 beach of dazzling white sand, while the centre was filled 
 with a dense wood of sweet myrtle. 
 
 It was here, cut off from the Fort by the shrubs, which 
 often grew as high as twenty feet, that William Legrand 
 lived in a small hut, with Jupiter his negro servant. 
 Jupiter had taken care of him ever since he was a little 
 boy, and did not believe yet that ' Massa Will ' had 
 grown up. Indeed, one day when Massa Will had not 
 returned home till very early in the morning, Jupiter 
 went in search of a whip, and would have laid it across 
 his master's shoulders if he had not looked so ill and 
 worried. At least, this was the tale Jupiter told to 
 Edward Robertson, the only person who ever came from 
 the mainland to see Legrand. 
 
 Why Legrand chose to live on this tiny island 
 nobody knew, and what was more, nobody cared.
 
 218 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 The man himself seemed quite content, and his 
 days were passed in fishing and in collecting shells on 
 the beach or beetles in the myrtle bushes. The climate 
 was delightful, for the sea breezes softened the heat in 
 summer, while in winter it was seldom indeed that even 
 Jupiter felt the need of a fire before the New Year. 
 
 A fire of wood was, however, burning one evening 
 about sunset in the month of October a hundred years 
 ago, when Robertson, after an absence of several weeks, 
 knocked at the door of the hut. Nobody answered, and 
 at length Robertson, tired of waiting, took down the key 
 from its nail and walked in. There were no signs of 
 either master or man, so the guest sat himself in the 
 armchair and fell sound asleep. The darkness falls 
 quickly in those southern lands, and not long after the 
 last rays of the sun had disappeared Legrand entered, 
 followed by Jupiter. 
 
 ' Here you are at last, old man,' cried he. ' I thought 
 you had given me up. But I have had good luck to-day, 
 and have brought home some fine marsh hens. So 
 Jupiter will soon have a supper ready fit for a king.' 
 
 ' That's so, Massa Will,' replied Jupiter, grinning, 
 and, kicking off his boots, Legrand flung himself at full 
 length in front of the fire. 
 
 ' Anything new for the collection ? ' asked Robert- 
 son lazily after a while. 
 
 ' New V I should think there was ! Yesterday I 
 picked up a shell which I knew to be the very one all the 
 learned men have been hunting for for two hundred 
 years at least, and better than that oh, much better ! 
 the day before, when I was out with Jupiter, we found a 
 splendid beetle on the high rocks, which must have been 
 washed up during the last big gale.' 
 
 ' What sort of a beetle ? ' asked Robertson, who 
 knew that the question would please his friend, though 
 he himself hated insects.
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 219 
 
 ' Oh, a wonderful creature ! I've lent it to the man 
 at the Fort ; but I'll show it to you to-morrow. You'll 
 stay here to-night, of course ? It is really a marvel 
 about the size of a walnut and shines like gold. On its 
 back at one end are two round black spots, and at the 
 other end is another black mark that is rather longer.' 
 
 ' Gold I every bit of him,' added Jupiter, ' solid gold ! 
 I never felt a beetle half so heavy.' 
 
 ' Well, I must say it does look very like it,' said 
 Legrand. ' Of course, you can't tell till you see it 
 to-morrow, but I can give you an idea of its shape,' and 
 as he spoke he opened the drawer of a small writing- 
 table, where paper ought to have been but was not. 
 
 ' Never mind ; I've got a bit here,' and he pulled out 
 of his pocket a piece of what seemed very dirty foolscap, 
 and made a drawing on it with a pen. When he had 
 finished he handed it to his friend, who was still sitting 
 by the fire. Robertson bent forward so as to examine 
 it better by the light of the flames, when a great New- 
 foundland dog pushed open the door, and seeing an old 
 playfellow made a sudden spring at him and began 
 furiously to lick his face, knocking, as he did so, the 
 paper out of Robertson's hand. 
 
 ' Be quiet ! Down, old boy ! ' but only when the 
 dog had ended his welcome did he pay any attention, 
 and stretched himself on the floor, rapping his tail 
 loudly. Then Robertson picked up the paper and began 
 to look at it. 
 
 ' You are right,' he said, after a pause ; ' this is a most 
 strange beetle. It is more like a skull than anything I 
 ever saw.' 
 
 ' A skull ! ' exclaimed Legrand. ' Oh, well, yes. 
 It does look like it there. The two black spots might be 
 taken for eyes, and the other one for a mouth. And, of 
 course, there is the shape.' 
 
 ' But, Legrand,' remarked Robertson, ' I thought 
 you could draw better than that. I must wait till I see
 
 220 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 the beetle itself. Now I can think of nothing but the 
 skull.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is quite a good sketch of the beetle,' answered 
 Legrand rather sharply, for he prided himself on 
 his drawing. ' You ought to be able to understand 
 perfectly well.' 
 
 ' It is a very good sketch of a skull ; I can't imagine a 
 better,' replied Robertson, handing his friend the paper 
 that he might examine it himself more closely. 
 
 Legrand took it impatiently, meaning to crumple it 
 up and throw it on the fire, when he suddenly caught 
 sight of the sketch. To Robertson's surprise he turned 
 first very red and then very pale, and, after staring at 
 the drawing for a minute or two, took up a candle and 
 sat down on a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the 
 room and examined the paper through and through, 
 holding it up to the light as if there was something about 
 it that he could not understand. When he seemed to 
 have satisfied himself that there was no more to be seen 
 he locked the paper in a desk and gazed dreamily into 
 the fire, apparently never hearing anything that his 
 friend said. At length Robertson, feeling that no 
 more conversation was to be got out of him, bade 
 him good-night and returned to his home on the 
 mainland. 
 
 During the month that followed Robertson was very 
 busy and had no chance of visiting the island again ; 
 but one day, to his surprise, Jupiter paid him a call. It 
 was easy to see that something was troubling the old 
 negro, so Robertson made him sit down in the sun and 
 asked him if anything was the matter and how his 
 master was. 
 
 ' Not so very well as he might be, to speak the truth,* 
 answered Jupiter. 
 
 ' Is it fever ? ' asked Robertson. ' What does he 
 complain of ? '
 
 THE STOEY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 221 
 
 ' Nothing, sir. He never complains of nothing ; but 
 he is very bad for all that.' 
 ' Is he in bed ? ' 
 'No, sir. I wish he was. That's just where the 
 
 LECRASTD PUZZLED BY THE PAPER 
 
 shoe pinches. My mind is very heavy about poor 
 Massa Will. He says there's nothing at all the matter 
 with him ; but then, what makes him go about with his 
 head down and his shoulders up, and as white as a 
 ghost ? And all day he keeps looking at some figures on
 
 222 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 a slate the queerest figures that ever 7 saw. I'm 
 getting pretty frightened, I can tell you. The other day 
 he gave me the slip before sunrise, and was gone the 
 whole blessed day. I had a big stick cut to give him a 
 good beating, but when he did come I hadn't the heart 
 to do it after all, he looked so poorly.' 
 
 In spite of being really anxious, Robertson could 
 hardly help laughing at the idea of the master being 
 whipped by his man. However, Jupiter was perfectly 
 serious, so Robertson choked down his laughter and 
 answered gravely : 
 
 * No, I shouldn't flog him if I were you ; it doesn't 
 sound as if he could stand it. But tell me, has anything 
 strange happened since I was at the hut ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir ; not since then ; it was before then, I'm 
 afraid. The very day you were there.' 
 ' How ? What do you mean ? ' 
 ' Why the beetle ! ' 
 1 The what ? ' 
 
 * The beetle. I'm certain sure that Massa Will was 
 bitten somewhere about the head by that gold beetle.' 
 
 ' Good gracious ! But what makes you think so ? ' 
 ' Well, sir, / never beheld such a beetle. He kicks 
 and bites everything that comes near him. Massa Will 
 caught him first, but he let him go mighty quick seems 
 as if he must have been bitten. I didn't like the look of 
 his great mouth, so I laid hold of him with a piece of 
 paper that I found in the sand. I wrapped him up in it 
 and stuffed one end in his mouth that was the way I 
 caught him.' 
 
 ' And you think it was the bite that made him ill ? ' 
 
 ' I know it was the bite. Why should he have 
 
 dreamed about the gold so much if he hadn't been bitten 
 
 by the gold beetle ? He just talks of it in his sleep all 
 
 the night long.' 
 
 Robertson did not answer directly. It was strange, 
 he thought, even though he did not believe in the bite
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 223 
 
 of the gold beetle. At length he said, ' Does he know 
 you have come to me, Jupiter ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, he gave me this note. It is to ask you to 
 come back with me to-night, sir.' 
 
 Robertson opened the note, and instantly perceived 
 that something was troubling his friend, though there 
 was nothing in it to tell him what it was. 
 
 ' Well, let us go at once,' he answered, rising, and 
 together the two walked down to the wharf, where 
 Legrand's boat was lying. As Robertson stepped in he 
 nearly fell over some things in the bottom, and on 
 picking himself up, saw to his surprise the articles were 
 a scythe and three new spades. 
 
 ' What in the world are you going to do with those, 
 Jupe ? ' asked he. 
 
 ' Massa Will sent me into the town to buy them for 
 him, and a fine lot of money I had to give for them,' 
 replied the old negro. ' But as to what he means to do 
 with them that's more than / know, and I don't believe 
 he knows either ! But it all comes of that beetle.' 
 
 The wind was behind them and soon blew them across, 
 and a walk of two miles brought them to the hut about 
 three o'clock. Legrand was eagerly awaiting them, but 
 Robertson was shocked at his appearance. His eyes 
 seemed to have sunk further into his face and glowed 
 fiercely, while his skin was parched and shrivelled. 
 Robertson hastily made a few remarks, and then 
 inquired if the officer at the Fort had returned the 
 beetle. 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' replied Legrand, flushing with excitement. 
 ' He sent it back next day. I wouldn't part with it for 
 the world. Jupiter was quite right about it.' 
 
 ' How ? ' asked his friend. 
 
 ' In supposing it was of real gold,' and he looked so 
 strange as he spoke that Robertson had no doubt he was 
 really a little mad. He became still more certain of the 
 fact as Legrand went on gaily, ' That beetle is to make
 
 224 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 my fortune and to buy back the family estates. So it 
 isn't wonderful that I prize it. But I forgot that you 
 haven't seen it. Jupiter, bring it to me.' 
 
 ' What, the beetle, massa? I'd rather not trouble that 
 beetle ; you must get him your own self,' and Legrand 
 arose from his chair, and opening a glass case, brought 
 out the most curious insect Robertson had ever seen. 
 Its back was covered with hard shining scales, with two 
 black spots at one end and a long one near the other, 
 just as Legrand had drawn it a month before. But the 
 strangest thing about it was its weight. If it had really 
 been made of gold it could hardly have been heavier. 
 
 Legrand watched closely while Robertson was 
 inspecting the beetle, and then he said, ' Now you have 
 examined it are you prepared to do as I wish and come 
 with me to-night across the hills ? ' 
 
 ' Across the hills ? ' exclaimed Robertson. ' But you 
 ought to be in bed. If you go about in this condition 
 you will get brain fever.' 
 
 ' I am much more likely to get it if I don't go,' and 
 Robertson, on glancing at him, thought that his words 
 might be true, so he answered reluctantly : 
 
 ' What is it that you propose ? ' 
 
 ' This is my plan. I mean to take Jupiter and go an 
 expedition into the hills on the mainland, but I shall 
 need a third man, and you are the only person I can 
 trust. Will you come ? ' 
 
 ' Has it anything to do with that horrid beetle, 
 because if so I would rather stay at home ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, it has. But if you refuse we shall have to try 
 it without you.' 
 
 ' Are you mad ? How long will you be ? ' 
 
 ' Probably all night. We shall start at once, but I 
 do not expect to return before sunrise.' 
 
 ' Well, if I go, will you promise when all this beetle 
 business is settled that there shall be an end to it, and 
 that you will stay quiet ? '
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 225 
 
 ' Yes, I promise ; and now let us be off,' and so they 
 started. 
 
 The wind was behind them, and it was not long 
 before they ran the boat ashore in a desolate part of the 
 coast. Here a rope fastened her to a stone ; then 
 Jupiter, frightened and sulky, took up the scythe and 
 spades. Robertson lighted the way with a couple of 
 dark lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with the 
 gold beetle, which he had fastened to a piece of whip- 
 cord. Higher and higher they went, and wilder and 
 more desolate grew the country. There was not a trace 
 anywhere of a single human being, but in his former 
 visits to this dreary spot Legrand had made certain 
 landmarks which served to guide them now. After 
 they had climbed for two hours the party reached a kind 
 of platform half-way up a hill which was covered with 
 wood from the base to the summit, broken here and 
 there by deep gulleys or steep rocks. The trees in most 
 places were so matted together by low brambles that it 
 would have been impossible to pass through had not 
 Jupiter cut them down with his scythe. This took a long 
 while, and by the time a path was hewn the sun had 
 set and there was only a new moon to guide them. 
 However, led by Legrand they pushed on till they 
 arrived at a level place where grew an enormous tulip 
 tree, whose far-reaching branches spread over eight 
 or ten oaks standing round. 
 
 Here Legrand stopped, and turning to Jupiter he 
 said, ' Jupe, can you climb that tulip tree ? ' 
 
 The negro looked rather alarmed, and going to the 
 tree he examined it closely. Then he answered, ' Yes, 
 massa. Jupe climb any tree he ever saw in his 
 life,' 
 
 ' Up with you then ; we have no time to lose.' 
 
 ' How far must I go, massa ? ' asked Jupiter. 
 
 * You get up the trunk and I'll tell you. But stop ! 
 Carry the beetle with you.' 
 
 A.S. Q
 
 226 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 ' That, massa ! Me carry up that ? ' cried poor 
 Jupiter, shrinking in dismay. 
 
 ' Do you mean to say that you are afraid a 
 great big negro like you to catch hold of a little 
 harmless dead beetle ? Why, you can carry it by 
 the string. I shall have to break your head with 
 this shovel.' 
 
 ' Oh, massa ! what a fuss you make,' answered 
 Jupiter, rather ashamed of himself. ' I was only 
 funnin'. Me feared of it ? What do I care for the 
 beetle ? ' and keeping the string at a safe distance from 
 him he began to climb the tree. 
 
 In spite of its size the tulip tree was not so difficult 
 to mount as it looked, for it was so old that the smooth 
 trunk had become rough and full of round bosses, and 
 had even put out some short boughs, which gave ample 
 foothold for the negro's naked feet. At last a voice was 
 heard coming from a long way up : ' How much farther 
 must I go ? ' 
 
 ' Count how many branches are below you on this 
 side,' shouted Legrand. 
 
 * Six, massa.' 
 
 * Then go up one more.' 
 
 For a few minutes there was silence, then Jupiter 
 cried again : ' All right, massa. What now ? ' 
 
 ' Work your way along that branch as far as you 
 can,' called Legrand, who was greatly excited, ' and if 
 you see anything strange let me know.' 
 
 Again there was a pause, and then a cry from 
 Jupiter : ' I'm most afraid to venture very far ; the 
 branch is dead pretty much all the way.' 
 
 At this news Legrand trembled and turned white, 
 and his friend became more than ever certain that he 
 had lost his senses. But in a moment his face cleared, 
 and he shouted through the branches : * Try the wood 
 witli your knife and see if it is very rotten.' 
 
 Jupiter obeyed. ' Not so very rotten as might be,'
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 227 
 
 he answered at last. ' I might venture a little way out 
 by myself.' 
 
 ' By yourself ? What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Well, without the beetle. It's a very heavy beetle. 
 Suppose I was to drop him down first, and then the 
 branch won't break with the weight of one old nigger.' 
 
 ' You scoundrel ! ' shouted Legrand, though he was 
 plainly much relieved. ' As sure as you drop that 
 beetle I will break your neck. But if you hold it tight 
 and crawl along that branch as far as you think it is 
 safe I'll give you a silver dollar as soon as you get down.' 
 
 ' I'm going, Massa Will,' answered Jupiter. ' I'm 
 most out to the end now. Ah ! Ah ! What is that 
 horrid thing ? ' 
 
 ' What ? What ? ' exclaimed Legrand, who was 
 highly delighted. ' Well, what is it ? ' 
 
 ' Why, a skull ; nothing but a skull ! Somebody has 
 left bis head up the tree.' 
 
 ' A skull you say. Well, how is it fastened 
 on ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! I must look. Why, there's a great big nail in 
 the skull, that fastens it on.' 
 
 ' Now, Jupe, do exactly as I tell you. Find the 
 left eye of the skull.' 
 
 ' He, he ! that's good. Why, there ain't no eye left 
 at all.' 
 
 ' You idiot ! Do you know your right hand from 
 your left ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I know that ; all about that ! ' 
 
 ' Then find the place in the skull where the left eye 
 has been. Have you found it ? ' 
 
 There was a long pause. At length the negro asked : 
 ' Is the left eye of the skull on the same side as the 
 left hand of the skull too ? Because the skull hasn't 
 got not a bit of a hand at all. Never mind ! I've 
 got the left eye now ! Here's the left eye ! What must 
 I do with it ? ' 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 * Let the beetle drop through it as far as the string 
 will reach, but be careful not to let go the string.' 
 
 ' All that done, massa Will. Mighty easy thing to 
 put the beetle through the hole. Look out for him 
 there below.' 
 
 During this conversation not a sign could be seen of 
 Jupiter in the branches, but now the two men caught 
 
 a glimpse of the beetle hanging low at the end of the 
 string, shining like solid gold. It dangled in the air, 
 straight down from the branch, and if Jupiter had let 
 go the string it would have fallen at their feet. But 
 calling to the negro not to move, Legrand seized the 
 scythe, and cleared away the brambles and grass under- 
 neath the beetle, till he had lain bare quite a large 
 space in the form of a circle.
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 229 
 
 ' Now drop it,' he cried, and Jupiter thankfully let 
 the beetle drop on the ground. 
 
 Meanwhile Robertson had silently watched Legrand 
 and became more and more uneasy at his growing excite- 
 ment. That his friend was mad he was now entirely 
 convinced, but as long as his proceedings were harmless 
 he determined not to interfere. What would Legrand 
 do next ? he wondered ; and what Legrand did was very 
 strange indeed. 
 
 First he cut a peg from a bush and drove it into the 
 earth at the very place wiiere the beetle had dropped. 
 Next he took a measuring-tape from his pocket, and tied 
 it to a small branch on the side of the tree in a line w r ith 
 the peg. He then unrolled it, counting his steps as far as 
 the peg, and on again till he was about fifty feet from the 
 tree. Here he drove another peg, and waited till Jupiter 
 came down and mowed a circle about twelve feet round. 
 
 ' That is all right,' he exclaimed joyfully ; ' we can all 
 begin to dig now,' and as he spoke he thrust a spade into 
 Robertson's hands, and, snatching up a second, quickly 
 threw up the earth. Very unwillingly Robertson 
 followed his example ; he w T as no gardener at any time, 
 and at that moment was very tired with his long climb, 
 but he dared not refuse, for fear of irritating the excited 
 Legrand. 
 
 So as soon as the lanterns were lit all three men 
 fell to work, and dug silently and steadily for two hours, 
 the only sound being occasional barks from the dog, 
 who took as much interest in the hunt as his betters. 
 Indeed at last he grew so noisy that Legrand was afraid 
 that he might be overheard by some passing stranger, 
 and bade Jupiter tie up his mouth with his handkerchief. 
 
 The hole was now five feet deep, and still nothing 
 had been found. With a face of disappointment, 
 Legrand flung down his spade, and speechless with 
 disgust, put on his coat while he signed to Jupiter to 
 pick up the tools and to unmuzzle the dog. Robertson,
 
 230 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 thankful that the affair had at last come to an end, held 
 his peace, and turned to follow the others down the 
 hill. 
 
 But he had rejoiced too soon. They had hardly gone 
 a dozen yards when Legrand suddenly gave a loud cry 
 and seized the astonished Jupiter by the collar. 
 
 ' You villain ! ' he shouted, ' it is all your fault. Tell 
 me, you scoundrel, which is your left eye ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, gracious, massa Will, ain't this my left eye ? * 
 placing, as he spoke, his hand over his right.' 
 
 ' I thought so I knew it,' and Legrand began to- 
 wave his arms about in so wild a manner that his 
 companions were more alarmed than ever. 
 
 ' We must go back at once,' he continued ; ' there is 
 still another chance,' and he raced back along the path, 
 with the weary Robertson behind him. 
 
 ' Jupiter,' he said more quietly when they reached 
 the tree, ' was the skull nailed to the branch with its face 
 outwards ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, massa, that's so. It was outwards.' 
 
 ' Then was it this eye that you dropped it through ? * 
 asked Legrand, pointing to the negro's right eye. 
 
 ' Yes, massa, this eye the left eye just as you told 
 me,' answered he. 
 
 ' Well, we must try it again,' said Legrand, and he 
 moved the peg where the beetle had fallen about three 
 inches to the west of the spot where he had first put it. 
 Then he took his measurements again, and drove in 
 another peg at a distance of several yards from the place 
 where they had dug before. 
 
 Curiously enough, in spite of his fatigue, Robertson 
 had begun to see a glimmer of light in Legrand's actions, 
 and was wondering if he had not been deceived in so 
 hastily determining that his friend was a lunatic. He 
 was now quite eager to do his part in the digging, and 
 after the circle had been cleared they worked on silently
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 231 
 
 for an hour and a half, when they were startled by the 
 violent howls of the dog. Jupiter approached him with 
 
 the handkerchief, but he snarled and showed his teeth, 
 and springing into the hole began to scratch. In a minute 
 or two he had laid bare two skeletons with some strips 
 of cloth clinging to the bones and some metal buttons.
 
 232 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 Pushing the dog aside, Legrand threw up another 
 spoonful of earth and came upon a Spanish knife and 
 a few gold coins. 
 
 ' Is that all ? ' exclaimed Legrand in a voice full of 
 disappointment, though Jupiter's eyes shone with 
 delight. ' Well, it is quite useless ; we had better go,' and 
 Robertson, in spite of his opinion as to the folly of the 
 affair, felt a pang shoot through him. But at the instant 
 his toe caught in an iron ring that had been hidden by 
 some loose earth, and he tumbled heavily forwards. 
 
 Legrand had seen, but said nothing. Only he began 
 to dig as man had never dug before. After ten minutes 
 they uncovered a large box of wood with iron bands, 
 far too heavy to lift had not three rings been fastened 
 to each side, by which it was just possible for the 
 three men to raise it slightly. Full as it was of some- 
 thing very heavy, it was madness to think of carrying it 
 away unless it was partly emptied, and this they were 
 luckily able to do, for the box was shut by two sliding 
 bolts. Slowly, for they were rusty indeed, these were 
 drawn back. 
 
 Since the world began perhaps no eyes had ever 
 looked on such a mass of treasures in so small a space. 
 Precious stones, crowns, belts, bowls, besides piles and 
 piles of golden coins. At the sight Jupiter appeared 
 turned into stone, and then falling on his knees in the 
 hole and letting great handfuls of the gold slip through 
 his fingers, he exclaimed : 
 
 ' And all this comes from the gold beetle, the pretty 
 gold beetle which I abused in that savage kind of style. 
 Ain't you ashamed of yourself, nigger ? Answer me 
 that.' 
 
 As Legrand stood still, staring at the treasure, and 
 showed no signs of moving, Robertson at last touched 
 his arm. 
 
 ' If we are to get these things to the island before
 
 THE STOEY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 233 
 
 daylight we must start now,' he said ; ' but you had 
 better make up your mind what you are going to take.' 
 
 This was not easy, but time pressed, and at length 
 it was decided to hide all that could not be removed 
 among the thick bushes and tall grass, and to leave the 
 dog as guardian, while they carried the chest between 
 them back to the hut, returning at once for the 
 rest. 
 
 Fatigued as they all were, nothing but excitement 
 would have enabled them to execute this plan, and 
 in after days they often wondered at their strength. 
 But somehow or other it was done, and by four o'clock 
 they were again in the hut, unnoticed by any human 
 being, and able to sleep for some hours, totally exhausted. 
 
 When they aw r oke and had had some food they were 
 able to examine their treasure a little more calmly. 
 
 They were in no hurry, and it was a joy to 'them, 
 after all their fatigue, to handle each beautiful thing, 
 and to hold the jewels up to the sun and watch how the 
 light flashed through them. Then there was the money 
 to be counted ; all gold great heavy pieces from every 
 country in Europe, and some of them so old that they 
 could not make anything out of the worn-out letters. 
 There were also nearly two hundred gold watches, 
 all of them useless, but with backs of dark blue enamel, 
 covered with pearls and diamonds, and quantities of 
 other curiosities such as the two men had never seen or 
 dreamt of. 
 
 At length the counting was over, and it had lasted 
 the best part of two days, and when the treasure was 
 put safely back in the box, and hidden in a hole dug 
 amongst the myrtle bushes, Robertson said to Legrand : 
 
 ' I think I have been very patient, but I can wait no 
 longer. You must tell me how you came to guess at the 
 existence of all that gold, and where it was buried.' 
 
 ' Well,' answered Legrand, * do you remember that
 
 234 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 evening a month ago when you came here, and I showed 
 you the rough sketch I had made of the beetle, you 
 declared that it was a skull ? I am rather proud of my 
 drawing and did not like it to be laughed at, so when you 
 handed it back I crumpled it up, and was going to 
 throw the parchment into the fire, when to my surprise 
 I saw a skull just in the very place where I thought I 
 had drawn the beetle. I took the candle into the 
 corner, and examined the parchment again, and found 
 that since I had sketched the beetle on one side of the 
 parchment, the skull had appeared in exactly the same 
 place on the other side. Now I knew very well there 
 had been no skull there when I made my sketch, for I 
 had looked up and down for a clean spot, which was 
 hard to find, and could not have helped noticing the 
 skull. It was very strange, but I did not wish to talk 
 of my discovery till I understood it better, so as long 
 as you were there I said nothing. 
 
 ' When you and Jupiter were both gone I began to 
 think out the puzzle step by step. We had picked up the 
 beetle on a lonely part of the mainland, a little above 
 high-water mark, while it was basking in the sun on a 
 rock. As soon as I touched it it bit me sharply, and 
 flew towards Jupiter. Warned by my cry of pain he 
 looked about for something to wrap round his hand before 
 trying to catch it, and he saw sticking out of the sand 
 this bit of parchment, and near by the hull of a ship's 
 boat. This had probably lain there for long, but a 
 furious gale must have recently blown the sand away 
 and left it exposed to view. 
 
 ' Wrapping the beetle in the parchment I brought it 
 home, and on the way met young Gates, commanding 
 the Fort, who is as fond of natural history as I am 
 myself. He begged me to let him keep it for the night, 
 and put it loose in his pocket. I suppose I must have 
 put the parchment in mine without knowing that I 
 did so anyhow, that was where I found it when I was
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 235 
 
 searching for a piece of paper to make the sketch to 
 show you. 
 
 ' I was turning these things over in my mind after 
 you had left me when an explanation suddenly flashed 
 across my brain. / had been sitting near the fire when 
 I drew the beetle, and you were stooping over it to see 
 more clearly when Wolf leaped on your shoulders and 
 knocked the parchment on to the hearth. Reflecting 
 on these various events, I recollected that certain 
 chemicals could be used to write with on either parch- 
 ment or paper, which would remain quite invisible 
 unless they were exposed to heat. This, surely, had 
 happened here, and, full of excitement, I threw more 
 w r ood on the fire and held the parchment as close to it 
 as I dared. At first the skull only stood out more 
 clearly, but by-and-by I saw in the corner of the parch- 
 ment, which was a long and narrow slip, the figure of a 
 kid. 
 
 ' I see by your face that you think I am raving, but 
 wait a little. The skull, as everybody knows, is the 
 emblem of a pirate, and no pirate-ship ever goes into 
 battle without hoisting a flag with a death's head on it. 
 Then, was not the greatest of all pirates Captain Kidd, 
 and is not the kid drawn in the very place where a man 
 would put his signature ? I was full of triumph when 
 this notion occurred to me, but one fact still perplexed 
 me there seemed to be no letter filling the space 
 between the skull and the kid. 
 
 ' This was a disappointment, but hi spite of it I had 
 a strange feeling that some good luck was going to 
 befall, and all at once I remembered the stories I had 
 heard ever since I had lived in this island that Kidd and 
 his followers had buried some of their plunder along this 
 deserted coast. Of course I knew he might have died 
 before he could reclaim it, or the parchment enabling 
 him to trace the spot perhaps this very slip may 
 have been lost, or it might have been already found
 
 236 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 and secretly removed ; but in any case I meant to do all 
 I could to get hold of the treasure, to which I had as 
 good a right as anyone else. 
 
 ' Picking up the parchment again from the floor where 
 it had fallen I passed my finger tips lightly over it. It 
 was very greasy, as well as very dirty might not both 
 dirt and grease prevent the heat of the fire from acting 
 as it should ? So I boiled some water and poured it 
 carefully over the parchment, and then laid it over a 
 pan of burning charcoal. After a few minutes I took 
 the slip away and looked at it. Yes, there sure enough 
 were several lines of dots and figures, but they were 
 as yet too faint to make out. I held the parchment 
 again over the pan, and after a little while the dots and 
 figures stood out plainly. If I put the parchment to 
 the fire you can see for yourself.' 
 
 Now what Robertson saw was something very odd 
 and curious, and he could not understand it at all. 
 But some persons, and Legrand was one of them, are 
 fond of making out puzzles, and may like to discover 
 this one, which is quite easy. If they do not, they can 
 skip it, and pass on to the explanation which Legrand 
 was obliged to give his friend. 
 
 53Kt305))6*;4826)4}04J);806*;48t81[60))85;l +(;:}* 
 8t83(88)5*t;46(;88*96*?;8)*+(;485);5*t2:*+(;4956*2(5* 
 4)81f8*;4069285);)6 f8)4+ J;l( J9;48081; 8:8{l;48t85;4)485t 
 528806*81(^9; 48;(88;4(J?34;48)4};161;:188;+?; ' 
 
 ' I am as much in the dark as ever,' said Robertson, 
 when he had stared at the slip for some time. ' If all the 
 jewels in the world depended on my reading it, I should 
 have to give them up.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is really quite simple,' answered Legrand ; 
 ' I have found out many more difficult puzzles when I 
 was a boy. Of course the only thing that makes it 
 hard is the fact that there are no divisions between the 
 words. But in cyphers of this kind you begin by seeing
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 237 
 
 which sign occurs most frequently, and then you know 
 that you have got hold of the letter E. After that you 
 next look for the sign E combined with two other letters, 
 and you guess at once that the word is " the," so you now 
 have three letters to start with. A sign standing alone 
 is " a " or "I," and words of two letters are " in," 
 " to," " of," " at," and so on. Here, where the words 
 are undivided, you must work from the letters you are 
 certain of, and then read down the page of a book and 
 count which letters of the alphabet are used most 
 frequently, and which letters can be doubled and 
 which not. This you soon discover w ith a little practice ; 
 you can try for yourself. However, I will tell you at 
 once the meaning of the cypher, which is thus : " A good 
 glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one 
 degrees and thirteen minutes north-east and by north 
 main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left 
 eye of the death's head a bee line from the tree through 
 the shot fifty feet out." ' 
 
 ' It sounds amazingly clever to me,' replied Kobert- 
 son, ' but I am as far as ever from understanding how 
 it enabled you to find the place of the hidden treasure.' 
 
 Legrand laughed. 
 
 ' There doesn't seem much connexion, I confess,* 
 said he, ' but I saw that the first thing to do was to form 
 separate sentences. That was very soon accomplished, 
 and then the words read thus : 
 
 '"A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's- 
 seat forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes north- 
 east and by north main branch seventh limb east 
 side shoot from the left eye of the death's head a- 
 bee line from the shot fifty feet out." 
 
 ' Well, even then I was not much wiser ; but I had 
 one thing to go upon, that somewhere there existed a 
 place or a building known as " the bishop's hostel " or 
 " hotel." Very cautiously I made some inquiries of the 
 people on the mainland, but no one could tell me
 
 238 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 anything. I was nearly in despair, when one day it 
 flashed across me that " Bishop " might really mean 
 " Bessop," for an old family of that name had long held 
 possession of a manor-house about four miles to the 
 north of the extreme end of this island. 
 
 ' Next day I went over to the Bessop plantation, and 
 fell into conversation with the oldest negroes I could find 
 there. Of course I was very careful not to betray my 
 interest in the " Bishop's hostel," so began by asking 
 questions about all sorts of places in the neighbourhood 
 which I knew quite well. By degrees I worked back to 
 the point I really wished to reach, and then I found that 
 the most ancient woman of all had been long ago to a 
 spot called " Bishop's castle" but it was only a rock with 
 a curiously shaped seat. 
 
 ' " Dear me ! how strange it must be ! I should rather 
 like to see it too, as I am about here," said I. " If you 
 can show me the way to it I'll give you a couple of 
 dollars." Her eyes glistened, but she would not consent 
 at once, declaring that it was a long way for her old 
 .bones, and perhaps she might have forgotten the path. 
 But in the end she came, and when she pointed to a 
 group of rocks, one of them towering over the rest, I 
 paid her the money and sent her home again, my heart 
 beating with triumph. 
 
 ' Yet after all, as I thought a moment after, what had 
 I gained ? Merely the fact that the cypher had told the 
 truth in one particular, and I was no nearer than before 
 to the hidden treasure. So I tried to prepare myself 
 against disappointment ; but my reason told me that 
 proving that the slip had been right in the first 
 instance meant a great step in advance. So I set about 
 examining the rocks, and climbed to the tallest of all, 
 from which I could see over the rest. 
 
 4 Up and down I gazed, but as often happens nearly 
 missed the " seat " for which I was in search, as it lay 
 close under my feet on the eastern face of the rock. It
 
 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 239 
 
 was a sort of rough chair a foot wide, with a back formed 
 by a niche in the ledge above it ; and when I clambered 
 down to it, I found it was not at all uncomfortable. 
 But there was one curious thing about the chair, when 
 you came to consider its connexion with the treasure, 
 and that is that it was impossible to sit in it in any 
 position except one. 
 
 ' For by this time I had, of course, guessed that the 
 seat was to be a starting-point in the discovery ; but 
 before I could make any further progress it was neces- 
 sary to have the " good glass," which I returned home to 
 fetch. 
 
 ' By help of a pocket compass I soon was able to fix 
 the direction of " north-east and by north," and then I 
 pointed my telescope to " forty-one degrees and thirteen 
 minutes " above the horizon, as near as I could judge. 
 At first I noticed nothing special, so I carefully shifted 
 my telescope a little higher or a little lower, and then I 
 perceived a round opening in the branches of a large tree 
 a long way off. In the midst of the opening was a tiny 
 white spot, which with some difficulty I made out to be 
 a skull. 
 
 ' After this it was quite plain what I had to do in 
 order to reach the treasure or, at any rate, the spot in 
 which it had been hidden. Cautiously I rose from the 
 " Bishop's hostel " and stepped a foot backwards : the 
 rift in the tree had vanished completely ! Again I 
 changed my position ; it was still nowhere to be seen ; 
 in fact, only from the seat itself was the opening visible. 
 Beyond all doubt the place of hiding had been chosen by 
 design and not by accident. 
 
 ' With the utmost pains for the whole thing depended 
 on it I marked the whereabouts of the tree, and the 
 following morning set out to find it. In spite of all my 
 precautions it was some time before I contrived to hit 
 upon the right spot, and was so late in returning home 
 that night that Jupiter proposed to give me a flogging !
 
 240 THE STORY OF THE GOLD BEETLE 
 
 1 As to the skeletons which Wolf uncovered, they were 
 probably those of men killed and buried by Kidd when 
 once they had helped him carry up the treasure to the 
 tree and dig the hole for the box. They little thought 
 they were digging their own grave also ; for Kidd would 
 be afraid to let them live, lest they should betray his 
 secret. 
 
 1 And now you know the whole story.' 
 
 Shortened from E. A. Poe.
 
 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 FOUR years before the outbreak of the American Civil 
 War, a young Spanish girl might have been seen very 
 early one morning stealing noiselessly across a sweet- 
 scented garden on the outskirts of Havana, in the island 
 of Cuba. People grow up very quickly in hot climates, 
 and Loreta Velazquez at fourteen was really older in 
 many ways than an English girl of twenty, and certainly 
 none of her friends looked on her as a child. She was 
 tall and handsome, and her parents expected her to 
 marry some rich planter in the island, and gave but a 
 cold welcome to the young American officer who fre- 
 quently rode over from the house where he was staying 
 to lounge about under the shady trees with Loreta. 
 
 ' Oh, well, his leave will soon bs up, and there 
 will be an end of it,' they said ; and this was how it 
 happened that Loreta was crossing the garden that 
 morning in order to join her lover, who had arranged for 
 them to be married as speedily and as secretly as possible. 
 
 Three children were born to them by the time Loreta 
 was eighteen, but neither lived more than a few months, 
 and when she was left alone life seemed very dull to their 
 mother. Dull, that is, as far as home went, for outside 
 men were in a state of excitement such as had not been 
 known since ' the Boston Cup of Tea ' had heralded the 
 outbreak of the War of Independence against England. 
 ' Slavery ' or ' No Slavery ' became the party cries, and 
 very soon the 'United States' were united no longer, 
 but had split into the ' North ' and the ' South.' 
 A.S *R
 
 242 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 It was hard for Loreta's soldier-husband to be forced 
 to make a choice, but his own native State joined the 
 ' South ' or ' Confederate ' side, composed largely of the 
 owners of plantations which had been worked for genera- 
 tions by slaves. Now you must not suppose that many 
 of these plantations were like some described in ' Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin,' if you have ever read that famous 
 book ; but the terrible thing was that they might be. 
 It was quite right that slavery should be put an end 
 to, but if men had been calmer perhaps some peaceful 
 settlement might have been found. As it was, they 
 plunged into war, and for four years the struggle 
 raged, and some of the richest States of the Union were 
 laid waste for years. 
 
 Loreta had never rested till she had persuaded her 
 husband to join the Confederates, but when once she had 
 done so she declared her intention of fighting for them 
 herself. The poor man stood aghast, and thought his 
 ears had deceived him, or that his senses were going. 
 Of course he had constantly heard his wife exclaim like 
 Beatrice, ' Oh that I were a man ! ' and ' If / were a 
 soldier I should do this or that,' but he had imagined 
 these were mere words, and that she would stay at home 
 and keep things together and see after the plantation as 
 the other Confederate ladies did. Now, however, he saw 
 that she was in earnest, and he spoke to her seriously 
 and told her plainly the difficulties that even a man had 
 to go through, the horrible sights he was forced to see, 
 and the dreadful deeds he sometimes had to do. And 
 supposing she could endure these, how would her body 
 stand heat and cold, long marches and scanty food, 
 brought up as she had been to rest upon cushions, to 
 sleep during the heat of the day, to have iced drinks 
 brought her if she was thirsty, and ripe fruit when she 
 was hungry ? But he might as well have spoken to the 
 winds. 
 
 * Yes, that is quite true, but other women have done
 
 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 243 
 
 without all that, and so can I,' was the only answer she 
 would give him, and, very uneasy as to what would 
 happen, he went off to join his regiment. 
 
 No sooner had he departed than Loreta began her 
 preparations. She first ordered some padded coats to 
 be made in order to disguise her figure, but these proved 
 so very hot and heavy as to be almost useless. She was 
 notwithstanding forced to wear them till she could reach 
 New Orleans, for there was no one in the smaller towns 
 who could invent anything better. But in New Orleans 
 there was a clever little Frenchman, an army tailor by 
 trade, and to his skill she trusted. He had besides the 
 excellent quality of * minding his own business and not 
 bothering himself about other people's affairs,' so when a 
 young and pretty lady appeared before him: for he 
 knew her at a glance not to be a man the only question 
 he asked was, how he could serve her. Loreta on her 
 part understood that as far as the tailor was concerned 
 her disguise had been in vain, and explained what she 
 wanted. After a long consultation it was decided that 
 he should make her ' half a dozen fine wire net shields ' 
 (they sound like a sort of chain armour) to wear next her 
 skin, which she found ' by no means uncomfortable,' 
 and over the net shield she wore a close-fitting under 
 shirt with a belt. By a clever contrivance she managed 
 to make her ' pantaloons ' or trousers to stand out round 
 her waist, so as to give the appearance of being the same 
 size all the way down as a man is, and when once her 
 uniform was complete it took ' Lieutenant Harry 
 Buford ' for this was the name she adopted a very 
 short time to feel quite at ease amongst officers and 
 men. 
 
 Well pleased with herself, Loreta left New Orleans, 
 and with a regiment of recruits which she raised set out 
 for the old Jesuit settlement of Pensacola, where her 
 husband was quartered. He had heard nothing of her 
 since they parted, and was immensely surprised to see
 
 244 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 her in her new costume. She was in high spirits at her 
 success, and begged her husband to help her to drill 
 her troops, as the books on tactics and regulations 
 she had with her were not of much use at this early 
 stage. This he at once agreed to do, and a great standby 
 she found him. But hi giving a lesson on a gun to the 
 sergeant of the regiment, the carbine exploded and he 
 fell dead on the spot. 
 
 Thus ended the short married life of Loreta Velazquez. 
 
 Now it is plain that Loreta's ignorance of drill and of 
 other subjects concerning war might have very soon 
 caused awkward inquiries to be made about her had she 
 been serving in a regular army, but in those disturbed 
 times many strange events took place, and as long as 
 recruits were brave and willing a great deal was over- 
 looked. 
 
 Loreta was both, and had besides the knack of pick- 
 ing up things and making the best of herself, and it was 
 not long before she was as good a shot and as clever a 
 scout as any of the raw newcomers in the Confederate 
 army. For a scout was what she had decided to be, and 
 though this had its drawbacks in some ways, it left her 
 independent in others, and lessened the risks of the 
 discovery which she feared more than anything else hi 
 the world. 
 
 Her first great experience was at the battle of Bull's 
 Run, which she calls * the supreme moment of her life, 
 when all the glorious aspirations of her romantic girl- 
 hood were on the point of realisation.' Some of the 
 freshly enlisted soldiers were white as death and trembling 
 with fear; but Loreta eyed them with wonder, being 
 herself as eager for the fight as any veteran. As it 
 happened, the tide of battle set her way, and General 
 Bee, under whose command she had placed herself, 
 marched across the valley to support the regiments 
 which were trying to beat back the much larger forces of 
 the North or Federal side. From dawn till late after-
 
 LOEETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 245 
 
 noon the struggle continued under the heat of a July sun, 
 and ' the dry and motionless air was choking to the 
 nostrils,' but Loreta ' would not have missed it for all 
 the world,' and appears to have enjoyed every moment 
 of the day. When at length victory declared itself for 
 the Confederates, her happiness knew no bounds, and the 
 next morning, under the name of Lieutenant Harry 
 Buford, she applied to General ' Stonewall ' Jackson 
 for promotion. Jackson, however, for some reason or 
 other only gave her ' a recommendation to General 
 Bragg for a recruiting commission,' which she did not 
 care for, and, after waiting about some time in the hope 
 of taking part in another battle, she returned to 
 Richmond to see what would turn up. 
 
 After her rather bloodthirsty excitement at Bull's 
 Run, one is glad to know that for a while she was 
 ' haunted night and day by the terrible sights and 
 sounds of the battle ' at Ball's Bluff, though she soon 
 begins to feel ' an insatiable desire for another.' Like 
 many women, Loreta was exceedingly restless, and it 
 was an ' absolute necessity for her to be in motion.' It 
 was lucky for her that she was never called upon to bear 
 the dreary strain of a long siege, for she would probably 
 have tried to escape, and might have been shot as 
 a deserter. As it was, she employed her thoughts in 
 efforts to discover some plan 'which would give her 
 mind and body constant employment,' and, hearing that 
 the generals had great difficulty in getting hold of true 
 information as to the movements of the Federal army, she 
 determined to penetrate, if possible, into the enemy's 
 lines. This, she frankly remarks, ' would give her the 
 excitement she craved, whatever the result.' And one 
 of the possible ' results,' which she does not seem to have 
 considered, was that if caught she would certainly be 
 shot as a spy. 
 
 As was her habit, Loreta consulted no one as to her 
 project, except one friend, whom she informed that for
 
 246 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 purposes of her own it would be necessary for her to put 
 on woman's dress for a few days, and begged him to 
 keep her secret. She next went to see an old negro 
 woman whom she knew well, and told her a long story 
 of ' wishing to go to the Yankees in order to find out 
 what they meant to do about freeing the coloured people,' 
 and easily persuaded the old soul to sell her a suit 
 of clothes for twenty dollars, or five pounds. Then, 
 arrayed in a print dress, a woollen shawl, a sun-bonnet, 
 and a pair of shoes so big they would hardly keep on, 
 the spy made her way to the river Potomac. Winter 
 was now approaching, and it was bitterly cold, but in 
 spite of the shoes Loreta reached the river in safety. 
 After searching the banks for some time, she found a 
 negro who owned a boat, and who agreed to ferry her 
 across into the State of Maryland for twenty dollars. 
 
 The boat was small, and during the three hours that 
 the passage lasted Loreta was sitting in such a cramped 
 position that when at length she got out on the Maryland 
 shore she was almost too stiff to walk. It was about 
 four o'clock by this time, and still pitch-dark, so, with a 
 good deal of self-pity at the hardships she had to endure, 
 and a good deal more of admiration at her courage in 
 enduring them, Loreta crept into a wheat-stack in a 
 farmyard and fell asleep. 
 
 About dawn she awoke very hungry, and resolved to 
 go to the farmhouse and beg for some breakfast. In her 
 clumsy dress, with stalks of wheat hanging about her, 
 she was aware that she looked a strange object, and that 
 the farmer eyed her wivn suspicion. But Loreta had 
 expected this, and had prepared a fresh story or rather, 
 tivo fresh stories, according as the farmer might prove to 
 be a Confederate or a Northerner. As soon as he turned 
 out to be on her own side, she gave a long account of a 
 battle which had lately taken place, and was invited in 
 return to an excellent breakfast. Like a true American, 
 the farmer's wife was full of pity for the ugliness of
 
 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 247 
 
 Loreta's clothes, and insisted on dressing her in some of 
 her own, which were much smarter. 
 
 At last she arrived in Washington, the capital of the 
 United States, and after going to an hotel to make herself 
 tidy, she sent a message to an old friend of her husband's, 
 now an officer in the Federal army, begging him to come 
 to see her. Of course she had a new story ready for 
 him Loreta quite enjoyed making up all these stories 
 and then they had a comfortable talk about the war ; 
 what had happened and what was likely to happen. 
 The Confederate victory at Ball's Bluff had, she learned, 
 been a great blow to the people in the North, but the 
 Federals hoped to make up for it by blockading the 
 mouth of the Mississippi, and so securing the possession 
 of the country above. 
 
 This was news indeed, but Loreta was careful not to 
 show her satisfaction or to ask too many questions. 
 After a few days spent in Washington she bade her friend 
 good-bye r saying that she was starting for New York, 
 where she had some business ; but instead she hurried 
 back to the old negro woman at Leesburg, eager to put 
 on her uniform again. 
 
 The next day she started for the State of Tennessee, 
 where General Polk, under whom she wished to serve, 
 was stationed. 
 
 To her great joy there seemed every prospect of 
 immediate fighting, for the Federals were about to attack 
 the strongly defended Fort Donelson, on the Tennessee 
 River, and General Pillow, with his Confederate garrison, 
 was working night and day to throw up earthworks to 
 protect it. Loreta was as desirous as ever to prove 
 herself the equal of anybody, but, as she truly remarks, 
 ' there are some things which men can do better than 
 women, and digging entrenchments in the frozen ground 
 is one of them.' So she left off nobody apparently 
 minding and tried to make herself useful in a different 
 way.
 
 248 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 The expected attack occurred on the night of 
 February 13, 1862, in the midst of a blinding snow-storm, 
 and Loreta had taken the place of a friend, and was on 
 picket duty in the trenches. The cold was so intense 
 that after a few hours of waiting in the darkness she felt 
 as if she must lie down in her frozen garments and die. 
 But with a great effort she conquered her drowsiness, 
 and held on, till in the morning the men on night duty 
 were relieved, and she crawled back to shelter for food 
 and sleep. 
 
 For four days and nights the battle continued, and at 
 first the advantage was on the side of the Confederates. 
 But at length the entrenchments were stormed by the 
 Federals, and it was plain to all that the fort must be 
 given up. In the end the besieged and besiegers fought 
 hand to hand, but every hour the garrison grew fewer, 
 and when as many men as could be saved were em- 
 barked in the boats at night, General Buckner surren- 
 dered the fort to General Grant. 
 
 It was during a skirmish fought about this time that 
 Loreta received a wound in the foot, and, much against 
 her will, was obliged to have it treated by the surgeon of 
 the regiment. The dread of the discovery of her sex was 
 always strong upon her, and, of course, a doctor was more 
 likely to see through her disguise than anybody else, and 
 after one visit from him she made up her mind that he 
 should not pay another. So, after resting for a day or 
 two, she slipped quietly away and went into hiding for 
 a little while, and then travelled straight to New Orleans, 
 only to find that she had deliberately walked into a 
 hotbed of suspicion. 
 
 About nine months had now passed since Loreta 
 Velazquez first put on men's clothes and turned into 
 Lieutenant Harry Buford, and, considering the amount 
 of fighting she had done, it was not wonderful that the 
 arrangement of wire shields that she wore to disguise 
 her figure had become ' badly out of shape.' The marvel
 
 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 249 
 
 is that it had not gone to pieces long before. She had 
 also grown so used to passing as a man and being taken 
 for one that she neglected all kinds of little things about 
 which she had been very particular in the beginning, 
 with the result that the New Orleans people soon began 
 to ask questions, and very shortly she was arrested as a 
 
 spy- 
 Angry and dismayed as Loreta felt, she did not lose 
 her presence of mind, and boldly told the officer that he 
 could not prove his charge and would only get himself 
 into trouble. Her words appeared to have no other 
 effect than to make the man uncomfortable, and, in spite 
 of all her protests, he informed Loreta that he must do 
 his duty and bring her before the Provost-Marshal. 
 However, while they were on the way he seems to have 
 altered his mind, and after questioning his prisoner about 
 her military life, offered to release her on the spot. 
 Loreta was too prudent to take this chance ; she 
 answered proudly that, as she was quite innocent of the 
 accusation brought against her, she was ready to be 
 examined by anybody, and in silence they walked 
 through the streets till they entered the office of the 
 Provost-Marshal. Encouraged by her previous success, 
 Loreta answered the Provost-Marshal's questions with 
 such an air of truth that in a few minutes after her 
 entrance he had signed the order for her freedom. 
 Notwithstanding that she had regained her liberty, 
 Loreta did not feel easy, and determined to leave New 
 Orleans at the first opportunity ; but before she could 
 manage to do so she was again put under arrest, this 
 time under the charge of being a woman, and was brought 
 before the Mayor, to whom in the end she acknowledged 
 the truth in a private interview. 
 
 After an imprisonment of ten days and a fine of 
 ten dollars, she was again released without her secret 
 having been made public. She next enlisted in the 
 21st Louisiana Regiment, but, not liking the restraint,
 
 250 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 shortly after had herself transferred to the Army of East 
 Tennessee. It is rather curious that though Loreta 
 speaks of the ' rigid discipline of the army,' she ' managed 
 to sustain herself as an independent without any diffi- 
 culty ' at least, according to her own story. But a bad 
 wound in the shoulder from a shell which burst 
 while she and some other soldiers were burying their 
 dead comrades brought about the disclosure she had 
 been so anxious to avoid. The ride of fifteen miles back 
 to camp when suffering agonies of pain proved too great 
 a shock for her nerves to bear, and, when on her way to 
 the nearest hospital the train she had been placed in 
 stopped for two hours at a small town, she summoned a 
 young surgeon whom she knew well and ' told him her 
 real name,' to the great astonishment of the young doctor, 
 who had heard many stories of his patient's courage in the 
 field. Aided by him she was able, when her shoulder 
 was partially healed, to push on to deliver some des- 
 patches which had been entrusted to her, and then to 
 proceed to Indianapolis and try, as were her orders, to 
 gain admittance into the camp containing a number of 
 Confederate prisoners. If she succeeded in this she was 
 to urge them to escape if possible, as no attempt at their 
 rescue could unhappily be made. 
 
 For once Loreta was at a loss for a plan to get into 
 the camp ; she was still feeling ill and depressed, and all 
 her invention seemed to have left her. She had now put 
 on woman's dress and had given up the idea of wearing 
 a man's disguise any more, and it chanced that on this 
 occasion she contrived to accomplish in petticoats what 
 she never could have done in trousers. While wander- 
 ing near the camp she met a cake-woman who was 
 evidently going to enter the enclosure for the purpose of 
 selling her wares to the prisoners. 
 
 ' Ah ! I think I see my way,' thought Loreta, and she 
 stopped the woman and asked to be allowed to buy some 
 of her cakes. As she was turning them over to decide
 
 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 251 
 
 which looked the nicest, she asked carelessly, ' Are you 
 actually going to see those dirty rebels in prison ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered the woman ; ' they are fond of cakes, 
 and generally buy all I've got.' 
 
 ' But I heard that no one was allowed in.' 
 
 ' No ; but they all know me, and the sergeant just 
 looks through the basket to make sure I'm not carrying 
 papers or anything that is forbidden.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' said Loreta ; ' I should like to go in 
 myself ; I'm curious to know what sort of people these 
 rebels are. Do you think I might ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! Come along with me and I'll get you in,' 
 replied the woman, laughing, and, addressing the sergeant 
 who was waiting at the gate to examine the basket, she 
 said, ' Sergeant, this is my sister. She came with me to 
 see how the rebels look, as she has never beheld one.' 
 
 ' Well, go in there ; you will find plenty,' answered 
 the sergeant with a chuckle, and they both passed 
 through the gate. 
 
 The cake- woman was soon surrounded, and Loreta 
 glanced about her to see if there was anyone whom she 
 knew, as she did not wish to give more explanations than 
 were necessary. She was relieved to recognise a major 
 who had served with General Lee's army in the South, 
 and, as no one was watching them, she approached him 
 and hurriedly told him who she was for he had only 
 known her as a man and the message she had brought. 
 She also informed him of the plan of operations which 
 the Confederate generals had decided on, and the road 
 which the prisoners would do well to follow. She then 
 rejoined the old woman and with her left the camp, 
 saying, with a nod and smile to the sergeant, that she had 
 done what she came for. 
 
 Henceforth she went about seeking work in her true 
 character of ' a poor widow whose husband had been 
 killed in the war ' ; but she still considered herself a spy in 
 the Confederate service, and lost no chance of stealing
 
 252 LORETA VELAZQUEZ THE MILITARY SPY 
 
 papers or getting information, which she sent to head- 
 quarters as soon as she could manage it. Once, when 
 employed in packing cartridges in a Federal arsenal 
 where many women worked, she had serious thoughts of 
 blowing up the arsenal, and was only prevented from 
 doing so by her repugnance to killing so many people in 
 cold blood, though she would never have thought twice 
 of shooting them in battle. But the temptation was so 
 strong that she could not trust herself to resist it, and 
 after a fortnight she left abruptly and applied for a place 
 as chambermaid in an hotel at St. Louis where some 
 Federal officers were quartered. While there she con- 
 trived to steal some important papers, which she duly 
 sent to the Confederate camp. Before the war was over 
 she was to be found on board one of the boats employed 
 to run blockades, where we must leave her. It is strange 
 to think that by the time that peace was made she was 
 still only twenty-two just a girl beginning life as far 
 as years went. Her fame spread throughout the North 
 as well as the South, and she obtained three husbands and 
 became the mother of four children. But her energy and 
 restlessness never forsook her, and after two visits to 
 Europe and South America, and some time spent with 
 the Mormons, she is to be heard of as a miner on the 
 slopes of the Pacific Coast, where the man's dress in which 
 she probably worked must have recalled the days of her 
 youth when she wore it so happily. 
 
 Is she alive now ? one wonders. It is quite possible, 
 for she would only be sixty-nine. But her life by her 
 own choice was a hard one, and may have worn her out 
 before her time. 
 
 Author's Note. Ml the kind efforts of Professor 
 Brander Matthews to procure for me in the United 
 States an original copy of Loreta Velazquez' book having 
 proved abortive, I have been forced to rely on the por- 
 tions reprinted hi ' Women Adventurers,' by Mrs. Henry 
 Norman, to whom I make this acknowledgment.
 
 THE FARMERS DREAM 
 
 LET us call the following curious tale ' The Farmer's 
 Dream.' The story is told in various ways, with 
 differences of all sorts. Once I was at a dinner party 
 at a club, where many men told strange stories like 
 this, and other men declared that the things never 
 happened at all. Two or three different versions of the 
 Farmer's Dream were told, and one or two men had old 
 uncles who remembered the affair. But they did not 
 agree as to the part of the country in which the events 
 happened : it was really in Devonshire. 
 
 One evening early in the September of a year that 
 is long enough agone, in fact on the ninth of September, 
 a farmer named Mr. Brown was standing in the harvest- 
 field while the corn was being put on to the wains and 
 carried to the stackyard. There came up to him a poor 
 man named William Brodie, who did not belong to the 
 parish, and tramped about looking for any rough work 
 that he could find to do. He was an honest man as far 
 as anyone knew, but Mr. Brown's harvest was over 
 and he had no job to give Brodie. Still, as Brodie was 
 very poor more than common poor at the moment 
 Mr. Brown wrote down in his pocket-book the name 
 of the village where Brodie was living and promised 
 to let him know if ever he heard of a job of work for 
 the poor fellow r . 
 
 As usually happens, Mr. Brown did not hear of any 
 piece of work, and he forgot all about William Brodie.
 
 254 THE FARMER'S DREAM 
 
 But about six months later, say in March or April, Mr. 
 Brown awakened his wife one night and told her that 
 he was very much puzzled. He had dreamed the same 
 dream three times running, but he could not remember, 
 like Nebuchadnezzar in the Bible, what his dream was 
 about. But each time when he awoke he had heard a 
 voice calling aloud, ' Go to Bodmin ! ' Bodmin, a 
 town in Cornwall, was thirty miles away from the farm 
 of Mr. Brown ; he had never been at the place in his 
 life, but he felt that to Bodmin he must ride, though 
 Mrs. Brown laughed at him for being so silly. 
 
 So Mr. Brown rose at three o'clock hi the morning, 
 put his pocket-book in his pocket, and rode to a ferry 
 over a river, where he hoped to catch a coach that ran 
 from Exeter to Falmouth. He found the ferryman 
 on his side of the river, which saved time. The ferryman 
 said he had heard the farmer call him when he was on 
 the further bank, ' and I knew that something important 
 must have brought you here so early, and I came back 
 for you.' 
 
 Now the farmer had not called ; and knowing that, 
 he more and more felt that there must be great need 
 of him at Bodmin, as invisible tongues were calling to 
 him and the ferryman. He seems not to have caught 
 the coach, and he did not reach Bodmin till after noon. 
 He went to an inn and put up his horse, and saw that it 
 was well rubbed down and fed. Then he noticed that 
 the town was full of strangers, who had come to see a 
 man tried for a murder. Farmer Brown dined on 
 roast beef and home-brewed ale at his inn, being very 
 hungry, for he had had no breakfast. Next he smoked 
 a pipe, and then he walked into the Court House. He 
 found that the man accused of murdering somebody had 
 been found guilty by the jury of killing and robbing 
 a man on the ninth of Jast September. 
 
 The Judge, before passing sentence of death, was
 
 THE FARMERS DREAM 255 
 
 saying, ' Prisoner, have you anything to offer in your 
 defence ? ' 
 
 The prisoner, though the farmer did not notice it, 
 was poor William Brodie, who had asked him for a job 
 of work six months before, at the end of harvest. 
 Now the odd thing is that the ninth of September was 
 the very day when the farmer had met the prisoner in 
 his own harvest- field. Perhaps it is as odd that the 
 farmer had not only forgotten the meeting, but did not 
 remember William Brodie, or perhaps did not see him 
 distinctly. So Mr. Brown asked a neighbour in Court 
 who the murdered man was. The neighbour whispered 
 that he was a land-agent near Truro, who had been 
 collecting rents, and was found murdered in a lane ; his 
 money and his coat had both been stolen. But a 
 constable had seen a tramp wearing the coat, and in the 
 pocket of the coat was the dead man's pocket-book 
 with some money in it. The prisoner could only say 
 that he had been tramping in search of work, and had 
 found the dead man's coat, money and all, in a little 
 wood. This did not seem probable, but when the 
 prisoner was asked by the Judge what he had to say 
 for himself, he only repeated the story of having found 
 the coat and the money in a wood. Then he looked 
 stupidly round the Court, noticed Mr. Brown, and said 
 in a dull kind of way, ' There is a gentleman who knows 
 me, and knows that I am an honest man.' 
 
 Then the Judge asked Mr. Brown to go into the 
 witness-box and say what he knew. He could only 
 answer that he did know William Brodie, and never heard 
 any harm of him. 
 
 ' When did you see him last, Mr. Brown ? ' asked 
 the Judge. 
 
 ' In autumn last year, when he came to me to give 
 him work . . . but, my Lord, I believe I wrote the 
 date down in my pocket-book.' 
 
 Then Mr. Brown took out his great black pocket-book,
 
 256 THE FARMERS DREAM 
 
 full of notes of his business in selling and buying horses 
 and sheep. He turned over the pages clumsily, and 
 nobody paid much attention. But suddenly the farmer 
 found his note : ' Met William Brodie. Remember to 
 let him know if I find any work for him. September 9.' 
 
 ' September 9 ! ' exclaimed the Judge. ' Why, that 
 was the day of the murder. Where did you say that 
 you live, Mr. Brown ? ' 
 
 Mr. Brown gave the information, and as his farm 
 was forty miles from the place where the murder was 
 committed, it was perfectly clear and certain that 
 Brodie was not the murderer. 
 
 There were people in Court who knew Mr. Brown, and 
 could speak to his character. So, on hearing this new 
 evidence, the Jury gave poor William a verdict of 
 Not Guilty. 
 
 Such is the story of the dream of Farmer Brown 
 which saved the life of William Brodie. 
 
 But you will ask, as everyone did ask, How did the 
 dead man's coat and pocket-book and money come to 
 be lying hi the wood where William found them ? This 
 is the riddle that nobody can answer, for if the land- 
 agent was not murdered for his money, why was he 
 murdered ? 
 
 It seems possible that, as there were only three or 
 four pieces of gold and some silver in the pocket-book, 
 while the land-agent may have had a hundred pounds 
 or more, the murderer hid the coat and the little money 
 in the wood to make the whole affair more mysterious, 
 while he kept most of the plunder. If his object was 
 to make a mystery, he certainly succeeded. But what 
 the voice was that called to Farmer Brown and also to 
 the ferryman is a puzzle that nobody can solve.
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 ON a fine spring morning when Louis XIII. was King 
 of France, a young man of eighteen stood listening to 
 some parting words from his father in an old castle not 
 far from the Pyrenees. He was leaving home for the 
 first time, in order to seek his fortune in Paris, and in his 
 own opinion had little need of any counsel to guide him 
 through life. To only one piece of advice did he pay 
 any heed, but this he laid to heart, and largely it 
 profited him. 
 
 ' Put up with nothing from any man save the King 
 and the Cardinal,' said old Monsieur d'Artagnan,' and 
 as the youth was never tempted to ' put up ' with any- 
 thing, he felt that his father was wiser than he thought. 
 
 The young man, who in our days would be con- 
 sidered a mere boy, had a thin brown face, with a 
 large nose and a firm chin. He wore a faded blue 
 doublet and a small cap with a feather stuck in it, 
 while a sword hung from his leather belt. Fifteen 
 crowns were all his fortune, unless we count a lean 
 j^ellow horse which walked with its head bowed to its 
 knees, and more precious than either a letter in his 
 pocket from his father to Monsieur de Treville, Captain 
 of the King's Musketeers, an old neighbour and comrade 
 of the elder d'Artagnan himself. 
 
 If the horse appeared rough and ill-groomed when 
 it left home, its condition was still worse when young 
 d'Artagnan pulled up before a little ion near to Paris 
 
 A.S. S
 
 258 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 three weeks later. At a window stood a gentleman 
 more than twenty years older than the youth, and his 
 rude remarks about the horse roused d'Artagnan's anger 
 never a very difficult matter. 
 
 ' Ah, you sir, hiding behind the hangings,' cried the 
 traveller loudly, ' tell me what you are laughing at, so 
 that I can enjoy the joke too.' 
 
 At the sound of his voice the gentleman turned his 
 eyes slowly and gazed at him with surprise. Then he 
 answered coldly and contemptuously : 
 
 ' I was not addressing you, sir.' 
 
 ' But I am addressing you,'' exclaimed d'Artagnan, 
 who was growing more irritated every moment. This 
 time the gentleman did not answer at all, but left the 
 room and came to where the young man was still sitting 
 on his horse. , 
 
 ' The animal must certainly have begun life as a 
 gold button,' he said to someone whom d'Artagnan 
 could not see, taking no more notice of the young 
 man than if he did not exist ; ' its colour is very common 
 in flowers, but hitherto has been rare among horses.' 
 
 * He who laughs at the horse, laughs at the master,' 
 shouted d'Artagnan, beside himself with rage. 
 
 4 I laugh but seldom, sir,' answered the stranger, 
 ' as you can see by my face. Still, I wish to keep the 
 privilege of doing so when the spirit moves me.' 
 
 ' And I,' cried d'Artagnan, ' do not intend that 
 anyone shall laugh against my will.' 
 
 ' Really, sir,' observed the stranger. ' Oh, well, 
 you are quite right of course,' and he turned to enter the 
 inn, when d'Artagnan stopped him. 
 
 ' I will strike you in your back if you do not show 
 me your face,' he exclaimed, springing to the ground. 
 
 ' Strike me ! ' answered the other, this time truly 
 astonished. ' Oh, don't be absurd.' But d'Artagnan 
 made such a furious lunge at him that if he had not 
 leaped backwards his last moment would speedily have
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 259 
 
 come. However, he saw that the affair was serious, 
 so, drawing his sword, he bowed to his enemy and put 
 himself on guard. At this instant the landlord with 
 two of the stranger's friends threw themselves on the 
 young man, and dragged him off with a shower of blows, 
 while the gentleman sheathed his sword, and murmured, 
 ' What a pest these Gascons are. Put him on his 
 orange horse and let him go.' 
 
 ' Not before I have killed you, you coward ! ' cried 
 d'Artagnan, wrenching himself free ; and though bloody 
 with wounds, he continued to fight till his sword broke 
 in two, and he fell down nearly fainting. As he was 
 unable to move, the landlord, assisted by two of his 
 men, picked him up and carried him to the kitchen, 
 where they bound up his sores. 
 
 ' Well, how is that young madman ? ' asked the 
 stranger when the landlord at length returned. 
 
 ' Better, sir ; he is conscious again now. But before 
 he fainted right off he called out to challenge you 
 afresh, declaring that you would repent bitterly of 
 your conduct.' 
 
 ' Who is he ? ' inquired the stranger. ' He gives 
 himself the airs of a prince.' 
 
 ' He is poor enough,' replied the man, ' for we 
 searched his wallet and only found one shirt and twelve 
 crowns. Oh, I forgot ; he called out in a fury that you 
 should see what Monsieur de Treville would think of 
 this insult to his protege.' 
 
 ' Monsieur de Treville ! Look here, my good 
 fellow, while he was unconscious did you search his 
 pockets ? Yes ? And what did you find there ? ' 
 
 ' A letter addressed to Monsieur de Treville, Captain 
 of the Musketeers.' 
 
 This news did not seem to please the stranger, and 
 he was silent. After a pause he inquired where the 
 wounded man was lying. 
 
 s2
 
 260 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 ' We took off his clothes, which were soaked in blood, 
 and carried him up to my wife's room.' 
 
 ' And you left the things in the kitchen,' remarked 
 the stranger carelessly. ' Well, make out my bill, and 
 tell my lackey that I am ready to start. I see my 
 horse is at the door. And Milady is sure to arrive 
 very shortly.' 
 
 ' Can he be afraid of that young man ? ' said the 
 landlord to himself as he left the room. 
 
 Meanwhile d'Artagnan had recovered himself a 
 little, and, in spite of his bandages, determined to dress 
 himself and continue his journey. On the arm of the 
 landlord, who was no less anxious to get rid of him than 
 he was to go, he managed to get downstairs ; but as 
 soon as he reached the kitchen he perceived through 
 the great door his enemy talking to a lovely lady who 
 was leaning her head through the window of a heavy 
 carriage drawn by two strong Normandy horses. 
 Neither of them noticed the young man, who, burning 
 to revenge himself, drew a step nearer, and hid himself 
 close to the door, where he could hear all that passed. 
 
 'The Cardinal bids you start at once for England, 
 and to send him word if the Duke should leave London,' 
 said the stranger. * Your orders are in this box, which 
 you are not to open till you are on the other side of the 
 Channel.' 
 
 ' I understand. And you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I return to Paris at once. ' 
 
 ' Without chastising that insolent little boy ? ' 
 asked the lady. 
 
 The stranger was about to reply, when d'Artagnan 
 leaped forward. 
 
 ' It is the insolent little boy who chastises others,' 
 cried he, and the stranger was about to draw his sword 
 when the lady put her hand on his arm. ' The least 
 delay may be our ruin,' she said. ' Go quickly.' 
 
 ' You are right,' answered the gentleman, and
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 261 
 
 without more words he mounted his horse and took 
 the road to Paris without waiting to pay his bill, 
 in spite of the indignant shouts the landlord sent after 
 him, while the lady continued her way in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 The next day d'Artagnan, being partly recovered, 
 prepared to follow him, but in feeling for his purse he 
 found that the letter to Monsieur de Treville had dis- 
 appeared. Twenty times he emptied his pockets, 
 thinking that somehow he had overlooked it, but when 
 at last he was convinced that it really was gone he 
 was seized with such a fit of rage that the landlord 
 fully expected that he would end by fainting for the 
 third time if, indeed, he did not go mad and break 
 all the furniture ! 
 
 ' My letter ! my letter ! ' shrieked the young man 
 as soon as he could speak. ' That letter, I tell you, was 
 for Monsieur de Treville, and he will know how to 
 find it.' 
 
 This threat frightened the landlord, for after the 
 King and Cardinal Kichelieu there was no one in the 
 kingdom so much feared as Monsieur de Treville. There- 
 fore he began to search for the letter in all kinds of 
 impossible places. 
 
 ' Was there anything particular in it ? ' he asked, 
 when he had failed to discover it. 
 
 * Anything particular ? ' repeated the Gascon, who 
 had relied upon the letter to obtain for him a footing 
 at Court ; ' why, it contained my whole fortune ! ' 
 
 At these words a ray of light suddenly flashed across 
 the gloomy face of the landlord. 
 
 ' I know,' he exclaimed ; ' it was stolen from you 
 by the gentleman who was here yesterday. I will wager 
 a cask of my best wine that it was he.' 
 
 ' Do you think so ? ' answered d'Artagnan doubt- 
 fully, for though the letter was of the highest im-
 
 262 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 portance to himself, he did not see that it could be of 
 any value to another man. 
 
 * I am quite sure,' replied the landlord, ' for I 
 noticed that when I mentioned that in taking off your 
 bloody doublet I had found a letter in your pocket for 
 Monsieur de TreVille, he grew very uneasy, and made 
 an excuse for sending me out of the way.' 
 
 * You are right,' replied d'Artagnan ; ' well, I shall 
 complain to Monsieur de Treville, and Monsieur de 
 Tre>ille will complain to the King.' Then he held out 
 two crowns to the landlord, who accompanied him to 
 the door, hat in hand. He mounted his yellow horse, 
 and arrived without further accident at the Porte Saint- 
 Antoine of Paris. Here he sold the animal for three 
 crowns to a stable-keeper who had fallen in love with 
 its strange colour. 
 
 The first thing to be done was to look for a lodging, 
 and very soon he had found a small garret in the Street 
 of the Gravediggers that he thought would suit him. 
 Next he opened the packet which he carried under his 
 arm, and passed the rest of the day in sewing on to his 
 doublet some gay gold lace which his mother had 
 secretly cut off a new coat of his father's. This done 
 he went out to get a fresh blade put to his sword, and 
 crossed the river by the bridge built by the King's 
 father, Henri IV., and walked down to the Louvre 
 to find where Monsieur de Treville lived. 
 
 * In the Street of the old Dovecots, close to the 
 Luxembourg Palace, on the other side of the Seine,' a 
 musketeer informed him ; and with a feeling of pride at 
 being such a near neighbour of the great man, d'Artagnan 
 returned to his garret, and fell asleep full of hope. 
 
 The courtyard of Monsieur de Treville's house had 
 more the air of a camp than the dwelling of a private 
 gentleman when d'Artagnan entered it the next morn- 
 ing. Fifty or sixty musketeers fully armed and ready 
 to pick a quarrel with the first comer were standing
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 263 
 
 about in groups, laughing and talking sometimes 
 quarrelling. 
 
 Down the wide staircase an endless succession of 
 people were passing, bearing messages, asking favours, 
 proclaiming grievances, while in the antechamber 
 those who had the honour of an appointment with the 
 famous Captain of the Musketeers sat round on benches, 
 each hoping to be the next summoned to Monsieur de 
 Treville's private room. 
 
 This was the scene on which d'Artagnan entered, 
 and, bold Gascon as he was, for the first time in his life 
 he felt embarrassed and shy as the young men turned 
 and gazed after him. However, he threaded his way 
 through the groups with the best grace he could muster, 
 and reached the foot of the staircase, where he paused, 
 amazed at the sight before him. Here four musketeers 
 were apparently playing at taking a fort, for three of 
 them were charging upstairs, trying to pass a fourth 
 who stood on the top step, while a dozen of their com- 
 rades waited on the landing till their turn should 
 come. Watching with admiration the quickness of the 
 sword play, d'Artagnan took for granted that the 
 weapons were foils with buttons at the ends to prevent 
 their inflicting wounds, but from the blood that flowed 
 from scratches on the faces and hands of the com- 
 batants he speedily discovered that they were fighting 
 with the same swords that they would use in battle, 
 and that, with every scratch, shouts of laughter burst 
 from them all. 
 
 At length it was over ; the hero on the top step had 
 marked all his enemies without once being touched 
 himself. The staircase was free, and d'Artagnan passed 
 up it and into the antechamber, where a lackey 
 approached and inquired his business. 
 
 With a humility which rather astonished himself 
 d'Artagnan told his name, and added that he was a 
 countryman of Monsieur de Treville, and that he had
 
 264 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 ridden all the way from Gascony hoping for the favour 
 of an audience. 
 
 The lackey replied that no doubt Monsieur de 
 Treville would grant him one, but the newcomer would 
 probably have to wait some time, as his Excellency was 
 at present engaged on very special business. So the 
 young man sat down on the corner of a bench and 
 used his eyes and ears as he very well knew how to do. 
 
 In the middle of a lively group was a very tall and 
 stout musketeer, dressed in a light blue doublet and a 
 crimson velvet cloak, with a magnificent belt covered 
 with gold, from which hung a huge rapier. Plainly 
 the gold belt excited the envy of his companions, and of 
 none more than d'Artagnan, but the musketeer accepted 
 all the compliments offered him with a show of in- 
 difference. 
 
 ' Oh, it is well enough,' he said, shrugging his 
 shoulders ; ' a silly fashion of course, but as it is the 
 fashion, one must not make oneself remarkable by 
 going against it. Besides, one must spend one's father's 
 money on something.' 
 
 * Come, Porthos,' cried a voice from the crowd, 'you 
 don't expect us to believe that it was given you by your 
 father. We know better.' 
 
 ' On my honour I bought it myself, didn't I, 
 Aramis ? ' replied Porthos, turning to a young man of 
 twenty-two with the soft, dark eyes and complexion of a 
 girl, who smiled and nodded. 
 
 ' Monsieur de Treville awaits Monsieur d'Artagnan,' 
 interrupted the lackey, and in the midst of the silence 
 that fell upon the whole antechamber the young Gascon 
 with a beating heart passed into the cabinet of the 
 Captain of the Musketeers. 
 
 Although Monsieur de Treville was at that moment 
 in a very bad temper, he smiled on hearing the accent of 
 his native province as d'Artagnan, with a low bow, 
 stammered out a few words of thanks. Then, signing
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 265 
 
 to him to sit down till he should have finished his 
 business, he called three times in a loud voice : 
 
 ' Athos ! Porthos ! Aramis ! ' 
 
 The two young men in the anteroom hastened 
 quickly into the cabinet, shutting the door behind 
 them, and stood with a calm dignity, which filled 
 d'Artagnan with admiration, till Monsieur de Treville 
 should begin what he had to say. Apparently he did 
 not find it easy. He walked up and down the room 
 twice or thrice in silence ; then he stopped in front of 
 them and asked in an angry tone : 
 
 ' Do you know, gentlemen, what the King said to me 
 only last night ? Can you guess ? ' 
 
 'No, sir,' replied the two musketeers after an 
 instant's hesitation. ' No, sir, we cannot.' 
 
 ' He said that for the future he should recruit his 
 musketeers from the guards of the Cardinal.' 
 
 ' From the guards of the Cardinal ! ' repeated 
 Porthos, ' and why ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, he was quite right,' exclaimed Monsieur de 
 Treville, who was growing more angry every moment, 
 ' for, on my honour, the musketeers cut but a poor 
 figure at Court. Last night at the King's card-table his 
 Eminence, watching me with his tiger-cat's eyes, told a 
 story of how a party of musketeers had made a row in 
 a tavern, and that his guards had been obliged to 
 arrest them. Arrest the musketeers ! You were there, 
 you two. Oh, don't deny it ! You were recognised ; 
 the Cardinal said so. And it is my fault of course for 
 having chosen such men ! What was the use, Aramis, 
 of asking me for a helmet when you know you are going 
 to become a priest ? And why, Porthos, do you wear 
 a golden sword belt if your sword itself is made of 
 straw ? By the way, I don't see Athos. Where is 
 Athos ? ' 
 
 ' He is ill, sir,' answered Aramis, ' very ill.' 
 
 ' 111 ? What is the matter with him ? But why
 
 266 THE SWORD OF &ARTAGNAN 
 
 should I ask ? He is wounded no doubt ; perhaps 
 killed. Ah, I was sure of it. Now listen to me, 
 gentlemen. I will not have the musketeers make 
 themselves a laughing-stock of the Cardinal's guards, 
 quiet, worthy people, who would never suffer them- 
 selves to be arrested. They would rather die on the 
 spot. It is only the King's musketeers who run away 
 and hide.' 
 
 Porthos and Aramis stood trembling with rage. 
 They would willingly have strangled Monsieur de 
 Treville, for they did not guess that his wrath was 
 really meant for the Cardinal. But when Treville, 
 who had paused for breath, declared that he would 
 send in his resignation as Captain of the Musketeers, 
 and beg for a lieutenancy in the Cardinal's guards, 
 Porthos could contain himself no longer. 
 
 ' Well, sir,' cried he, ' if you want to know the truth 
 it is this. We were six against six, only they fell on 
 us treacherously, and before we could draw our swords 
 two of us were killed and Athos badly wounded. 
 Twice he tried to rise and twice he sank back. And it 
 is false that we surrendered. We were taken by force, 
 and managed to escape as the}' were marching us 
 along. As for Athos, they thought he was dead, and 
 left him on the field of battle.' 
 
 ' And I had the pleasure of killing one with his own 
 sword, as mine was broken,' added Aramis gently. 
 
 ' I did not know that,' answered Monsieur de 
 Treville more calmly. ' I see that the Cardinal has 
 exaggerated.' As he spoke the curtain over the 
 doorway was lifted, and a young man entered ; he was 
 tall and handsome, but ghastly white. 
 
 ' Athos ! ' they cried. 
 
 * You sent for me, sir,' said Athos, in a very weak 
 but steadj r voice. 
 
 At the sight of him, evidently hardly able to stand, 
 Treville's anger melted.
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 267 
 
 ' I was just telling these gentlemen that I forbid my 
 musketeers to run needless risks, for the corps is very 
 dear to the King, who knows that they are the bravest 
 of all his subjects. Your hand, Athos,' but as he 
 stretched out his own, Athos, exhausted by the effort 
 he had made, fell fainting on the floor. 
 
 In an instant all was confusion ; a doctor was 
 summoned with all haste, and under his orders Porthos 
 and Aramis carried the wounded man into another 
 room. The crowd of musketeers who had poured in 
 from the antechamber quickly dispersed, and at length 
 d'Artagnan found himself alone with Monsieur de 
 Treville. 
 
 ' Pardon me,' said de Treville, smiling. ' My dear 
 fellow-countryman, I had forgotten all about you. 
 But a captain is nothing but the father of a big family. 
 Soldiers are only children ; but as I am anxious that the 
 orders of the King, and especially those of his Eminence 
 the Cardinal, should be executed . . .' but a slight smile 
 on d'Artagnan 's face prevented him from finishing 
 his sentence. 
 
 ' I have the greatest respect for your father,' he 
 continued hastily ; ' what can I do for his son ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, sir,' answered d'Artagnan, ' it was because I 
 counted on that friendship that I came across France 
 to beg you to enrol me among your musketeers. But 
 after all I have seen and heard during the last two 
 hours I understand better what an immense favour I 
 am asking, and how little I deserve it.' 
 
 ' You are right as to its being a favour, young man,' 
 replied Monsieur de Treville. ' But I do not feel sure 
 that you are unworthy of it, and it is with great regret 
 that I must tell you that the King has lately decided 
 no one shall be admitted into the corps who has not 
 served in at least two campaigns, or has drawn atten- 
 tion on himself by brilliant feats of arms.'
 
 268 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 D'Artagnan bowed silently. He was more anxious 
 than ever to become a musketeer now that he found it 
 was so difficult. 
 
 ' There is one thing I can do for you, however,' went 
 on Monsieur de Treville. ' Oh, I don't mean to offer 
 you money,' he added with a smile, as the young man 
 coloured and drew himself up, ' but I can give you free 
 admittance into the Royal Academy, where you will 
 be trained in the art of horsemanship and make friends 
 who will be useful to you through life. And I shall 
 hope to see you in my house and to hear how you are 
 getting on.' 
 
 The offer was a good one, yet the young man was 
 disappointed. 
 
 Ah, sir,' he said sadly, ' I see how much I have lost 
 in losing the letter my father wrote to you.' 
 
 'Well, to confess the truth,' replied Treville, 
 ' I was rather surprised that you should come so 
 far without providing yourself with something of the 
 sort.' 
 
 * The last thing before my departure my father gave 
 me a letter of recommendation, but it was stolen from 
 me when I was wounded at Meung,' and at a sign from 
 Treville he related his adventure. 
 
 ' What was the man like with whom you fought ? 
 Was he tall and dark, with a scar across his cheek ? ' 
 asked the Captain. 
 
 ' Yes ; and very pale.' 
 
 ' And he was expecting a lady ? ' 
 
 'Yes, an Englishwoman, to whom he gave a box, 
 bidding her not to open it till she reached London.' 
 
 ' It is he,' murmured Treville, ' but I thought he 
 was in Brussels.' 
 
 ' Oh, sir,' cried d'Artagnan, ' if you know who he is, 
 tell me where I can find him. Above all things I long 
 for vengeance.' 
 
 ' Beware of any such thing,' exclaimed Treville.
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 269 
 
 ' On the contrary, if you see him on one side of the street 
 cross to the other. Don't dash yourself to pieces 
 against such a rock.' 
 
 ' It is not that which would stop me,' replied 
 d'Artagnan proudly, ' if ever I should be lucky enough to 
 find him ' ; and Treville, a Gascon himself, knew that 
 it was true. 
 
 ' Then I will write you the letter for the Director of 
 the Academy,' he said, changing the conversation, 
 and while he was doing so d'Artagnan withdrew to 
 the window looking out upon the courtyard. 
 
 ' Here it is,' said Treville after a few minutes, and 
 without turning, d'Artagnan stretched out his hand, 
 when suddenly he gave a cry : 
 
 ' Ah, this time he sha'n't escape me.' 
 
 ' Who ? ' asked Monsieur de Treville. 
 
 ' My thief. Ah, traitor ! ' and he rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 In three bounds he was across the landing and was 
 about to dash down the staircase when he ran right 
 into a musketeer, who uttered a groan of pain. 
 
 ' Excuse me,' said d'Artagnan, without stopping, 
 ' I am in a great hurry,' and was continuing his headlong 
 course when he was seized by a wrist of iron. 
 
 ' You are in a hurry, are you ? ' exclaimed the 
 musketeer, pale as a corpse, ' and you think that is a 
 reason for running into me like this ? Because you 
 heard Monsieur de Treville speak to us a little roughly 
 to-day, you imagine that you can behave in such a 
 fashion. You are not Monsieur de Treville.' 
 
 ' It seems to me,' replied d'Artagnan, who now 
 recognised Athos, ' that if one makes an apology it 
 ought to be accepted. But I am not going to take a 
 lesson in manners from you.' 
 
 ' We shall see,' answered Athos ; ' you will find me 
 at noon at the Carmes-Deschaux.'
 
 270 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 * I will be there,' said d'Artagnan, flying down the 
 stairs as if he had wings. 
 
 Outside the street door stood Porthos, talking to a 
 soldier. There was just enough room between them 
 to allow a man to pass at least d'Artagnan thought so. 
 But a gust of wind arose at that instant and blew 
 Porthos' cloak right over d'Artagnan's head. When he 
 succeeded in freeing himself he perceived that the 
 magnificent sword-belt was gold in front only ; the back 
 was of plain leather. 
 
 ' Oh, oh ! ' cried Porthos, staggering, big as he was, 
 from the suddenness of the shock, ' are you mad to 
 knock against people in this way ? ' 
 
 ' Excuse me,' answered d'Artagnan, shaking off 
 the last fold, which was twisted round his arm, ' but I 
 am in a great hurry. I am running after somebody.' 
 
 * Do you always forget your eyes when you run ? ' 
 asked Porthos. 
 
 ' No,' replied d'Artagnan, irritated by his tone, 
 ' I sometimes see what is hidden from others.' 
 
 Porthos understood that he alluded to the back of 
 his sword belt, and leaped furiously towards d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' By and bye by and bye ' answered the young 
 Gascon, laughing, ' when you are not wearing your 
 mantle.' 
 
 ' At one o'clock, then, behind the Luxembourg.' 
 
 * At one o'clock,' shouted d'Artagnan over his 
 shoulder, as he turned the corner of the street. 
 
 But the man he was following had disappeared 
 completely, and though d'Artagnan made inquiries of 
 everyone he met, no one had seen him. At length he 
 gave up the chase, and began to think over the events 
 of the morning, when it occurred to him that his manner 
 of leaving Monsieur de Treville had been somewhat 
 rude, and that Athos, at any rate, had cause to com- 
 plain. As to Porthos and at the remembrance of the 
 scene, he laughed afresh.
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 271 
 
 He was walking slowly along, resolved to behave 
 more politely in the future, when he came upon Aramis 
 talking to some friends ; carrying out his good resolutions, 
 d'Artagnan smiled and bowed, but Aramis, still sore 
 from Treville's hard words, only gave him a cold nod. 
 The Gascon was passing on when he noticed that 
 Aramis had dropped his handkerchief, and picking 
 it up held it out to him. The musketeer blushed 
 violently, and snatched it out of his hands, but not 
 before the other young men had detected some delicate 
 embroidery in one corner. 
 
 ' Ah, my friend, what beautiful damsel has given 
 you that ? ' cried they. Aramis grew redder than 
 before, but his companions continued to tease him. 
 D'Artagnan saw that Aramis did not like being laughed 
 at, but made matters worse by trying to apologise. 
 Aramis turned upon him in a rage, and requested him 
 not to meddle with things that were not his concern. 
 This was enough for d'Artagnan, who answered hotly, 
 and bade the musketeer draw his sword and defend 
 himself. The challenge recalled Aramis to a sense of 
 his position, and he resumed his usual courteous manner. 
 
 ' We cannot fight here under the window of this 
 house, which is filled with men of the Cardinal's party. 
 Oh, I am quite anxious to kill you, don't be afraid, 
 but I wish to kill you quietly in some secluded place.' 
 
 ' Don't make too sure,' answered d'Artagnan, ' but 
 where shall we meet ? ' 
 
 ' Wait for me at two, at Monsieur de Treville's, and 
 I will tell you.' 
 
 The young men then bowed to each other, and 
 d'Artagnan finding that the hour was growing late, set 
 out for the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself as he 
 went, 'Well, I shall certainly be killed, but at least 
 I shall be killed by a musketeer.' 
 
 When he reached the appointed spot, Athos was
 
 272 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 sitting on a bank looking as calm as ever, thougli his 
 wound was very painful. He rose at the sight of 
 d'Artagnan, who bowed almost to the ground, and 
 informed the Gascon that he expected his seconds 
 every minute. 
 
 ' I have none myself,' replied d'Artagnan, ' for 
 I only arrived yesterday, and know no one in Paris 
 except Monsieur de TreVille.' 
 
 ' But we can't fight like that ! ' said Athos, perplexed. 
 ' I should be taking a mean advantage of you.' 
 
 ' I am afraid you are suffering much from your 
 wound,' remarked d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' I am, indeed, and the knock you gave me this 
 morning reopened it.' 
 
 ' I have some ointment which my mother gave me 
 wonderful for healing wounds and if you would do 
 me the honour to use it, in three days you would be 
 quite cured, and we could fight then.' 
 
 'Ah, I like men of your sort,' exclaimed Athos, 
 ' you carry me back to the brave and courteous knights 
 of the time of Charlemagne, on whom we should all 
 model ourselves. I am sure that if neither of us is 
 killed we shall become friends. Meanwhile we must 
 await my seconds, as is proper. I think I see one of 
 them.' And he was right, for in the distance appeared 
 the gigantic form of Porthos. 
 
 ' Porthos ! ' cried d'Artagnan. 
 
 * Yes, do you object ? And here is the other.' 
 
 D'Artagnan turned quickly, and beheld Aramis. 
 
 'M. Aramis,' he gasped, more astonished than 
 before. Athos smiled. 
 
 ' You will soon learn that one of us is rarely seen 
 without the other two. They call us the inseparables.' 
 
 By this time Porthos had come up and stared with 
 amazement at d'Artagnan. 
 
 'This is the gentleman I am to fight with,' said 
 Athos.
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 273 
 
 ' But I am fighting with him also,' exclaimed Porthos. 
 
 ' At one o'clock,' replied d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' I too have a duel with him,' said Aram is. 
 
 ' At two,' answered d'Artagnan. And there was a 
 slight pause. 
 
 ' Why are you fighting him, Athos ? ' asked Porthos. 
 
 ' I really don't quite know ; he hurt my shoulder. 
 And you, Porthos ? ' 
 
 ' Because I like it,' answered Porthos, reddening, 
 and Athos perceived a twinkle in d'Artagnan's eyes. 
 
 ' We had a discussion on dress,' said he. 
 
 ' And you, Aramis ? ' inquired Athos. 
 
 ' We differed slightly in our views on a certain 
 subject,' replied he, and again Athos detected an ex- 
 pression of amusement on the Gascon's face. 
 
 ' I have to apologise to all of you,' said d'Artagnan, 
 ' for not being able in all probability to pay the debts 
 I have incurred. M. Athos has the right to kill me 
 first, which seriously interferes with your chances, 
 M. Porthos, and renders yours practically null, M. 
 Aramis. And now, on guard ! ' 
 
 But hardly had Athos and d'Artagnan fallen into 
 position when a company of the Cardinal's troops 
 came round the corner. 
 
 ' Your swords in the scabbards, quick ! ' cried 
 Porthos and Aramis ; but it was too late. The attitude 
 of the combatants left no room for doubt, and the 
 commander advanced towards them, followed by his 
 men. 
 
 ' How now, gentlemen ? ' he exclaimed. ' Fighting 
 again ! What about the king's edicts ? ' 
 
 ' We should not interfere with you if you were 
 fighting,' answered Athos. ' Leave us alone, I beg of 
 you.' 
 
 ' That is impossible,' replied Monsieur de Jussac, 
 captain of the band. ' We must do our duty. Sheathe 
 your swords, if you please, and come -with us.' 
 A.S. T
 
 274 THE SWORD OF VARTAGNAN 
 
 ' Sir,' said Aramis gravely, imitating Jussac, ' that 
 is impossible. Monsieur de Treville has forbidden it. 
 Proceed on your way ; it is the best thing you can do.' 
 
 His tone exasperated Jussac, who exclaimed angrily, 
 ' If you don't obey at once we will charge.' 
 
 ' They are five,' said Athos, ' and we are three. We 
 shall be beaten again, and I must die where I stand, 
 
 jvmoa SyBwr*GK>;w iNTtiutupTfcti 
 
 for I will never appear a second time defeated before 
 our Captain.' 
 
 In a second d'Artagnan had made up his mind. 
 He had to choose between the King and the Cardinal, 
 and he chose the King. To fight he knew meant risking 
 his life, since it was against the law, but he did not 
 hesitate.
 
 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 275 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' he said, turning to the musketeers, 
 ' you have counted wrong. We are not three, but 
 four.' 
 
 ' But you are not a musketeer,' cried Porthos. 
 
 ' My heart is musketeer if my dress is not,' answered 
 d'Artagnan ; and the fight began. 
 
 D'Artagnan, the youngest and least experienced of 
 the four, found himself opposite Jussac. The struggle 
 was fierce, for Jussac was a practised swordsman ; but 
 he was bewildered by the Gascon's total disregard of 
 all the rules of fencing, and by the quickness with 
 which he darted round and seemed to be everywhere 
 at once. At length Jussac lost temper and his head, 
 and in a hand-to-hand fight that is always fatal. He 
 resolved to disable his enemy with one desperate lunge, 
 but d'Artagnan parried it, and before Jussac could 
 right himself again his adversary slipped under his 
 guard and passed his sword through his body. The 
 captain sank heavily on the ground, disabled and un- 
 conscious. Victor in his fight, d'Artagnan threw 
 anxious eye over the field of battle. Aramis had killed 
 one of his foes, and was defending himself with skill 
 against the other. Porthos and his opponent were 
 well matched, and there was no sign of either giving 
 way. Athos had been wounded afresh, but still stood 
 his ground, and had merely changed his sword from his 
 right hand to his left. D'Artagnan as he looked round 
 caught a glance from Athos, and springing to his side 
 cried to his adversary, ' On guard, for I am going to 
 kill you ! ' 
 
 Cahusac turned, and Athos, whose courage alone 
 had kept him on his feet, sank on one knee. 
 
 ' Don't kill him,' he exclaimed, as with a blow from 
 d'Artagnan, Cahusac's sword flew twenty feet from 
 him. ' Don't kill him, I have some old scores to pay 
 off.' Cahusac and d'Artagnan sprang after the weapon, 
 
 T2
 
 276 THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN 
 
 but the Gascon was there first. Foiled, Cahusac ran 
 to seize the sword of the dead man slain by Aramis, 
 and found himself confronted by Athos, who had nerved 
 himself for a last effort. This time the combat was 
 short ; in a few minutes Cahusac was stretched beside 
 his comrade, and the others were forced to surrender. 
 Then, drunk with joy, the four young men marched 
 arm-in-arm to the house of Monsieur de Treville. 
 
 And that was how the friendship began between 
 d'Artagnan and the musketeers, which only ended with 
 their lives.
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 WAR was raging at La Bochelle in the south. On one 
 side were the French Protestants, or Huguenots, as they 
 were called, supported by England, and on the other 
 the French king and his army. D'Artagnan and his 
 friends were of course in the thick of every fight and 
 were as happy as it was possible for men to be. 
 
 D'Artagnan was on duty in the trenches, when he 
 received a message from Athos begging him to come 
 to his quarters as soon as possible. In an hour he was 
 free, and started off, to find the three musketeers all 
 assembled. 
 
 ' I hope it is something very important,'' said the 
 Gascon as he entered, ' for otherwise I should have 
 enjoyed a little sleep after passing the whole night in 
 taking and dismantling a fort. Ah, what a pity you 
 were not there ! It was warm work.' 
 
 ' It was not very cold where we were,' answered 
 Porthos, twisting his moustache, but before he could 
 say more Athos broke in hurriedly : 
 
 ' Aramis, you breakfasted the other day at the inn 
 of Parpaillot, didn't you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and I got no fish, though it was a fast day.' 
 
 ' Never mind that. Was it a quiet place, where 
 nobody interfered with you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, if that is what you want, Parpaillot will suit 
 you exactly.'
 
 278 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 * Let us go there at once, then,' said Athos, rising. 
 ' These walls are nothing but paper.' 
 
 D'Artagnan was used to read his friend's face, and 
 understood at once that the matter was serious. He 
 slipped his hand under Athos' arm, and went out, 
 Porthos and Aramis following. 
 
 On the way they met Grimaud, the faithful valet 
 of Athos, who at a sign from his master turned behind 
 them. Neither of them were great talkers, and mostly 
 conversed by signs. Indeed, Grimaud had nearly for- 
 gotten how to speak at all. 
 
 It was seven o'clock when they reached the tavern 
 of Parpaillot. They were shown into a room which 
 the landlord assured them they would have to them- 
 selves, and ordered breakfast, but hardly were they 
 seated when soldiers of all kinds began to pour in, 
 much to the disgust of Athos. 
 
 ' We must be careful,' he said in a low voice, ' or we 
 shall get mixed up in some quarrel, and that would be 
 very awkward just now. D'Artagnan, tell us how you 
 passed your night.' 
 
 ' I think,' remarked a cavalry officer who was 
 standing near, ' that you were in the trenches. And 
 didn't you take a bastion ? ' 
 
 D'Artagnan hesitated a moment, not knowing if 
 he was to reply, but a glance from Athos reassured 
 him. 
 
 ' Yes,' answered he, bowing, ' we had that honour. 
 As perhaps you heard, we placed a barrel of powder 
 under a projection in the walls, which exploded, and 
 made a very pretty breach. Indeed, the whole fort was 
 rather damaged.' 
 
 ' What bastion was it ? ' inquired a dragoon, who 
 came in at this moment carrying a dead goose on the 
 point of his sword for the landlord to cook. 
 
 ' The Bastion Saint-Gervais.' 
 
 * And it was a hot affair ? '
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 279 
 
 ' I should think it was. We lost five men, and the 
 Rochelais eight or ten.' 
 
 ' But probably,' observed the cavalry officer, ' the 
 first thing this morning they repaired the breach.' 
 
 ' Probably,' answered d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' cried Athos, ' a wager.' 
 
 ' What about ? ' asked the cavalry officer, Monsieur 
 de Busigny. 
 
 ' Well,' said Athos, addressing him, ' I wager that 
 I and my three friends will breakfast in the Bastion 
 Saint-Gervais, and will hold it for an hour by my watch 
 against all comers.' 
 
 Porthos and Aramis looked at each other ; they 
 began to understand, but d'Artagnan leaned forward 
 and whispered to Athos, ' We shall all be killed to a 
 certainty.' 
 
 ' We shall be killed much more,' answered Athos, 
 ' if we don't go.' 
 
 ' Ah, that is something like a wager,' exclaimed 
 Porthos, tilting back his chair. 
 
 ' I take it,' replied Busigny. ' What stakes ? ' 
 
 ' We are four and you are four,' said Athos. ' Let 
 it be a dinner for eight on either side.' 
 
 ' Very good,' rejoined Busigny. 
 
 ' Your breakfast is ready, gentlemen,' interrupted 
 the landlord. 
 
 ' Bring it here,' said Athos, and when it was brought, 
 Athos signed to Grimaud to fetch a big basket standing 
 by the wall, and to wrap up the cold food in the 
 napkins. Grimaud nodded. He grasped instantly that 
 they were going to breakfast in the open air, and he 
 quickly and silently rolled up the dishes, added some 
 bottles of wine, and slung the basket over his arm. 
 
 ' But where are you going to eat my breakfast ? ' 
 asked the landlord. 
 
 ' What does that matter to you if you are paid for 
 it ? ' replied Athos, throwing two pistoles on the table.
 
 280 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 ' Do you want change ? ' inquired the landlord. 
 
 ' No, just put in two bottles of champagne and you 
 can keep the rest for the napkins.' 
 
 The landlord's countenance fell ; he had expected 
 a larger profit, but he avenged himself by slipping into 
 the basket two bottles of light Anjou wine instead of 
 the champagne ordered. 
 
 ' Monsieur de Busigny,' said Athos, ' will you 
 compare your watch with mine, or let me compare 
 mine with yours ? Ah, I see I am five minutes faster,' 
 and bowing to the guests seated at table, the four young 
 men went out, followed by Griniaud with the basket. 
 
 As long as they were within the lines of the camp 
 none of them spoke, but when they got outside 
 d'Artagnan, to whom all this was a mystery, thought 
 it was time to seek an explanation. 
 
 'And now, my dear Athos, do me the favour of 
 telling me what it all means.' 
 
 * You can see for yourself,' answered Athos ; ' we 
 are going to the bastion.' 
 
 ' And what are we to do when we get there ? ' 
 
 ' You know quite well ; we are to eat our breakfast.' 
 
 ' But why are we to eat it at the bastion ? ' 
 
 * Because we have some very important subjects to 
 discuss, and w r e could not speak a word in that inn 
 without someone overhearing us. Here, at any rate, 
 and Athos pointed to the bastion, ' no one will 
 trouble us.' 
 
 ' It seems to me,' said d'Artagnan with the pru- 
 dence that in a Gascon went naturally with extra- 
 ordinary bravery, ' it seems to me that we might 
 easily have found some secluded spot among the sand- 
 hills, down by the sea.' 
 
 ' Oh, they would have seen us all four together, 
 and in a quarter of an hour the Cardinal would have 
 known all about it.'
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 281 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Aramis, ' Athos is right.' 
 
 ' A desert would have done,' said Porthos, ' but 
 there is none handy.' 
 
 * There is no desert where a bird cannot fly over- 
 head, or a fish jump out of the water, or a rabbit run 
 out of his hole. And bird and rabbit and fish would 
 all be spies of the Cardinal. But I defy anyone to guess 
 the reason of our wager to breakfast in the bastion. 
 We have pledged ourselves to remain there for an hour. 
 That will give us plenty of time to talk, and we are 
 quite certain of not being overheard. If they attack 
 us, well, we can still discuss our affairs, and we shall 
 have a chance besides of covering ourselves with glory. 
 So that in any case we gain something.' 
 
 ' Yes, we shall most likely gain bullets inside us,' 
 remarked d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' My dear fellow,' answered Athos, * you know as well 
 as I do that the bullets most to be dreaded are not those 
 of the enemy.' 
 
 ' But,' put in Porthos, ' it seems to me that for such 
 an adventure we should have done better to bring our 
 muskets.' 
 
 ' Ah, Porthos, you are nothing but an idiot after all. 
 Why should we carry a useless burden ? ' 
 
 ' I don't call a good musket, a dozen cartridges, and 
 a powder flask " useless " when one has an enemy to 
 face.' 
 
 ' Didn't you hear what d'Artagnan said,' asked Athos, 
 'that in last night's attack eight or ten Frenchmen 
 were killed and as many Rochelais ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I heard ; but what of that ? ' 
 
 ' W'ell, our men were in a hurry, and had no time to 
 rifle them, so we shall find their muskets, their powder 
 flasks and their cartridges ; and instead of four muskets 
 and twelve balls, we shall have fifteen muskets and a 
 hundred rounds to shoot.' 
 
 ' Athos ! ' cried Aramis, ' you are a truly great
 
 282 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 man,' and Porthos nodded. Only d'Artagnan did not 
 seem convinced, and even Grirnaud looked doubtful. 
 Pulling his master by the coat, he pointed rapidly in 
 various directions, as if to inquire where they were 
 going. For answer, Athos in his turn pointed to the 
 
 bastion. Grimaud shook his head, and laid his hand on 
 his heart in token that they would leave their bodies 
 within the walls. 
 
 Athos in reply raised his hands and eyes to heaven. 
 
 Grimaud carefully put down his basket and seated 
 himself on the ground.
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 283 
 
 Athos drew a pistol from his belt, looked to see that it 
 \vas loaded, and held it to Grimaud's ear. 
 
 Grimaud suddenly stood on his legs, as if he had 
 been touched by a spring, and at a sign from Athos picked 
 up the basket and walked on, in front this time instead 
 of behind. 
 
 When they reached the bastion, they all turned and 
 looked towards the French camp, and distinguished, in 
 a group apart, Monsieur de Busigny and his three friends 
 with whom they had the wager. Then Athos took off his 
 hat, and placed it on the point of his sword, which he 
 waved. 
 
 The spectators answered by a loud shout, and the 
 little party entered the fort. 
 
 As Athos had foretold, the bastion w r as only occupied, 
 by a dozen or so of dead men, French as well as Rochelais. 
 
 ' Comrades,' said he, ' while Grimaud is laying the 
 table, let us begin by collecting the muskets and cart- 
 ridges, and then we can begin to talk. These gentlemen,' 
 he added, pointing to the corpses, ' will not hear us.' 
 
 ' We can throw them over the wall into the ditch,' 
 observed Porthos, after having felt in all their pockets, 
 and found nothing. 
 
 ' You will do nothing of the sort,' replied Athos ; 
 ' we may find them very useful.' 
 
 ' Useful ! these dead men ? You are crazy, my dear 
 friend,' but Athos took no heed of him. 
 
 ' How many muskets ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Twelve ! ' said Aramis. 
 
 ' And how many rounds can we fire ? ' 
 
 ' About a hundred.' 
 
 ' That is quite enough. Now load,' and just as they 
 had finished Grimaud signed that breakfast was ready, 
 and then took up his post of observation in a small tower 
 known as a pepper-pot, with a bottle of wine, two 
 cutlets, and a roll for company.
 
 281 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 ' Sit down,' said Aramis, and they sat on the ground 
 cross-legged, like Turks or tailors. 
 
 ' Now that nobody can possibly overhear you,' 
 exclaimed d'Artagnan, ' I hope you mean at last to tell 
 us your wonderful secret.' 
 
 ' For my part,' answered Athos, ' I hope to enable 
 you to enjoy both pleasure and glory. We have had a 
 delightful walk, you are about to eat an excellent 
 breakfast, and below are five hundred people, as you can 
 perceive through the loopholes, who consider us either 
 mad men or heroes, two classes which bear a strong 
 likeness to each other.' 
 
 ' But the secret ! ' said d'Artagnan impatiently. 
 
 ' The secret is,' replied Athos, ' that yesterday evening 
 I saw Milady.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' asked d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' About five miles from here, at the inn of the Red 
 Dove. By this time,' he added, glancing at his watch, 
 ' she must have left France.' 
 
 ' But after ah 1 ,' inquired Porthos, ' who is this 
 Milady ? ' 
 
 ' A charming person,' answered Athos, tasting a glass 
 of wine. ' Scoundrel of a landlord,' he exclaimed sud- 
 denly, ' he has given us that stu^ff from Anjou instead of 
 champagne, and thought we shouldn't know the differ- 
 ence ! Oh, yes, a charming person, who has somehow 
 taken a dislike to our friend d'Artagnan ; a month ago 
 she did her best to have him shot, last week she tried 
 to poison him, and only yesterday asked his head from 
 the Cardinal.' 
 
 ' My head from the Cardinal ? ' cried d'Artagnan, 
 pale with terror. 
 
 * That,' said Porthos, * is as true as the Gospel, for 
 Aramis and I heard her with our own ears.' 
 
 ' It is no use struggling against such powerful
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 285 
 
 enemies,' said d'Artagnan in despair. ' I might as well 
 give it up and blow out my brains.' 
 
 ' That would be the silliest thing you could do,' 
 answered Athos, ' and the only one that cannot be 
 remedied. But look at Grimaud ! Something is hap- 
 pening ! What is it, Grimaud ? Considering the matter 
 is important you may speak. Do you see anything ? ' 
 
 ' A troop.' 
 
 ' Of how many men ? ' 
 
 ' Twenty.' 
 
 ' What do they consist of ? ' 
 
 ' Sixteen pioneers and four soldiers.' 
 
 ' How far off are they ? ' 
 
 ' Five hundred paces.' 
 
 ' Good ! we shall have time to finish our breakfast 
 and to drink your health, d'Artagnan.' 
 
 ' You are very kind,' answered d'Artagnan, ' but I 
 am afraid your wishes won't profit me much.' 
 
 ' Who knows,' said Athos lightly, and after draining 
 his glass he rose carelessly, and picking up the gun that 
 lay nearest him he sauntered to a loophole, followed 
 by the rest, while Grimaud was ordered to stand behind 
 them in order to load the spare muskets. 
 
 ' Well,' said Athos contemptuously, as the little 
 troop drew near the trenches, ' it hardly seems worth all 
 the trouble we have taken to fight this handful of men 
 armed with pikes and pickaxes. I'm sure that if 
 Grimaud had only made a sign to them they would have 
 gone away quite peaceably.' 
 
 ' I doubt it,' answered d'Artagnan. ' They are 
 coming on steadily on this side. And besides the 
 pioneers, there are four soldiers and a brigadier armed 
 with muskets.' 
 
 ' I don't like firing on peaceable citizens of that sort,' 
 said Aramis. 
 
 ' It does seem rather a shame,' answered Athos.
 
 286 THE BASTION SAINT-OERVAIS 
 
 ' I don't believe they have seen us yet ; I am going to 
 speak to them.' 
 
 ' You will get yourself shot,' cried d'Artagnan ; but 
 Athos paid no heed and advanced to the breach, his hat 
 in one hand and his gun in the other. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' he shouted to the advancing party, 
 who, astonished at the unexpected sight, halted suddenly 
 fifty paces from the bastion. ' Some friends and I are 
 breakfasting here. Now I need not tell you how un- 
 pleasant it is to be interrupted at one's breakfast, so I 
 beg of you, if you have any business with us, to wait till 
 we have finished, or else to return. Unless, of course, you 
 will forsake the cause of the rebels, and join us in 
 drinking the health of the king of France.' 
 
 ' Take care, Athos,' exclaimed d'Artagnan, ' they are 
 aiming at you.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know, but these citizens are very bad shots. 
 They won't touch me.' 
 
 As he spoke a shower of bullets fell about him, and 
 left him unharmed. In an instant four guns replied 
 from the bastion, and three of the Rochelais soldiers fell 
 dead, while one of the pioneers was wounded. 
 
 ' Another musket, Grimaud,' said Athos, who had not 
 left the breach, and at the second volley the brigadier 
 and two pioneers were killed, and the rest ran away. 
 
 ' Now a sortie,' cried Athos, and all four clambered 
 down to the field of battle, seized the muskets the soldiers 
 had dropped, and returned to the bastion feeling quite 
 sure that the fugitives would never stop till they had 
 reached the town. 
 
 ' Reload all the muskets, Grimaud,' said Athos ; 
 ' we are going to finish breakfast. But stay, tie a 
 napkin to the brigadier's pike and plant it on top of the 
 bastion, so that these rebels of Rochelle may understand 
 that they are fighting loyal soldiers of the King.' 
 
 Grimaud obeyed in silence. An instant later the 
 white flag of the Bourbons floated in the wind. A
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 287 
 
 thunder of applause followed. Half the camp was at 
 the barrier, looking on. 
 
 ' You are curious to know what I wanted with 
 Milady,' continued Athos. ' Well, I had to get from her 
 a blank sheet of paper signed by the Cardinal, which she 
 could fill in as she chose. By this means she could 
 get rid of any or all of us ; beginning probably with 
 d'Artagnan.' 
 
 ' And is this blank order still in her hands ? ' asked 
 d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' No, it is in mine,' replied Athos. 
 
 ' My dear Athos,' said d'Artagnan, ' I have lost count 
 of the number of times you have saved my life ? And 
 you have the Cardinal's letter also ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, here it is,' answered Athos, drawing it from his 
 helmet and handing it to d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' Read it,' said Porthos, and d'Artagnan read : ' It is 
 by my order and for the good of the State that the bearer 
 of this has done what he has done. 
 
 December 5, 1627. ' RICHELIEU.' 
 
 The young men looked at each other. 
 
 ' It sounds mysterious,' said Aramis at last, ' but in 
 reality it is nothing but a pardon for any crime the bearer 
 may choose to commit.' 
 
 ' It must be torn up at once,' said d'Artagnan, who 
 considered it as his own death-warrant. 
 
 ' On the contrary, it must be kept carefully,' replied 
 Athos. ' I would not part with that piece of paper for 
 all the gold pieces that would cover it.' 
 
 ' To arms ! ' cried Grimaud, and they all ran to their 
 muskets. 
 
 This time the party consisted of more than twenty 
 men, soldiers of the garrison of Rochelle. 
 
 ' Hadn't we better go back to the camp ? ' asked 
 Porthos. ' The sides are unequal.' 
 
 'Impossible for three reasons,' replied Athos.
 
 288 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 ' First, we have not finished breakfast ; second, I have 
 still some important things to tell you ; third, that the 
 hour we undertook to remain here will not be up for ten 
 minutes.' 
 
 ' Then we must make a plan of battle,' said Aramis. 
 
 ' It will be very simple,' answered Athos. ' When the 
 enemy is within reach, we fire ; if he continues to ad- 
 vance, we fire again ; and keep on firing as long as our 
 muskets have charges in them. If the rest of them wish 
 to try an assault we will allow them to get down into the 
 trenches, and then push over that bit of the wall which 
 is tottering already.' 
 
 ' Bravo,' exclaimed Porthos. ' Athos, you were born 
 to be a general, and the Cardinal, who thinks himself 
 a great commander, is nothing in comparison with you.' 
 
 * Pick off your men,' was all Athos said, and at his 
 signal the four guns rang out like one, and four nun fell. 
 But the Rochelais still advanced in spite of the fire, and 
 jumped into the trench. 
 
 ' The wall,' said Athos, and with a mighty effort all 
 four, aided by Grimaud, succeeded in moving the de- 
 tached part, which after rocking backwards and forwards 
 rolled over into the trench. 
 
 Only two or three wounded men were left to return to 
 the town. 
 
 Then Athos took out his watch. ' The hour is up,' he 
 said, ' and we have won our wager. But we must not be 
 in too great a hurry. Let us sit down and finish our 
 conversation.' 
 
 So for ten minutes more they rested and talked, till a 
 drum was heard in the direction of the town. 
 
 ' They will be sending a whole regiment,' observed 
 Athos. 
 
 ' But you don't intend to fight a whole regiment ? ' 
 cried Porthos. 
 
 ' Why not ? I am in the vein,' replied Athos. 
 
 * The drum is coming nearer,' said d'Artagnan.
 
 Uoo tte Z& W 
 J became a real TTao 
 
 A.S.
 
 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 291 
 
 ' Let it come,' remarked Athos. ' It takes a quarter 
 of an hour to get from here to the town, and that is more 
 time than enough. We shall never find a better place to 
 fight. But excuse me, I have some directions to give 
 to Grimaud,' and he signed to his valet. 
 
 ' Grimaud,' he continued, pointing to the dead men 
 lying inside the bastion. ' You will take these gentlemen 
 and set them up against the wall, with their hats on their 
 heads and their guns in their hands.' 
 
 Grimaud nodded, and the four friends discussed 
 their affairs, and who could be trusted to carry an 
 important letter to London, in order to put a stop to the 
 designs of Milady, when d'Artagnan exclaimed, 
 
 ' Look there ! you said they would send a regiment, 
 Athos, but it is a whole army ! ' 
 
 ' So it is,' answered Athos turning round, ' and they 
 have stolen upon us without drums or trumpets. Well, 
 Grimaud, have you finished ? ' 
 
 Grimaud nodded again, and pointed to a dozen dead 
 men whom he had arranged along the walls in various 
 attitudes, some taking aim, some bearing arms, and 
 others with their hands on their swords. 
 
 ' Bravo,' cried Athos, ' it does credit to your imagina- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' That is all very well,' said Porthos, ' but I should 
 like to understand what it all means.' 
 
 ' Let us be off first,' answered d'Artagnan, ' and you 
 can understand afterwards.' 
 
 ' One moment,' observed Athos, ' give Grimaud time 
 to clear away breakfast.' 
 
 ' I agree with d'Artagnan,' said Aramis, ' the sooner 
 we get back to the camp the better.' 
 
 ' All right,' remarked Athos, ' just as you like. We 
 have been here for an hour and a half.' 
 
 So they all followed Grimaud, who had hastily packed 
 his basket. 
 
 ' But the flag,' cried Athos, ' we have forgotten that. 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS 
 
 It must not fall into the hands of the enemy, if it is only 
 a table-napkin.' And he ran back into the bastion, and 
 took down the flag amidst a shower of balls. Pausing 
 a moment he waved it, and was answered by shouts of 
 applause from the French camp. 
 
 Then a fresh volley from the rebels pierced the 
 napkin, and it became transformed into a real flag. 
 
 ' Come down, come down,' cried the French, and 
 Athos joined his companions while the Rochelais directed 
 a furious fire at the dead men on the walls. 
 
 And that was how Athos won his wager.
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 Little General Monk 
 Sat upon a trunk. 
 
 So sang your nurse to you when you were a baby. 
 Now this story is to tell you how ' Little General Monk ' 
 got inside the trunk, and who put him there. 
 
 Monsieur d'Artagnan was thirty-five years older than 
 when he had made friends with the three musketeers, and 
 many battles had he fought since then. Instead of being 
 eighteen, he was fifty-three, which makes a great deal 
 of difference, but the Gascon was as ready as ever for a 
 dangerous adventure and as skilful as before in carrying 
 it out. 
 
 One day early in the year 1660, d'Artagnan entered 
 a shop in the street of the Lombards, having for its sign 
 a Golden Pestle, and was welcomed with a cry of joy 
 by a middle-aged man in a white apron. 
 
 ' Good morning, Planchet,' said d'Artagnan, greeting 
 his old valet, who had turned into a confectioner, and 
 grown fat in the process. 
 
 ' Here, come quick, boys,' called Planchet in a bustle, 
 ' let one hold Monsieur d'Artagnan's horse, and one pre- 
 pare his room, and one serve up supper.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Planchet ! ' answered d'Artagnan, as 
 the apprentices ran hither and thither, proud of serving 
 a soldier of whose greatness their master was never tired 
 of talking.
 
 294 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 1 1 want to speak to you,' said d'Artagnan, ' so see 
 that no one interrupts us.' 
 
 Planchet looked up uneasily. 
 
 ' Oh, it is all right,' replied d'Artagnan, ' nothing to 
 take away my appetite,' and he spoke truly as was seen 
 when in a few minutes they sat down at the supper 
 table. 
 
 ' I have got a piece of business on hand,' he began, 
 as soon as his hunger was satisfied. ' It will be very 
 profitable in the long run of that I have no doubt 
 but meanwhile we must have plenty of money to 
 spend.' 
 
 Planchet's face fell. 
 
 ' How much, sir ? ' 
 
 ' Twenty thousand francs cash, for a month.' 
 
 * And is it to be used in Paris ? ' 
 ' No ; in England.' 
 
 * And, if I may be allowed to ask, what sort of a 
 business is it ? ' 
 
 ' A restoration.' 
 
 * Of monuments ? ' 
 
 * Yes, of monuments, Planchet. We are going to 
 restore Whitehall.' 
 
 ' That sounds important. You think you can do 
 that in a month ? ' 
 
 ' I do. But shut all the doors and open the windows, 
 for the noise in the streets will prevent anyone who 
 happens to be listening from overhearing us.' 
 
 * You remember his Majesty Charles I. of England ? ' 
 asked d'Artagnan, pouring out a glass of wine. 
 
 * It would not be easy to forget him, sir, seeing you 
 left France to help him, and were very nearly pulled 
 down in his fall. I remember also that he had two sons, 
 and I saw the second one, the Duke of York, one day in 
 the Palais-Royal, when he came over to see his mother, 
 the Queen of England.'
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 295 
 
 c Well , what I have to say is about the elder brother, 
 the Prince of Wales. I have watched him go through 
 all sorts of miseries, and whatever happened he was 
 always gay. I am sorry for him.' 
 
 At these words Planchet uttered a cry. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' said d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' It is only that I am afraid I understand 
 
 ' What, Planchet ? That I hope to restore King 
 Charles II. to his throne ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' murmured Planchet, turning pale, ' so that is 
 what you meant by a " restoration." ' 
 
 ' To be sure. And I believe we shall succeed. But 
 now I should like to consult you about some of the 
 details.' 
 
 And for another hour they discussed their plans, or 
 rather d'Artagnan explained his. 
 
 ' You know that Cromwell is dead and that his son 
 Richard has resigned ? ' he said. 
 
 Planchet nodded. 
 
 ' Well, the first man in England at the present 
 moment is General Monk, who commands the army. He 
 has never been defeated, and is besides very clever in 
 politics, for he rarely opens his mouth. He will think 
 for twelve hours before he bids you " Good morning! " 
 and then he says " Good evening ! " Now, listen ! I 
 am going over to England with a few men, perhaps as 
 many as forty, and I mean to kidnap him and bring 
 him over to France, where I can dispose of him in one 
 of two ways.' 
 
 ' Ah !. Ah ! ' cried Planchet, filled with enthusiasm. 
 ' We will put him in a cage and show him for a penny a 
 head.' 
 
 D'Artagnan laughed. 
 
 ' I hadn't thought of that ; it is a third way. Your 
 plan is excellent, only mine are better. I should either 
 ransom him for a hundred thousand crowns or else 
 deliver him to King Charles, who will then be able to
 
 296 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 restore himself and pay the hundred thousand crowns to 
 me. What do you think of that, Planchet ? ' 
 
 ' It is magnificent ! Magnificent ! ' cried Planchet. 
 
 ' I wish to start for England to-morrow, ' continued 
 d'Artagnan. ' Can you have the money ready ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I will manage it.' 
 
 ' Then I must draw up a contract, and we will both 
 sign it,' and d'Artagnan wrote : 
 
 ' Seeing that in the matter of the restoration of the 
 King Charles II. to the throne of England, Monsieur d'Ar- 
 tagnan brings to his partnership with Monsieur Planchet 
 his time, his labour, his mind, and his skin (all things 
 very dear to him, especially the last) besides a capital of 
 twenty thousand francs, it is agreed that Monsieur 
 d'Artagnan shall keep two-thirds of the profits for him- 
 self. But in case Monsieur d'Artagnan should be killed 
 before the work is accomplished, Monsieur Planchet 
 gives hereby to his ghost a receipt for the twenty 
 thousand francs he has lent him.' 
 
 On hearing this clause, Planchet frowned, but, on 
 glancing at his partner, he looked so full of life and 
 power that he took courage and signed his name 
 without further protest. 
 
 After which d'Artagnan bade him good-night and 
 went to bed. 
 
 D'Artagnan woke early and began to consider the 
 number of men that would be most useful in his expedi- 
 tion to England. If Athos, Porthos and Aramis could 
 have gone with him, he would have taken the forty of 
 whom he had spoken to Planchet. But as they were all 
 away from Paris where he did not know and there 
 was no one else whom he could trust, he made up his 
 mind at last to cut down the number to ten, whom he 
 could always have under his own eye. So with six 
 soldiers, and four sailors whom he found half drunk in 
 a tavern in Calais, he started for Holland, where he
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 297 
 
 bought a fishing boat, for which he paid three thousand 
 francs. In this they all set sail for the River Tyne, as 
 d'Artagnan had learned that Monk and his army were 
 encamped near the sea to the east of Newcastle, while his 
 enemy, General Lambert, was drawn up on the opposite 
 bank a little higher up. 
 
 Meat was scarce in both armies, and the English 
 soldiers grumbled loudly. Monk, however, was more 
 fortunate than his foe, as a large part of his force was 
 composed of Scotchmen, who could live and fight on 
 porridge, and looked with contempt on the hungry 
 Englishmen. The general fared no better than his men, 
 and he listened eagerly when late one evening a troop of 
 soldiers entered his tent and informed him that they had 
 just captured a fishing boat on its way to sell fish to the 
 enemy. 
 
 ' Where do these fishermen come from ? ' asked 
 Monk. 
 
 ' They are Frenchmen, who were fishing in Dutch 
 seas and were blown across in the gale.' 
 
 ' Do any of them speak English ? ' 
 
 ' Their chief seems to know a little.' 
 
 ' How many of them are there ? ' 
 
 ' About ten or twelve, and the boat is of Dutch build.' 
 
 ' And you say they were carrying the fish to General 
 Lambert ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, general. It seems they have made a good haul.' 
 
 ' Well, send the head man to me,' said Monk, who 
 thought the whole affair very suspicious. 
 
 The officer soon returned bringing with him a fisher- 
 man who looked past fifty, dressed in a woollen tunic, 
 while a sailor's cap was pulled low over his eyes, and by 
 his side hung a cutlass. He stood with the smile, half 
 cunning, half stupid, peculiar to French peasants, while 
 Monk examined him closely. 
 
 ' You can speak English ? ' asked the general.
 
 298 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 * Very badly, my lord,' answered the fisherman, with 
 the accent of Southern France rather than the drawl of 
 the North, as Monk was quick to notice. 
 
 ' You appear to me to have done more fishing off 
 the shores of Gascony than in the Channel,' said Monk 
 smiling, and the man answered : 
 
 ' Yes, I was born in Gascony, my lord ; but I hope that 
 doesn't prevent my being a good fisherman. I have a 
 fine cargo of mullets and whiting.' 
 
 ' And why do you wish to sell them to General 
 Lambert and not to me ? ' 
 
 ' Because, my lord, if you will excuse me, these town 
 gentlemen pay well, while your Scotch eat little and pay 
 nothing.' 
 
 Monk laughed. ' But what made you come to this 
 country ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' It was an accident, my lord. We were returning 
 from Ostend to France with a cargo of mackerel when a 
 strong south wind sprang up. It was impossible to sail 
 in the teeth of it, so we made up our minds to sell our 
 fish at the nearest port where we could land, and we cast 
 anchor at the mouth of the Tyne, for, knowing that two 
 armies were encamped there, we made sure we should 
 have a good market.' 
 
 ' You came from Ostend, you say ? No doubt you 
 heard plenty of gossip there about the man who calls 
 himself King of England ? ' 
 
 * Ah, my lord, I did more than that, for I saw him 
 walking on the sand hills waiting for horses to take him 
 to the Hague. He is tall and pale, with black hair, and 
 he looks as if the air of Holland did not agree with him.' 
 
 Monk, who understood French very well, listened 
 attentively, watching the man's face all the time. 
 After a few more questions he added ' When you return 
 to your boat, you had better keep clear of the marshes, 
 for they are the quarters of some of my Scottish troops, 
 whom I have placed in ambush. Or, stay ! You shall
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 299 
 
 all sleep in a little group of tents near the refreshment 
 booths. Digby, are you there ? ' he cried, and when the 
 aide-de-camp appeared the genera.1 repeated his orders, 
 but, before he had finished, a sergeant entered and 
 saluted. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' asked Monk. 
 
 ; A French gentleman wishes to speak to your 
 Excellency.' 
 
 ' What is his name ? ' 
 
 ' That I cannot tell you, general ; it is no name for 
 an English tongue.' 
 
 ' Well, you can bring him in.' 
 
 ' Am I to bandage his eyes ? ' 
 
 ' Why should you ? He will see nothing but eleven 
 thousand men, all ready to fight for the Parliament. 
 Now, my good man, you can go,' he continued, suddenly 
 remembering the fisher. ' You shall have the money for 
 your fish to-morrow,' and, followed by Digby, the man 
 departed, passing on the way a tall figure wrapped in a 
 long cloak, who was approaching the tent of the general. 
 
 The newcomer entered, and stood quietly waiting till 
 Monk asked him his business. Then he answered in very 
 good English that he wished to consult the general on a 
 subject of great importance. 
 
 ' You speak my language so well,' said Monk, himself 
 speaking in French, ' that I cannot help inquiring where 
 you learned it ? ' 
 
 ' In England, my lord. W T hen I was young I passed 
 some time in London. I have also travelled in Scotland, 
 and have even spent a few weeks in the Abbey here, 
 where part of your army is now encamped.' 
 
 ' And your name ? ' asked Monk. 
 
 ' The Comte de la Fere.' 
 
 ' The Comte de la Fere,' repeated Monk, to whom it 
 seemed in some way familiar ; ' have you any position in 
 the French Court ? '
 
 300 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 1 None whatever, general. But King Charles I. made 
 me a Knight of the Garter, and the Queen of France, 
 Anne of Austria, gave me the Order of the Saint Esprit.' 
 
 * And what had you done to gain such brilliant 
 distinctions ? ' 
 
 ' Served their Majesties faithfully ; that was all.' 
 
 Monk remained silent ; he did not know what to 
 think. The stranger appeared frank and straight- 
 forward, yet what could he want on the eve of a battle, 
 except to act as a spy ? 
 
 At length he said, ' Well, sir, let me hear your 
 business.' 
 
 ' When I was in Newcastle with the King before his 
 late Majesty was delivered by the Scotch into the hands 
 of Cromwell I buried a large sum of money in the vaults 
 of the Abbey, under that tower on which the moon is 
 shining at the present moment. As the Abbey itself is 
 likely to be destroyed by cannon in the battle which will 
 shortly take place, I have come to beg permission of 
 your Excellency to take it away.' 
 
 ' But are you sure it is there ? ' asked Monk. ' During 
 all these years some one may have discovered it. And 
 is the sum large enough to be worth all these risks ? ' 
 
 ' It is a million of money, my lord ; and it is con- 
 tained in two barrels.' 
 
 ' A million ! ' cried Monk, staring in surprise. 
 
 Then he added, ' I will help you to get it if it is 
 still in its hiding place. And now, will you do me the 
 honour to sup with me ? As it happens, just before your 
 arrival, one of your countrymen had brought me some 
 fish.' 
 
 While they were eating, the talk of the two men 
 wandered from one subject to another, but all concerning 
 the French Court. When they had finished, Monk 
 suddenly said, ' Can you recognise the place where your 
 money is buried ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, certainly I can,' answered Athos.
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 301 
 
 * I will come with you to get it. Indeed, without me 
 you would hardly be allowed to leave the camp.' 
 
 ' I know it, or else I should not permit you to give 
 yourself the trouble.' 
 
 ' Shall we take anyone with us ? ' asked Monk. 
 
 ' Two men and a horse to carry the barrels will be 
 enough,' replied Athos, and Monk, still puzzled and 
 suspicious, buckled on a short sword and put a pistol 
 in liis belt, exposing as he did so the rings of a coat of 
 mail. Then, taking a Scotch dirk in his left hand, he 
 turned to Athos and inquired if he was ready. 
 
 ' Perfectly, if you are,' was the reply, and, as he spoke, 
 Athos laid his dagger on the table and his sword beside it, 
 while he unbuttoned liis tunic to take out his hand- 
 kerchief, baring his chest as he did so, and showing 
 carelessly that he had no arms concealed about him. 
 
 Quite alone the two men set out. 
 
 The way to the Abbey lay through the marshes on 
 the outskirts of which Digby had lodged the French 
 fishermen, and when they reached a place where three 
 roads branched off, the general paused. ' Which of 
 these paths should we take ? ' he asked, to see if Athos 
 had really been there before, or if he was laying a trap 
 for him. 
 
 ' The middle one, I think,' answered Athos, and then 
 a slight noise caused them both to look round. 
 
 ' Ah, Digby has followed us,' observed Monk. ' He 
 may be useful, as we shall need a light* Digby, come 
 here.' But the supposed Digby suddenly stepped back 
 into the shadow and made his way towards the fishers' 
 tents. 
 
 ' It isn't Digby, after all,' said Monk ; but in a camp 
 there is nothing uncommon in a man prowling about at 
 eleven o'clock at night, and neither the general nor 
 Athos thought anything of it. 
 
 ' One of your soldiers will bring us a torch,' said
 
 302 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 Athos ; but Monk, who was anxious to know if his guest 
 was in league with the French fishermen, replied quickly : 
 
 ' No, I think we had better take one of those French 
 sailors. They leave to-morrow, and therefore will not 
 have so much chance of betraying our secret, whereas 
 if once the story were to get about in the army that a 
 treasure had been found in the Abbey of Newcastle, 
 the men would imagine that a million was to be found 
 under every stone.' 
 
 ' As you like, general,' answered Athos. 
 
 As they drew near the fishermen's quarters, Monk 
 fancied he saw a shadow resembling that of the man who 
 had followed them slip into the tent, but, on entering, 
 leaving Athos outside, he felt sure he must be mistaken, 
 for they were all asleep. 
 
 * Wake up, somebody ! ' called Monk, in French. 
 Every one moved, some sitting up with sleepy eyes, 
 some getting slowly on their legs. The man who had 
 talked with Monk was the first to be on his feet. 
 
 * What is it, your Honour ? ' he asked in a voice 
 which caused Athos' heart to beat fast with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Get a torch and one or other of you come with us.' 
 said Monk, and the man went to the back of the hut to 
 fetch some tinder. 
 
 ' You go, Menneville,' he whispered, in passing, 
 ' and be on the look out.' Then he lit a lantern and gave 
 it to his comrade, who took the path to the Abbey, with 
 Monk and Athos behind him. 
 
 They had not gone twenty yards when the same man 
 who had dogged their steps earlier left the tent, and 
 crouching down by a stack of wood, watched them 
 carefully. But very soon they were lost in the fog which 
 hung about the river. 
 
 The door of the Abbey had been broken open, and the 
 visitors passed in, the torchbearer going first. Monk,
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 303 
 
 his dirk in his hand, came last, for in spite of the fact that 
 he was aware Athos was unarmed, he still continued to 
 suspect him. But the Comte de la Fere walked on quite 
 unmoved till they reached the vaults which lay under 
 the great hall. 
 
 ' Here we are,' he said. 
 
 ' Is this the stone ? ' asked Monk, pointing to one 
 bearing an inscription ; ' we shall need a lever.' 
 
 ' That young ash will do,' answered Athos ; ' the 
 fisherman can cut it down with his cutlass,' and he called 
 to the man in French, telling him what he wanted. 
 When the branches were lopped off and nothing but the 
 pole remained, Athos requested Monk in a low voice to 
 bid the man leave them the torch and wait outside, 
 as he did not wish him to guess at the secret of the 
 treasure. 
 
 ' He wants to remain alone with me,' thought the 
 general suspiciously ; ' but after all I am as good as he,' 
 and he gave the order. Then Athos set to work and in 
 a short time had broken through the plaster and come 
 to the stones. 
 
 ' This is the masonry I spoke of,' said Athos. 
 
 ' Yes, but I don't see the barrels,' replied Monk. 
 
 ' If I had only a poignard I would soon show them to 
 you,' answered Athos. 
 
 ' I would lend you mine but it is hardly strong 
 enough,' said Monk. ' Why don't you borrow the 
 fisherman's ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! I forgot his,' replied Athos, and going to the 
 foot of the stairs he cried out, ' Here, my good fellow, 
 throw me down your cutlass. I want it for a minute.' 
 The steel rattled on the floor of the vault, and Athos 
 picked it up and returned to his place, pretending not to 
 notice that Monk was standing in the shadow of a pillar 
 with his dirk in his right hand and a pistol in his left. 
 
 ' There they are,' exclaimed Athos, stooping and 
 looking in.
 
 304 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 1 Then you are satisfied ? ' asked Monk. ' And now 
 will you explain this mystery ? ' 
 
 Athos looked at him steadily for a moment, as if 
 trying to read the general's thoughts. At length he 
 answered : 
 
 ' This gold, my lord, does not belong to me, but to his 
 Majesty Charles II., and the secret was confided to me 
 by his father, who ordered me to hide it in this place 
 before he was delivered to the Parliament at Newcastle. 
 I am here, unarmed, and at your mercy, but I will not 
 return to France without taking the money with me, as 
 it is the last hope of the exiled prince.' 
 
 ' And when you deliver it to him what advice will 
 give him ? ' 
 
 Athos drew himself up. 
 
 ' The advice I shall give him will be to raise with it 
 two regiments to land in Scotland and to grant the 
 demands made by the people. I shall also advise him 
 to command the army in person, and to die, if need be, 
 with the banner of England in his hand.' 
 
 ' Unhappily,' answered Monk, ' kings never follow 
 good advice.' 
 
 ' But Charles II. is not a king,' replied Athos, 
 smiling. 
 
 * Where are you lodging ? ' inquired Monk abruptly. 
 
 * In a little village at the mouth of the river. In the 
 first house.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I know it. Well, I will have the two barrels 
 sent there. But where is your boat ? ' 
 
 ' At anchor about a quarter of a mile from the shore.' 
 
 ' You cannot sail yet,' said Monk, * or my men would 
 instantly suspect a plot between us. Wait for eight days, 
 and by then I shall either have fought Lambert or we 
 shall have made peace. In the meantime, keep quiet in 
 the house ; for I do not wish to have to send the money 
 to your prince myself.' 
 
 Athos smiled.
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 305 
 
 ' In eight days, then,' he answered. 
 
 By order of the general, the fisherman bade a sergeant 
 who was stationed near by fetch a horse with panniers, 
 and two men to lift two barrels of gunpowder that were 
 lying in the vault, and carry them to the first house in 
 the village at the mouth of the river. As he was anxious 
 to see the barrels safely on their way, Monk remained 
 where he was, talking to Athos about the difference of 
 arms and discipline in the English and French armies, 
 loud enough for his men to hear. As soon as the horse's 
 steps were approaching, he said quickly to Athos, 
 ' You are safe now. I am going back to the 
 camp.' 
 
 ' I shall see you again, my lord ? ' asked Athos. 
 
 ' Yes, as we have arranged, and with great pleasure,' 
 answered Monk, and went up the staircase which led 
 into the air. 
 
 He had not walked twenty paces when the sound of 
 a distant whistle struck upon his ears. He stopped and 
 looked about him, but seeing nothing continued on his 
 way. Then he remembered the French fisherman, but 
 he seemed to have disappeared, although if the general 
 had possessed better eyes he might have detected him 
 crawling like a snake along the ground, till he was lost 
 in the fog. And if there had been no fog, Monk might 
 have noticed that the fisherman's barque had changed 
 its place and was now lying alongside the bank of the 
 river. 
 
 Monk saw neither of these things, but he felt un- 
 easy, and when he recollected that he had a mile to walk 
 before he reached his camp, he quickened his pace. 
 Once he fancied he heard the sound of an oar not far 
 distant, but the fog was so thick that he could see 
 nothing. 
 
 ' Who is there ? ' he cried. But there was no
 
 306 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 It was seven o'clock next morning and the sun was 
 shining over the marshes, when Athos looked out of his 
 window and was amazed to find the same sergeant and 
 his men drawn up before the house. 
 
 ' Is anything the matter ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Nothing, sir. What should be the matter ? ' replied 
 the sergeant. ' Yesterday the general ordered me to 
 watch over your safety, and I am obeying him.' 
 
 ' Is the general in camp ? ' said Athos. 
 
 ' No doubt, sir. He was on his way there yesterday 
 when you left him.' 
 
 4 Well, wait for me. I must go to the camp myself 
 and report that you have executed your orders, and 
 also fetch back my sword which I have left there.' 
 
 ' That will suit me exactly,' answered the sergeant, 
 ' as I was just about to ask you to accompany us to the 
 general's quarters.' 
 
 On their arrival at the camp, Athos remarked that 
 the soldiers glanced at him strangely and suspiciously, 
 but he passed on into the tent of General Monk, where 
 he found his sword where he had left it on the table, 
 around which were seated two colonels and a lieutenant 
 all unknown to him. 
 
 ' Is this the gentleman who went out with the 
 general ? ' asked one of the officers. 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' answered the sergeant. 
 
 ' Have I denied i* ? ' broke in Athos angrily at the 
 tone in which the officer spoke. ' If General Monk has 
 any questions to put to me, I will answer them. Where 
 is he ? I demand to be taken to him at once.' 
 
 ' As to where he is, you know that better than we 
 do.' 
 
 ' / ? ' exclaimed Athos in surprise. 
 
 ' Yes, you.' 
 
 ' I do not understand what you mean.' 
 
 ' What did the general say to you yesterday ? ' asked 
 the colonel.
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 307 
 
 ' I will tell you that when I ana in the presence of the 
 general himself.' 
 
 ' But,' answered the colonel, ' you know perfectly 
 well that we cannot take you before the general.' 
 
 ' This is the second time you have said that. Is he 
 absent ? * 
 
 The English officers looked at each other. Athos 
 was plainly speaking the truth, and they began to think 
 that he really knew nothing about the matter. After a 
 pause, the lieutenant said : 
 
 ' The general left you yesterday outside the Abbey ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, he did.' 
 
 ' And where did you go ? ' 
 
 ' That you had better ask of the soldiers who accom- 
 panied me.' 
 
 ' And you do not know what has become of the 
 general ? ' 
 
 ' I have already answered that question.' 
 
 ' Yes, but it is hardly possible to believe your 
 answer.' 
 
 ' It is true, all the same. I am a gentleman, and it 
 is not my custom to lie ; and when I am wearing the 
 sword which from a sense of honour I laid on that table 
 last night no one dares doubt my word. To-day I am 
 unarmed. If you make yourselves my judges, judge 
 me. If you are only my executioners, kill me.' 
 
 ' But, sir ' began the lieutenant more politely 
 
 than he had yet spoken ; but Athos interrupted him. 
 
 ' I came to confide to your general secrets of im- 
 portance, and he did not receive me as he would have 
 received an ordinary man so your soldiers will tell 
 you. You do not expect me, I suppose, to reveal either 
 my secrets or his ? ' 
 
 ' But those barrels what was in them ? ' 
 
 ' Haven't you asked the soldiers ? What did they 
 answer ? ' 
 
 ' That they contained powder and shot.' 
 
 x2
 
 308 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 ' And how did they know that ? ' 
 
 ' The general told them so ; but, of course, we do 
 not believe it.' 
 
 ' Then it is not I whom you accuse of lying, but 
 your commander.' The officers again exchanged glances, 
 and Athos continued : ' In the presence of the men, the 
 general bade me wait eight days, and he would give me 
 my answer. Well, I am waiting.' 
 
 ' To wait eight days ? ' cried the lieutenant. 
 
 Athos bowed. ' I have a sloop at the mouth of the 
 river, and if I had wished to escape I had nothing to do 
 but to go on board her last night. But, as I said, I am 
 waiting.' t 
 
 At these words the lieutenant leaned across the table 
 and said to his companions, ' If this is true, there is still 
 some hope. The general must have wished to carry 
 through some negotiations. We can do nothing till the 
 eight days are passed.' 
 
 ' It is very strange, all the same,' remarked the 
 colonel, ' and I cannot help thinking that those French 
 fishermen have something to do in the matter. It was 
 one of them who accompanied the general to the Abbey 
 with a torch. And this morning both the barque and 
 the fishers have vanished.' 
 
 * I agree with you,' said Athos, ' that the general is 
 the victim of a plot ; for if he had been going to leave 
 the camp of his own free will he would have told me.' 
 
 But here the lieutenant gave a warning glance at 
 his superior officers, and answered quickly : 
 
 ' You are rather hasty in your conclusions, sir. 
 Monk is in the habit of disappearing for a short time, 
 and there is really no reason for alarm. Still, he would 
 be very angry if he thought we had betrayed the fact of 
 his absence, and we must keep strict silence on the 
 subject.' 
 
 * You are right,' replied Athos ; ' and, for my part, 
 I will beg you to set a watch round my house, which,
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 309 
 
 till the return of the general I shall consider my 
 prison.' 
 
 Two days had gone by, and the camp at Newcastle 
 was still without its general, when on the other side of 
 the North Sea a small barque cast its anchor near 
 Scheveningen in Holland. The night was dark and the 
 sand hills were deserted, and there was no one to notice 
 a little boat which put out from the ship, or a man who 
 jumped on shore, after giving a sharp word of command 
 to the rowers. Cautiously he made his way to the end 
 of the village, where stood a little house hidden among 
 trees, and guarded by a huge dog, which bayed loudly. 
 
 * You are better than any bell,' said the stranger to 
 himself ; and he waited patiently till a voice inquired 
 through a grating in the door what he wanted. 
 
 ' His Majesty King Charles the Second,' was the 
 answer. 
 
 ' Who are you ? ' asked the voice. 
 
 ' Oh, I never shout my name in the open air. Don't 
 be afraid. I shall not eat your dog, and hope he may 
 not eat me.' 
 
 ' You have brought some news ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and some news you never expected to hear. 
 But don't keep me waiting any longer. I am worth 
 my weight in gold, I assure you.' 
 
 ' The King's orders are that no one shall be admitted 
 without first telling his name.' 
 
 ' Well, then if I must I am the Chevalier 
 d'Artagnan.' 
 
 ' Monsieur d'Artagnan ! I thought I knew your 
 voice. Come in come in ! ' 
 
 ' Why, it is Parry ! ' exclaimed d'Artagnan. ' But 
 there is no time to lose. Go and tell the King.' 
 
 Parry soon returned, and bade d'Artagnan follow 
 him into a room where the King was working by the 
 light of a lamp.
 
 310 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 ' Where is Monsieur d'Artagnan ? ' asked he, as the 
 fisherman entered. 
 
 ' Before you, sire. You may remember having seen 
 me at Bio is in the ante-chamber of King Louis the 
 Fourteenth.' 
 
 ' I recollect. Have you brought me news ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sire, and I hope your Majesty will deign to 
 look on it favourably.' 
 
 ' Speak,' said Charles. 
 
 ' If I am not mistaken, sire, your Majesty when you 
 were at Blois was much troubled about the affairs of 
 England.' 
 
 Charles grew red. 
 
 ' It was to the King of France alone that ' 
 
 ' Excuse me, sire, I am not wanting in respect to 
 your Majesty ; but hear me out, I pray you. Your 
 Majesty was complaining of the difficulty of entering 
 England and seizing the throne, without either men or 
 money.' 
 
 ' Indeed ' cried Charles impatiently, but again 
 
 d'Artagnan stopped him. 
 
 ' And the chief obstacle was the Parliamentary 
 general.' 
 
 ' Let me repeat,' answered Charles, ' that my words 
 were for the ears of the King alone.' 
 
 ' Well, I am going to show you, sire, that it was 
 lucky for you that they fell on mine. This man who 
 stood in your Majesty's way was Monk, I think you 
 said. Did I catch his name rightly ? ' 
 
 ' You did. But what is the meaning of all these 
 questions ? ' 
 
 ' That if General Monk is so great an obstacle to 
 your success, it would be well either to get rid of him 
 or to turn him into an ally.' 
 
 ' A king who has neither men nor money can do 
 nothing against Monk.' 
 
 ' Ah.! sire, happily for you, I had a different opinion.'
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 311 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' That with neither men nor money, I have done what 
 neither men nor money could do.' 
 
 ' But what ? What have you done ? ' 
 
 ' I have captured the man who stood hi your 
 Majesty's way.' 
 
 ' Captured him ? Captured Monk ? Where ? In 
 England ? ' 
 
 ' Exactly, sire. Did I do wrong ? ' 
 
 ' You are mad ! ' 
 
 ' Not the least hi the world, sire.' 
 
 ' But where did you take him ? ' 
 
 ' In the middle of his camp ; and I have brought 
 him to your Majesty.' 
 
 ' You have brought him here ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sire, he is downstairs in a great case pierced 
 with holes, so that he should not die of suffocation. 
 Would your Majesty like to see him and speak to him, 
 or shall I throw him into the sea ? ' 
 
 'Is it a bad joke ? ' exclaimed Charles, who was 
 quite bewildered. ' I don't understand.' 
 
 ' You will in a moment, sire,' and going to the 
 window d'Artagnan gave three sharp whistles. 
 
 The King sat staring at d'Artagnan, who remained 
 smiling at the window. But before he could recover 
 from his surprise sufficiently to speak, eight of the men 
 from the barque entered the ante-room, staggering under 
 the weight of the huge case to which d'Artagnan had 
 alluded. It had been made by his orders at Calais, 
 before his ship had set sail for the English camp, and 
 when he had taken advantage of the fog to seize Monk, 
 the general had a gag thrust into his mouth, and was 
 carried at once into the boat which was waiting in the 
 river close by. Once on board, he was instantly thrust 
 into the case, which was large enough for him to stretch 
 himself out and to turn. During the voyage, d'Artagnan,
 
 312 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 who always sat beside it, made various attempts to get 
 him to eat and to speak, but the prisoner would do 
 neither. 
 
 After dismissing the men who had brought the case 
 from the shore, d'Artagnan opened its door, and ad- 
 dressed Monk : 
 
 ' General, I ask your forgiveness a thousand times. 
 I know that I have treated you in a manner quite un- 
 suitable to a man of your rank ; but what could I do ? 
 Here, however, you are free to speak and to walk,' and, 
 cutting the cords which bound Monk's arms, he ushered 
 him into the presence of Charles. 
 
 ' Sire,' he said, ' your enemy, General Monk. General 
 Monk, this is his Majesty Charles the Second, King of 
 Great Britain.' 
 
 ' I know no king of Great Britain,' answered Monk 
 coldly ; ' and I see no one here present whom I should 
 even call a gentleman ; for it was in the name of the King 
 Charles the Second that a person who seemed to me to 
 be an honest man laid this trap for me. Now listen, 
 both of you, to what I am going to say. My body is in 
 your power ; you can kill it, and you had better do it, 
 for you will never possess either my soul or my will. 
 And further, it is useless putting to me any questions. 
 I shall not open my mouth again, even if you torture 
 me.' 
 
 ' The general is a very determined man,' whispered 
 d'Artagnan to the King. ' I was afraid he would starve 
 himself to death during the voyage. But as I have 
 delivered him up to you, my duty is done, and your 
 Majesty will deal with him as you please.' 
 
 Charles remained silent and sat thinking deeply for 
 some minutes. Before him was the man he had so much 
 desired to see the man who stood between him and his 
 kingdom. He guessed the humiliation Monk must be 
 feeling at having been trapped in such a way, and 
 suddenly he made up his mind what to do.
 
 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 313 
 
 ' Will you listen to me for an instant ? ' he said 
 quietly. ' You tell me that I sent a man to Newcastle 
 to lay an ambush for you a statement which must 
 have puzzled Monsieur d'Artagnan, to whom I must 
 express my gratitude for all he lias risked for me. But 
 mark and I am not saying so to shield myself 
 Monsieur d'Artagnan went to England entirely of him- 
 self, without orders, and without hope of reward, to 
 render service to an unfortunate king, and to add 
 another to the many great deeds which shed glory on 
 his name.' He paused, but Monk gave no sign of having 
 heard his words. 
 
 ' But Monsieur d'Artagnan,' continued Charles, 
 ' was quite unaware that the Comte de la Fere had 
 already started for Newcastle.' 
 
 ' Athos ! ' exclaimed d'Artagnan. 
 
 ' To try and persuade the general to consent to 
 meet either myself or some one whom I should ap- 
 point, in order to discuss matters, when you, Monsieur. 
 d'Artagnan, violently thrust yourself into tKe affair.' 
 
 ' So it was he whom I saw entering the general's tent 
 that night ! ' cried d'Artagnan again ; and a slight 
 movement of Monk's face told him he had guessed right. 
 
 ' You have accused me, general, of laying a trap for 
 you,' said the King ; ' but I do not fight you with such 
 weapons, and I will show that you are wrong. Be kind 
 enough to follow me ; you also, Monsieur d'Artagnan,' 
 and Charles left the house, followed by d'Artagnan, who 
 in his turn was followed by Monk. The King unlocked 
 a small gate, and they passed out on to the sand hills, 
 when he stopped and looked about him in the darkness. 
 
 ' Where is your boat ? ' he asked d'Artagnan. 
 
 * There, sire.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I see it now. But you did not cross the North 
 Sea in that ? ' 
 
 ' No, sire ; I hired a small ship, which I sent back to 
 its port.'
 
 314 LITTLE GENERAL MONK 
 
 ' General,' said the King, turning to Monk, ' you are 
 free. There is a fisherman living close by who has a 
 boat ready to put to sea, large enough to take you 
 wherever you wish to go. Monsieur d'Artagnan will 
 be your escort.' 
 
 ' I wish to go to England,' answered Monk, speaking 
 for the second time since he left Newcastle ; and Charles 
 bowed a farewell, adding : 
 
 ' You will forgive me all the violence you have 
 suffered, when you are convinced that it was not by my 
 orders.' 
 
 And that was how Little General Monk got out of 
 his trunk, and proved a little later how entirely he 
 forgave Charles by making him King of England. 
 
 Adapted and shortened from the ' Vicomte de Bragelonne.'
 
 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 
 
 Now Anteia, Queen of Corinth, fairest of all the cities 
 of the Greeks, hated Bellerophon, son of Glaucos, be- 
 cause he would not do her bidding, and she besought 
 Proitos, her husband, to put him to death. But Proitos, 
 the king, would not, for he loved the youth, who was 
 brave and truthful and wronged neither man nor 
 woman. Then Anteia, filled with anger that Proitos 
 refused to listen to her, made up a cunning tale, and in 
 the end prevailed with him to send Bellerophon across 
 the seas to her father, the King of Lycia, bearing a 
 letter saying that the young man had done insult to the 
 gods and must be slain in any way that seemed to him 
 best. 
 
 So Bellerophon, son of Glaucos, crossed the sea, 
 and arrived in the country of Lycia. And the King, 
 hearing that he had come from Corinth, and wondering 
 greatly at his beauty and noble manners, made great 
 feasts for nine days in his honour, and summoned the 
 chief men to be present. Much did Bellerophon prize 
 the good will of the King of Lycia, but more still the 
 favour of the Princess his daughter, sister of Anteia, 
 but fairer than she, and pure of heart instead of evil. 
 
 But on the tenth day the King of Lycia bethought 
 him of the letter, and he cut the strings that bound it 
 with his dagger and read the words of Proitos. 
 
 ' Never will I believe that Bellerophon has spoken 
 ill of the gods,' he said to himself ; ' yet if I fail to grant
 
 316 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 
 
 his prayer, Anteia will stir up war between us. Still, 
 slay him in cold blood I never will. He shall go forth 
 and fight the terrible Chimaera, whose fiery breath lays 
 waste the land, and whom no man hitherto has con- 
 quered.' 
 
 Thus he thought, but his face was sad, for well he 
 knew the strength of that three-headed monster, and so 
 gloomy was he that "his daughter saw it, and he told her 
 the whole matter. 
 
 That night as Bellerophon slept a maiden stood 
 beside him, holding in "her hand a horse's bit, with a head- 
 band of gold. 
 
 ' Take this bit in thy hand, and seek out Pegasus 
 the winged horse,' said she, 'and when you have found 
 him, slip this bit over his head, and jump on his back, 
 and in this wise you shall slay the Chimaera.' 
 
 And Bellerophon smiled in his sleep, thinking it was 
 a dream, but when he woke, his eyes fell straightway on 
 the bit, and the golden head-band. 
 
 Up and down the country he went, over mountains, 
 across rivers, and sometimes he fancied he heard the 
 rush of wings above him, or thought he beheld afar a 
 shape of glistening white feeding in a meadow. But 
 days went by and the bit remained idle in his hands, till 
 one morning when he was lying on a mossy bed at the 
 foot of a great tree, the branches of the wood behind him 
 cracked and broke, as if some one or something was 
 pushing through. 
 
 ' A wood-cutter, doubtless,' he spake to himself, yet 
 even as he said so, he knew it was no wood-cutter. 
 
 Out of the trees stepped the horse he had so long 
 sought, his white wings folded close, and turned to 
 drink from a spring which was pouring down the hill-side. 
 Very thirsty he was, for he had flown across the ocean 
 that night and was weary. So he thrust his nose 
 deep into the water and heard no sound of Bellerophon's
 
 T AND SEEK OUT REGASUS THE WINGED HORSE
 
 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 319 
 
 footsteps, and knew nothing till the golden band was 
 over his head. Then with a start he bounded upwards ; 
 but he was too late. Bellerophon was seated on his 
 back. 
 
 ' Softly ! Softly ! ' said the young man at last. ' Let 
 us be friends ! We have great deeds to do together, 
 you and I.' 
 
 ' What are they ? my master,' asked Pegasus, * for in 
 truth you are my master, though never did I dream that 
 thus I should call any man.' 
 
 ' We have to slay the Chimaera,' Bellerophon made 
 answer, ' and I know not where to find her.' 
 
 ' But / know,' said the horse ; ' but three days ago she 
 was on the plains of the east, laying waste the fields of 
 ripe corn with the breath of her nostrils. It may be she 
 is there still.' 
 
 ' I have heard much talk of that Chimsera,' answered 
 Bellerophon, ' and how she is made up of three beasts 
 which have no fellowship one with the other, a lion, 
 a goat and a serpent. The serpent will seek to sting 
 you, the goat to overthrow you with its horns, but the 
 lion shrivels you to ashes with its tongue of flame. 
 Therefore, before the fight begins, let us go down to 
 earth, and I will cut myself a sod of grass, and 
 thrust it in the throat of the lion with the point 
 of my sword .' Of the serpent and the goat I have no 
 fear.' 
 
 Slowly Pegasus folded his wings, and slowly, slowly, 
 they sank, till they found themselves alone in a flowery 
 meadow. Here Pegasus knelt, while from his back leaned 
 Bellerophon, and cut a thick and deep wedge of sod, 
 which he hid in his wallet. Then they soared up 
 again among the white clouds, till towards evening they 
 saw before them a land grey and desolate, with heaps of 
 burnt-up stalks lying around, telling where golden corn 
 ears had lifted their heads. Bellerophon looked, and his 
 soul grew hot within him.
 
 320 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 
 
 ' Where is the monster ? ' he said ; ' I will not leave 
 her another hour to work destruction.' 
 
 ' Behold her sleeping,' replied Pegasus, ' but think 
 not to kill her so ; her serpent's ears will hear us,' and as 
 he guided his course towards the beast, she sprang up- 
 wards with a snarl more horrible than any thunder. 
 
 Lifting her lion's head she tried to scorch the feathers 
 of his wings, and had she done so, swift would have been 
 the doom of both horse and rider. But Pegasus, to whom 
 the gods had given much wisdom, knew this and, as she 
 reared upwards, wheeled quickly to the side where the 
 long serpent's neck was ready for a spring. It darted 
 forward, its forky tongue quivering to bury itself in the 
 leg of the man who had dared to measure himself against 
 the mighty Chimaera, but once more Pegasus turned, 
 and the snake's head met the shining sword of Bellero- 
 phon. The first enemy was beaten, yet the victory 
 was not quite complete, for the keen point of the goat's 
 horn had entered into the flank of the horse, and blood 
 flowed from it. Suddenly a sharp pain ran through him, 
 and he soared upwards, for not yet did he have strength 
 to finish the fight. 
 
 ' If we could only have ended it then,' he said, when 
 the blood ceased flowing, and the pain had gone. ' Now, 
 I fear me, that the power of the serpent will have 
 passed into the other two. Yet to have continued 
 would have meant death to both of us.' 
 
 ' I know ; but the goat was the one I dreaded least,' 
 answered Bellerophon. 'Still it was foolish to think we 
 should slay what no man has conquered without a scratch.' 
 
 ' Sit firm, and make ready your sword, I am starting,' 
 cried the horse, and with a rush like that of the lightning 
 he sped through the air. Even the Chimaera had hardly 
 time to prepare herself, but what the goat's head had 
 once done, it hoped to do again, and the long horn was 
 pointed to the spot whence the attack must come. But 
 the attack did not come from that side ; as before, the
 
 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 321 
 
 horse made a sudden spring outwards ; Bellerophon 
 drew out the sod and fixed it to the end of his sword, and 
 when the lion opened its mouth to scorch them, he thrust 
 the sword far down its throat, and forced the flames 
 downwards, till its body was burned as black as the ears 
 of corn. 
 
 At the sight of the dead lion the goat was filled with 
 fury, but the body beside it dragged heavily, and it was 
 no longer free to move its horn as swiftly as in the first 
 fight. Soon it gave signs of weariness, and the horse 
 seeing this approached warily till his rider, stooping from 
 his saddle, gave a clean cut with his sword. The goat's 
 head rolled down, and Bellerophon picked it up, and 
 bore it back to the court of the King of Lycia, who fell 
 on his neck and embraced him like a son. 
 
 But not yet was he satisfied, for he feared the wrath 
 of Proitos, King of Corinth. 
 
 ' Go now and slay the mighty men of the Solymi 
 who dwell near the river Meander, and have wrought 
 much evil to my lands and people,' said lobates, King of 
 Lycia, and Bellerophon bowed his head, and went out to 
 tell Pegasus who was awaiting him. 
 
 After that he returned to sharpen his sword, and to 
 look to his dagger, for he knew not what manner of 
 people these Solymi might be, having heard that they 
 were strangers, come from out the island of Crete. 
 
 At dawn, next morning, the soldiers chosen .by 
 lobates, King of Lycia, to march against the Solymi 
 set forth, and Bellerophon, mounted on Pegasus, soared 
 into the air above them, and gave them courage, for 
 stories were often told of the great deeds of the Solymi , 
 who had taken many captives among the Lycians, and 
 eaten up the fruits of many harvests. At last they 
 beheld the mountain which bore their name, and at the 
 foot of it the Solymi were drawn up, their shields und 
 spears glittering on each side of the long square, which as 
 A.s. Y
 
 322 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 
 
 the Lycians well knew, it was not easy to break. Even 
 with the aid of Bellerophon, and the swift wings of 
 
 Pegasus, the fight was hard, but at length the Lycians 
 overcame, though no such mighty warriors had Bellero- 
 phon ever fought with. Then they swore to trouble the
 
 THE HORSE WITH WINGS 323 
 
 land no more, and to pay tribute, and Bellerophon 
 returned with his tale to the King of Lycia. 
 
 ' I have other work for thee,' said the King, when he 
 had listened well-pleased to the adventure ; ' the Amazons 
 who, women though they be, are as strong in the arm 
 and as skilful with the bow as any marksman in Lycia, 
 these women I say have crossed the borders of my 
 kingdom and the people are fleeing before them. They 
 are led by their Queen Myrina on a horse black as night, 
 known as the Flyer, for in truth his feet seem hardly to 
 touch the ground. Behind her, also mounted, are the 
 rest of her tribe, and a fair sight it is to see.' 
 
 Then Bellerophon bowed his head, and went forth to 
 fight them, though indeed he was loth to wound women, 
 least of all women so goodly and brave as they. But 
 they pressed him and his men hard, and he was forced 
 to strike, till some fled and the rest lay dead before him. 
 And this time likewise he turned back to the Court, not 
 knowing that Anteia, Queen of Corinth, hearing that 
 Bellerophon still lived, had written to her father desir- 
 ing him to make an end of the business, or else ships 
 of war would sail against Lycia. With shame of heart, 
 that he should do so base a thing, lobates set an ambush 
 down a rocky path along \vhich Bellerophon (who this 
 time had not got Pegasus to aid him, he having other 
 w r ork to do) was forced to pass. But as he drew near, 
 the rays of the sun caught one of their helmets, and 
 Bellerophon marked it, and fell on them in a manner 
 they nowise expected, and he slew them all, so that 
 none returned to their homes. 
 
 And by these great deeds, the King of Lycia at last 
 knew that Bellerophon was not a man like another, 
 but that he was sprung from an Immortal, and was 
 beloved of the gods, who were stronger than Anteia, 
 Queen of Corinth. So he put the fear of her away from 
 him, and gave Bellerophon his younger daughter for a 
 wife, and the half of his kingdom, and the Lycians 
 honoured him above all men. 
 
 Y2
 
 THE PRIZE OF JEANNE JUOAN 
 
 WE hear a great deal nowadays of orders instituted and 
 rewards given to those who have risked their lives to 
 save others, and we all feel glad and proud -to know of 
 such deeds. But in England we have no prize to offer 
 to people who bestow themselves that is, their strength 
 and time and thought, as well as their earnings, in daily 
 care for helpless, friendless creatures who would other- 
 wise die alone. In France, however, there lived, a 
 hundred years ago, a man called Monthyon, who, 
 during years of work as a magistrate in all parts of the 
 country, had noted the goodness of the poor to each 
 other, and left a sum of 800/. a year to be given to 
 anyone whom the forty French Academicians considered 
 most deserving of it. 
 
 Now Monthyon was a very sensible man, and knew 
 well that all sorts of people would come forward to 
 claim this money who had no kind of right to it, and he 
 took great pains to make rules which would ensure the 
 reward going to the proper person ; the more so, as he 
 was aware that those who are loudest in praising them- 
 selves have generally little to be praised for. So he 
 decreed that to obtain the money, or any part of it, a 
 number of people should bear witness that the candidate 
 for the prize had really done something to deserve it. 
 The paper was to be signed by the neighbours, the priest, 
 the mayor, and some gentleman of the town, and then at 
 last it was to be laid before the prefect, or head of the
 
 THE PRIZE OF JEANNE JUGAN 325 
 
 department, and he in his turn was to send it up to the 
 body of learned men in Paris, known as the Academy. 
 
 Monthyon had been dead several years when a young 
 Normandy peasant woman named Jeanne Jugan entered 
 the service of a lady in the little town of St. Servan, in 
 Brittany. Jeanne's new mistress lived quite alone, and 
 part of her maid's duty was to go with her every day 
 to the poor people of the village many of them fishers 
 and carry food and firing to the old and sick, while 
 they spent their evenings at home making clothes for 
 the children. Many a night did Jeanne and her mistress 
 pass, trying to bring back to life some wrecked sailor 
 who had been washed on shore, or feeding a baby with 
 spoonsful of warm milk which otherwise might have 
 died for lack of proper care. In these years Jeanne 
 learned a great deal about various important things, 
 and when her mistress died in 1839, she had quite made 
 up her mind to follow in her footsteps. 
 
 At first sight, this did not seem easy, as Jeanne had 
 saved very little money. But she was well known to 
 everybody for many miles round St. Servan, and when 
 she told her friends that she was not going to service 
 any more but meant to take in needlework, she soon had 
 as much as she could do. To be sure, it was a trade 
 that was very badly paid, but her house was her own, 
 left her by her mistress, and she was a wonderful manager. 
 Long ago she had formed a plan of helping those who 
 needed it, and now at last it was possible for her to 
 carry it out. 
 
 ' The sister of old Cecile down by the sea has dropped 
 down dead,' said an old man to Jeanne one day, when 
 he met her bringing home some work from a farm across 
 the heath. 
 
 ' Poor thing ! Poor thing ! ' cried Jeanne, ' I must 
 go to her at once,' and off she went, to find the tiny 
 room full of neighbours all gathered round the old blind
 
 326 THE PRIZE OF JEANNE JUGAN 
 
 woman. They meant to be kind, but their words only 
 made her feel more unhappy. ' Ah, what a loss to you, 
 Cecile ! ' murmured they. ' How will you live without 
 her earnings ? We will do all we can, and bring you 
 some food, but the fishing has been bad of late and 
 there are the children.' And Cecile knew it was true, 
 and wept afresh as she felt her desolation. 
 
 Into the midst of them came Jeanne. She had over- 
 heard some of their speeches, and understood at once 
 what Cecile would be feeling. 
 
 ' She is coming home with we,' said Jeanne, ' and I 
 will take care of her, and she will be fine company for 
 me in the long dark evenings, while I am knitting by the 
 fire,' for Jeanne always made it appear as if you were 
 doing her a favour by accepting kindness. 
 
 4 Oh, Jeanne, do you really mean it ? ' sobbed Cecile. 
 
 ' Of course I do, and as I am tired and want my 
 supper, we had better start at once,' and wrapping a 
 shawl round her, Jeanne helped her up, and led her 
 through the wondering women down the street. 
 
 For a few days old Cecile sat thankfully by the fire 
 and gave no trouble, but by and by she became used 
 to being there and kept Jeanne running about to get her 
 this and that, hindering her greatly in her work. Jeanne, 
 however, was accustomed to old people and knew that 
 often they were not very considerate, and that, being 
 blind, Cecile did not see the harm she was doing, so the 
 good soul just got up a little earlier or sat up a little later, 
 in order that the work should be done by the appointed 
 day. 
 
 Two or three months after Cecile had come to live 
 with her, Jeanne heard of an old servant, whose mistress 
 had died, leaving her penniless. It was not the lady's 
 fault, for she herself had lost all her money some time 
 before, and had begged Marie to find another place 
 where she would receive good wages. But Marie would 
 listen to nothing.
 
 THE PRIZE OF JEANNE JUG AN 327 
 
 ' I will stay with you,' she said, ' and as for wages, 
 what do they matter ? I have my savings, and they will 
 do for us both till better times come ; ' but better times 
 did not come, and the savings melted away, and though 
 Marie tried to obtain a day's work now and then, they 
 could hardly keep themselves alive, till she was almost 
 glad when her mistress died peacefully in her sleep, 
 and was out of it all. 
 
 This was the story that Jeanne heard, and off she 
 started for the village where Marie lived. She found her 
 in a kitchen without a fire, and only a slice of rye-bread 
 in the cupboard. 
 
 ' Will you come and live with me ? ' she said gently. 
 ' I have not much, but what is enough for two is enough 
 for three, and I shall be glad to have you.' 
 
 With heartfelt gratitude Marie accepted the offer, 
 and as she was a very different person from Cecile, Jeanne 
 was far happier for her presence. But her charity did 
 not stop there ; another and another tale of distress was 
 poured into her ears, and somehow her house was always 
 large enough to take in anyone who needed a home. 
 No one knew how she did it, but after a while the people 
 round about grew ashamed of letting everything rest on 
 her shoulders, and gave her help of various kinds one 
 sent warm clothes for her old women, another logs 
 chopped up for firing, a third a bag of meal for bread, 
 so that the household never really suffered starvation 
 though it was often very near it. 
 
 But Jeanne at last was obliged to own that there 
 was not room even for as much as a baby. She con- 
 trived to let the house, to her great joy, and moved into 
 a bigger one which had been standing empty for some 
 time, so that she got it for a low rent. Unfortunately 
 that autumn was long remembered for its heavy gales, 
 and many fishing boats went down off the shore, and 
 many old, infirm mothers were left destitute. Jeanne
 
 328 THE PRIZE OF JEANNE JUGAN 
 
 took them all in ; the neighbours now thought it was quite 
 natural that she should, and in a month's time twelve 
 people were living in the new house, which was as full 
 as the old one had been. What was she to do ? Allow 
 the friendless creatures to die of neglect ? Quite clearly 
 that was impossible. Then the richer townsmen of 
 St. Servan subscribed and bought her a still larger 
 house, but at the same time they told her that they did 
 not mean to do any more for her, and that she must feed 
 and clothe all her guests herself. 
 
 This prospect might have frightened many women, 
 but not Jeanne. Shortly after they were all settled in 
 the new dwelling she heard that an old sailor of seven ty- 
 two was lying uncared for in a damp cellar, without a 
 relation in the world. Without a moment's delay she 
 hastened to the place, and found the old man almost 
 naked, stretched out on some straw, with nothing but 
 a piece of coarse bread beside him. Before attempting 
 even to explain what she had come for, she made him 
 drink a little milk and eat an egg which she had brought 
 with her, and then she told him that in half an hour four 
 fisher friends of hers would bring a sort of rough litter 
 and carry him off to her house. 
 
 Oh, how grateful the poor man was ! And after a 
 few weeks of nursing he grew quite well, and able to earn 
 his own living. 
 
 It was not only old people that Jeanne rescued and 
 supported ; several children were to be found in the 
 home. There was a lame little girl who had been 
 adopted when she was only five, after the death of both 
 her parents from fever ; and a big girl of fourteen, whose 
 father and mother ran away one day, fearing lest they 
 should be thrown into prison for stealing ; and two small 
 boys of nine and ten who had walked miles from Lower 
 Brittany and reached St. Servan one winter's night, 
 nearly dead with cold and hunger. They knocked at
 
 THE PRIZE OF JEANNE JUGAN 329 
 
 the first house they came to, but the door was shut in 
 their faces, and, try as they might, no one would give 
 them shelter or even food. The younger boy at length 
 sank down on the pavement, unable to walk another 
 step, while his brother stood over him. Very soon a 
 crowd gathered round them, and some one, on hearing 
 their story, exclaimed, ' Let us take them to Jeanne.' 
 So to Jeanne they went, and there they stayed till their 
 father, who had been very ill, could get work again, 
 and was able to support them and their mother. 
 
 Six years had passed and the number of Jeanne's 
 guests now amounted to sixty-five. By this time a 
 doctor living in St. Servan had offered to visit the home 
 daily, as many of the inmates suffered from bad ill- 
 nesses. Then three ladies in the town proposed to 
 Jeanne to allow them to help her as nurses and house- 
 keepers, which she thankfully did. The story became 
 known to the world, and on December 11, 1845, Jeanne 
 received from the French Academy 1201. as the Prix 
 Monthyon.
 
 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 A FAIRY LEGEND 
 
 IN an unknown country there lived a poor man, 
 John by name, nicknamed the 'Unlucky.' He 
 lived in a forest, and his work consisted in making 
 wooden spoons, salt boxes, mugs, and various other 
 things needed in every house. The work brought 
 him in very little and John could hardly make both 
 ends meet. Notwithstanding all this, however, it 
 yet came into his head to marry the daughter of his 
 neighbour, the wood-cutter. His wife's dowry only 
 consisted of two strong arms and a pair of beautiful 
 eyes which shone out like two stars from her pretty 
 face. A year had not quite passed when a son 
 was born unto John, a boy healthy and quick as a 
 squirrel. 
 
 And now Unlucky John became thoughtful. ' I can 
 give nothing to my boy,' he said to himself ; ' well, then, 
 at least I will look out for a godmother for him, and such 
 a godmother as will care for him as if he were her own 
 son, in case it happened that suddenly I were to die.' 
 
 Having made up his mind, John set out in search 
 of a godmother. He walked and walked he could not 
 tell for how long till at last he perceived a woman 
 coming towards him in a red dress and blue mantle ; on 
 her head she wore a wreath of roses and in her hand 
 glittered a golden rod.
 
 UNLUCKY JOHN 333 
 
 ' Good morning, my good man,' she said. ' Where 
 are you off to so early ? ' 
 
 ' I'm looking for a godmother for my son.' 
 
 ' Take me, then. I shall only be too pleased.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' answered John ; ' but you see I want 
 one who would be just.' 
 
 ' Well, then, take me ; you will not regret it. I am 
 the Capricious Fairy and reign over this forest.' 
 
 John was struck. 
 
 ' So it is you who are the Fairy ! I am sorry ; 
 but I fear it is no use.' 
 
 ' And why is that ? ' asked the Fairy in an offended 
 tone. 
 
 ' For this reason. I don't know whether it is 
 because we failed in our respects to you, or whether we 
 did not honour you sufficiently. Indeed all of us, from 
 the smallest to the biggest, come every spring to 
 decorate your grotto with many coloured flowers ; 
 it is to you we bring the largest sheaf ; in your honour 
 is drunk the first glass of wine. We always hope that 
 your heart may be touched by us and that you may take 
 pity on us. But instead of this, what do we see ? You 
 awake in a bad humour and everything goes wrong. 
 Whoever may want fine weather, you send storms ; 
 where rain is greatly needed, you burn everything by 
 drought. The poor man struggles, does his utmost, and 
 you care not a straw, you scarcely move a finger to 
 help him ; to the idler, however, you show yourself 
 gracious. No, madam, you are not to be the godmother 
 of my boy and, therefore, good-bye ! ' 
 
 And off w^ent Unlucky John. He walked and 
 walked until he came to a meadow all covered with 
 lilies of the valley. There stood a woman, dressed in 
 white and green ; in her apron she held some flowers, 
 and she was as beautiful as a morning in May. 
 ' Where are you hurrying to ? ' said she. 
 ' I'm looking for a godmother for my son.'
 
 334 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 1 Would you like to have me ? ' she asked, in a kind 
 voice. ' I should only be too pleased.' 
 
 ' Thanks. But, you see, I want a just one. And 
 you, fair lady, who are you ? ' 
 
 ' I am the Queen Venus. It is I who give beauty to 
 the people ; it is I, also, who give them love love, the 
 very best thing on earth.'. 
 
 ' No, dear lady, you will not do for us,' said Unlucky 
 John, shaking his head. 
 
 ' How rude you are ! ' exclaimed Venus. ' And why 
 not?' 
 
 ' Why ? Because you are not just ; that's why. 
 You give a beautiful face to persons whose soul is 
 darker than night, and a good man you send into 
 the world as ugly as a brute. And as regards love, it is 
 even worse ; you sow it around in a most thoughtless 
 manner, right and left. All this you do without the 
 least thought whatever. It is your fault that we do not 
 see anywhere a truly happy family ; the husband wants 
 one thing, the wife the other. Go your way, fair lady.' 
 
 ' How silly you are ! ' said Venus, shrugging her 
 shoulders. 
 
 John hung his head and wandered on. 
 
 * Indeed, I am unlucky,' said he aloud. ' I have no 
 luck in anything.' 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered these words when he found 
 himself in the midst of a big town. Never, not even in 
 his dreams, had John beheld such splendour. Large 
 streets, shops with looking-glasses in the windows (and 
 what was there not in those windows ?), huge palaces, 
 churches with golden domes, shady gardens. And 
 people everywhere in the shops, about the streets, in 
 the gardens. Some running, bustling, hurrying ; others, 
 leaning in their carriages, looking languidly and in- 
 differently down upon those that were walking. Sud- 
 denly the noise and bustle ceased. A chariot drawn by 
 horses white as snow appeared in the market-place. In
 
 UNLUCKY JOHN 337 
 
 front of the chariot, beside it, and behind, there walked 
 trumpeters and drummers. In the middle of the chariot, 
 her eyes fixed in front of her, stood a woman in a mag- 
 nificent brocade dress, ornamented with silver and golden 
 bells ; a crown of laurels was on her head. From her out- 
 stretched hands fell now a wreath, now a laurel branch, 
 for which the crowd struggled ; soon there was a fight, 
 the people pushed one another, and some of them fell 
 under the horses. Now and then a lucky one managed 
 to climb up and catch one of the branches thrown 
 down. In the place of those who fell other people 
 appeared, and at last the magic chariot rolled slowly 
 onwards. Suddenly the woman's gaze fell upon the 
 awe-struck, frightened face of John, who, holding his 
 breath, stood leaning against a tree. She stopped the 
 horses and asked, ' Who are you ? ' 
 
 ' I am Unlucky John, your Grace.' 
 
 ' Why do you hide yourself ? All people are pushing 
 towards me, and you hide yourself.' 
 
 ' I am afraid of you,' timidly whispered John. 
 
 ' You are afraid ? How was it, then, that you came 
 here ? ' 
 
 ' It was quite unexpectedly that I wandered as far 
 as this. I am walking about in order to find a god- 
 mother for my son.' 
 
 The woman reflected a little while, then she said, 
 * Will you have me ? ' 
 
 ' And who are you ? ' 
 
 ' I am Glory.' 
 
 ' I want a just godmother.' 
 
 ' Do you think I am not just ? ' 
 
 John shook his head. 
 
 * Certainly not,' said he, with a sigh. 'Only see 
 how many people perish on your account. You ride 
 about with a smile on your face. Everybody thinks it 
 is meant for him. But, as for you, you are merely 
 tempting the people, and you do not even hear the
 
 338 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 cries of those who fall underneath the wheels of your 
 chariot.' 
 
 ' Savage ! Return to your forest ! ' proudly ex- 
 claimed the Fairy, and, whipping up the horses, she 
 hurried away like a whirlwind. 
 
 John wandered on, and came to a place where some 
 criminals were being executed. Here he saw an old 
 woman of stern aspect who slowly stepped forward, 
 holding scales in one hand and a small ivory wand in 
 the other. 
 
 The old woman looked at John, and thus spoke 
 to him in a stern voice : ' Eh, young man, where are 
 you hurrying to ? ' 
 
 1 1 am looking out for a godmother for my 
 boy.' 
 
 ' A godmother ! Well, then, listen. I have taken a 
 fancy to you, and am willing to be godmother to your 
 child.' 
 
 * I thank you for the honour,' cautiously replied John. 
 ' Only who are you, madam ? For, you see, I should 
 like to get one that is just.' 
 
 ' Well and good ! For, you see, I am Justice ! ' 
 
 * Justice ! ' exclaimed John, full of terror. ' Lord 
 have mercy on us ! So it is you who preside over 
 courts and pass judgment at trials ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, it is I.' 
 
 'Oh, no ; it will not do at all ! For you are much 
 too harsh and, see rightly. More than once, madam, 
 have you executed innocent people while murderers 
 were set at liberty by you. It also happens that you 
 sometimes punish just because some one may have 
 crossed your path whom you do not like. No, no, I do 
 not wish you as a godmother to my son.' 
 
 ' You wretch ! You are offending Justice. Wait, 
 I will pay you for this ! ' 
 
 However, Unlucky John had a pair of strong legs. 
 He ran away as fast as he could, without looking behind,
 
 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 339 
 
 and when he stopped in order to catch breath he found 
 himself in a cemetery. 
 
 3OHN-CHOOSES-OEBTH- FOR- GODMOTHER 
 
 And suddenly a woman stood before him, wrapped 
 in a white shroud, and with tresses falling down upon her 
 
 z2
 
 340 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 shoulders. The shroud also covered her face, and when 
 she walked her limbs made a dry, crackling noise, liko 
 the pattering of hail upon the roof. 
 
 ' Where are you off to, my man ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I am looking for a godmother for my son.' 
 
 * Take me.' 
 
 ' I want a just one.' 
 
 ' More just than I you will not find.' 
 
 ' Ah, dear lady, many say so. And who are you ? ' 
 
 * I am Death.' 
 
 John paused a second, and then said : ' Indeed, 
 it is true what you say. You are really just. To 
 you all are equal young and old, rich and poor, lord 
 or commoner, prince or peasant. The hour strikes, 
 and you carry off all, taking no heed of either tears or 
 prayers. You are not to be enticed by promises, nor 
 bribed by gold or silver. You knock at all doors, and 
 when you say, " Come ! " one must obey. Yes, you are 
 just ; one may trust you. Be, then, the godmother of 
 my son.' 
 
 And Unlucky John, taking Death by the hand, led 
 her into his hut, and Death stood godmother to his son. 
 After the ceremony was over, John gave a feast, and 
 they ate and drank in the small hut until late in the 
 night. 
 
 When the time came to take leave, Death said to 
 John : ' You are a good man, my friend, and as a 
 reward for your confidence in me I will help you. I 
 will teach you a profession which will make you rich.' 
 
 ' What kind of profession is that ? ' asked John, in 
 surprise. 
 
 ' Medicine.' 
 
 ' A doctor ? I ? But I cannot even read and 
 write ! ' 
 
 ' That's nothing. You merely listen to what I tell 
 you. When you are called to a patient you first of all 
 look at the head of the bed. If you see me without
 
 UNLUCKY JOHN 341 
 
 tresses then you will know that the patient will recover 
 his health, and you can give him what you like 
 even pure water you will cure him. But when the 
 shadow on the wall reflects my tresses, then all is over : 
 call for the priest.' 
 
 Thus it was settled. Death went away. John 
 bought himself a black suit and a hat and became a 
 doctor. He was very bold, and boldness, as every one 
 knows, is the sister of success, and thus John became 
 famous and was called to patients from far and wide. 
 He examined the pulse and, mindful of the order given 
 to him by Death, he was never mistaken. When he 
 said of a patient, ' That's all right ; he'll get over it,' 
 everybody knew already that he would live. His fame 
 grew, not day by day, but hour by hour. Gold rained, 
 as it were, upon John, and he became very wealthy. 
 
 His son grew up a nice boy. John, on the contrary, 
 grew old, and his hair turned quite grey. From time to 
 time, when Death happened to be on business in the 
 neighbourhood, she called to see her godson and his 
 father, who now lived in a magnificent palace. On 
 these occasions an extra fowl was added to the dinner 
 repast, and one or two bottles of wine were uncorked. 
 Death petted her godson, took some snuff out of John's 
 snuff-box, and went away. 
 
 Once Death said to the doctor, ' I frequently call on 
 you, but you, dear friend, have never paid me a visit 
 yet.' 
 
 ' There's plenty of time yet,' replied John, with a 
 forced smile. ' Should I come to you who knows ? 
 perhaps you may not want to let me return again.' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; I never take any one before his time. You 
 know how just I am ; therefore don't be afraid, and come 
 to me to supper.' 
 
 After some time had passed by, John at last decided 
 to call upon his friend. He met her in the forest and 
 they went together. They walked over hills and dells
 
 342 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 and through thick forests. At last Death brought John 
 to a deserted place, whereon was erected a gloomy 
 palace, the walls of which were dark and covered all over 
 with ivy. 
 
 ' Here we are at home,' said Death, opening the door 
 and allowing her friend to step in first. 
 
 ' It's time we were home,' moaned Unlucky John ; 
 ' I can scarcely hold myself on my legs.' 
 
 Death placed a supper before her guest and also 
 put some wine on the table. When he had finished 
 eating, and after he had rested a little while, she led 
 him into a large parlour and paused near the window. 
 Through this window one could survey a vast expanse 
 of space, strewn all over with thousands of candles, 
 stuck in the ground. 
 
 Meanwhile, night had overtaken them. Numberless 
 candles were lighted up, illuminating the darkness \\ ith 
 a mysterious glare. There were all sorts of candles 
 here large, middle-sized, and quite small ones. Some 
 of them scarcely smouldered, others burnt evenly, while 
 others flashed with a bright, dazzling light. 
 
 John was greatly struck by this spectacle. 
 
 ' Heavens ! ' he exclaimed, and, after a short pause, 
 he asked his hostess, ' What is the meaning of all these 
 candles ? ' 
 
 ' These are the lights of life,' said Death. 
 
 * The lights of life ? What does it mean ? I don't 
 quite understand.' 
 
 ' You will soon understand. Every being living on 
 earth has got here his or her light.' 
 
 ' Ah, that's what it means,' murmured John. * But 
 why are they all so different from one another ? Some 
 large, others small ; some glittering, others scarcely 
 visible ? ' 
 
 ' Because in life, too, it is like this. One is growing, 
 another is in the full possession of his strength and 
 powers, while a third is already dying away. Every
 
 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 343 
 
 day children are born into this world and old people are 
 dying.' 
 
 ' I see,' muttered John, who felt a cold shiver creep 
 down his back. 'Just there opposite is a grand 
 candle.' 
 
 ' This is the light of a new-born child.' 
 
 * And this ? How it glitters ! ' 
 
 ' This light belongs to a youth of twenty years of age.' 
 
 * Tell me, dear friend,' said John timidly, * where, 
 then, is my light ? ' 
 
 ' Here, in front of you.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! ' cried he, turning pale. * But the 
 whole of its wick is nearly burnt up ! '
 
 344 UNLUCKY JOHN 
 
 4 Yes, my poor friend ; to you are left but three more 
 days of life.' 
 
 ' What ? What did you say ? Only three days ! 
 Look here, Death, we are friends, are we not ? Is it 
 not possible to give me a longer life ? Indeed, are you 
 not mistress here ? Make my light a little bigger ; 
 take a little wax off this big candle and add on to 
 mine.' 
 
 ' I cannot. It is the light of your son. It would be 
 unjust were I to fulfil your desire, and, you know, I am 
 justice itself.' 
 
 ' It's true,' sighed John, hanging his head. 
 
 ' All I can do for you,' said Death, ' is to make you 
 still older, in order that it may be easier for you to die.' 
 
 And, indeed, when Unlucky John returned home, he 
 was so old, so infirm, that he fell on the steps of his 
 staircase, just like a heap of ashes, at the very moment 
 when, in the palace of the just godmother, his light 
 died out. 
 
 Adapted from the Russian by Dora Zbook.
 
 HOW THE SIAMESE AMBASSADORS 
 REACHED THE CAPE 
 
 WHILE the English Kings during the fifteenth century 
 were trying to get possession of the whole of France 
 or fighting for the crown of England, their cousins in 
 Portugal were sending out expeditions over the Atlantic, 
 discovering lands containing undreamed-of wonders 
 down the coasts of Africa, and establishing a settlement 
 in the west of India at the town of Goa. Once there, the 
 merchants did not rest till they had sailed round the 
 Indian peninsula and on to Burmah and Si am, seeking 
 markets for their European goods, and buying in ex- 
 change all kinds of rich stuffs and beautiful things made 
 in the East. 
 
 Somewhere towards the end of the seventeenth 
 century the King of Portugal fitted out an embassy to 
 the King of Siam for the purpose of making a fresh 
 treaty with him, and in 1684 the King of Siam felt it 
 was his duty to return it. 
 
 So he chose out three of his greatest mandarins or 
 nobles and six others not quite so great, and a large 
 number of servants and attendants to wait on them, 
 and informed them that in the month of March they 
 were to go on board a ship commanded by a Portuguese 
 captain and set sail for Europe. Of course everything 
 was to be as magnificent as possible, and the presents 
 he provided were to be finer than any that had been seen 
 before. They were to halt first at Goa, and then take
 
 346 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 
 
 the long voyage round the Cape of Good Hope. One of 
 the mandarins was called Occum Chamnam, and he has 
 written an account of all their strange and terrible 
 ad ventures both by sea and land. 
 
 It was the intention of the King of Siam that the 
 ship in which the embassy embarked should reach Goa 
 in time to join the trading fleet for Europe ; but owing to 
 terrific storms and ignorant pilots it was five months on 
 the way, and when at last the captain cast anchor in 
 Goa harbour it was only to learn that the fleet had 
 already started and they must wait for the next. The 
 Siamese gentlemen were well treated, and enjoyed seeing 
 the splendid houses and churches and being entertained 
 by the Portuguese viceroy at the expense of his master. 
 
 It was in January 1686 that they set forth once more 
 in a vessel manned by 150 men, containing besides 
 passengers of all nations. 
 
 For three months they sailed the Indian Ocean, and at 
 the end of April sighted some land, declared by both 
 pilots and sailors to be the Cape of Good Hope. Cer- 
 tainly, the Portuguese seamen of that day must have 
 been very different from their forefathers who had won 
 such fame, for these men seem to have been both stupid 
 and careless. The ship rounded the promontory which 
 they imagined to be the Cape, and then steered to the 
 north. No look-out was kept, and both crew and 
 passengers went to bed with light hearts. One among 
 them was, however, unable to sleep, and this was 
 Occum Chamnam, the Siamese. 
 
 Finding the cabin that ho shared with several others 
 very hot, he went on deck. The sky was clear and there 
 was a bright moon, but as he looked round him he was 
 startled to see a huge dark mass close on their right. 
 He instantly roused the pilot, who, exclaiming ' Land ! 
 Land ! ' ordered the steersman to put down the helm, 
 but no sooner had the order been obeyed than the ship 
 struck on a rock and was held fast there.
 
 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 347 
 
 Now that it was too late everything possible was 
 done, but it was of no use. She began to fill rapidly, 
 and the deck was a scene of the wildest confusion. Some 
 seized empty casks or sails or ropes anything that 
 came to hand, and threw themselves into the sea, where 
 they all perished ; others made rafts of the planks and 
 masts which had been cut away and trusted to them to 
 be carried on shore. Among these was Occum Cham- 
 nam, who had prudently put on his two ' good habits ' 
 or best suits of clothes, while the second ambassador (a 
 noted swimmer) succeeded in reaching land with his 
 despatches tied to a sabre. 
 
 In one way or another about two hundred people 
 saved themselves from the wreck, but they seemed only 
 to have exchanged one death for another, as they had 
 nothing to eat or drink, and very little to cover them. 
 Even the ' two good habits ' did not keep Occum 
 Chamnam from shivering, so he returned to the ship, 
 (which was still above water,) on a hurdle to see what he 
 could find in the way of garments and provisions, not for 
 himself alone but for the unfortunate victims on the 
 rock, some of whom were literally naked. But the sea 
 had forced its way into nearly every part of the vessel, 
 and nothing was to be got but some pieces of gold stuff, 
 a small case with six flasks of wine, and some biscuit. 
 These he fastened on the hurdle and set out for the rock. 
 The gold stuffs he at once gave to the Siamese to wrap 
 themselves in, and strange indeed their gorgeous clothes 
 must have looked in that desolate place, while the 
 biscuit was equally divided. 
 
 This done, a council was held, and it was decided 
 to move forward at once, before the men were too weak 
 from hunger to walk. Luckily, the Portuguese had 
 brought away with them some muskets, with powder 
 and shot, both for protection against the Kaffirs, and for 
 the purpose of shooting game. Both the captain and 
 the pilots declared that the Dutch settlement at the
 
 348 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 
 
 Cape of Good Hope could not possibly be more than 
 twenty miles distant, and their hearers were only too 
 anxious to believe them. 
 
 ' In a couple of days at most we shall be there,' said 
 these blind guides, who were to be proved as ignorant 
 of the land as they were of the sea. ' Only a couple of 
 days ; therefore leave any food you have got behind you, 
 except just what you need for that time.' 
 
 Trusting in this foolish advice, the little company 
 started on their journey, without even carrying water 
 with them. The sun was hot, and even with two halts 
 they made but slow progress. At length at four o'clock 
 they reached a large pond, and here they flung them- 
 selves down and quenched their raging thirst, after 
 which they felt strong enough to catch some crabs, 
 which they boiled on the fire. Then they stretched 
 themselves out and went to sleep, and the Dutch settle- 
 ment appeared as far off as ever. 
 
 Now the Siamese nobles were not used to walking, 
 or indeed to exercise of any kind, and they suffered 
 from the hardships far more than the Portuguese or 
 other Europeans. The chief of the ambassadors in 
 particular was old and weak, and it was with great 
 difficulty that he was dragged along. A plan of march 
 was agreed on and the party divided into four. First 
 went the Portuguese, in whose steps the rest were to 
 follow, and who were never to be lost sight of by the 
 next in order, so that all might keep in touch one with 
 the other. But this arrangement was soon upset by the 
 Siamese ambassador protesting that he was too ill to 
 go any further, and that he wished the remainder of 
 his countrymen to leave him where he was and join the 
 rest. When they reached the Dutch town, which by 
 this time could not be far off, they could send him some 
 food, and a litter to carry him, if he was still alive. 
 
 The Siamese were much troubled when they heard 
 his words, but they felt he was right. Yet it seemed a
 
 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 349 
 
 dreadful thing to leave a sick man to die of starvation 
 alone in a desert spot. They were still hesitating, when 
 a boy of fifteen, son of the ambassador's oldest friend, 
 flung himself on his knees on the ground, and declared 
 that whatever the old man's fate might be, he would 
 share it, and as one of the servants offered to remain also, 
 the others departed with comparatively light hearts, 
 promising to return as soon as possible. 
 
 But with the best will in the world they appeared 
 never to get nearer the Cape. In vain they toiled after 
 the Portuguese, who travelled much faster than they ; it 
 was with the greatest difficulty that they reached their 
 halting place on the top of a high mountain, and, half 
 dead from exhaustion, sank to sleep beside the fire. Next 
 day, Occum Chamnam was so weak from hunger that 
 during the march he several times fell down unconscious, 
 and would have died where he lay had it not been for the 
 kindness of another mandarin. In their extremity, one 
 of the party ate some leaves he found by the stream, 
 and finding that they satisfied his pangs, bade the rest 
 do likewise. 
 
 They had now been travelling five days, and each 
 morning they confidently expected their journey to end 
 before sunset. At one moment their hopes were raised 
 high by the sight of some men on the horizon. ' The 
 Dutch,' they said with a smile, but alas ! they were 
 no Dutch, but Hottentots armed with spears. They 
 came quite close, but when they beheld such a large 
 number of men, they altered their minds as to the 
 wisdom of attacking them, and made signs to the 
 Portuguese to follow them to their village. ' Surely we 
 shall get some food at last,' was the thought of every 
 man, but the villagers were too much occupied in staring 
 at the Siamese, and at what was left of the gold stuffs, 
 to have leisure to attend to them. At length the 
 starving guests could contain themselves no longer, and
 
 350 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 
 
 opening their mouths wide, pointed to them, and then 
 to the sheep and oxen grazing on the rich grass. The 
 Hottentots understood clearly, but only shook their 
 heads ; ' Tabac,' ' Patacas,' was all they would say, 
 and two large diamonds offered by Occum Chamnam 
 were scornfully put aside. Happily the pilot possessed 
 some ' patacas,' the only coin whose existence they 
 knew of, and in exchange for four of these they gave 
 him an ox. But as he divided it solely among his own 
 countrymen the Portuguese, the rest were not better off. 
 
 In this sad plight a brilliant idea darted into the 
 mind of one of the mandarins. He knew that though 
 savage races often were ignorant of the value of money, 
 they were always very fond of ornaments which they 
 could hang about them. Therefore he fastened some 
 gold clasps and buckles he had with him into his hair, 
 and walked carelessly among the Hottentots, who 
 instantly crowded round him, pointing to his head. At 
 first he took no notice, but this only made them more 
 greedy. Then he pointed to a sheep, and to one of the 
 ornaments. They answered by signs that in return for 
 a clasp they would give him a quarter of sheep, and 
 though this was much less than he expected or wanted, 
 it was better than nothing. 
 
 Emboldened by this, another Hottentot approached 
 Occum Chamnam, and fixed his eyes on the gold buttons 
 the Siamese was wearing. 
 
 * You may have it in exchange for some food,' 
 signed Occum Chamnam, and the Hottentot nodded, 
 and beckoned to him to follow. 
 
 * Perhaps I shall be lucky, and get a whole sheep 
 for myself,' thought the Siamese ; but he was not lucky 
 at all, and had to be contented with a small earthen pot 
 of milk. Even the Portuguese saw that they would 
 gain no advantage by staying on with the Hottentots, 
 and gave orders that next day they should continue 
 their march by way of the coast.
 
 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 351 
 
 That night no one went to bed, for the Hottentots 
 were holding counsel and dancing their war dance till 
 daybreak, and at any moment the strange camp might be 
 attacked. At sunrise the word of command was given, 
 and the foreigners started southwards, determined to 
 follow the line of the shore, where they were thankful 
 to find the rocks covered with mussels. These they ate 
 greedily, and collected a large store to carry with them. 
 
 By this time both the captain and the pilots had 
 confessed what everybody else knew that they had 
 not the faintest idea where they were, or how far from 
 the Dutch settlement. After talking over the matter 
 with the mandarins, it was decided that the expedition 
 should henceforward stick to the coast, where they could 
 at least be certain of finding enough shell-fish to feed 
 them, together with water from the rivers which flowed 
 into the sea. When they reached the coast they were 
 further cheered by the sight of a high mountain, which 
 they were assured by the pilots was the Cape of Good 
 Hope, but this turned out to be as untrue as before, as 
 the company discovered when they reached it. 
 
 It was only on their arrival at the place of halt, which 
 was happily close to the seashore, that one of the 
 mandarins was discovered to be missing. Unlike the 
 rest, he had been unable to eat the leaves and flowers 
 which had kept them alive, and, too weak to march over 
 the rough ground, had fallen unperceived out of the 
 ranks. This was not the first man to whom such a 
 thing had happened, and Occum Chamnam observes that 
 though at any other time he would have wept bitterly 
 over his friend, his thoughts were now entirely absorbed 
 in wondering if he should ever live to reach the Dutch 
 settlement. 
 
 An evening of mist followed by drenching rain re- 
 duced them to the last stage of misery. At any rate they 
 felt as if they could suffer no more, till the morning
 
 352 THE AMBASSADORS OF SI AM 
 
 dawned and they saw that during the night the Portu- 
 guese had abandoned them. At this last blow every- 
 thing grew ten times worse, and they were too wretched 
 even to speak ; but from this stupor of despair they 
 were roused by a speech of the second ambassador. 
 It was he and not his chief, the old man they had been 
 forced to desert, who was the real leader. It was he who 
 had swum with his master's credentials from the wreck 
 to the mainland ; who had fastened them to a stick on 
 the highest part of whatever mountain they were en- 
 camped on, or on the plains had tied them to the top of 
 the tallest plant. Now, in case of his death, he bade his 
 successor take the same care as he had done, to preserve 
 his master's despatches from insult, and if need be, to 
 bury them in some secret place. Meanwhile they were 
 to take courage and pursue their way. 
 
 ' We walked very quickly,' says Occum Chamnam, 
 ' at least what seemed quick to us, though in fact our 
 progress was but slow, and at mid-day we arrived on the 
 banks of a river about sixty feet wide.' In their anxiety 
 to get on and to join the Portuguese, whom they 
 imagined to be on the other side, some of the Siamese 
 plunged in, but the current was so swift that it was all 
 they could do to struggle back to shore. They were, how- 
 ever, resolved to cross somehow, and at length one of the 
 mandarins, who was a famous swimmer, bade them knot 
 all their scarves together, and undertook to carry the 
 line over and tie it to a tree, so that the rest might have 
 a rope to cling to when they made the passage. But 
 the rush of the water was too much even for him. The 
 line was torn from his grasp and he was swept against 
 a rock on the other side, where he regained his feet, 
 badly hurt and with his shoulder much bruised. As 
 soon as he was able to stand, he walked some distance 
 up the stream, where the river was calm, and then swam 
 back to his companions. All this time they had nothing 
 but water to support them, and were even reduced to
 
 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 353 
 
 boiling Occum Chamnam's old shoes till the leather was 
 quite soft ; they then carved them and gave each man a 
 small piece, trying to think they were only eating very 
 tough mutton. Strange to say ' it was not intolerable,' 
 and they were emboldened to cook a cap belonging to one 
 of the attendants. But though the cap was broiled 
 almost to a cinder, it was too hard even for shipwrecked 
 men to eat. 
 
 Following the river, the Siamese came upon the dead 
 body of one of their interpreters, all of whom had dis- 
 appeared with the Portuguese. By now the condition 
 of the little party was so desperate that they decided 
 that they had better offer themselves to the Hottentots 
 should they find any as slaves ; and meantime 
 they would go back to the seashore, where at least they 
 could get mussels and fresh water. 
 
 Little though they guessed it, the sufferings of the 
 poor people were nearly at an end. After resting a few 
 days, and feeling quite strong after a diet of mussels, 
 they set out again, and soon fell in with some friendly 
 Hottentots, who had half a sheep with them. This they 
 readily sold for six gold buttons, and the Siamese thought 
 it cheap at the price when they sat down to the first 
 good dinner they had eaten since they were wrecked. 
 
 The Hottentots signed to the men to follow them, 
 but they were all so weak that even the strongest were 
 unable to keep up, while seven out of the fifteen were so 
 ill that they declared they could go no farther. The 
 bad water, which was often all they could get, had so 
 swollen their bodies that they hardly looked like human 
 creatures, and they could not use their feet at all. Dread- 
 ful though it seemed to abandon them in such a plight, 
 the remaining men resolved to leave all the dried mussels 
 they had brought with them for the sick, and pushed 
 on in search of the Dutch. 
 
 It is amazing that people in their condition could 
 A.S, A A
 
 354 THE AMBASSADORS OF SIAM 
 
 have endured another six days of perpetual suffering and 
 have been able to climb precipices ' terrific even to look 
 at.' Two of the Hottentots left them, in order, it was 
 found later, to carry news of their approach to the 
 Dutch. At the moment, however, the Siamese believed 
 that they had gone to betray them, and wished to put to 
 death the third who had remained. But the second 
 ambassador who was still living was horrified at the sug- 
 gestion, and the others w r ere much ashamed at having 
 made it. 
 
 On the thirty-first day after the shipwreck the two 
 Hottentots returned, bringing two Dutchmen with 
 them and, what was much more precious, plenty of food. 
 The gratitude felt by the starving castaways was bound- 
 less, and as a token of thankfulness Occum Chamnam 
 presented each of the Dutchmen with a large diamond 
 set in a ring. 
 
 At last their sufferings were ended, for soon carts 
 came to carry them to the nearest houses, and more 
 wagons and provisions were sent for those who had been 
 left behind, while the first ambassador and his com- 
 panions were not forgotten. After four months of rest 
 they were able to proceed on their way, and this time 
 the winds and the waves were favourable, and they 
 landed in Europe without any further adventures.
 
 THE STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE 
 QWINETT 
 
 I WAS born (writes Ambrose Gwinett, the hero of this 
 story) of respectable parents in the city of Canterbury, 
 where my father lived at the sign of the Blue Anchor. 
 He had but two children, a daughter and myself, and 
 having given me a good education, at the age of sixteen 
 he bound me apprentice to Mr. George Roberts, an 
 attorney in our town, with whom I stayed four years 
 and three-quarters. 
 
 My sister being grown up, had now been married 
 something more than a twelvemonth to one Sawyer, 
 a sailor, who having got a good deal of prize money and 
 two hundred pounds as my sister's dowry, quitted his 
 profession and set up a public-house within three miles 
 of his birthplace, which was Deal. 
 
 I had frequent invitations to go and pass a short 
 time with them ; and in the autumn of the year 1709, 
 having obtained my master's consent, I left the city of 
 Canterbury on foot the 17th day of September. 
 
 Through some delays on the road it was late before 
 I reached Deal, and so tired was I that had my life 
 depended on it I could not have got as far as my sister's 
 that night. At this time there were many of her 
 Majesty's ships lying in the harbour, for the English 
 were then at war with the French and Spaniards ; besides 
 which I found this was the day for holding the yearly 
 fair, so that the town was filled so full that a bed 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 
 
 was not to be got for love or money. I went seeking 
 a lodging from house to house to no purpose, till, being 
 quite spent, I returned to the public-house where I had 
 first made enquiry, desiring leave to sit by their kitchen 
 fire and rest myself till morning. 
 
 The publican and his wife happened to be acquainted 
 with my brother and sister, and finding by my conversa- 
 tion that I was a relation of theirs, and going to visit 
 them, the landlady presently said she would endeavour 
 to get me a bed, and going out of the kitchen she quickly 
 called me into a back parlour. Here I saw sitting by 
 the fire a middle-aged man in a dressing-gown and cap, 
 who was reckoning money at a table. ' Uncle,' said the 
 woman as soon as I entered, ' this is a brother of our 
 friend Mrs. Sawyer ; he cannot get a bed anywhere and 
 is tired after a long journey. You are the only one 
 that lies in this house alone : will you give him part of 
 yours ? ' To this the man answered that she knew he 
 had been ill, and consequently a bedfellow could not be 
 very agreeable. ' However,' said he, ' rather than the 
 young man shall sit up he is welcome to sleep with me.' 
 After this we sat awhile together, when having put his 
 money in a canvas bag, and the bag into the pocket of 
 his dressing-gown, he took the candle and I followed 
 him up to bed. 
 
 How long I slept I cannot be certain, but I imagine 
 it was about three o'clock in the morning when I awoke 
 with a violent pain. My bedfellow, who was awake, 
 observing that I was very uneasy, asked me what was 
 the matter. I informed him that I was feeling very 
 sick, and would go into the garden, hoping that the air 
 might revive me. 
 
 * The front door is apt to stick,' added he, ' so I will 
 give you a knife to help you open it.' So saying he 
 put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, which lay on 
 the bed, and gave me the knife. 
 
 I hurried on a few of my clothes and went down-
 
 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 357 
 
 stairs. On unclasping the knife to open the door a 
 piece of money which stuck between the blade and the 
 groove in the handle fell into my hand. I did not 
 examine what it was, nor indeed could I well see, there 
 being but a very fault moonlight, so I put them together 
 carelessly in my pocket. 
 
 I must have stayed in the garden pretty near a 
 quarter of an hour. When I returned to the room I 
 was surprised to find my bedfellow gone. I called 
 several times, but receiving no answer I went to bed, 
 and again fell asleep. 
 
 About six o'clock I arose, nobody yet being up in 
 the house. The gentleman was not yet returned to 
 bed, or, if he was, had again left it. I dressed myself 
 with what haste I could, being impatient to see my 
 sister, and, the bill being paid over-night, I let myself 
 out at the street door. 
 
 Having got to my sister's she and her husband 
 received me. About eleven o'clock in the forenoon, 
 when standing at the door, my brother-in-law being by 
 my side, w r e saw three horsemen galloping towards us. 
 As soon as they came up to the house they stopped, and 
 one of them alighting suddenly seized me by the collar, 
 crying, 'You are 'the Queen's prisoner.' I desired to 
 know my crime. He said I should learn that as soon 
 as I came to Deal, where I must immediately go with 
 them. One of them then told my brother that the night 
 before I had committed a murder and robbery. 
 
 Then a warrant was produced, and I was carried 
 back to Deal by the three men, my brother with another 
 friend accompany ing us. 
 
 Being arrived in town, I was immediately hurried 
 to the house where I had slept. We were met at the 
 door by a crowd of people, every one crying, * Which is 
 he ? Which is he ? ' As soon as I entered I was 
 accosted by the publican's wife in tears. ' Oh, cursed 
 wretch, what have you done ? ' cried she. ' You
 
 358 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 
 
 have murdered and robbed my poor dear uncle, and all 
 through me, who put you to lie with him ! But where 
 have you hid his money and what have you done with 
 his body ? You shall be hanged on a gallows as high 
 as a maypole ! ' 
 
 My brother begged her to be quiet, and I was taken 
 into a private room and asked where I had put the 
 money and how I had disposed of the body. I enquired 
 what money and whose body they meant. I was 
 answered that I had killed the person I had lain with 
 the preceding night, for the sake of a large sum of money 
 I had seen with him. I fell down upon my knees, calling 
 God to witness I knew nothing of what they accused 
 me. Then somebody cried, ' Carry him upstairs,' and 
 I was brought into the chamber where I had slept. 
 Here the man of the house went to the bed, and, turning 
 down the clothes, showed the sheets, pillow, and bolster 
 dyed in blood. He asked me did I know anything of that. 
 I declared to God I did not. A person in the room said : 
 ' Young man, something very odd must have passed 
 here last night ; for, lying in the next chamber, I heard 
 groanings and going up and down stairs more than 
 once or twice.' I then told them of my illness, and that 
 I had been up and down myself, with all that passed 
 between my bedfellow and me. Somebody proposed to 
 search me ; several began to turn my pockets inside 
 out, and from my waistcoat tumbled the knife and the 
 piece of money already mentioned, which I had entirely 
 forgot. Upon seeing these the woman immediately 
 screamed out, ' There's my uncle's knife ! ' and picked 
 up the money, and called the people about her. ' Here,' 
 said she, 'is what puts the villain's guilt beyond a 
 doubt. I can swear to this William and Mary guinea ; 
 my uncle has long had it by way of a curiosity, and 
 engraved the first letters of his name upon it.' 
 
 She then began to cry afresh, while I could do 
 uotliing but continue to call Heaven to witness that I
 
 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 359 
 
 was as innocent as the child unborn. The constable 
 who had heard me mention having gone down into the 
 garden told the people I must have thrown the body 
 down a disused hole which communicated with the 
 sea. This everybody agreed to. 
 
 ' Then,' said the master of the house, ' it is in vain to 
 look for the body any further, for there was a spring 
 tide last night, which has carried it off.' 
 
 The consequence of these proceedings was an im- 
 mediate examination before a justice of the peace, after 
 which I suffered a long and severe imprisonment in the 
 county town of Maidstone. For some, time my father, 
 my master, and my relations were inclined to think me 
 innocent, because I declared I was so, as well I might ; 
 and in compliance with my earnest request an advertise- 
 ment was published in the London Gazette, representing 
 my deplorable circumstances, and offering a reward to 
 any person who could give tidings of Mr. Richard 
 Collins (the man I was supposed to have murdered), 
 either alive or dead. No information, however, of any 
 kind coming to hand, at the assizes I was brought to 
 trial, and facts appearing strong against me, I received 
 sentence to be carried in a cart on the Wednesday fort- 
 night following to the town of Deal, and there to be 
 hanged before the innkeeper's door where I had com- 
 mitted the murder, and my body to be hung in chains 
 within a stone's throw of my brother's house. 
 
 The Monday was now arrived before the fatal day 
 when an end was to be put to my miseries. I was 
 called down into the court of the prison ; but I own I 
 was not a little shocked when I found it was to take the 
 measure of the irons in which I was to be hung after 
 execution. A fellow-prisoner appeared before me in 
 the same woeful plight (he had robbed the mail), and 
 the smith was measuring him when I came down, 
 while the gaoler, with as much calmness as if he had been
 
 360 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 
 
 ordering a pair of shoes for his daughter, was giving 
 directions in what manner the irons should be made, so 
 as to support the man, who was remarkably heavy and 
 corpulent. 
 
 Between this and the day of execution I spent my 
 time alone in prayer and meditation. 
 
 At length Wednesday morning came, and about 
 three o'clock I was put in a cart ; but sure such a day 
 of wind, rain, and thunder never blew out of the heavens. 
 When we arrived at Deal it became so violent that the 
 sheriff and his officers could scarce sit on their horses ; 
 for my own part, I was insensible of every object about 
 me. But I heard the sheriff whisper to the executioner 
 to make what haste he could. The man nodded, and 
 tucked me up like a log of wood, as if unconscious of 
 what he was doing. 
 
 I can give no account of what I felt when hanging, 
 as I only remember, after having the rope put round 
 my neck, something flashing round me like a blaze of 
 fire ; nor do I know how long I hung, but my brother 
 afterwards told me that in half an hour the sheriff's 
 officers all went off, and I was cut down by the execu- 
 tioner. But when he came to put the irons upon me it 
 was found that those prepared for the other man, which 
 were too large for me, had been sent instead of mine. 
 This they remedied by stuffing rags between my body 
 and the hoops, after which I was taken to the place 
 appointed and hung on a gibbet ready prepared. 
 
 The cloth over my face, being slightly tied, was soon 
 detached by the wind, and probably its blowing on 
 my face hastened my recovery ; certain it is that after 
 a while I came to myself. 
 
 The gibbet being placed at one corner of a field 
 where my sister's cows were, a lad came to drive them 
 home for evening milking. The creatures, which were 
 feeding almost under me, brought him near the gibbet. 
 In the very moment he looked up he saw me open my
 
 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 361 
 
 eyes and move my under jaw. He immediately ran 
 home to inform the people at his master's. At first 
 they hardly believed his story ; but at length my 
 brother and others came out, and by the time they got 
 to the field I was so much alive that my groans were 
 very loud. 
 
 In their confusion, the first thing they thought of 
 was a ladder. One of my brother's men getting up, 
 put his hand on my breast and felt my heart beating 
 strongly. But it was found impossible to detach me 
 from the gibbet without cutting it down. Accordingly 
 a saw was got for that purpose, and in less than half an 
 hour, having freed me from my irons, they got me bled 
 and put into a warm bed. 
 
 It is amazing that though above eight persons were 
 entrusted with this affair, and I remained three days in 
 the place after it happened, not one betrayed the secret. 
 Early next morning it was known that the gibbet was 
 cut down, and it occurred to everybody that it was done 
 by my relations to draw a veil over their shame by 
 burying the body ; but when my brother was summoned 
 before the mayor, and denied knowing anything of the 
 matter, little more stir was made about it. 
 
 Being thus delivered from an ignominious death, 
 the next difficulty was how to dispose of my life, now I 
 had regained it. To stay in England was impossible 
 without exposing myself to the terrors of the law. In 
 this dilemma a fortunate circumstance occurred. There 
 had lain at my brother's house some of the principal 
 officers of a privateer that was preparing for a cruise, 
 and just then ready to sail. The captain took me on 
 board with him as clerk and assistant purser, my 
 friends providing me with food and clothes, while my 
 sister gave me ten guineas. 
 
 We had been six months out upon a cruise, and were 
 on the coast of Florida, then in the hands of the Spaniards,
 
 362 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GW IN ETT 
 
 when we fell in with a squadron of their men-of-war, 
 and were captured without striking a blow, and brought 
 prisoners into the harbour of St. Helen's. I was 
 really tired of my life, and should have been glad to 
 have ended it in the dungeon where, with forty others 
 of my countrymen, the enemy had put me. But after 
 three years' confinement we were let out, in order to be 
 set on board transports to be conveyed to Pennsylvania, 
 and from thence to England. This was a disagreeable 
 sentence to me, as I feared that a return home would 
 mean a return to the gallows. Being by now a 
 tolerable master of the Spanish language, I begged to 
 be left behind, which favour I obtained through the 
 master of the prison, who not only took me into his 
 house as soon as my countrymen were gone, but in a 
 short time procured me the post of deputy-governor, 
 with a small salary. 
 
 At this particular time the office was by no means 
 agreeable. The coast had been long infested with 
 pirates, the most desperate gang of villains that can be 
 imagined ; and scarce a month passed but one or other 
 of their vessels fell into the governor's hands, when the 
 crew as constantly were put under my care. Once I very 
 narrowly escaped being knocked on the head by one of 
 the ruffians and having the keys taken from me ; another 
 time I was shot at ; but in each case I escaped unhurt. 
 
 I had been in my office about three months, when 
 a ship arrived from Port Royal, another Spanish settle- 
 ment on the coast, with several English captives on 
 board. As they were coming from the port to the 
 governor's house something struck me as familiar in 
 the face of one of the prisoners. I could not then stop 
 them, but about an hour afterwards they were brought 
 to the prison till the governor signified his further 
 pleasure. 
 
 As soon as the poor creatures found I was an English-
 
 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 363 
 
 man they were extremely happy. I then had an oppor- 
 tunity of taking notice of the man whose face I thought 
 I knew, though I could not recollect where I had seen 
 him. All at once I knew : it was the man I was 
 supposed to have murdered. 
 
 The next morning I told the prisoners that if any of 
 them had a mind to go about the town I would procure 
 them permission and go with them. This greatly 
 pleased them, and we all set out, the man I was thought 
 to have murdered walking beside me, the three other 
 prisoners walking a little in front. When we were alone I 
 looked him in the face and asked, ' Sir, were you ever at 
 Deal ? ' and as I spoke he put his hand on my shoulder 
 and tears came into his eyes. ' Sir,' said I again, ' if 
 you are the man I take you for you here see one of 
 the most unfortunate of human kind. Pray, is your 
 name Richard Collins ? ' ' Yes,' he answered. ' Then,' 
 I replied, ' I was hanged and gibbeted in England for 
 your murder ! ' 
 
 These words struck him dumb with surprise, but 
 when he had recovered himself he implored me to tell 
 him all that had happened to me from the time we 
 parted. When he heard how I had been hanged and 
 afterwards hung in chains he would hardly believe me. 
 
 ' Well, young man,' he said at last, ' if you have 
 suffered, do not imagine that / have escaped. Now you 
 shall hear my story. 
 
 ' When you left me in bed I lay still for some time, 
 feeling faint and ill and as if I was about to die. I groaned 
 aloud, and cried out, hoping that some one might hear 
 me, but no one came. Then accidentally I put my hand 
 to my left arm the arm in which I had been bled the 
 morning before, and found that the bandage had 
 slipped, and blood was flowing from the wound. Know- 
 ing that I really should die if the bleeding were not 
 stopped, I mustered all my strength and got up, with my
 
 364 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 
 
 dressing-gown loose about me, in order to go to the man 
 who had bled me, to have my arm tied up again. When 
 I got into the street a band of men, armed with cutlasses 
 and hangers, came and seized me, and hurried me to the 
 beach. I begged and prayed, but they soon silenced 
 my cries by clapping a gag in my mouth. At first 
 I took them for a press-gang, though I soon discovered 
 they belonged to a privateer, aboard which they 
 immediately dragged me. But before I got thither I 
 fainted away from loss of blood. The surgeon of the 
 ship, I suppose, tied up my arm, for when my senses 
 returned I was lying in a hammock and somebody was 
 feeling my pulse. The vessel being then under way 
 I asked where I was. They said I was safe enough. 
 I immediately called for my dressing-gown, which was 
 brought me, but a large sum of money in the pocket was 
 gone. I complained to the captain of the robbery his 
 men had committed, but he laughed and said I should 
 soon have prize money enough to make up for it, so I 
 was obliged to submit, and for three months was 
 forced to work before the mast. At last we met the 
 same fate that befell you, and with adventures like your 
 own. That is my story. I am on my way home, and if 
 you will accompany me it will give me great happiness.' 
 
 So now I could prove my innocence there was 
 nothing to prevent my returning to England, which I 
 had thought never to see again. The ship was due to 
 sail in ten days, and Mr. Collins and I determined to 
 embark in it. When I told my master of my intended 
 departure he did not dissuade me from it, because it 
 enabled him to get my office for one of his kinsmen, to 
 whom on the same day I delivered up my trust. Strange 
 to say, that very night the pirates seized on my young 
 successor while he was locking up the wards, and taking 
 the keys from him left him for dead while they made 
 their escape.
 
 STRANGE TALE OF AMBROSE GWINETT 365 
 
 On November 18, 1712, I sent my trunk on board 
 the Nuestra Senora, Michael Deronza captain. About 
 seven o'clock that evening, being in company with 
 Senor Gaspar, my master, a lad came up and said the 
 boat had been waiting for me some time and Mr. Collins 
 was already on board. I ran into the house to take 
 leave of the family, and then hastened to the quay, 
 but found the boat had put off, and left word I was 
 to overtake them at a little bay further down the 
 coast. I ran along the shore till I thought I caught 
 sight of the boat. I shouted as loud as I could ; they 
 answered and put about to take me in, but we had 
 scarce got fifty yards from land when on looking for 
 Mr. Collins I missed him. This astonished me, and I 
 examined more closely the faces of the men, discovering 
 to my horror that instead of getting on board my own 
 boat, which I could see a considerable way ahead, I had 
 got into a boat belonging to the pirates. I attempted 
 to leap overboard, but was prevented by one of the 
 crew, who gave me a stroke on the head which laid me 
 senseless. 
 
 With these pirates I continued some years, till they, 
 upon a dispute, threw me overboard, and I certainly 
 should have been drowned had I not been picked up by 
 a Spanish vessel. After various misfortunes our ship 
 was taken by an Algerine rover ; the greater part of the 
 crew was killed, and the rest, I among them, taken 
 prisoners, after having lost one of my legs in the action. 
 
 After this I passed a long and painful slavery in 
 Algiers, till with other English captives I was released 
 by agreement between the Dey of Algiers and his 
 Britannic Majesty. In the year 1730 I at length 
 returned to England. The first thing I did was to 
 enquire after my relations, but learned that all those 
 nearest to me were dead, and that Mr. Collins had never 
 returned home, nor did I ever hear what became of him. 
 
 From 'The Arminian Magazine.'
 
 WITH THE REDSKINS 
 
 How many of the people who travel in the large, 
 prosperous towns in the east of the United States, 
 and particularly in New England, know anything of the 
 lives led by the early settlers who came out to make 
 fresh homes for themselves across the seas during the 
 seventeenth century? Yet these lives were as full of 
 danger and strange adventures as those of any of the 
 colonists planted out by Greece or Rome in foreign 
 lands, while, unlike the ancient colonists, the new ones 
 had a bitter climate of frost and cold to fight against. 
 
 Think what it must have been to a shipload of 
 passengers to be put on shore on the edge of some 
 dense forest teeming with wild beasts, of whose very 
 names they were ignorant, knowing that the Jong and 
 icy winter must shortly be upon them. If they could 
 not manage to cut down the trees and make a clearing 
 for a vegetable garden, and build themselves a stout 
 wooden house, with a large stock of logs for burning, 
 before the first snow fell they would probably be all 
 frozen to' death. And in the forests dwelt another 
 enemy more to be dreaded than any wild beast, who 
 was only spoken of in whispers and with paling faces 
 the terrible Red Indians. 
 
 From time to time the different tribes joined together 
 to raid some small cluster of huts which formed a 
 township, and after killing and burning to their hearts' 
 content carried away many prisoners, hoping by and
 
 WITH THE REDSKINS 367 
 
 bye to sell them for large ransoms. To the Englishmen, 
 accustomed to the buff leather jerkins and steel helmets 
 of Cromwell's soldiers, or the scarlet coats and broad 
 hats of the royal troops, the sight of these dark-skinned, 
 large-nosed warriors, smeared with paint, their heads 
 crowned with feathers, and riding like the wind, was 
 as strange as it was appalling. It may be truly said 
 that the early settlers lived with fear beside them, and 
 no man left his family when business called him else- 
 where without feeling he might never see them again. 
 
 Some of the prisoners taken on these expeditions 
 have written accounts of their captivity, and one of the 
 most interesting of these was compiled by Mrs. Row- 
 landson, the wife of a clergyman who had built himself 
 a house on a hill near the town of Lancaster, in the 
 State of Massachusetts. In those days people did 
 not mind sleeping several hi a room, but even so the 
 house must have been a good-sized one, as in February 
 1676 it contained forty-two persons, including five 
 soldiers. On the evening of the 9th all was quiet, but 
 about sunrise the noise of guns was heard, and every one 
 rushed to the windows, only to behold the houses 
 lower down the town a mass of flames, and an army of 
 Indians, fifteen hundred in all, dancing about among 
 them. Mr. Rowlandson himself was away, but his 
 guests armed themselves with the muskets which always 
 stood ready loaded, and buckled on their swords, while 
 the women filled the leather fire buckets with water. 
 This was all they could do, for they had not occupied 
 the house very long, and it had no palisades or defences. 
 Then they sat still and waited for the moment when 
 the Indians, having destroyed everything below, should 
 come on to them. 
 
 Most of us have learned that there is nothing so hard 
 as to wait with our hands folded for something to 
 happen, and it was a sort of relief when at last the 
 watchers beheld the Indians climbing the hill. In a
 
 368 WITH THE REDSKINS 
 
 little while they separated, some going into the barn 
 and others hiding behind rocks, so that they could 
 shoot at the house without running any risk of being 
 hit themselves. 
 
 After a time, however, they got tired of this slow 
 warfare, and setting alight some flax and hemp which 
 had been stored in the barn flung it against the wooden 
 beams of the dwelling. But one of the besieged put the 
 fire out with a bucketful of water, so the Indians had 
 to bring more dry hemp and try again in a fresh place. 
 Those inside listened eagerly to hear if the logs caught, 
 and their faces grew white as the wood began to crackle. 
 A few minutes later the enemy sprang in with a shout, 
 and a hand-to-hand fight followed. 
 
 Under cover of the confusion Mrs. Rowlandson and 
 her sister, Mrs. Drew, gathered together their children 
 and stole outside, hoping to escape into the forest un- 
 perceived. But such a shower of bullets met them 
 that they were forced to go back again, and the poor 
 lady who tells the story is filled with indignation at 
 the laziness or cowardice of the ' six stout dogs, who 
 would not stir, though at another time if an Indian 
 had come to the door they were ready to fly upon him 
 and tear him down.' Even had the stout dogs done their 
 duty it would not have made much difference to the 
 fate of the party, and between the fire and the bullets 
 death stared them in the face. Some were shot down 
 at once, others were wounded, and among these were 
 Mrs. Rowlandson herself and her youngest child, whom 
 she was carrying. The dead were left where they fell 
 and the rest, twenty-five in number, taken captive. 
 
 Bleeding from the wound in her side, the poor 
 woman was forced to drag herself to a hill about a 
 mile away, where the Indians passed the night, shout- 
 ing, singing, and dancing. As soon as it was light they 
 started off again, the child being held on a horse before 
 one of the Redskins. The wounds in its hand and
 
 WITH THE REDSKINS 369 
 
 side were terribly painful, and it kept up a continuous 
 moaning of ' I shall die, I shall die ! ' Scarcely able 
 though she was to keep up with the rest of tho party 
 the mother took it in her arms again and hushed its 
 cries. But, faint from loss of blood and lack of food, 
 she soon stumbled and fell, and then the Indians had 
 pity on her and placed them both on a horse. Un- 
 luckily the animal had no ' furniture ' or saddle, and 
 possibly also Mrs. Rowlandson was not a very good 
 rider ; at any rate ' as we were going down a steep hill 
 we both fell over the horse's head, at which they, like 
 inhuman creatures, laughed,' which perhaps was not 
 wonderful. 
 
 To add to all these miseries snow began to fall, and 
 at last the dreary march stopped, and a fire was lit, 
 round which they clustered. The child was by this 
 time in a violent fever, and indeed it was a marvel it 
 remained alive at all, lying exposed all through that 
 bitter night, and having touched nothing but a little 
 cold water for more than three days. But they 
 struggled on somehow, and at the next halting-place 
 they found a prisoner who, Mrs. Rowlandson tells us, 
 showed her how to heal her wounds by laying oak-leaves 
 against them. The remedy sounds a simple one if you 
 could find an oak tree with leaves on it in the month 
 of February but, of course, the prisoner may have 
 carried a store of dried leaves with him, guessing that 
 they might be useful as long as the Indians were about. 
 
 Nine days after the beginning of her captivity little 
 Sarah died, and was buried up on the hill. In her 
 distress the mother found some comfort in seeing her 
 eldest child, who was the first to be taken captive when 
 the house was attacked, and happened to be at that 
 moment in the same small Indian town. A day or 
 two later her son Joseph appeared unexpectedly, ' and 
 asked her how she did.' He also was a prisoner with 
 a tribe about six miles away, and when his master had 
 
 A.S. B B
 
 370 WITH THE REDSKINS 
 
 started with the other braves to destroy a town the 
 squaw had brought the boy to visit his mother. 
 Throughout, we find many acts of kindness from the 
 Indians towards their prisoners, but Mrs. Rowlandson 
 never shows the least gratitude for them, neither does 
 she ever appear to try to make friends with her captors. 
 She seems terribly afraid of crossing rivers, and always 
 tells us if she passed over on the rafts ' without wetting 
 her foot,' or whether they were so ill-made that they 
 let in water. The food, too, was a great trial to her, 
 for at first provisions were very scarce, and hungry 
 though she was ' it was very hard to get down their 
 filthy trash.' Yet after three weeks of fasting, though 
 she ' would think how formerly she would turn against 
 this or that,' and that she ' could starve and die before 
 she could eat such things,' they at last became ' pleasant 
 and savoury to the taste. By and bye, as the spring 
 approached, things improved. One of the Indians 
 offered her two spoonfuls of meal, and another gave her 
 half a pint of peas, ' which was worth more to her than 
 many bushels at another time.' On the further side 
 of the Connecticut River was a powerful chief called 
 King Philip, to whom she paid a visit. Here she was 
 offered a pipe, which she refused with some unwil- 
 lingness. 
 
 * I had formerly used tobacco,' she says, ' but had 
 left it since I was first taken. It seems to be a bait the 
 Devil lays to make men waste their precious time. I 
 remember with shame how formerly, when I had taken 
 two or three pipes, I was presently ready for another ; 
 such a bewitching thing it is.' 
 
 All through her wanderings Mrs. Rowlandson 
 contrived to carry wool and knitting pins with her, 
 difficult as it must have been to manage. Little by 
 little the Indians grew to think of her as a woman who 
 could do many things which they could not, and applied 
 to her for help. King Philip begged her to make a shirt
 
 WITH THE REDSKINS 371 
 
 for his boy, and gave her a shilling for it, which she 
 was allowed to keep. Full of envy at the sight of the 
 shirt, a squaw ordered a second as a present for her hus- 
 band, and handed her a quart of peas as the price. 
 
 Mrs. Rowlandson was not a person who found 
 pleasure in giving for its own sake, or else she thought 
 that red skins were not to be treated like white ones. 
 She is very angry when a ' sorry Indian ' up the river, 
 hearing of her famous shirts, begs her to make one for 
 him, and when she had done it ' would pay her nothing 
 for it.' But if the sorry Indian imagined he was to 
 get off the debt he was quite wrong. Whenever, in 
 fetching water, Mrs. Rowlandson passed his wigwam, or 
 hut, she was in the habit of ' putting him in mind and 
 calling for her pay.' At last her continued visits wore 
 away the determination of the Indian, and he agreed 
 that if she would make a little shirt for his ' papoose ' 
 she should have a knife. This time all went smoothly. 
 The knife was handed over, but she did not keep it 
 long, as her master took a fancy to it. 'I was glad 
 to think I had anything they would be pleased with,' 
 adds Mrs. Rowlandson. 
 
 After a time some of the good lady's hatred of the 
 Indians, with their foul looks, so different from the 
 lovely faces of Christians, seems to have melted. She 
 was surprised to find that when going to see her son, 
 then not far from her, nobody did her any harm, while 
 she speaks of little kindnesses shown her. One squaw 
 gives her a piece of bear, and permits her to boil it in 
 her kettle with ground nuts for a vegetable. ' I cannot 
 but think how pleasant it was to me,' she writes. ' I have 
 seen bear handsomely baked among the English, and 
 some liked it, but the thought that it was bear made 
 me tremble.' Captivity was teaching the clergyman's 
 wife many useful lessons, and as they were now travelling 
 in the direction of her old home her spirits rose and she 
 was more inclined to be cheerful and friendly.
 
 372 WITH THE REDSKINS 
 
 But she was destined to remain in captivity some 
 weeks longer, till she almost despaired of ever becoming 
 free again. The Indians wandered about, apparently 
 without any settled plan, except to keep out of the 
 way of the English army. Once or twice she had news 
 of her husband from some one who had spoken with him. 
 Mr. Rowlandson was ' very well, but very melancholy,' 
 and she seems to have frequently seen her son. Although 
 very fond of her own children the solemn little red 
 papooses were of no interest to her, and she speaks of 
 them in a very unkind and heartless way. When her 
 mistress's papoose died in their encampment down the 
 Connecticut River she remarks that ' there was one 
 benefit in it, as it made more room in the wigwam,' 
 and adds that ' next day there came a company to 
 mourn and howl with the mother,' but that she herself 
 * could not much condole with them.' 
 
 In reading the account of her captivity and her 
 endless travels one imagines that years must have 
 passed, but it was barely two months after the attack 
 on the Massachusetts house when Mrs. Rowlandson 
 w r as sent home, in exchange for some bread and tobacco 
 and twenty pounds besides. In Boston she met her 
 husband and some of her other relations, and by and 
 bye her daughter arrived, having escaped from the 
 Indians by the help of a squaw. And there we will 
 leave Mrs. Rowlandson. On her return her fellow 
 Christians appeared full of good qualities as full, 
 indeed, as to her mind the Indians were of bad ones. 
 Yet, hard-hearted and blinded with prejudice as she 
 was, she was forced to bear witness that ' those roaring 
 lions and savage bears [the Indians], who feared neither 
 God nor man nor the Devil,' had never offered her ' the 
 slightest violence either in word or action,' and that 
 she came away 'in the midst of so many hundreds 
 of enemies, and not a dog moved his tongue.' 
 
 Shortened from Drake's ' Indian Captivities.'
 
 THE WRECK OF THE 'DRAKE* 
 
 ON a fine June morning, ninety years ago, the schooner 
 Drake, commanded by Captain Baker, with a crew of 
 fifty men on board, set sail, by order of the Admiral 
 of the Newfoundland station, for the port of Halifax. 
 For three days the vessel made good progress ; then, to 
 the dismay of both captain and crew, one of the dense 
 fogs for which the seas round Newfoundland are famous 
 began to bear down upon them. 
 
 Now of all the disasters that can happen to a ship 
 none is so terrifying as a thick fog. You can see nothing, 
 you can hear nothing. Even now the loud screams of 
 the siren seem hardly to reach beyond the deck ; the 
 screws work slowly and cautiously, but it is as dangerous 
 to stand still as to go on. You cannot tell on which side 
 the peril may lie ; at one moment the ship appears alone 
 in the seas, wrapped in darkness, and the next instant 
 the shadowy form of a great hulk looms at her side, 
 ready to run her down. And if this is so in these days 
 think what it must have been ninety years ago, when 
 almost all the vessels were sailing ships and there were 
 no sirens or hooters. 
 
 Knowing what was likely to happen, Captain Baker 
 lost no time in taking observations as to the latitude 
 and longitude of the ship, so that he might be able to 
 steer in the right direction. At first there was a light 
 breeze behind them, and they contrived to make about 
 sixty miles, but then the fog settled down again and
 
 374 THE WRECK OF THE ' DRAKE ' 
 
 they could see nothing twenty yards away. For ac 
 hour and a half they proceeded, taking soundings as 
 they went, lest they should strike upon some hidden 
 rock, when suddenly a shout of ' Breakers ahead ! ' was 
 raised by one of the men who had been told off to keep 
 a look-out, and though every effort was made to stop 
 the ship the waves rendered everything useless, and in 
 a few minutes a grinding sound was heard and a violent 
 shock ran from bow to stern : the vessel had struck. 
 
 ' Cut away the masts,' was the captain's first order, 
 and as calmly as if they had been sailing in smooth 
 water the men obeyed him. But in spite of the vessel 
 being lightened by the loss of the masts the sea poured 
 into the hole which had been torn in the side, and she 
 began to sink rapidly. 
 
 * Launch the cutter,' shouted the captain ; but the 
 boat had hardly touched the surface when a great wave 
 swept over her and she was seen no more. 
 
 At this disaster the captain's hopes of saving his 
 men grew faint, though outwardly he was as calm as 
 ever, and his crew gave no signs of fearing the death that 
 could not be far off. Then the wind blew the fog a little 
 to one side, and a small rock could be seen, not very dis- 
 tant from where they were. Without waiting for orders a 
 sailor called Lennard seized a rope weighted with lead 
 and jumped into the sea, intending to swim to the rock, 
 but he was caught by a current flowing in the wrong 
 direction and was hauled back on deck by his comrades. 
 
 ' I will try the gig,' cried Turner, the boatswain ; 
 ' it is our only chance.' So, with a rope round his body, 
 he was lowered into the little boat, which was carried 
 along till it was within a few feet of the rock. They 
 watched eagerly, holding their breath, when a wave 
 larger than the rest caught and lifted the boat and 
 dashed it in pieces on the rock. For a moment they 
 strained their eyes in silence, then they saw Turner 
 stagger to his feet, and climb up the rock, rope in hand.
 
 THE WRECK OF THE 'DRAKE' 375 
 
 By this time the Drake was so swept by the waves 
 that the men were all crowded together on the poop, 
 clinging to anything that would allow them to keep 
 their footing. She swayed to and fro in the cleft where 
 she had been wedged, and every second seemed likely to 
 bring the end, when suddenly a tremendous sea lifted 
 her in its grasp and carried her close to the rock on 
 which the boatswain was already standing. Captain 
 Baker was quick to seize his opportunity, and ordered 
 his men instantly to take to the water. But one and 
 all refused to leave him. 
 
 ' We will follow r you,' they said, and it was long 
 before they could be induced to obey him. At length 
 he prevailed on them one by one to swim to the rock, 
 though a few, by this time half frozen, were too weak to 
 reach it. 
 
 Last of all came the captain. 
 
 While they were on the ship the rock had appeared a 
 harbour of refuge ; if they could only get there their 
 sufferings would be over and they would be perfectly 
 safe. But now they saw to their horror that when the 
 tide was high the rock would be completely covered, 
 and their only chance w r as to struggle to reach the 
 mainland by help of the boatswain's rope. The tide 
 was coming in fast, and there was not a moment to lose. 
 
 ' You go, Turner,' said the captain, and the boat- 
 swain tied another knot in the rope that was already 
 round his waist and leaped into the sea. By the faint 
 rays of the dawn the watchers could trace his fight with 
 the waves, and their hearts seemed to beat almost to 
 bursting and to stand still by turns. But inch by inch 
 he gained something, and at length, bruised and ex- 
 hausted, he stepped on to the beach. 
 
 He was safe, but the rope had only been just long 
 enough to stretch across.
 
 376 THE WRECK OF THE ' 
 
 By order of the captain, who called them by name, 
 man after man crossed the surf successfully, till forty- 
 four of the crew stood on the other side, and only six 
 were left six, and one of them a woman. In vain they 
 had again and again implored their captain to take his 
 turn with the rest ; his answer was always the same, 
 ' When everyone is safe on the other side I will go over.' 
 Now the goal was almost reached, and it was time, for 
 the water had nearly touched the topmost point of the 
 rock they were on. 
 
 With one accord the eyes of the five men who 
 remained behind rested upon the woman, who lay there 
 half dead, as it seemed, already. Without the presence 
 of the captain who can tell if the desire of life might not 
 have thrust all else aside, and she might have been 
 abandoned to her fate ? But with the captain looking 
 on and sharing their danger not a creature would have 
 dared even to think such a thought, and a tall sailor 
 stepped forward and silently lifting her in his arms, 
 fastened the rope round him. But the continued 
 fretting against the jagged rocks had done its work. 
 Many of the strands were cut through, and though the 
 rope might have carried them all across, one by one, it 
 was not strong enough to bear two at once ; it broke, 
 and both the man and the woman disappeared in the 
 surf. 
 
 Then Captain Baker and the three who were with him 
 knew that this was the end. Before another rope could 
 be got the tide would be over the rock. 
 
 The men on the land understood the desperate 
 need, and while some ran as fast as they could to borrow 
 a new rope from the nearest farmhouse, the others tied 
 their handkerchiefs and trousers together, in the hope 
 that the old rope might yet be made long enough to 
 stretch across the chasm. But when everything had 
 been used it was still too short, and there was nothing 
 left for them to do but to wait and watch and to long for
 
 THE WRECK OF THE 'DRAKE* 377 
 
 the return of their companions. For a while hope rose 
 high, for each wave receded and left them clinging 
 tightly to the little projections. Surely the tide must 
 be on the turn now, and if they could only hold on for a- 
 few moments the danger was past. Then a sob broke 
 from one of the men. A gigantic wave was seen gather- 
 ing itself up ; it broke with a loud roar and blinding 
 spray, and when they looked again the rock was bare. 
 
 ' Shipwrecks of the Royal Navy. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., LONDON* 
 COLCHESTER AND ETON
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 MA Y oi 1987 
 
 MAY 
 
 OCT 1 2Q01