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diff --git a/30105-h/30105-h.htm b/30105-h/30105-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a55c12a --- /dev/null +++ b/30105-h/30105-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6015 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Strand, Volume 5, Issue 26, February, 1893. + + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30105 ***</div> + +<h2>THE</h2> + +<h1>STRAND MAGAZINE</h1> + +<h2><i>An Illustrated Monthly</i></h2> + +<h3>Vol. 5, Issue. 26.</h3> + +<h4>February 1893</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#A_WEDDING_GIFT"><b>A Wedding Gift</b></a><br /> +<a href="#HANDS"><b>Hands</b></a><br /> +<a href="#QUASTANA_THE_BRIGAND"><b>Quastana, The Brigand</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ZIG-ZAG_AT_THE_ZOO"><b>Zig-zag At The Zoo: Phocine</b></a><br /> +<a href="#The_Majors_Commission"><b>The Major's Commission.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PECULIAR_PLAYING_CARDS"><b>Peculiar Playing Cards II.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#Portraits_of_Celebrities_at_Different_Times_of_their_Lives"><b>Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#The_Adventures_of_Sherlock_Holmes"><b>The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes XV.--The Adventure of the Yellow Face</b></a><br /> +<a href="#Illustrated_Interviews"><b>Illustrated Interviews: XX.--Dr. Barnado </b></a><br /> +<a href="#Beauties_Children"><b>Beauties:—Children.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#Shafts_from_an_Eastern_Quiver"><b>Shafts from an Eastern Quiver VIII.--The Masked Ruler of the Black Wreckers</b></a><br /> +<a href="#From_Behind_the_Speakers_Chair"><b>From Behind the Speaker's Chair II.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#A_SLAVE"><b>A Slave</b></a><br /> +<a href="#The_Queer_Side_of_Things"><b>The Queer Side of Things.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 292px;"> +<img src="images/image111.jpg" width="292" height="450" alt=""Kenneth Threw Himself Suddenly Upon Phillip." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Kenneth Threw Himself Suddenly Upon Phillip."<br /> (<i>A Wedding Gift.</i>)</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> +<p><a name="A_WEDDING_GIFT" id="A_WEDDING_GIFT"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image112.jpg" width="650" height="337" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Wife's Story.</span>)</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">By Leonard Outram.</span></h4> + + +<p>"I <i>will</i> have you! I <i>will</i> have you! I will! I will! I will!!" I can +see his dark face now as he spoke those words.</p> + +<p>I remember noticing how pale his lips were as he hissed out through his +clenched teeth: "Though I had to fight with a hundred men for +you—though I had to do murder for your sake, you should be mine. In +spite of your love for him, in spite of your hate for me, in spite of +all your struggles, your tears, your prayers, you shall be mine, mine, +only mine!"</p> + +<p>I had known Kenneth Moore ever since I was a little child. He had made +love to me nearly as long. People spoke of us as sweethearts, and +Kenneth was so confident and persevering that when my mother died and I +found myself without a relative, without a single friend that I really +cared for, I did promise him that I would one day be his wife. But that +had scarcely happened, when Phillip Rutley came to the village and—and +everybody knows I fell in love with <i>him</i>.</p> + +<p>It seemed like Providence that brought Phillip to me just as I had given +a half-consent to marry a man I had no love for, and with whom I could +never have been happy.</p> + +<p>I had parted from Kenneth at the front gate, and he had gone off to his +home crazy with delight because at last I had given way.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday evening late in November, very dark, very cold, and very +foggy. He had brought me home from church, and he kept me there at the +gate pierced through and through by the frost, and half choked by the +stifling river mist, holding my hand in his own and refusing to leave me +until I promised to marry him.</p> + +<p>Home was very lonely since mother died. The farm had gone quite wrong +since we lost father. My near friends advised me to wed with Kenneth +Moore, and all the village people looked upon it as a settled thing. It +was horribly cold, too, out there at the gate—and—and that was how it +came about that I consented.</p> + +<p>I went into the house as miserable as Kenneth had gone away happy. I +hated myself for having been so weak, and I hated Kenneth because I +could not love him. The door was on the latch; I went in and flung it to +behind me, with a petulant violence that made old Hagar, who was +rheumatic and had stayed at home that evening on account of the fog, +come out of the kitchen to see what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"It's settled at last," I cried, tearing off my bonnet and shawl; "I'm +to be Mrs. Kenneth Moore. Now are you satisfied?"</p> + +<p>"It's best so—I'm sure it's much best so," exclaimed the old woman; +"but, deary-dear!" she added as I burst into a fit of sobbing, "how can +I be satisfied if you don't be?"</p> + +<p>I wouldn't talk to her about it. What was the good? She'd forgotten long +ago how the heart of a girl like me hungers for its true mate, and how +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>frightful is the thought of giving oneself to a man one does not love!</p> + +<p>Hagar offered condolence and supper, but I would partake of neither; and +I went up to bed at once, prepared to cry myself to sleep, as other +girls would have done in such a plight as mine.</p> + +<p>As I entered my room with a lighted candle in my hand, there came an +awful crash at the window—the glass and framework were shivered to +atoms, and in the current of air that rushed through the room, my light +went out. Then there came a crackling, breaking sound from the branches +of the old apple tree beneath my window; then a scraping on the bricks +and window-ledge; then more splintering of glass and window-frame: the +blind broke away at the top, and my toilet table was overturned—the +looking-glass smashing to pieces on the floor, and I was conscious that +someone had stepped into the room.</p> + +<p>At the same moment the door behind me was pushed open, and Hagar, +frightened out of her wits, peered in with a lamp in her hand.</p> + +<p>By its light I first saw Phillip Rutley.</p> + +<p>A well-built, manly, handsome young fellow, with bright eyes and light, +close-cropped curly hair, he seemed like a merry boy who had just popped +over a wall in search of a cricket ball rather than an intruder who had +broke into the house of two lone women in so alarming a manner.</p> + +<p>My fear yielded to indignation when I realized that it was a strange man +who had made his way into my room with so little ceremony, but his first +words—or rather the way in which he spoke them—disarmed me.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image113.jpg" width="450" height="333" alt=""IT'S ONLY MY BALLOON"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"IT'S ONLY MY BALLOON"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I beg ten thousand pardons. Pay for all the damage. It's only my +balloon!"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" ejaculated Hagar.</p> + +<p>My curiosity was aroused. I went forward to the shattered window.</p> + +<p>"Your balloon! Did you come down in a balloon? Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"All safe outside," replied the aeronaut consolingly. "Not a bad +descent, considering this confounded—I beg pardon—this confound-<i>ing</i> +fog. Thought I was half a mile up in the air. Opened the valve a little +to drop through the cloud and discover my location. Ran against your +house and anchored in your apple tree. Have you any men about the place +to help me get the gas out?"</p> + +<p>We fetched one of our farm labourers, and managed things so well, in +spite of the darkness, that about midnight we had the great clumsy thing +lying upon the lawn in a state of collapse. Instead of leaving it there +with the car safely wedged into the apple-tree, until the morning light +would let him work more easily, Rutley must needs "finish the job right +off," as he said, and the result of this was that while he was standing +in the car a bough suddenly broke and he was thrown to the ground, +sustaining such injuries that we found him senseless when we ran to help +him.</p> + +<p>We carried him into the drawing-room, by the window of which he had +fallen, and when we got the doctor to him, it was considered best that +he should remain with us that night How could we refuse him a shelter? +The nearest inn was a long way off; and how could he be moved there +among people who would not care for him, when the doctor said it was +probable that the poor fellow was seriously hurt internally?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>We kept him with us that night; yes, and for weeks after. By Heaven's +mercy he will be with me all the rest of my life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 347px;"> +<img src="images/image114.jpg" width="347" height="450" alt=""I NURSED HIM WELL AND STRONG AGAIN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I NURSED HIM WELL AND STRONG AGAIN."</span> +</div> + +<p>It was this unexpected visit of Phillip's, and the feeling that grew +between us as I nursed him well and strong again, that brought it about +that I told Kenneth Moore, who had become so repugnant to me that I +could not bear to see him or hear him speak, that I wanted to be +released from the promise he had wrung from me that night at the garden +gate.</p> + +<p>His rage was terrible to witness. He saw at once that my heart was given +to someone else, and guessed who it must be; for, of course, everybody +knew about our visitor from the clouds. He refused to release me from my +pledge to him, and uttered such wild threats against poor Phillip, whom +he had not seen, and who, indeed, had not spoken of love to me at that +time, that it precipitated my union with his rival. One insult that he +was base enough to level at Phillip and me stung me so deeply, that I +went at once to Mr. Rutley and told him how it was possible for evil +minds to misconstrue his continuing to reside at the farm.</p> + +<p>When I next met Kenneth Moore I was leaving the registrar's office upon +the arm of my husband. Kenneth did not know what had happened, but when +he saw us walking openly together, his face assumed an expression of +such intense malignity, that a great fear for Phillip came like a chill +upon my heart, and when we were alone together under the roof that might +henceforth harmlessly cover us both, I had but one thought, one intense +desire—to quit it for ever in secret with the man I loved, and leave no +foot-print behind for our enemy to track us by.</p> + +<p>It was now that Phillip told me that he possessed an independent +fortune, by virtue of which the world lay spread out before us for our +choice of a home.</p> + +<p>"Sweet as have been the hours that I have passed here—precious and +hallowed as this little spot on the wide earth's surface must ever be to +me," said my husband, "I want to take you away from it and show you many +goodly things you have as yet hardly dreamed of. We will not abandon +your dear old home, but we will find someone to take care of it for us, +and see what other paradise we can discover in which to spend our +life-long honeymoon."</p> + +<p>I had never mentioned to Phillip the name of Kenneth Moore, and so he +thought it a mere playful caprice that made me say:—</p> + +<p>"Let us go, Phillip, no one knows where—not even ourselves. Let Heaven +guide us in our choice of a resting-place. Let us vanish from this +village as if we had never lived in it. Let us go and be forgotten."</p> + +<p>He looked at me in astonishment, and replied in a joking way:—</p> + +<p>"The only means I know of to carry out your wishes to the letter, would +be a nocturnal departure, as I arrived—that is to say, in my balloon."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Phillip, yes!" I exclaimed eagerly, "in your balloon, to-night, in +your balloon!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That night, in a field by the reservoir of the gas-works of Nettledene, +the balloon was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> inflated, and the car loaded with stores for our +journey to unknown lands. The great fabric swayed and struggled in the +strong breeze that blew over the hills, and it was with some difficulty +that Phillip and I took our seats. All was in readiness, when Phillip, +searching the car with a lantern, discovered that we had not with us the +bundle of rugs and wraps which I had got ready for carrying off.</p> + +<p>"Keep her steady, boys!" he cried. "I must run back to the house." And +he leapt from the car and disappeared in the darkness.</p> + +<p>It was weird to crouch there alone, with the great balloon swaying over +my head, each plunge threatening to dislodge me from the seat to which I +clung, the cords and the wicker-work straining and creaking, and the +swish of the silk sounding like the hiss of a hundred snakes. It was +alarming in no small degree to know how little prevented me from +shooting up solitarily to take an indefinite place among the stars. I +confess that I was nervous, but I only called to the men who were +holding the car to please take care and not let me go without Mr. +Rutley.</p> + +<p>The words were scarcely out of my mouth when a man, whom we all thought +was he, climbed into the car and hoarsely told them to let go. The order +was obeyed and the earth seemed to drop away slowly beneath us as the +balloon rose and drifted away before the wind.</p> + +<p>"You haven't the rugs, after all!" I exclaimed to my companion. He +turned and flung his arms about me, and the voice of Kenneth Moore it +was that replied to me:—</p> + +<p>"I have <i>you</i>. I swore I would have you, and I've got you at last!"</p> + +<p>In an instant, as I perceived that I was being carried off from my +husband by the very man I had been trying to escape, I seized the +grapnel that lay handy and flung it over the side. It was attached to a +long stout cord which was fastened to the body of the car, and by the +violent jerks that ensued I knew that I was not too late to snatch at an +anchorage and the chance of a rescue. The balloon, heavily ballasted, +was drifting along near the ground with the grappling-iron tearing +through hedges and fences and trees, right in the direction of our farm. +How I prayed that it might again strike against the house as it did with +Phillip, and that he might be near to succour me!</p> + +<p>As we swept along the fields the grapnel, taking here and there a secure +hold for a moment or so, would bring the car side down to the earth, +nearly jerking us out, but we both clung fast to the cordage, and then +the grapnel would tear its way through and the balloon would rise like a +great bird into the air.</p> + +<p>It was in the moment that one of these checks occurred, when the balloon +had heeled over in the wind until it lay almost horizontally upon the +surface of the ground, that I saw Phillip Rutley standing in the meadow +beneath me. He cried to me as the car descended to him with me clinging +to the ropes and framework for my life:—</p> + +<p>"Courage, dearest! You're anchored. Hold on tight. You won't be hurt."</p> + +<p>Down came the car sideways, and struck the ground violently, almost +crushing him. As it rebounded he clung to the edge and held it down, +shouting for help. I did not dare let go my hold, as the balloon was +struggling furiously, but I shrieked to Phillip that Kenneth Moore had +tried to carry me off, and implored him to save me from that man. But +before I could make myself understood, Kenneth, who like myself had been +holding on for dear life, threw himself suddenly upon Phillip, who, to +ward off a shower of savage blows, let go of the car.</p> + +<p>There was a heavy gust of wind, a tearing sound, the car rose out of +Phillip's reach, and we dragged our anchor once more. The ground flew +beneath us, and my husband was gone.</p> + +<p>I screamed with all my might, and prepared to fling myself out when we +came to the earth again, but my captor, seizing each article that lay on +the floor of the car, hurled forth, with the frenzy of a madman, +ballast, stores, water-keg, cooking apparatus, everything, +indiscriminately. For a moment this unburdening of the balloon did not +have the effect one would suppose—that of making us shoot swiftly up +into the sky, and I trusted that Phillip and the men who had helped us +at the gas-works had got hold of the grapnel line, and would haul us +down; but, looking over the side, I perceived that we were flying along +unfettered, and increasing each minute our distance from the earth.</p> + +<p>We were off, then, Heaven alone could tell whither! I had lost the +protection of my husband, and fallen utterly into the power of a lover +who was terrifying and hateful to me.</p> + +<p>Away we sped in the darkness, higher and higher, faster and faster; and +I crouched, half-fainting, in the bottom of the car, while Kenneth +Moore, bending over me, poured his horrible love into my ear:—</p> + +<p>"Minnie! My Minnie! Why did you try to play me false? Didn't you know +your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> old playmate better than to suppose he would give you up? Thank +your stars, girl, you are now quit of that scoundrel, and that the very +steps he took to ruin you have put it in my power to save you from him +and from your wilful self."</p> + +<p>I forgot that he did not know Phillip and I had been married that +morning, and, indignant that he should speak so of my husband, I accused +him in turn of seeking to destroy me. How dared he interfere with me? +How dared he speak ill of a man who was worth a thousand of himself—who +had not persecuted me all my life, who loved me honestly and truly, and +whom I loved with all my soul? I called Kenneth Moore a coward, a cruel, +cowardly villain, and commanded him to stop the balloon, to let me go +back to my home—back to Phillip Rutley, who was the only man I could +ever love in the whole wide world!</p> + +<p>"You are out of your senses, Minnie," he answered, and he clasped me +tightly in his arms, while the balloon mounted higher and higher. "You +are angry with me now, but when you realize that you are mine for ever +and cannot escape, you will forgive me, and be grateful to me—yes, and +love me, for loving you so well."</p> + +<p>"Never!" I cried, "never! You are a thief! You have stolen me, and I +hate you! I shall always hate you. Rather than endure you, I will make +the balloon fall right down, down, and we will both be dashed to +pieces."</p> + +<p>I was so furious with him that I seized the valve-line that swung near +me at the moment, and tugged at it with all my might. He grasped my +hand, but I wound the cord about my arms, held on to it with my teeth, +and he could not drag it from me. In the struggle we nearly overturned +the car. I did not care. I would gladly have fallen out and lost my life +now that I had lost Phillip.</p> + +<p>Then Kenneth took from his pocket a large knife and unclasped it. I +laughed aloud, for I thought he meant to frighten me into submission. +But I soon saw what he meant to do. He climbed up the cordage and cut +the valve-line through.</p> + +<p>"Now you are conquered!" he cried, "and we will voyage together to the +world's end."</p> + +<p>I had risen to my feet and watched him, listened to him with a thrill of +despair; but even as his triumphant words appalled me the car swayed +down upon the side opposite to where I stood—the side where still hung +the long line with the grapnel—and I saw the hands of a man upon the +ledge; the arms, the head, and the shoulders of a man, of a man who the +next minute was standing in the car, I fast in his embrace: Phillip +Rutley, my true love, my husband!</p> + +<p>Then it seemed to me that the balloon collapsed, and all things melted, +and I was whirling away—down, down, down!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 349px;"> +<img src="images/image116.jpg" width="349" height="550" alt=""I LAY IN PHILLIP'S ARMS"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I LAY IN PHILLIP'S ARMS"</span> +</div> + +<p>How long I was unconscious I do not know, but it was daylight when I +opened my eyes. It was piercingly cold—snow was falling, and although I +lay in Phillip's arms with his coat over me, while he sat in his +shirt-sleeves holding me. On the other side stood Kenneth Moore. He also +was in his shirt-sleeves. His coat also had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> been devoted to covering +me. Both those men were freezing there for my sake, and I was ungrateful +enough to shiver.</p> + +<p>I need not tell you that I gave them no peace until they had put their +coats on again. Then we all crouched together in the bottom of the car +to keep each other warm. I shrank from Kenneth a little, but not much, +for it was kind of him—so kind and generous—to suffer that awful cold +for me. What surprised me was that he made no opposition to my resting +in Phillip's arms, and Phillip did not seem to mind his drawing close to +me.</p> + +<p>But Kenneth explained:—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutley has told me you are already his wife, Minnie. Is that true?"</p> + +<p>I confirmed it, and asked him to pardon my choosing where my heart +inclined me.</p> + +<p>"If that is so," he said, "I have little to forgive and much to be +forgiven. Had I known how things stood, I loved you too well to imperil +your happiness and your life, and the life of the man you prefer to me."</p> + +<p>"But the danger is all over now," said I; "let us be good friends for +the future."</p> + +<p>"We may at least be friends," replied Kenneth; and I caught a glance of +some mysterious import that passed between the men. The question it +would have led me to ask was postponed by the account Phillip gave of +his presence in the balloon-car—how by springing into the air as the +grapnel swung past him, dragged clear by the rising balloon, he had +caught the irons and then the rope, climbing up foot by foot, swinging +to and fro in the darkness, up, up, until the whole length of the rope +was accomplished and he reached my side. Brave, strong, dear Phillip!</p> + +<p>And, now, once more he would have it that I must wear his coat.</p> + +<p>"The sun's up, Minnie, and he'll soon put warmth into our bones. I'm +going to have some exercise. My coat will be best over you."</p> + +<p>Had it not been so excruciatingly cold we might have enjoyed the +grandeur of our sail through the bright, clear heavens, the big brown +balloon swelling broadly above us. Phillip tried to keep up our spirits +by calling attention to these things, but Kenneth said little or +nothing, and looked so despondent that, wishing to divert his thoughts +from his disappointment concerning myself, which I supposed was his +trouble, I heedlessly blurted out that I was starving, and asked him to +give me some breakfast.</p> + +<p>Then it transpired that he had thrown out of the car all the provisions +with which we had been supplied for our journey.</p> + +<p>The discovery took the smiles out of Phillip's merry face.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to hold on a bit, little woman," said he. "When we get to a +way-station or an hotel, we'll show the refreshment contractors what +sort of appetites are to be found up above."</p> + +<p>Then I asked them where we were going; whereabouts we had got to; and +why we did not descend. Which elicited the fact that Kenneth had thrown +away the instruments by which the aeronaut informs himself of his +location and the direction of his course. For a long time Phillip +playfully put me off in my petition to be restored to <i>terra firma</i>, but +at last it came out that the valve-line being cut we could not descend, +and that the balloon must speed on, mounting higher and higher, until it +would probably burst in the extreme tension of the air.</p> + +<p>"Soon after that," said Phillip, with a grim, hard laugh, "we shall be +back on the earth again."</p> + +<p>We found it difficult to enjoy the trip after this prospect was made +clear. Nor did conversation flow very freely. The hours dragged slowly +on, and our sufferings increased.</p> + +<p>At last Phillip made up his mind to attempt a desperate remedy. What it +was he would not tell me, but, kissing me tenderly, he made me lie down +and covered my head with his coat.</p> + +<p>Then he took off his boots, and then the car creaked and swayed, and +suddenly I felt he was gone out of it. He had told me not to look out +from under his coat; but how could I obey him? I did look, and I saw him +climbing like a cat up the round, hard side of the balloon, clinging +with hands and feet to the netting that covered it.</p> + +<p>As he mounted, the balloon swayed over with his weight until it was +right above him and he could hardly hold on to the cords with his toes +and his fingers. Still he crept on, and still the great silken fabric +heeled over, as if it resented his boldness and would crush him.</p> + +<p>Once his foothold gave way, and he dropped to his full length, retaining +only his hand-grip of the thin cords, which nearly cut his fingers in +two under the strain of his whole weight. I thought he was gone; I +thought I had lost him for ever. It seemed impossible he could keep his +hold, and even if he did the weak netting must give way. It stretched +down where he grasped it into a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> bag form and increased his distance +from the balloon, so that he could not reach with his feet, although he +drew his body up and made many a desperate effort to do so.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;"> +<img src="images/image118.jpg" width="325" height="400" alt=""CLINGING WITH HANDS AND FEET TO THE NETTING."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"CLINGING WITH HANDS AND FEET TO THE NETTING."</span> +</div> + +<p>But while I watched him in an agony of powerlessness to help, the +balloon slowly regained the perpendicular, and just as Phillip seemed at +the point of exhaustion his feet caught once more in the netting, and, +with his arms thrust through the meshes and twisted in and out for +security, while his strong teeth also gripped the cord, I saw my husband +in comparative safety once more. I turned to relieve my pent-up feelings +to Kenneth, but he was not in the car—only his boots. He had seen +Phillip's peril, and climbed up on the other side of the balloon to +restore the balance.</p> + +<p>But now the wicked thing served them another trick; it slowly lay over +on its side under the weight of the two men, who were now poised like +panniers upon the extreme convexity of the silk. This was very perilous +for both, but the change of position gave them a little rest, and +Phillip shouted instructions round to Kenneth to slowly work his way +back to the car, while he (Phillip) would mount to the top of the +balloon, the surface of which would be brought under him by Kenneth's +weight. It was my part to make them balance each other. This I did by +watching the tendency of the balloon, and telling Kenneth to move to +right or left as I saw it become necessary. It was very difficult for us +all. The great fabric wobbled about most capriciously, sometimes with a +sudden turn that took us all by surprise, and would have jerked every +one of us into space, had we not all been clinging fast to the cordage.</p> + +<p>At last Phillip shouted:—</p> + +<p>"Get ready to slip down steadily into the car."</p> + +<p>"I am ready," replied Kenneth.</p> + +<p>"Then go!" came from Phillip.</p> + +<p>"Easy does it! Steady! Don't hurry! Get right down into the middle of +the car, both of you, and keep quite still."</p> + +<p>We did as he told us, and as Kenneth joined me, we heard a faint cheer +from above, and the message:—</p> + +<p>"Safe on the top of the balloon!"</p> + +<p>"Look, Minnie, look!" cried Kenneth; and on a cloud-bank we saw the +image of our balloon with a figure sitting on the summit, which could +only be Phillip Rutley.</p> + +<p>"Take care, my dearest! take care!" I besought him.</p> + +<p>"I'm all right as long as you two keep still," he declared; but it was +not so.</p> + +<p>After he had been up there about ten minutes trying to mend the +escape-valve, so that we could control it from the car, a puff of wind +came and overturned the balloon completely. In a moment the aspect of +the monster was transformed into a crude resemblance to the badge of the +Golden Fleece—the car with Kenneth and me in it at one end, and Phillip +Rutley hanging from the other, the huge gas-bag like the body of the +sheep of Colchis in the middle.</p> + +<p>And now the balloon twisted round and round as if resolved to wrench +itself from Phillip's grasp, but he held on as a brave man always does +when the alternative is fight or die. The terrible difficulty he had in +getting back I shudder to think of. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> needless to recount it now. +Many times I thought that both men must lose their lives, and I should +finish this awful voyage alone. But in the end I had my arms around +Phillip's neck once more, and was thanking God for giving him back to +me.</p> + +<p>I don't think I half expressed my gratitude to poor Kenneth, who had so +bravely and generously helped to save him. I wish I had said more when I +look back at that time now. But my love for Phillip made me blind to +everything.</p> + +<p>Phillip was very much done up, and greatly dissatisfied with the result +of his exertions; but he soon began to make the best of things, as he +always did.</p> + +<p>"I'm a selfish duffer, Minnie," said he. "All the good I've done by +frightening you like this is to get myself splendidly warm."</p> + +<p>"What, have you done nothing to the valve?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't have time. No, Moore and I must try to get at it from below, +though from what I saw before I started to go aloft, it seemed +impossible."</p> + +<p>"But we are descending."</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Descending rapidly. See how fast we are diving into that cloud below!"</p> + +<p>"It's true! We're dropping. What can it mean?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke we were immersed in a dense white mist, which wetted us +through as if we had been plunged in water. Then suddenly the car was +filled with whirling snow—thick masses of snow that covered us so that +we could not see each other; choked us so that we could hardly speak or +breathe.</p> + +<p>And the cold! the cold! It cut us like knives; it beat the life out of +us as if with hammers.</p> + +<p>This sudden, overwhelming horror struck us dumb. We could only cling +together and pray. It was plain that there must be a rent in the silk, a +large one, caused probably by the climbing of the men, a rent that might +widen at any moment and reduce the balloon to ribbons.</p> + +<p>We were being dashed along in a wild storm of wind and snow, the +headlong force of which alone delayed the fate which seemed surely to +await us. Where should we fall? The world beneath us was near and +palpable, yet we could not distinguish any object upon it. But we fell +lower and lower, until our eyes informed us all in an instant, and we +exclaimed together:—</p> + +<p>"<i>We are falling into the sea!</i>" Yes, there it was beneath us, raging +and leaping like a beast of prey. We should be drowned! We <i>must</i> be +drowned! There was no hope, none!</p> + +<p>Down we came slantwise to the water. The foam from the top of a +mountain-wave scudded through the ropes of the car. Then the hurricane +bore us up again on its fierce breast, and—yes, it was bearing us to +the shore!</p> + +<p>We saw the coast-line, the high, red cliffs—saw the cruel rocks at +their base! Horrible! Better far to fall into the water and drown, if +die we must.</p> + +<p>The balloon flew over the rugged boulders, the snow and the foam of the +sea indistinguishable around us, and made straight for the high, +towering precipice.</p> + +<p>We should dash against the jagged front! The balloon was plunging down +like a maddened bull, when suddenly, within 12 ft. of the rock, there +was a thrilling cry from Kenneth Moore, and up we shot, almost clearing +the projecting summit. Almost—not quite—sufficiently to escape death; +but the car, tripping against the very verge, hurled Phillip and myself, +clasped in each other's arms, far over the level snow.</p> + +<p>We rose unhurt, to find ourselves alone.</p> + +<p>What had become of our comrade—my childhood's playfellow, the man who +had loved me so well, and whom I had cast away?</p> + +<p>He was found later by some fishermen—a shapeless corpse upon the beach.</p> + +<p>I stood awe-stricken in an outbuilding of a little inn that gave us +shelter, whither they had borne the poor shattered body, and I wept over +it as it lay there covered with the fragment of a sail.</p> + +<p>My husband was by my side, and his voice was hushed and broken, as he +said to me:—</p> + +<p>"Minnie, I believe that, under God, our lives were saved by Kenneth +Moore. Did you not hear that cry of his when we were about to crash into +the face of the cliff?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Phillip," I answered, sobbing, "and I missed him suddenly as the +balloon rose."</p> + +<p>"You heard the words of that parting cry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, oh, yes! He said: '<i>A Wedding Gift! Minnie! A Wedding Gift!</i>'"</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"He left us together."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="HANDS" id="HANDS"></a></h2> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image120-1.jpg" width="650" height="535" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Beckles Wilson</span></h3> + + +<p>The hand, like the face, is indicative or representative of character. +Even those who find the path to belief in the doctrines of the palmist +and chirognomist paved with innumerable thorns, cannot fail to be +interested in the illustrious manual examples, collected from the +studios of various sculptors, which accompany this article.</p> + +<p>Mr. Adams-Acton, a distinguished sculptor, tells me his belief that +there is as great expression in the hand as in the face; and another +great artist, Mr. Alfred Gilbert, R.A., goes even a step further: he +invests the bare knee with expression and vital identity. There would, +indeed, appear to be no portion of the human frame which is incapable of +giving forth some measure of the inherent distinctiveness of its owner. +This is, I think, especially true of the hand. No one who was fortunate +enough to observe the slender, tapering fingers and singular grace of +the hand of the deceased Poet Laureate could possibly believe it the +extremity of a coarse or narrow-minded person. In the accompanying +photographs, the hand of a cool, yet enthusiastic, ratiocinative spirit +will be found to bear a palpable affinity to others whose possessors +come under this head, and yet be utterly antagonistic to Carlyle's, or +to another type, Cardinal Manning's.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 272px;"> +<img src="images/image120-2.jpg" width="272" height="400" alt="QUEEN VICTORIA'S HANDS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">QUEEN VICTORIA'S HANDS.</span> +</div> + +<p>We have here spread out for our edification hands of majesty, hands of +power; of artistic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> creativeness; of cunning; hands of the ruler, the +statesman, the soldier, the author, and the artist. To philosophers +disposed to resolve a science from representative examples here is +surely no lack of matter. It would, on the whole, be difficult to garner +from the century's history a more glittering array of celebrities in all +the various departments of endeavour than is here presented.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 201px;"> +<img src="images/image121-1.jpg" width="201" height="300" alt="PRINCESS ALICE'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PRINCESS ALICE'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>First and foremost, entitled to precedence almost by a double right, for +this cast antedates, with one exception, all the rest, are the hands of +Her Majesty the Queen. They were executed in 1844, when Her Majesty had +sat upon the throne but seven years, and, if I do not greatly err, in +connection with the first statue of the Queen after her accession. They +will no doubt evoke much interest when compared with the hand of the +lamented Princess Alice, who was present at the first ceremony, an +infant in arms of eight months. In addition to that of the Princess +Alice, taken in 1872, we have the hands of the Princesses Louise and +Beatrice, all three of whom sat for portrait statues to Sir Edgar Boehm, +R.A., from whose studio, also, emanates the cast of the hand of the +Prince of Wales.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 182px;"> +<img src="images/image121-2.jpg" width="182" height="300" alt="THE PRINCE OF WALES'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PRINCE OF WALES'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/image121-3.jpg" width="550" height="293" alt="PRINCESS BEATRICE'S HANDS. PRINCESS LOUISE'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PRINCESS BEATRICE'S HANDS. PRINCESS LOUISE'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>In each of the manual extremities thus presented of the Royal Family, +similar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> characteristics may be noticed. The dark hue which appears on +the surface of the hands of the two last named Princesses is not the +fault of the photograph but of the casts, which are, unfortunately, in a +soiled condition.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image122-1.jpg" width="450" height="362" alt="HAND OF ANAK, THE GIANT. HAND OF CAROLINE, SISTER OF +NAPOLEON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">HAND OF ANAK, THE GIANT. HAND OF CAROLINE, SISTER OF +NAPOLEON.</span> +</div> + +<p>It is a circumstance not a little singular, but the only cast in this +collection which is anterior to the Queen's, itself appertains to +Royalty, being none other than the hand of Caroline, sister of the first +Napoleon, who also, it must not be forgotten, was a queen. It is +purposely coupled in the photograph with that of Anak, the famous French +giant, in order to exhibit the exact degree of its deficiency in that +quality which giants most and ladies least can afford to be complaisant +over size. Certainly it would be hard to deny it grace and exquisite +proportion, in which it resembles an even more beautiful hand, that of +the Greek lady, Zoe, wife of the late Archbishop of York, which seems to +breathe of Ionian mysticism and elegance.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 374px;"> +<img src="images/image122-2.jpg" width="374" height="300" alt="HAND OF ZOE, WIFE OF THE LATE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK." title="" /> +<span class="caption">HAND OF ZOE, WIFE OF THE LATE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 177px;"> +<img src="images/image122-3.jpg" width="177" height="300" alt="MR. GLADSTONE'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. GLADSTONE'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 192px;"> +<img src="images/image122-4.jpg" width="192" height="300" alt="LORD BEACONSFIELD'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LORD BEACONSFIELD'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>One cannot dwell long upon this quality of grace and elegance without +adverting to a hand which, if not the most wonderful among the hands +masculine, is with one exception the most beautiful. When it is stated +that this cast of Mr. Gladstone's hand was executed by Mr. Adams-Acton, +quite recently; that one looks upon the hand not of a youth of twenty, +but of an octogenarian, it is difficult to deny it the epithet +remarkable. Although the photograph is not wholly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> favourable to the +comparison, yet in the original plaster it is possible at once to detect +its similarity to the hand of Lord Beaconsfield.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 264px;"> +<img src="images/image123-1.jpg" width="264" height="300" alt="CARDINAL MANNING'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CARDINAL MANNING'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>In truth, the hands of these statesmen have much in common. Yet, for a +more striking resemblance between hands we must turn to another pair. +The sculptor calls attention to the eminently ecclesiastical character +of the hand of Cardinal Manning. It is in every respect the hand of the +ideal prelate. Yet its every attribute is common to one hand, and one +hand only, in the whole collection, that of Mr. Henry Irving, the actor. +The general conformation, the protrusion of the metacarpal bones, the +laxity of the skin at the joints, are characteristic of both.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 221px;"> +<img src="images/image123-2.jpg" width="221" height="300" alt="HENRY IRVING'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">HENRY IRVING'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 298px;"> +<img src="images/image123-3.jpg" width="298" height="301" alt="LORD NAPIER OF MAGDALA'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LORD NAPIER OF MAGDALA'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 206px;"> +<img src="images/image123-4.jpg" width="206" height="300" alt="SIR BARTLE FRERE'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR BARTLE FRERE'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>There could be no mistaking the bellicose traits visible in the hands of +the two warriors Lord Napier of Magdala and Sir Bartle Frere. Both +bespeak firmness, hardihood, and command, just as Lord Brougham's hand, +which will be found represented on the next page, suggest the jurist, +orator, and debater. But it can scarcely be said that the great musician +is apparent in Liszt's hand, which is also depicted on the following +page. The fingers are short and corpulent, and the whole extremity seems +more at variance with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> the abilities and temperament of the owner than +any other represented in these casts, and, as a case which seems to +completely baffle the reader of character, is one of the most +interesting in the collection.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 202px;"> +<img src="images/image124-1.jpg" width="202" height="300" alt="LORD BROUGHAM'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LORD BROUGHAM'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>Highly gruesome, but not less fascinating, are the hands of the late +Wilkie Collins, with which we will conclude this month's section of our +subject.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 232px;"> +<img src="images/image124-2.jpg" width="232" height="350" alt="LISZT'S HAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LISZT'S HAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>In this connection a gentleman, who had known the novelist in life, on +being shown the cast, exclaimed: "Yes, those are the hands, I assure +you; none other could have written the 'Woman in White!'"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/image124-3.jpg" width="350" height="200" alt="WILKIE COLLINS'S HANDS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">WILKIE COLLINS'S HANDS.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—Thanks are due to Messrs. Hamo Thorneycroft, R.A., Adams-Acton, +Onslow Ford, R.A., T. Brock, R.A., W. R. Ingram, Alfred Gilbert, R.A., +J. T. Tussaud, Professor E. Lantéri, and A. B. Skinner, Secretary South +Kensington Museum, for courtesies extended during the compilation of +this paper.</p> + +<h4>(<i>To be continued.</i>)</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> +<p><a name="QUASTANA_THE_BRIGAND" id="QUASTANA_THE_BRIGAND"></a></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 869px;"> +<img src="images/image125.jpg" width="869" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>Misadventures? Well, if I were an author by profession, I could make a +pretty big book of the administrative mishaps which befell me during the +three years I spent in Corsica as legal adviser to the French +Prefecture. Here is one which will probably amuse you:—</p> + +<p>I had just entered upon my duties at Ajaccio. One morning I was at the +club, reading the papers which had just arrived from Paris, when the +Prefect's man-servant brought me a note, hastily written in pencil: +"Come at once; I want you. We have got the brigand, Quastana." I uttered +an exclamation of joy, and went off as fast as I could to the +Prefecture. I must tell you that, under the Empire, the arrest of a +Corsican <i>banditto</i> was looked upon as a brilliant exploit, and meant +promotion, especially if you threw a certain dash of romance about it in +your official report.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately brigands had become scarce. The people were getting more +civilized and the <i>vendetta</i> was dying out. If by chance a man did kill +another in a row, or do something which made it advisable for him to +keep clear of the police, he generally bolted to Sardinia instead of +turning brigand. This was not to our liking; for no brigand, no +promotion. However, our Prefect had succeeded in finding one; he was an +old rascal, Quastana by name, who, to avenge the murder of his brother, +had killed goodness knows how many people. He had been pursued with +vigour, but had escaped, and after a time the hue and cry had subsided +and he had been forgotten. Fifteen years had passed, and the man had +lived in seclusion; but our Prefect, having heard of the affair and +obtained a clue to his whereabouts, endeavoured to capture him, with no +more success than his predecessor. We were beginning to despair of our +promotion; you can, therefore, imagine how pleased I was to receive the +note from my chief.</p> + +<p>I found him in his study, talking very confidentially to a man of the +true Corsican peasant type.</p> + +<p>"This is Quastana's cousin," said the Prefect to me, in a low tone. "He +lives in the little village of Solenzara, just above Porto-Vecchio, and +the brigand pays him a visit every Sunday evening to have a game of +<i>scopa</i>. Now, it seems that these two had some words the other Sunday, +and this fellow has determined to have revenge; so he proposes to hand +his cousin over to justice, and, between you and me, I believe he means +it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> But as I want to make the capture myself, and in as brilliant a +manner as possible, it is advisable to take precautions in order not to +expose the Government to ridicule. That's what I want you for. You are +quite a stranger in the country and nobody knows you; I want you to go +and see for certain if it really is Quastana who goes to this man's +house."</p> + +<p>"But I have never seen this Quastana," I began.</p> + +<p>My chief pulled out his pocket-book and drew forth a photograph much the +worse for wear.</p> + +<p>"Here you are!" he exclaimed. "The rascal had the cheek to have his +portrait taken last year at Porto-Vecchio!"</p> + +<p>While we were looking at the photo the peasant drew near, and I saw his +eyes flash vengefully; but the look quickly vanished and his face +resumed its usual stolid appearance.</p> + +<p>"Are you not afraid that the presence of a stranger will frighten your +cousin, and make him stay away on the following Sunday?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"No!" replied the man. "He is too fond of cards. Besides, there are many +new faces about here now on account of the shooting. I'll say that this +gentleman has come for me to show him where the game is to be found."</p> + +<p>Thereupon we made an appointment for the next Sunday, and the fellow +walked off without the least compunction for his dirty trick. When he +was gone, the Prefect impressed upon me the necessity for keeping the +matter very quiet, because he intended that nobody else should share the +credit of the capture. I assured him that I would not breathe a word, +thanked him for his kindness in asking me to assist him, and we +separated to go to our work and dream of promotion.</p> + +<p>The next morning I set out in full shooting costume, and took the coach +which does the journey from Ajaccio to Bastia. For those who love +Nature, there is no better ride in the world, but I was too busy with my +castles in the air to notice any of the beauties of the landscape.</p> + +<p>At Bonifacio we stopped for dinner. When I got on the coach again, just +a little elevated by the contents of a good-sized bottle, I found that I +had a fresh travelling companion, who had taken a seat next to me. He +was an official at Bastia, and I had already met him; a man about my own +age, and a native of Paris like myself. A decent sort of fellow.</p> + +<p>You are probably aware that the Administration, as represented by the +Prefect, etc., and the magistrature never get on well together; in +Corsica it is worse than elsewhere. The seat of the Administration is at +Ajaccio, that of the magistrature at Bastia; we two therefore belonged +to hostile parties. But when you are a long way from home and meet +someone from your native place, you forget all else, and talk of the old +country.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;"> +<img src="images/image126.jpg" width="345" height="400" alt=""I SET OUT IN FULL SHOOTING COSTUME."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I SET OUT IN FULL SHOOTING COSTUME."</span> +</div> + +<p>We were fast friends in less than no time, and were consoling each other +for being in "exile" as we termed it. The bottle of wine had loosened my +tongue, and I soon told him, in strict confidence, that I was looking +forward to going back to France to take up some good post as a reward +for my share in the capture of Quastana, whom we hoped to arrest at his +cousin's house one Sunday evening. When my companion got off the coach +at Porto-Vecchio, we felt as though we had known each other for years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>I arrived at Solenzara between four and five o'clock. The place is +populated in winter by workmen, fishermen, and Customs officials, but in +summer everyone who can shifts his quarters up in the mountains on +account of fever. The village was, therefore, nearly deserted when I +reached it that Sunday afternoon.</p> + +<p>I entered a small inn and had something to eat, while waiting for +Matteo. Time went on, and the fellow did not put in an appearance; the +innkeeper began to look at me suspiciously, and I felt rather +uncomfortable. At last there came a knock, and Matteo entered.</p> + +<p>"He has come to my house," he said, raising his hand to his hat. "Will +you follow me there?"</p> + +<p>We went outside. It was very dark and windy; we stumbled along a stony +path for about three miles—a narrow path, full of small stones and +overgrown with luxuriant vegetation, which prevented us from going +quickly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;"> +<img src="images/image127.jpg" width="344" height="400" alt=""'THAT'S MY HOUSE,' SAID MATTEO."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'THAT'S MY HOUSE,' SAID MATTEO."</span> +</div> + +<p>"That's my house," said Matteo, pointing among the bushes to a light +which was flickering at a short distance from us.</p> + +<p>A minute later we were confronted by a big dog, who barked furiously at +us. One would have imagined that he meant to stop us going farther along +the road.</p> + +<p>"Here, Bruccio, Bruccio!" cried my guide; then, leaning towards me, he +said: "That's Quastana's dog. A ferocious animal. He has no equal for +keeping watch." Turning to the dog again, he called out: "That's all +right, old fellow! Do you take us for policemen?"</p> + +<p>The enormous animal quieted down and came and sniffed around our legs. +It was a splendid Newfoundland dog, with a thick, white, woolly coat +which had obtained for him the name of Bruccio (white cheese). He ran on +in front of us to the house, a kind of stone hut, with a large hole in +the roof which did duty for both chimney and window.</p> + +<p>In the centre of the room stood a rough table, around which were several +"seats" made of portions of trunks of trees, hacked into shape with a +chopper. A torch stuck in a piece of wood gave a flickering light, +around which flew a swarm of moths and other insects.</p> + +<p>At the table sat a man who looked like an Italian or Provençal +fisherman, with a shrewd, sunburnt, clean-shaven face. He was leaning +over a pack of cards, and was enveloped in a cloud of tobacco smoke.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Quastana," said Matteo as we went in, "this is a gentleman who +is going shooting with me in the morning. He will sleep here to-night, +so as to be close to the spot in good time to-morrow."</p> + +<p>When you have been an outlaw and had to fly for your life, you look with +suspicion upon a stranger. Quastana looked me straight in the eyes for a +second; then, apparently satisfied, he saluted me and took no further +notice of me. Two minutes later the cousins were absorbed in a game of +<i>scopa</i>.</p> + +<p>It is astonishing what a mania for card-playing existed in Corsica at +that time—and it is probably the same now. The clubs and cafés were +watched by the police, for the young men ruined themselves at a game<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +called <i>bouillotte</i>. In the villages it was the same; the peasants were +mad for a game at cards, and when they had no money they played for +their pipes, knives, sheep—anything.</p> + +<p>I watched the two men with great interest as they sat opposite each +other, silently playing the game. They watched each other's movements, +the cards either face downwards upon the table or carefully held so that +the opponent might not catch a glimpse of them, and gave an occasional +quick glance at their "hand" without losing sight of the other player's +face. I was especially interested in watching Quastana. The photograph +was a very good one, but it could not reproduce the sunburnt face, the +vivacity and agility of movement, surprising in a man of his age, and +the hoarse, hollow voice peculiar to those who spend most of their time +in solitude.</p> + +<p>Between two and three hours passed in this way, and I had some +difficulty in keeping awake in the stuffy air of the hut and the long +stretches of silence broken only by an occasional exclamation: +"Seventeen!" "Eighteen!" From time to time I was aroused by a heavy gust +of wind, or a dispute between the players.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a savage bark from Bruccio, like a cry of alarm. We +all sprang up, and Quastana rushed out of the door, returning an instant +afterwards and seizing his gun. With an exclamation of rage he darted +out of the door again and was gone. Matteo and I were looking at one +another in surprise, when a dozen armed men entered and called upon us +to surrender. And in less time than it takes to tell you we were on the +ground, bound, and prisoners. In vain I tried to make the gendarmes +understand who I was; they would not listen to me. "That's all right; +you will have an opportunity of making an explanation when we get to +Bastia."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;"> +<img src="images/image128.jpg" width="449" height="450" alt=""HE DARTED OUT OF THE DOOR AGAIN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE DARTED OUT OF THE DOOR AGAIN."</span> +</div> + +<p>They dragged us to our feet and drove us out with the butt-ends of their +carbines. Handcuffed, and pushed about by one and another, we reached +the bottom of the slope, where a prison-van was waiting for us—a vile +box, without ventilation and full of vermin—into which we were thrown +and driven to Bastia, escorted by gendarmes with drawn swords.</p> + +<p>A nice position for a Government official!</p> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>It was broad daylight when we reached Bastia. The Public Prosecutor, the +colonel of the gendarmes, and the governor of the prison were +impatiently awaiting us. I never saw a man look more astonished than the +corporal in charge of the escort, as, with a triumphant smile, he led me +to these gentlemen, and saw them hurry towards me with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> all sorts of +apologies, and take off the handcuffs.</p> + +<p>"What! Is it <i>you</i>?" exclaimed the Public Prosecutor. "Have these idiots +really arrested <i>you</i>? But how did it come about—what is the meaning of +it?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 411px;"> +<img src="images/image129.jpg" width="411" height="450" alt=""EXPLANATIONS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"EXPLANATIONS."</span> +</div> + +<p>Explanations followed. On the previous day the Public Prosecutor had +received a telegram from Porto-Vecchio, informing him of the presence of +Quastana in the locality, and giving precise details as to where and +when he could be found. The name of Porto-Vecchio opened my eyes; it was +that travelling companion of mine who had played me this shabby trick! +He was the Prosecutor's deputy.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear sir," said the Public Prosecutor, "whoever would have +expected to see you in shooting costume in the house of the brigand's +cousin! We have given you rather a bad time of it, but I know you will +not bear malice, and you will prove it by coming to breakfast with me." +Then turning to the corporal, and pointing to Matteo, he said: "Take +this fellow away; we will deal with him in the morning."</p> + +<p>The unfortunate Matteo remained dumb with fright; he looked appealingly +at me, and I, of course, could not do otherwise than explain matters. +Taking the Prosecutor on one side, I told him that Matteo was really +assisting the Prefect to capture the brigand; but as I told him all +about the matter, his face assumed a hard, judicial expression.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for the Prefecture," he said; "but I have Quastana's cousin, +and I won't let him go! He will be tried with some peasants, who are +accused of having supplied the brigand with provisions."</p> + +<p>"But I repeat that this man is really in the service of the Prefecture," +I protested.</p> + +<p>"So much the worse for the Prefecture," said he with a laugh. "I am +going to give the Administration a lesson it won't forget, and teach it +not to meddle with what doesn't concern it. There is only one brigand in +Corsica, and you want to take him! He's my game, I tell you. The Prefect +knows that, yet he tries to forestall me! Now I will pay him out. Matteo +shall be tried; he will, of course, appeal to your side; there will be a +great to-do, and the brigand will be put on his guard against his cousin +and gentlemen of the Prefecture who go shooting."</p> + +<p>Well, he kept his word. We had to appear on behalf of Matteo, and we had +a nice time of it in the court. I was the laughing-stock of the place. +Matteo was acquitted, but he could no longer be of use to us, because +Quastana was forewarned. He had to quit the country.</p> + +<p>As to Quastana, he was never caught. He knew the country, and every +peasant was secretly ready to assist him; and although the soldiers and +gendarmes tried their best to take him, they could not manage it. When I +left the island he was still at liberty, and I have never heard anything +about his capture since.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> +<p><a name="ZIG-ZAG_AT_THE_ZOO" id="ZIG-ZAG_AT_THE_ZOO"></a></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 430px;"> +<img src="images/image130.jpg" width="430" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p>The seal is an affable fellow, though sloppy. He is friendly to man: +providing the journalist with copy, the diplomatist with lying practice, +and the punster with shocking opportunities. Ungrateful for these +benefits, however, or perhaps savage at them, man responds by knocking +the seal on the head and taking his skin: an injury which the seal +avenges by driving man into the Bankruptcy Court with bills for his +wife's jackets. The puns instigated by the seal are of a sort to make +one long for the animal's extermination. It is quite possible that this +is really what the seal wants, because to become extinct and to occupy a +place of honour beside the dodo is a distinction much coveted amongst +the lower animals. The dodo was a squabby, ugly, dumpy, not to say +fat-headed, bird when it lived; now it is a hero of romance. Possibly +this is what the seal is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> aiming at; but personally I should prefer the +extinction of the punster.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 231px;"> +<img src="images/image130-1.jpg" width="231" height="250" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 358px;"> +<img src="images/image131-1.jpg" width="358" height="350" alt="A SHAVE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A SHAVE.</span> +</div> + +<p>The punster is a low person, who refers to the awkwardness of the seal's +gait by speaking of his not having his seal-legs, although a mariner or +a sealubber, as he might express it. If you reply that, on the contrary, +the seal's legs, such as they are, are very characteristic, he takes +refuge in the atrocious admission, delivered with a French accent, that +they are certainly very sealy legs. When he speaks of the messages of +the English Government, in the matter of seal-catching in the Behring +Sea, he calls it whitewashing the sealing, and explains that the +"Behrings of this here observation lies in the application on it." I +once even heard a punster remark that the Russian and American officials +had got rather out of their Behrings, through an excess of seal on +behalf of their Governments; but he was a very sad specimen, in a very +advanced stage, and he is dead now. I don't say that that remark sealed +his fate, but I believe there are people who would say even that, with +half a chance.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 240px;"> +<img src="images/image131-2.jpg" width="240" height="300" alt="TOBY—BEHIND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">TOBY—BEHIND.</span> +</div> + +<p>Another class of frivoller gets his opportunity because it is customary +to give various species of seals—divers species, one might +say—inappropriate names. He tells you that if you look for sea-lions +and sea-leopards, you will not see lions, nor even see leopards, but +seal-lions and seal-leopards, which are very different. These are called +lions and leopards because they look less like lions and leopards than +anything else in the world; just as the harp seal is so called because +he has a broad mark on his back, which doesn't look like a harp. Look at +Toby, the Patagonian sea-lion here, who has a large pond and premises to +himself. I have the greatest possible respect and esteem for Toby, but I +shouldn't mistake him for a lion, in any circumstances. With every wish +to spare his feelings, one can only compare him to a very big slug in an +overcoat, who has had the misfortune to fall into the water. Even his +moustache isn't lion-like. Indeed, if he would only have a white cloth +tucked round his neck, and sit back in that chair that stands over his +pond, he would look very respectably human—and he certainly wants a +shave.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 268px;"> +<img src="images/image131-3.jpg" width="268" height="350" alt="THE BIG-BOOT DANCE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE BIG-BOOT DANCE.</span> +</div> + +<p>Toby is a low-comedy sea-lion all over. When I set about organizing the +Zoo Nigger Minstrels, Toby shall be corner-man, and do the big-boot +dance. He does it now, capitally. You have only to watch him from behind +as he proceeds along the edge of the pond, to see the big-boot dance in +all its quaint humour. Toby's hind flappers exhale broad farce at every +step. Toby is a cheerful and laughter-moving seal, and he would do +capitally in a pantomime, if he were a little less damp.</p> + +<p>Toby is fond of music; so are most other seals. The complete scale of +the seal's preferences among the various musical instruments has not +been fixed with anything like finality; but one thing is certain—that +far and away above all the rest of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> things designed to produce music +and other noises, the seal prefers the bagpipes. This taste either +proves the seal to be a better judge of music than most human beings, or +a worse one than any of the other animals, according as the gentle +reader may be a native of Scotland or of somewhere in the remainder of +the world. You may charm seals by the bagpipes just as a snake is +charmed by pipes with no bag. It has even been suggested that all the +sealing vessels leaving this country should carry bagpipes with them, +and I can see no sound objection to this course—so long as they take +all the bagpipes. I could also reconcile myself to a general extrusion +of concertinas for this useful purpose—or for any other; not to mention +barrel organs.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image132-1.jpg" width="650" height="403" alt="THE SEAL ROW." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE SEAL ROW.</span> +</div> + +<p>By-the-bye, on looking at Toby again I think we might do something +better for him than give him a mere part in a pantomime; his fine +moustache and his shiny hair almost point to a qualification for +managership. Nothing more is wanted—except, perhaps, a fur-trimmed coat +and a well-oiled hat—to make a very fine manager indeed, of a certain +sort.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 240px;"> +<img src="images/image132-2.jpg" width="240" height="300" alt="A VERY FINE MANAGER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A VERY FINE MANAGER.</span> +</div> + +<p>I don't think there is a Noah's ark seal—unless the Lowther Arcade +theology has been amended since I had a Noah's ark. As a matter of fact, +I don't see what business a seal would have in the ark, where he would +find no fish to eat, and would occupy space wanted by a more necessitous +animal who couldn't swim. At any rate, there was originally no seal in +my Noah's ark, which dissatisfied me, as I remember, at the time; what I +wanted not being so much a Biblical illustration as a handy zoological +collection. So I appointed the dove a seal, and he did very well indeed +when I had pulled off his legs (a little inverted v). I argued, in the +first place, that as the dove went out and found nothing to alight on, +the legs were of no use to him; in the second place, that since, after +all, the dove flew away and never returned, the show would be pretty +well complete without him; and, thirdly, that if, on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> any emergency, a +dove were imperatively required, he would do quite well without his +legs—looking, indeed, much more like a dove, as well as much more like +a seal. So, as the dove was of about the same size as the cow, he made +an excellent seal; his bright yellow colour (Noah's was a yellow dove on +the authority of all orthodox arks) rather lending an air of distinction +than otherwise. And when a rashly funny uncle, who understood wine, +observed that I was laying down my crusted old yellow seal because it +wouldn't stand up, I didn't altogether understand him.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 432px;"> +<img src="images/image133.jpg" width="432" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Toby is a good soul, and you soon make his acquaintance. He never makes +himself common, however. As he swims round his circular pond, behind the +high rails, he won't have anything to say to a stranger—anybody he has +not seen before. But if you wait a few minutes he will swim round +several times, see you often, and become quite affable. There is nothing +more intelligent than a tame seal, and I have heard people regret that +seals can't talk, which is nonsense. When a seal can make you understand +him without it, talking is a noisy superfluity. Toby can say many things +without the necessity of talking. Observe his eyes fixed upon you as he +approaches for the first time. He turns and swaps past with his nose in +the air. "Pooh, don't know you," he is saying. But wait. He swims round +once, and, the next time of passing, gives you a little more notice. He +lifts his head and gazes at you, inquisitively, but severely. "Who's +that person?" he asks, and goes on his round.</p> + +<p>Next time he rises even a little more. He even smiles, slightly, as he +recognises you from the corner of his eye. "Ah! Seen you before, I +fancy." And as he flings over into the side stroke he beams at you quite +tolerantly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 290px;"> +<img src="images/image134-2.jpg" width="290" height="400" alt="GOOD DOGGY!" title="" /> +<span class="caption">GOOD DOGGY!</span> +</div> + +<p>He comes round again; but this time he smiles genially, and nods. +"'Morning!" he says, in a manner of a moderately old acquaintance. But +see next time; he is an old, intimate friend by this; a chum. He flings +his fin-flappers upon the coping, leans toward the bars with an +expansive grin and says: "Well, old boy, and how are you?"—as cordially +and as loudly as possible without absolutely speaking the words. He will +stay thus for a few moments' conversation, not entirely uninfluenced, I +fear, by anticipations of fish. Then, in the case of your not being in +the habit of carrying raw fish in your pockets, he takes his leave by +the short process of falling headlong into his pond and flinging a good +deal of it over you. There is no difficulty in becoming acquainted with +Toby. If you will only wait a few minutes he will slop his pond over you +with all the genial urbanity of an intimate relation. But you must wait +for the proper forms of etiquette.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 194px;"> +<img src="images/image134-1.jpg" width="194" height="300" alt=""CAUGHT, SIR!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"CAUGHT, SIR!"</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 327px;"> +<img src="images/image134-3.jpg" width="327" height="400" alt="FANNY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FANNY.</span> +</div> + +<p>The seal's sloppiness is annoying. I would have a tame seal myself if he +could go about without setting things afloat. A wet seal is unpleasant +to pat and fondle, and if he climbs on your knees he is positively +irritating. I suppose even a seal would get dry if you kept him out of +water long enough; but <i>can</i> you keep a seal out of water while there is +any within five miles for him to get into? And would the seal respect +you for it if you did? A dog shakes himself dry after a swim, and, if he +be your own dog, he shakes the water over somebody else, which is +sagacious and convenient; but a seal doesn't shake himself, and can't +understand that wet will lower the value of any animal's caresses. +Otherwise a seal would often be preferable to a dog as a domestic pet. +He doesn't howl all night. He never attempts to chase cats—seeing the +hopelessness of the thing. You don't need a license for him; and there +is little temptation to a loafer to steal him, owing to the restricted +market for house-seals. I have frequently heard of a dog being engaged +to field in a single-wicket cricket match. I should like to play +somebody a single-wicket cricket match, with a dog and a seal to field +for me. The seal, having no legs to speak of—merely feet—would have to +leave the running to the dog, but it <i>could</i> catch. You may see +magnificent catching here when Toby and Fanny—the Cape sea-lion (or +lioness), over by the turkeys—have their snacks of fish. Sutton the +Second, who is Keeper of the Seals (which is a fine title—rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> like +a Cabinet Minister), is then the source of a sort of pyrotechnic shower +of fish, every one of which is caught and swallowed promptly and neatly, +no matter how or where it may fall. Fanny, by the way, is the most +active seal possible; it is only on extremely rare occasions that she +indulges in an interval of comparative rest, to scratch her head with +her hind foot and devise fresh gymnastics. But, all through the day, +Fanny never forgets Sutton, nor his shower of fish, and half her +evolutions include a glance at the door whence he is wont to emerge, and +a sort of suicidal fling back into the pond in case of his +non-appearance, all which proceedings the solemn turkeys regard with +increasing amazement.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 353px;"> +<img src="images/image135.jpg" width="353" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Toby, however, provides the great seal-feeding show. Toby +has a perfect set of properties and appliances for his performance, +including a chair, a diving platform, an inclined plane leading +thereunto, and a sort of plank isthmus leading to the chair. He climbs +up on to the chair, and, leaning over the back, catches as many fish as +Sutton will throw for him. He dives off the chair for other fish. He +shuffles up the inclined plane for more fish, amid the sniggers of +spectators, for Toby's march has no claim to magnificence. He tumbles +himself unceremoniously off the platform, he clambers up and kisses +Sutton (keeping his eye on the basket), and all for fish. It is curious +to contrast the perfunctory affection with which Toby gets over the kiss +and takes his reward, with the genuine fondness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> of his gaze after +Sutton when he leaves—with some fish remaining for other seals. Toby is +a willing worker; he would gladly have the performance twice as long, +while as to an eight hours' day——!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 549px;"> +<img src="images/image136-1.jpg" width="549" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The seals in the next pond, Tommy and Jenny, are insulted with the +epithet of "common" seals; but Tommy and Jenny are really very +respectable, and if a seal do happen to be born only <i>Phoca vitulina</i>, +he can't really help it, and doesn't deserve humiliation so long as he +behaves himself. <i>Phoca vitulina</i> has as excellent power of reason as +any other kind of seal—brain power, acquired, no doubt, from a +continual fish diet. Tommy doesn't feel aggrieved at the slight put upon +him, however, and has a proper notion of his own importance. Watch him +rise from a mere floating patch—slowly, solemnly, and portentously, to +take a look round. He looks to the left—nothing to interest a +well-informed seal; to the front—nothing; to the right everything is in +order, the weather is only so-so, but the rain keeps off, and there are +no signs of that dilatory person with the fish; so Tommy flops in again, +and becomes once more a floating patch, having conducted his little +airing with proper dignity and self-respect. Really, there is nothing +common in the manners of Tommy; there is, at any rate, one piece of rude +mischief which he is never guilty of, but which many of the more +aristocratic kinds of seal practise habitually. He doesn't throw stones.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image136-2.jpg" width="400" height="253" alt="FISH DIET." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FISH DIET.</span> +</div> + +<p>He doesn't look at all like a stone-thrower, as a matter of fact; but +he—and other seals—<i>can</i> throw stones nevertheless. If you chase a +seal over a shingly beach, he will scuffle away at a surprising pace, +flinging up the stones into your face with his hind feet. This assault, +directed toward a well-intentioned person who only wants to bang him on +the head with a club, is a piece of grievous ill-humour, particularly on +the part of the crested seal, who can blow up a sort of bladder on the +top of his head which protects him from assault; and which also gives +him, by-the-bye, an intellectual and large-brained appearance not his +due, for all his fish diet. I had been thinking of making some sort of a +joke about an aristocratic seal with a crest on it—beside a fine coat +with no arms—but gave up the undertaking on reflecting that no real +swell—probably not even a parvenu—would heave half-bricks with his +feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 420px;"> +<img src="images/image137-2.jpg" width="420" height="300" alt="INTEREST IN THE NEWS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">INTEREST IN THE NEWS.</span> +</div> + +<p>All this running away and hurling of clinkers may seem to agree ill with +the longing after extermination lately hinted at; but, in fact, it only +proves the presence of a large amount of human nature in the composition +of the seal. From motives of racial pride the seal aspires to extinction +and a place beside the dodo, but in the spirit of many other patriots, +he wants the other seals to be exterminated first; wants the individual +honour, in fact, of being himself the very last seal, as well as the +corporate honour of extinction for the species. This is why, if he live +in some other part, he takes such delighted interest in news of +wholesale seal slaughter in the Pacific; and also why he skedaddles from +the well-meant bangs of the genial hunter—these blows, by the way, +being technically described as sealing-whacks.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 402px;"> +<img src="images/image137-1.jpg" width="402" height="425" alt=""DAS VAS BLEASANT, AIN'D IT?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"DAS VAS BLEASANT, AIN'D IT?"</span> +</div> + +<p>The sea-lion, as I have said, is not like a lion; the sea-leopard is not +like a leopard; but the sea-elephant, which is another sort of seal, and +a large one, may possibly be considered sufficiently like an elephant to +have been evolved, in the centuries, from an elephant who has had the +ill-luck to fall into the sea. He hasn't much of a trunk left, but he +often finds himself in seas of a coldness enough to nip off any ordinary +trunk; but his legs and feet are not elephantine.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/image137-3.jpg" width="300" height="251" alt=""AND THE NEXT ARTICLE?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"AND THE NEXT ARTICLE?"</span> +</div> + +<p>What the previous adventures of the sea-lion may have been in the matter +of evolution, I am at a loss to guess, unless there is anything in the +slug theory; but if he keep steadily on, and cultivate his moustache and +his stomach with proper assiduity, I have no doubt of his one day +turning up at a seaside resort and carrying on life in future as a +fierce old German out for a bathe. Or the Cape sea-lion, if only he +continue his obsequious smile and his habit of planting his +fore-flappers on the ledge before him as he rises from the water, may +some day, in his posterity, be promoted to a place behind the counter of +a respectable drapery warehouse, there to sell the skins his relatives +grow.</p> + +<p>But after all, any phocine ambition, either for extinction or higher +evolution, may be an empty thing; because the seal is very comfortable +as he is. Consider a few of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> advantages. He has a very fine fur +overcoat, with an admirable lining of fat, which, as well as being warm, +permits any amount of harmless falling and tumbling about, such as is +suitable to and inevitable with the seal's want of shape. He can enjoy +the sound of bagpipes, which is a privilege accorded to few. Further, he +can shut his ears when he has had enough, which is a faculty man may +envy him. His wife, too, always has a first-rate sealskin jacket, made +in one piece, and he hasn't to pay for it. He can always run down to the +seaside when so disposed, although the run is a waddle and a flounder; +and if he has no tail to speak of—well, he can't have it frozen off. +All these things are better than the empty honour of extinction; better +than evolution into bathers who would be drownable, and translation into +unaccustomed situations—with the peril of a week's notice. Wherefore +let the seal perpetuate his race—his obstacle race, as one might say, +seeing him flounder and flop.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;"> +<img src="images/image138.jpg" width="442" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Majors_Commission" id="The_Majors_Commission"></a><i>The Major's Commission.</i></h2> +<h3> +<span class="smcap">By W. Clark Russell.</span></h3> + + +<p>My name is Henry Adams, and in 1854 I was mate of a ship of 1,200 tons +named the <i>Jessamy Bride</i>. June of that year found her at Calcutta with +cargo to the hatches, and ready to sail for England in three or four +days.</p> + +<p>I was walking up and down the ship's long quarter-deck, sheltered by the +awning, when a young apprentice came aft and said a gentleman wished to +speak to me. I saw a man standing in the gangway; he was a tall, +soldierly person, about forty years of age, with iron-grey hair and +spiked moustache, and an aquiline nose. His eyes were singularly bright +and penetrating. He immediately said:—</p> + +<p>"I wanted to see the captain; but as chief officer you'll do equally +well. When does this ship sail?"</p> + +<p>"On Saturday or Monday next."</p> + +<p>He ran his eye along the decks and then looked aloft: there was +something bird-like in the briskness of his way of glancing.</p> + +<p>"I understand you don't carry passengers?"</p> + +<p>"That's so, sir, though there's accommodation for them."</p> + +<p>"I'm out of sorts, and have been sick for months, and want to see what a +trip round the Cape to England will do for me. I shall be going home, +not for my health only, but on a commission. The Maharajah of Ratnagiri, +hearing I was returning to England on sick-leave, asked me to take +charge of a very splendid gift for Her Majesty the Queen of England. It +is a diamond, valued at fifteen thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>He paused to observe the effect of this communication, and then +proceeded:—</p> + +<p>"I suppose you know how the Koh-i-noor was sent home?"</p> + +<p>"It was conveyed to England, I think," said I, "by H.M.S. <i>Medea</i>, in +1850."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she sailed in April that year, and arrived at Portsmouth in June. +The glorious gem was intrusted to Colonel Mackieson and Captain Ramsay. +It was locked up in a small box along with other jewels, and each +officer had a key. The box was secreted in the ship by them, and no man +on board the vessel, saving themselves, knew where it was hidden."</p> + +<p>"Was that so?" said I, much interested.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I had the particulars from the commander of the vessel, Captain +Lockyer. When do you expect your skipper on board?" he exclaimed, +darting a bright, sharp look around him.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell. He may arrive at any moment."</p> + +<p>"The having charge of a stone valued at fifteen thousand pounds, and +intended as a gift for the Queen of England, is a deuce of a +responsibility," said he. "I shall borrow a hint from the method adopted +in the case of the Koh-i-noor. I intend to hide the stone in my cabin, +so as to extinguish all risk, saving, of course, what the insurance +people call the acts of God. May I look at your cabin accommodation?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>I led the way to the companion hatch, and he followed me into the cabin. +The ship had berthing room for eight or ten people irrespective of the +officers who slept aft. But the vessel made no bid for passengers. She +left them to Blackwall Liners, to the splendid ships of Green, Money +Wigram, and Smith, and to the P. & O. and other steam lines. The +overland route was then the general choice; few of their own decision +went by way of the Cape. No one had booked with us down to this hour, +and we had counted upon having the cabin to ourselves.</p> + +<p>The visitor walked into every empty berth, and inspected it as carefully +as though he had been a Government surveyor. He beat upon the walls and +bulkheads with his cane, sent his brilliant gaze into the corners and +under the bunks and up at the ceiling, and finally said, as he stepped +from the last of the visitable cabins:—</p> + +<p>"This decides me. I shall sail with you."</p> + +<p>I bowed and said I was sure the captain would be glad of the pleasure of +his company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I presume," said he, "that no objection will be raised to my bringing a +native carpenter aboard to construct a secret place, as in the case of +the Koh-i-noor, for the Maharajah's diamond?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<img src="images/image140.jpg" width="335" height="450" alt=""A SQUARE MOROCCO CASE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"A SQUARE MOROCCO CASE."</span> +</div> + +<p>"I don't think a native carpenter would be allowed to knock the ship +about," said I.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. A little secret receptacle—big enough to receive this," +said he, putting his hand in his side pocket and producing a square +Morocco case, of a size to berth a bracelet or a large brooch. "The +construction of a nook to conceal this will not be knocking your ship +about?"</p> + +<p>"It's a question for the captain and the agents, sir," said I.</p> + +<p>He replaced the case, whose bulk was so inconsiderable that it did not +bulge in his coat when he had pocketed it, and said, now that he had +inspected the ship and the accommodation, he would call at once upon the +agents. He gave me his card and left the vessel.</p> + +<p>The card bore the name of a military officer of some distinction. Enough +if, in this narrative of a memorable and extraordinary incident, I speak +of him as Major Byron Hood.</p> + +<p>The master of the <i>Jessamy Bride</i> was Captain Robert North. This man +had, three years earlier, sailed with me as my chief mate; it then +happened I was unable to quickly obtain command, and accepted the offer +of mate of the <i>Jessamy Bride</i>, whose captain, I was surprised to hear, +proved the shipmate who had been under me, but who, some money having +been left to him, had purchased an interest in the firm to which the +ship belonged. We were on excellent terms; almost as brothers indeed. He +never asserted his authority, and left it to my own judgment to +recognise his claims. I am happy to know he had never occasion to regret +his friendly treatment of me.</p> + +<p>He came on board in the afternoon of that day on which Major Hood had +visited the ship, and was full of that gentleman and his resolution to +carry a costly diamond round the Cape under sail, instead of making his +obligation as brief as steam and the old desert route would allow.</p> + +<p>"I've had a long talk with him up at the agents," said Captain North. +"He don't seem well."</p> + +<p>"Suffering from his nerves, perhaps," said I.</p> + +<p>"He's a fine, gentlemanly person. He told Mr. Nicholson he was twice +wounded, naming towns which no Christian man could twist his tongue into +the sound of."</p> + +<p>"Will he be allowed to make a hole in the ship to hide his diamond in?"</p> + +<p>"He has agreed to make good any damage done, and to pay at the rate of a +fare and a half for the privilege of hiding the stone."</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't he give the thing into your keeping, sir? This jackdaw-like +hiding is a sort of reflection on our honesty, isn't it, captain?"</p> + +<p>He laughed and answered, "No; I like such reflections for my part. Who +wants to be burdened with the custody of precious things belonging to +other people? Since he's to have the honour of presenting the diamond, +let the worry of taking care of it be his; this ship's enough for me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He'll be knighted, I suppose, for delivering this stone," said I. "Did +he show it to you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"He has it in his pocket."</p> + +<p>"He produced the case," said Captain North. "A thing about the size of a +muffin. Where'll he hide it? But we're not to be curious in <i>that</i> +direction," he added, smiling.</p> + +<p>Next morning, somewhere about ten o'clock, Major Hood came on board with +two natives; one a carpenter, the other his assistant. They brought a +basket of tools, descended into the cabin, and were lost sight of till +after two. No; I'm wrong. I was writing at the cabin table at half-past +twelve when the Major opened his door, peered out, shut the door swiftly +behind him with an extraordinary air and face of caution and anxiety, +and coming along to me asked for some refreshments for himself and the +two natives. I called to the steward, who filled a tray, which the Major +with his own hands conveyed into his berth. Then, some time after two, +whilst I was at the gangway talking to a friend, the Major and the two +blacks came out of the cabin. Before they went over the side I said:—</p> + +<p>"Is the work finished below, sir?"</p> + +<p>"It is, and to my entire satisfaction," he answered.</p> + +<p>When he was gone, my friend, who was the master of a barque, asked me +who that fine-looking man was. I answered he was a passenger, and then, +not understanding that the thing was a secret, plainly told him what +they had been doing in the cabin, and why.</p> + +<p>"But," said he, "those two niggers'll know that something precious is to +be hidden in the place they've been making."</p> + +<p>"That's been in my head all the morning," said I.</p> + +<p>"Who's to hinder them," said he, "from blabbing to one or more of the +crew? Treachery's cheap in this country. A rupee will buy a pile of +roguery." He looked at me expressively. "Keep a bright look-out for a +brace of well-oiled stowaways," said he.</p> + +<p>"It's the Major's business," I answered, with a shrug.</p> + +<p>When Captain North came on board he and I went into the Major's berth. +We scrutinized every part, but saw nothing to indicate that a tool had +been used or a plank lifted. There was no sawdust, no chip of wood: +everything to the eye was precisely as before. No man will say we had +not a right to look: how were we to make sure, as captain and mate of +the ship for whose safety we were responsible, that those blacks under +the eye of the Major had not been doing something which might give us +trouble by-and-by?</p> + +<p>"Well," said Captain North, as we stepped on deck, "if the diamond's +already hidden, which I doubt, it couldn't be more snugly concealed if +it were twenty fathoms deep in the mud here."</p> + +<p>The Major's baggage came on board on the Saturday, and on the Monday we +sailed. We were twenty-four of a ship's company all told: twenty-five +souls in all, with Major Hood. Our second mate was a man named +Mackenzie, to whom and to the apprentices whilst we lay in the river I +had given particular instructions to keep a sharp look-out on all +strangers coming aboard. I had been very vigilant myself too, and +altogether was quite convinced there was no stowaway below, either white +or black, though under ordinary circumstances one never would think of +seeking for a native in hiding for Europe.</p> + +<p>On either hand of the <i>Jessamy Bride's</i> cabin five sleeping berths were +bulkheaded off. The Major's was right aft on the starboard side. Mine +was next his. The captain occupied a berth corresponding with the +Major's, right aft on the port side. Our solitary passenger was +exceedingly amiable and agreeable at the start and for days after. He +professed himself delighted with the cabin fare, and said it was not to +be bettered at three times the charge in the saloons of the steamers. +His drink he had himself laid in: it consisted mainly of claret and +soda. He had come aboard with a large cargo of Indian cigars, and was +never without a long, black weed, bearing some tongue-staggering, +up-country name, betwixt his lips. He was primed with professional +anecdote, had a thorough knowledge of life in India, both in the towns +and wilds, had seen service in Burmah and China, and was altogether one +of the most conversible soldiers I ever met: a scholar, something of a +wit, and all that he said and all that he did was rendered the more +engaging by grace of breeding.</p> + +<p>Captain North declared to me he had never met so delightful a man in all +his life, and the pleasantest hours I ever passed on the ocean were +spent in walking the deck in conversation with Major Byron Hood.</p> + +<p>For some days after we were at sea no reference was made either by the +Major or ourselves to the Maharajah of Ratnagiri's splendid gift to Her +Majesty the Queen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> The captain and I and Mackenzie viewed it as tabooed +matter: a thing to be locked up in memory, just as, in fact, it was +hidden away in some cunningly-wrought receptacle in the Major's cabin. +One day at dinner, however, when we were about a week out from Calcutta, +Major Hood spoke of the Maharajah's gift. He talked freely about it; his +face was flushed as though the mere thought of the thing raised a +passion of triumph in his spirits. His eyes shone whilst he enlarged +upon the beauty and value of the stone.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 494px;"> +<img src="images/image142.jpg" width="494" height="450" alt=""EXCEEDINGLY AMIABLE AND AGREEABLE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"EXCEEDINGLY AMIABLE AND AGREEABLE."</span> +</div> + +<p>The captain and I exchanged looks; the steward was waiting upon us with +cocked ears, and that menial, deaf expression of face which makes you +know every word is being greedily listened to. We might therefore make +sure that before the first dog-watch came round all hands would have +heard that the Major had a diamond in his cabin intended for the Queen +of England, and worth fifteen thousand pounds. Nay, they'd hear even +more than that; for in the course of his talk about the gem the Major +praised the ingenuity of the Asiatic artisan, whether Indian or Chinese, +and spoke of the hiding-place the two natives had contrived for the +diamond as an example of that sort of juggling skill in carving which is +found in perfection amongst the Japanese.</p> + +<p>I thought this candour highly indiscreet: charged too with menace. A +matter gains in significance by mystery. The Jacks would think nothing +of a diamond being in the ship as a part of her cargo, which might +include a quantity of specie for all they knew. But some of them might +think more often about it than was at all desirable when they understood +it was stowed away under a plank, or was to be got by tapping about for +a hollow echo, or probing with the judgment of a carpenter when the +Major was on deck and the coast aft all clear.</p> + +<p>We had been three weeks at sea; it was a roasting afternoon, though I +cannot exactly remember the situation of the ship. Our tacks were aboard +and the bowlines triced out, and the vessel was scarcely looking up to +her course, slightly heeling away from a fiery fanning of wind off the +starboard bow, with the sea trembling under the sun in white-hot needles +of broken light, and a narrow ribbon of wake glancing off into a hot +blue thickness that brought the horizon within a mile of us astern.</p> + +<p>I had charge of the deck from twelve to four. For an hour past the +Major, cigar in mouth, had been stretched at his ease in a folding +chair; a book lay beside him on the skylight, but he scarcely glanced at +it. I had paused to address him once or twice, but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> showed no +disposition to chat. Though he lay in the most easy lounging posture +imaginable, I observed a restless, singular expression in his face, +accentuated yet by the looks he incessantly directed out to sea, or +glances at the deck forward, or around at the helm, so far as he might +move his head without shifting his attitude. It was as though his mind +were in labour with some scheme. A man might so look whilst working out +the complicated plot of a play, or adjusting by the exertion of his +memory the intricacies of a novel piece of mechanism.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 324px;"> +<img src="images/image143.jpg" width="324" height="450" alt=""STRETCHED AT HIS EASE IN A FOLDING CHAIR."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"STRETCHED AT HIS EASE IN A FOLDING CHAIR."</span> +</div> + +<p>On a sudden he started up and went below.</p> + +<p>A few minutes after he had left the deck, Captain North came up from his +cabin, and for some while we paced the planks together. There was a +pleasant hush upon the ship; the silence was as refreshing as a fold of +coolness lifting off the sea. A spun-yarn winch was clinking on the +forecastle; from alongside rose the music of fretted waters.</p> + +<p>I was talking to the captain on some detail of the ship's furniture; +when Major Hood came running up the companion steps, his face as white +as his waistcoat, his head uncovered, every muscle of his countenance +rigid, as with horror.</p> + +<p>"Good God, captain!" cried he, standing in the companion, "what do you +think has happened?" Before we could fetch a breath he cried: "Someone's +stolen the diamond!"</p> + +<p>I glanced at the helmsman who stood at the radiant circle of wheel +staring with open mouth and eyebrows arched into his hair. The captain, +stepping close to Major Hood, said in a low, steady voice:—</p> + +<p>"What's this you tell me, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The diamond's gone!" exclaimed the Major, fixing his shining eyes upon +me, whilst I observed that his fingers convulsively stroked his thumbs +as though he were rolling up pellets of bread or paper.</p> + +<p>"Do you tell me the diamond's been taken from the place you hid it in?" +said Captain North, still speaking softly, but with deliberation.</p> + +<p>"The diamond never was hidden," replied the Major, who continued to +stare at me. "It was in a portmanteau. <i>That's</i> no hiding-place!"</p> + +<p>Captain North fell back a step. "Never was hidden!" he exclaimed. +"Didn't you bring two native workmen aboard for no other purpose than to +hide it?"</p> + +<p>"It never was hidden," said the Major, now turning his eyes upon the +captain. "I chose it should be believed it was undiscoverably concealed +in some part of my cabin, that I might safely and conveniently keep it +in my baggage, where no thief would dream of looking for it. Who has +it?" he cried with a sudden fierceness, making a step full of passion +out of the companion-way; and he looked under knitted brows towards the +ship's forecastle.</p> + +<p>Captain North watched him idly for a moment or two, and then with an +abrupt swing of his whole figure, eloquent of defiant resolution, he +stared the Major in the face, and said in a quiet, level voice:—</p> + +<p>"I shan't be able to help you. If it's gone, it's gone. A diamond's not +a bale of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> wool. Whoever's been clever enough to find it will know how +to keep it."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image144.jpg" width="500" height="387" alt=""SOMEONE'S STOLEN THE DIAMOND!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SOMEONE'S STOLEN THE DIAMOND!"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I must have it!" broke out the Major. "It's a gift for Her Majesty the +Queen. It's in this ship. I look to you, sir, as master of this vessel, +to recover the property which some one of the people under your charge +has robbed me of!"</p> + +<p>"I'll accompany you to your cabin," said the captain; and they went down +the steps.</p> + +<p>I stood motionless, gaping like an idiot into the yawn of hatch down +which they had disappeared. I had been so used to think of the diamond +as cunningly hidden in the Major's berth, that his disclosure was +absolutely a shock with its weight of astonishment. Small wonder that +neither Captain North nor I had observed any marks of a workman's tools +in the Major's berth. Not but that it was a very ingenious stratagem, +far cleverer to my way of thinking than any subtle, secret burial of the +thing. To think of the Major and his two Indians sitting idly for hours +in that cabin, with the captain and myself all the while supposing they +were fashioning some wonderful contrivance or place for concealing the +treasure in! And still, for all the Major's cunning, the stone was gone! +Who had stolen it? The only fellow likely to prove the thief was the +steward, not because he was more or less of a rogue than any other man +in the ship, but because he was the one person who, by virtue of his +office, was privileged to go in and out of the sleeping places as his +duties required.</p> + +<p>I was pacing the deck, musing into a sheer muddle this singular business +of the Maharajah of Ratnagiri's gift to the Queen of England, with all +sorts of dim, unformed suspicions floating loose in my brains round the +central fancy of the fifteen thousand pound stone there, when the +captain returned. He was alone. He stepped up to me hastily, and said:—</p> + +<p>"He swears the diamond has been stolen. He showed me the empty case."</p> + +<p>"Was there ever a stone in it at all?" said I.</p> + +<p>"I don't think that," he answered, quickly; "there's no motive under +Heaven to be imagined if the whole thing's a fabrication."</p> + +<p>"What then, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The case is empty, but I've not made up my mind yet that the stone's +missing."</p> + +<p>"The man's an officer and a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know!" he interrupted, "but still, in my opinion, the stone's +not missing. The long and short of it is," he said, after a very short +pause, with a careful glance at the skylight and companion hatch, "his +behaviour isn't convincing enough. Something's wanting in his passion +and his vexation."</p> + +<p>"Sincerity!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! I don't intend that this business shall trouble me. He angrily +required me to search the ship for stowaways. Bosh! The second mate and +steward have repeatedly overhauled the lazarette: there's nobody there."</p> + +<p>"And if not there, then nowhere else," said I. "Perhaps he's got the +forepeak in his head."</p> + +<p>"I'll not have a hatch lifted," he exclaimed, warmly, "nor will I allow +the crew to be troubled. There's been no theft. Put it that the stone is +stolen. Who's going to find it in a forecastle full of men—a thing as +big as half a bean perhaps? If it's gone, it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> gone, indeed, whoever +may have it. But there's no go in this matter at all," he added, with a +short, nervous laugh.</p> + +<p>We were talking in this fashion when the Major joined us; his features +were now composed. He gazed sternly at the captain and said, loftily:—</p> + +<p>"What steps are you prepared to take in this matter?"</p> + +<p>"None, sir."</p> + +<p>His face darkened. He looked with a bright gleam in his eyes at the +captain, then at me: his gaze was piercing with the light in it. Without +a word he stepped to the side and, folding his arms, stood motionless.</p> + +<p>I glanced at the captain; there was something in the bearing of the +Major that gave shape, vague indeed, to a suspicion that had cloudily +hovered about my thoughts of the man for some time past. The captain met +my glance, but he did not interpret it.</p> + +<p>When I was relieved at four o'clock by the second mate, I entered my +berth, and presently, hearing the captain go to his cabin, went to him +and made a proposal. He reflected, and then answered:—</p> + +<p>"Yes; get it done."</p> + +<p>After some talk I went forward and told the carpenter to step aft and +bore a hole in the bulkhead that separated the Major's berth from mine. +He took the necessary tools from his chest and followed me. The captain +was now again on deck, talking with the Major; in fact, detaining him in +conversation, as had been preconcerted. I went into the Major's berth, +and quickly settled upon a spot for an eye-hole. The carpenter then went +to work in my cabin, and in a few minutes bored an orifice large enough +to enable me to command a large portion of the adjacent interior. I +swept the sawdust from the deck in the Major's berth, so that no hint +should draw his attention to the hole, which was pierced in a corner +shadowed by a shelf. I then told the carpenter to manufacture a plug and +paint its extremity of the colour of the bulkhead. He brought me this +plug in a quarter of an hour. It fitted nicely, and was to be withdrawn +and inserted as noiselessly as though greased.</p> + +<p>I don't want you to suppose this Peeping-Tom scheme was at all to my +taste, albeit my own proposal; but the truth is, the Major's telling us +that someone had stolen his diamond made all who lived aft hotly eager +to find out whether he spoke the truth or not; for, if he had been +really robbed of the stone, then suspicion properly rested upon the +officers and the steward, which was an <i>infernal</i> consideration: +dishonouring and inflaming enough to drive one to seek a remedy in even +a baser device than that of secretly keeping watch on a man in his +bedroom. Then, again, the captain told me that the Major, whilst they +talked when the carpenter was at work making the hole, had said he would +give notice of his loss to the police at Cape Town (at which place we +were to touch), and declared he'd take care no man went ashore—from +Captain North himself down to the youngest apprentice—till every +individual, every sea-chest, every locker, drawer, shelf and box, bunk, +bracket and crevice had been searched by qualified rummagers.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 299px;"> +<img src="images/image145.jpg" width="299" height="450" alt=""THE CARPENTER THEN WENT TO WORK."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THE CARPENTER THEN WENT TO WORK."</span> +</div> + +<p>On this the day of the theft, nothing more was said about the diamond: +that is, after the captain had emphatically informed Major Hood that he +meant to take no steps whatever in the matter. I had expected to find +the Major sullen and silent at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> dinner; he was not, indeed, so talkative +as usual, but no man watching and hearing him would have supposed so +heavy a loss as that of a stone worth fifteen thousand pounds, the gift +of an Eastern potentate to the Queen of England, was weighing upon his +spirits.</p> + +<p>It is with reluctance I tell you that, after dinner that day, when he +went to his cabin, I softly withdrew the plug and watched him. I blushed +whilst thus acting, yet I was determined, for my own sake and for the +sake of my shipmates, to persevere. I spied nothing noticeable saving +this: he sat in a folding chair and smoked, but every now and again he +withdrew his cigar from his mouth and talked to it with a singular +smile. It was a smile of cunning, that worked like some baleful, magical +spirit in the fine high breeding of his features; changing his looks +just as a painter of incomparable skill might colour a noble, familiar +face into a diabolical expression, amazing those who knew it only in its +honest and manly beauty. I had never seen that wild, grinning +countenance on him before, and it was rendered the more remarkable by +the movement of his lips whilst he talked to himself, but inaudibly.</p> + +<p>A week slipped by; time after time I had the man under observation; +often when I had charge of the deck I'd leave the captain to keep a look +out, and steal below and watch Major Hood in his cabin.</p> + +<p>It was a Sunday, I remember. I was lying in my bunk half dozing—we were +then, I think, about a three-weeks' sail from Table Bay—when I heard +the Major go to his cabin. I was already sick of my aimless prying; and +whilst I now lay I thought to myself: "I'll sleep; what is the good of +this trouble? I know exactly what I shall see. He is either in his +chair, or his bunk, or overhauling his clothes, or standing, cigar in +mouth, at the open porthole." And then I said to myself: "If I don't +look now I shall miss the only opportunity of detection that may occur." +One is often urged by a sort of instinct in these matters.</p> + +<p>I got up, almost as through an impulse of habit, noiselessly withdrew +the plug, and looked. The Major was at that instant standing with a +pistol-case in his hand: he opened it as my sight went to him, took out +one of a brace of very elegant pistols, put down the case, and on his +apparently touching a spring in the butt of the pistol, the silver plate +that ornamented the extremity sprang open as the lid of a snuff-box +would, and something small and bright dropped into his hand. This he +examined with the peculiar cunning smile I have before described; but +owing to the position of his hand, I could not see what he held, though +I had not the least doubt that it was the diamond.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 322px;"> +<img src="images/image146.jpg" width="322" height="450" alt=""SOMETHING SMALL AND BRIGHT DROPPED INTO HIS HAND."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SOMETHING SMALL AND BRIGHT DROPPED INTO HIS HAND."</span> +</div> + +<p>I watched him breathlessly. After a few minutes he dropped the stone +into the hollow butt-end, shut the silver plate, shook the weapon +against his ear as though it pleased him to rattle the stone, then put +it in its case, and the case into a portmanteau.</p> + +<p>I at once went on deck, where I found the captain, and reported to him +what I had seen. He viewed me in silence, with a stare of astonishment +and incredulity. What I had seen, he said, was not the diamond. I told +him the thing that had dropped into the Major's hand was bright, and, as +I thought, sparkled, but it was so held I could not see it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was talking to him on this extraordinary affair when the Major came on +deck. The captain said to me: "Hold him in chat. I'll judge for myself," +and asked me to describe how he might quickly find the pistol-case. This +I did, and he went below.</p> + +<p>I joined the Major, and talked on the first subjects that entered my +head. He was restless in his manner, inattentive, slightly flushed in +the face; wore a lofty manner, and being half a head taller than I, +glanced down at me from time to time in a condescending way. This +behaviour in him was what Captain North and I had agreed to call his +"injured air." He'd occasionally put it on to remind us that he was +affronted by the captain's insensibility to his loss, and that the +assistance of the police would be demanded on our arrival at Cape Town.</p> + +<p>Presently looking down the skylight, I perceived the captain. Mackenzie +had charge of the watch. I descended the steps, and Captain North's +first words to me were:—</p> + +<p>"It's no diamond!"</p> + +<p>"What, then, is it?"</p> + +<p>"A common piece of glass not worth a quarter of a farthing."</p> + +<p>"What's it all about, then?" said I. "Upon my soul, there's nothing in +Euclid to beat it. Glass?"</p> + +<p>"A little lump of common glass; a fragment of bull's-eye, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"What's he hiding it for?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Captain North, in a soft voice, looking up and around, +"he's mad!"</p> + +<p>"Just so!" said I. "That I'll swear to <i>now</i>, and I've been suspecting +it this fortnight past."</p> + +<p>"He's under the spell of some sort of mania," continued the captain; "he +believes he's commissioned to present a diamond to the Queen; possibly +picked up a bit of stuff in the street that started the delusion, then +bought a case for it, and worked out the rest as we know."</p> + +<p>"But why does he want to pretend that the stone was stolen from him?"</p> + +<p>"He's been mastered by his own love for the diamond," he answered. +"That's how I reason it. Madness has made his affection for his +imaginary gem a passion in him."</p> + +<p>"And so he robbed himself of it, you think, that he might keep it?"</p> + +<p>"That's about it," said he.</p> + +<p>After this I kept no further look-out upon the Major, nor would I ever +take an opportunity to enter his cabin to view for myself the piece of +glass as the captain described it, though curiosity was often hot in me.</p> + +<p>We arrived at Table Bay in twenty-two days from the date of my seeing +the Major with the pistol in his hand. His manner had for a week before +been marked by an irritability that was often beyond his control. He had +talked snappishly and petulantly at table, contradicted aggressively, +and on two occasions gave Captain North the lie; but we had carefully +avoided noticing his manner, and acted as though he were still the high +bred, polished gentleman who had sailed with us from Calcutta.</p> + +<p>The first to come aboard were the Customs people. They were almost +immediately followed by the harbour-master. Scarcely had the first of +the Custom House officers stepped over the side when Major Hood, with a +very red face, and a lofty, dignified carriage, marched up to him, and +said in a loud voice:—</p> + +<p>"I have been robbed during the passage from Calcutta of a diamond worth +fifteen thousand pounds, which I was bearing as a gift from the +Maharajah of Ratnagiri to Her Majesty the Queen of England."</p> + +<p>The Customs man stared with a lobster-like expression of face: no image +could better hit the protruding eyes and brick-red countenance of the +man.</p> + +<p>"I request," continued the Major, raising his voice into a shout, "to be +placed at once in communication with the police at this port. No person +must be allowed to leave the vessel until he has been thoroughly +searched by such expert hands as you and your <i>confrères</i> no doubt are, +sir. I am Major Byron Hood. I have been twice wounded. My services are +well known, and I believe duly appreciated in the right quarters. Her +Majesty the Queen is not to suffer any disappointment at the hands of +one who has the honour of wearing her uniform, nor am I to be compelled, +by the act of a thief, to betray the confidence the Maharajah has +reposed in me."</p> + +<p>He continued to harangue in this manner for some minutes, during which I +observed a change in the expression of the Custom House officers' faces.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Captain North stood apart in earnest conversation with the +harbour-master. They now approached; the harbour-master, looking +steadily at the Major, exclaimed:—</p> + +<p>"Good news, sir! Your diamond is found!"</p> + +<p>"Ha!" shouted the Major. "Who has it?"</p> + +<p>"You'll find it in your pistol-case," said the harbour-master.</p> + +<p>The Major gazed round at us with his wild,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> bright eyes, with a face +a-work with the conflict of twenty mad passions and sensations. Then +bursting into a loud, insane laugh, he caught the harbour-master by the +arm, and in a low voice and a sickening, transforming leer of cunning, +said: "Come, let's go and look at it."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;"> +<img src="images/image148.jpg" width="364" height="450" alt=""I HAVE BEEN ROBBED."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I HAVE BEEN ROBBED."</span> +</div> + +<p>We went below. We were six, including two Custom House officers. We +followed the poor madman, who grasped the harbour-master's arm, and on +arriving at his cabin we stood at the door of it. He seemed heedless of +our presence, but on his taking the pistol-case from the portmanteau, +the two Customs men sprang forward.</p> + +<p>"That must be searched by us," one cried, and in a minute they had it.</p> + +<p>With the swiftness of experienced hands they found and pressed the +spring of the pistol, the silver plate flew open, and out dropped a +fragment of thick, common glass, just as Captain North had described the +thing. It fell upon the deck. The Major sprang, picked it up, and +pocketed it.</p> + +<p>"Her Majesty will not be disappointed, after all," said he, with a +courtly bow to us, "and the commission the Maharajah's honoured me with +shall be fulfilled."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The poor gentleman was taken ashore that afternoon, and his luggage +followed him. He was certified mad by the medical man at Cape Town, and +was to be retained there, as I understood, till the arrival of a steamer +for England. It was an odd, bewildering incident from top to bottom. No +doubt this particular delusion was occasioned by the poor fellow, whose +mind was then fast decaying, reading about the transmission of the +Koh-i-noor, and musing about it with a mad-man's proneness to dwell upon +little things.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> +<p><a name="PECULIAR_PLAYING_CARDS" id="PECULIAR_PLAYING_CARDS"></a></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image149-1.jpg" width="650" height="332" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/image149-2.jpg" width="234" height="350" alt="FIG. 16." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 16.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 225px;"> +<img src="images/image149-3.jpg" width="225" height="350" alt="FIG. 17." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 17.</span> +</div> + + +<p>The "foolish business" of Heraldry has supplied the motive for numerous +packs of cards. Two only, however, can be here shown, though there are +instructive examples of the latter half of the seventeenth and beginning +of the eighteenth centuries from England, Scotland, France, Germany, and +Italy. The example given in Fig. 16 is English, of the date of 1690, and +the fifty-two cards of the pack give us the arms of the different +European States, and of the peers of England and Scotland. A pack +similar to this was engraved by Walter Scott, the Edinburgh goldsmith, +in 1691, and is confined to the Arms of England, Scotland, Ireland, +France, and the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> Scottish families of that date, prepared under +the direction of the Lyon King of Arms, Sir Alexander Erskine. The +French heraldic example (Fig. 17) is from a pack of the time of Louis +XIV., with the arms of the French nobility and the nobles of other +European countries; the "suit" signs of the pack being "Fleur de Lis," +"Lions," "Roses," and "Eagles."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 228px;"> +<img src="images/image150-1.jpg" width="228" height="350" alt="FIG. 18." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 18.</span> +</div> + +<p>Caligraphy, even, has not been left without recognition, for we have a +pack, published in Nuremberg, in 1767, giving examples of written +characters and of free-hand pen drawing, to serve as writing copies. We +show the Nine of Hearts from this pack (Fig. 18), and the eighteenth +century South German graphic idea of a Highlander of the period is +amusing, and his valorous attitude is sufficiently satisfying.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 197px;"> +<img src="images/image150-2.jpg" width="197" height="350" alt="FIG. 19." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 19.</span> +</div> + +<p>Biography has, too, its place in this playing-card cosmography, though +it has not many examples. The one we give (Fig. 19) is German, of about +1730, and is from a pack which depicts a series of heads of Emperors, +poets, and historians, Greek and Roman—a summary of their lives and +occurrences therein gives us their <i>raison d'être</i>.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 218px;"> +<img src="images/image150-3.jpg" width="218" height="350" alt="FIG. 20." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 20.</span> +</div> + +<p>Of Geographical playing cards there are several examples in the second +half of the seventeenth century. The one selected for illustration (Fig. +20) gives a sectional<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> map of one of the English counties, each of the +fifty-two cards of the pack having the map of a county of England and +Wales, with its geographical limitations. These are among the more rare +of old playing cards, and their gradual destruction when used as +educational media will, as in the case of horn-books, and early +children's books generally, account for this rarity. Perhaps the most +interesting geographical playing cards which have survived this common +fate, though they are the <i>ultima rarissima</i> of such cards, is the pack +designed and engraved by H. Winstanley, "at Littlebury, in Essex," as we +read on the Ace of Hearts. They appear to have been intended to afford +instruction in geography and ethnology. Each of the cards has a +descriptive account of one of the States or great cities of the world, +and we have taken the King of Hearts (Fig. 21), with its description of +England and the English, as the most interesting. The costumes are those +of the time of James II., and the view gives us Old London Bridge, the +Church of St. Mary Overy, on the south side of the Thames, and the +Monument, then recently erected at the northern end of the bridge to +commemorate the Great Fire, and which induced Pope's indignant lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where London's column, pointing to the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a tall bully, lifts its head and—lies."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The date of the pack is about 1685, and it has an added interest from +the fact that its designer was the projector of the first Eddystone +Lighthouse, where he perished when it was destroyed by a great storm in +1703.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 227px;"> +<img src="images/image151-1.jpg" width="227" height="350" alt="FIG. 21." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 21.</span> +</div> + +<p>Music, too, is not forgotten, though on playing cards it is seen in +smaller proportion than other of the arts. To the popularity of the +"Beggar's Opera" of John Gay, that satirical attack upon the Government +of Sir Robert Walpole, we are indebted for its songs and music appearing +as the <i>motif</i> of the pack, from which we give here the Queen of Spades +(Fig. 22), and the well-thumbed cards before us show that they were +popular favourites. Their date may be taken as nearly coincident with +that of the opera itself, viz., 1728. A further example of musical cards +is given in Fig. 23, from a French pack of 1830, with its pretty piece +of costume headgear, and its characteristic waltz music.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 235px;"> +<img src="images/image151-2.jpg" width="235" height="350" alt="FIG. 22." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 22.</span> +</div> + +<p>France has been prolific in what may be termed "Cartes de fantaisie," +burlesque and satirical, not always designed, however, with due regard +to the refinements of well-behaved communities. They are always +spirited, and as specimens of inventive adaptation are worth notice. The +example<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> shown (Fig. 24) is from a pack of the year 1818, and is good of +its class.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 240px;"> +<img src="images/image152-1.jpg" width="240" height="350" alt="FIG. 23." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 23.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 222px;"> +<img src="images/image152-2.jpg" width="222" height="350" alt="FIG. 24." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 24.</span> +</div> + +<p>Of these "Cartes de fantaisie," each of the card-producing countries of +Europe has at different dates produced examples of varying degrees of +artistic value. Although not the best in point of merit, the most +generally attractive of these are the packs produced in the years +1806-7-8 and 9, by the Tübingen bookseller, Cotta, and which were +published in book form, as the "Karten Almanack," and also as ordinary +packs. Every card has a design, in which the suit signs, or "pips," are +brought in as an integral part, and admirable ingenuity is displayed in +this adaptation; although not the best in the series, we give the Six of +Hearts (Fig. 25), as lending itself best to the purpose of reproduction, +and as affording a fair instance of the method of design.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 240px;"> +<img src="images/image152-3.jpg" width="240" height="350" alt="FIG. 25." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 25.</span> +</div> + +<p>In England numerous examples of these illustrated playing cards have +been produced of varying degrees of artistic merit, and, as one of the +most amusing, we select the Knave of Spades from a pack of the year 1824 +(Fig. 26). These cards are printed from copper-plates, and are coloured +by hand, and show much ingenuity in the adaptation of the design to the +form of the "pips."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 231px;"> +<img src="images/image153-1.jpg" width="231" height="350" alt="FIG. 26." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 26.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 238px;"> +<img src="images/image153-2.jpg" width="238" height="350" alt="FIG. 27." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 27.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 241px;"> +<img src="images/image153-3.jpg" width="241" height="350" alt="FIG. 28." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 28.</span> +</div> + +<p>Of the same class, but with more true artistic feeling and treatment +than the preceding, we give the Deuce of Clubs, from a pack with London +Cries (Fig. 27), and another with Fables (Fig. 28), both of which date +from the earlier years of the last century, the former with the quaint +costume and badge of a waterman, with his cry of "Oars! oars! do you +want a boat?" In the middle distance the piers of Old London Bridge, and +the house at its foot with overhanging gallery, make a pleasing old-time +picture. The "Fables" cards are apparently from the designs of Francis +Barlow, and are probably engraved by him; although we find upon some of +them the name of J. Kirk, who, however, was the seller of the cards +only, and who, as was not uncommon with the vendor of that time, in this +way robbed the artist of what honour might belong to his work. Both of +these packs are rare; that of the "Fables" is believed to be unique. Of +a date some quarter of a century antecedent to those just described we +have an amusing pack, in which each card has a collection of moral +sentences, aphorisms, or a worldly-wise story, or—we regret in the +interests of good behaviour to have to add—something very much the +reverse of them. The larger portion of the card is occupied by a picture +of considerable excellence in illustration of the text; and +notwithstanding the peculiarity to which we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> have referred as attaching +to some of them, the cards are very interesting as studies of costume +and of the manners of the time—of what served to amuse our ancestors +two centuries ago—and is a curious compound survival of Puritan +teaching and the license of the Restoration period. We give one of them +in Fig. 29.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 220px;"> +<img src="images/image154-1.jpg" width="220" height="350" alt="FIG. 29." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 29.</span> +</div> + +<p>The Ace of Clubs, shown in Fig. 30, is from a pack issued in Amsterdam +about 1710, and is a good example of the Dutch burlesque cards of the +eighteenth century. The majority of them have local allusions, the +meaning of which is now lost; and many of them are of a character which +will not bear reproduction. A better-known pack of Dutch cards is that +satirizing the Mississippi scheme of 1716, and the victims of the +notorious John Law—the "bubble" which, on its collapse, four years +later, brought ruin to so many thousands.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 228px;"> +<img src="images/image154-2.jpg" width="228" height="350" alt="FIG. 30." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 30.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 220px;"> +<img src="images/image154-3.jpg" width="220" height="350" alt="FIG. 31." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 31.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 240px;"> +<img src="images/image155-1.jpg" width="240" height="350" alt="FIG. 32." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 32.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 216px;"> +<img src="images/image155-2.jpg" width="216" height="350" alt="FIG. 33." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 33.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 184px;"> +<img src="images/image155-3.jpg" width="184" height="350" alt="FIG. 34." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FIG. 34.</span> +</div> + +<p>Our space forbids the treatment of playing cards under any but their +pictorial aspects, though the temptation is great to attempt some +description of their use from an early period as instruments of +divination or fortune telling, for which in the hands of the "wise man" +or woman of various countries they are still used, and to which primary +purpose the early "Tarots" were doubtless applied; but, as it is among +the more curious of such cards, we give the Queen of Hearts from a pack +of the immediate post-Commonwealth period (Fig. 31). The figure is +called Semiramis—without, so far as can be seen, any reason. It is one +of a mélange of names for cards in which Wat Tyler and Tycho Brahe rub +shoulders in the suit of Spades, and Mahomet and Nimrod in that of +Diamonds! In the pack we find the Knave of Clubs named "Hewson" (not the +card-maker of that name), but he who is satirized by Butler as "Hewson +the Cobbler." Elsewhere he is called "One-eyed Hewson." He is shown with +but one eye in the card bearing his name, and as it is contemporary, it +may be a fair presentment of the man who, whatever his vices, managed +under Cromwell to obtain high honours, and who was by him nominated a +member of the House of Lords. The bitter prejudice of the time is shown +in the story which is told of Hewson, that on the day the King was +beheaded he rode from Charing Cross to the Royal Exchange proclaiming +that "whoever should say that Charles Stuart died wrongfully should +suffer death." Among the <i>quasi</i>-educational uses of playing cards we +find the curious work of Dr. Thomas Murner, whose "Logica Memorativa +Chartiludium," published at Strassburg in 1507, is the earliest instance +known to us of a distinct application of playing cards to education, +though the author expressly disclaims any knowledge of cards. The method +used by the Doctor was to make each card an aid to memory, though the +method must have been a severe strain of memory in itself. One of them +is here given (Fig. 32), the suit being the German one of Bells +(Schnellen).<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>It would seem that hardly any branch of human knowledge had been +overlooked in the adaptation of playing cards to an educational purpose, +and they who still have them in mind under the designation of "the +Devil's books," may be relieved to know that Bible history has been +taught by the means of playing cards. In 1603 there was published a +Bible History and Chronology, under the title of the "Geistliche Karten +Spiel," where, much as Murner did in the instance we have given above, +the cards were used as an aid to memory, the author giving to each of +the suit signs the distinctive appellation of some character or incident +in Holy Writ. And more recently Zuccarelli, one of the original members +of our Royal Academy, designed and etched a pack of cards with the same +intention.</p> + +<p>In Southern Germany we find in the last century playing cards specially +prepared for gifts at weddings and for use at the festivities attending +such events. These cards bore conventional representations of the bride, +the bridegroom, the musicians, the priest, and the guests, on horseback +or in carriages, each with a laudatory inscription. The card shown in +Fig. 33 is from a pack of this kind of about 1740, the Roman numeral I. +indicating it as the first in a series of "Tarots" numbered +consecutively from I. to XXI., the usual Tarot designs being replaced by +the wedding pictures described above. The custom of presenting guests +with a pack of cards has been followed by the Worshipful Company of +Makers of Playing Cards, who at their annual banquet give to their +guests samples of the productions of the craft with which they are +identified, which are specially designed for the occasion.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 254px;"> +<img src="images/image156.jpg" width="254" height="350" alt="THE ARMS OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF MAKERS OF PLAYING +CARDS, 1629." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE ARMS OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF MAKERS OF PLAYING +CARDS, 1629.</span> +</div> + +<p>To conclude this article—much too limited to cover so interesting a +subject—we give an illustration (Fig. 34) from a pack of fifty-two +playing cards of <i>silver</i>—every card being engraved upon a thin plate +of that metal. They are probably the work of a late sixteenth century +German goldsmith, and are exquisite examples of design and skill with +the graver. They are in the possession of a well-known collector of all +things beautiful, curious, and rare, by whose courteous permission this +unique example appears here.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Portraits_of_Celebrities_at_Different_Times_of_their_Lives" id="Portraits_of_Celebrities_at_Different_Times_of_their_Lives"></a><i>Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives.</i></h2> + + +<h3>LORD HOUGHTON.</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Born 1858.</span></h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 414px;"> +<img src="images/image157.jpg" width="414" height="650" alt="From a Photograph." title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Lord Houghton, whose appointment to the post of Lord-Lieutenant of +Ireland came somewhat as a surprise, is a Yorkshire landowner, and a son +of the peer so well known both in literary and social circles as Richard +Monckton Milnes, whose poems and prose writings alike will long keep his +memory alive. This literary faculty has descended to the present peer, +his recent volume of poems having been received by the best critics as +bearing evidence of a true poetic gift. Lord Houghton, who served as a +Lord-in-Waiting in Mr. Gladstone's Government of 1886, is a rich man and +the reputed heir of Lord Crewe; he has studied and travelled, and has +taken some share, though hitherto not a very prominent one, in politics. +He is a widower, and his sister presides over his establishment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>JOHN PETTIE, R.A.</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Born 1839.</span></h4> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 232px;"> +<img src="images/image158-1.jpg" width="232" height="300" alt="AGE 16. From a Sketch in Crayons by Himself." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 16. From a Sketch in Crayons by Himself.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 237px;"> +<img src="images/image158-2.jpg" width="237" height="300" alt="AGE 30. From a Photo. by G. W. Wilson, Aberdeen." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 30. From a Photo. by G. W. Wilson, Aberdeen.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 230px;"> +<img src="images/image158-3.jpg" width="230" height="350" alt="AGE 40. From a Photo. by Fredelle & Marshall." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 40. From a Photo. by Fredelle & Marshall.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 260px;"> +<img src="images/image158-4.jpg" width="260" height="300" alt="PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Raymond Lynde." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Raymond Lynde.</span> +</div> + + +<p>Mr. John Pettie was born in Edinburgh, and exhibited his earliest works +in the Royal Scottish Academy. He came to London at the age of +twenty-three, and at the age of twenty-seven was elected an A.R.A. His +election to the distinction of R.A. took place when he was thirty-four, +in the place of Sir Edwin Landseer. Mr. Pettie's portraits and +historical pictures are within the knowledge of every reader—his +armour, carbines, lances, broadswords, and pistols are well-known +features in every year's Academy—for his subjects are chiefly scenes of +battle and of military life. His first picture hung in the Royal Academy +was "The Armourers," He has also painted many subjects from +Shakespeare's works; his "Scene in the Temple Gardens" being one of his +most popular productions. "The Death Warrant" represents an episode in +the career of the consumptive little son of Henry VIII. and Jane +Seymour. In "Two Strings to His Bow," Mr. Pettie showed a considerable +sense of humour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE DUCHESS OF TECK.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<img src="images/image159-1.jpg" width="335" height="650" alt="From a Painting." title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 354px;"> +<img src="images/image159-2.jpg" width="354" height="350" alt="AGE 17. From a Painting by A. Winterhalter." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 17. From a Painting by A. Winterhalter.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 322px;"> +<img src="images/image159-3.jpg" width="322" height="350" alt="AGE 40. From a Painting." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 40. From a Painting.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 312px;"> +<img src="images/image159-4.jpg" width="312" height="350" alt="PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Russell & Sons." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Russell & Sons.</span> +</div> + +<p>Princess Mary Adelaide, daughter of H.R.H. Prince Adolphus Frederick, +Duke of Cambridge, the seventh son of His Majesty King George III., +married on June 12th, 1866, H.S.H. the Duke of Teck, whose portrait at +different ages we have the pleasure of presenting on the opposite page. +The Duchess of Teck and her daughter Princess Victoria are well known +and esteemed far beyond their own circle of society for their interest +in works of charity and the genuine kindness of heart, which render them +ever ready to enter into schemes of benevolence. We may remind our +readers that a charming series of portraits of Princess Victoria of Teck +appeared in our issue of February, 1892.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE DUKE OF TECK.</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Born 1837.</span></h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image160-1.jpg" width="600" height="603" alt="From a Painting." title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 296px;"> +<img src="images/image160-2.jpg" width="296" height="400" alt="AGE 5. From a Painting by Johan Elmer." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 5. From a Painting by Johan Elmer.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 284px;"> +<img src="images/image160-3.jpg" width="284" height="350" alt="PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>His Serene Highness Francis Paul Charles Louis Alexander, G.C.B., Prince +and Duke of Teck, is the only son of Duke Alexander of Würtemberg and +the Countess Claudine Rhédy and Countess of Hohenstein, a lady of a most +illustrious but not princely house. It is not generally known that a +family law, which decrees that the son of a marriage between a prince of +the Royal Family of Würtemberg and a lady not of princely birth, however +nobly born, cannot inherit the crown, alone prevents the Duke of Teck +from being King of Würtemberg. The Duke of Teck has served with +distinction in the Army, having received the Egyptian medal and the +Khedive's star, together with the rank of colonel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>REV. H. R. HAWEIS, M.A.</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Born 1838.</span></h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image161-1.jpg" width="600" height="614" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 351px;"> +<img src="images/image161-2.jpg" width="351" height="400" alt="AGE 28. From a Photo. by Samuel A. Walker." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AGE 28. From a Photo. by Samuel A. Walker.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 374px;"> +<img src="images/image161-3.jpg" width="374" height="400" alt="PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Russell & Sons." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PRESENT DAY. From a Photo. by Russell & Sons.</span> +</div> + +<p>The Reverend Hugh Reginald Haweis, preacher, lecturer, journalist, +musician, was born at Egham, his father being the Rev. J. O. W. Haweis, +rector of Slaugham, Sussex. He was educated at Trinity College, +Cambridge, and appointed in 1866 incumbent of St. James's, Marylebone. +He has been an indefatigable advocate of the Sunday opening of museums, +and a frequent lecturer at the Royal Institution, notably on violins, +church bells, and American humorists. He also took a great interest in +the Italian Revolution.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>FREDERIC H. COWEN.</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Born 1852.</span></h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image162.jpg" width="600" height="918" alt="From a Photograph." title="" /> +</div> + + +<p>Mr. F. H. Cowen, whose new opera will appear about the same time as +these portraits, was born at Kingston, in Jamaica, and showed at a very +early age so much musical talent that it was decided he should follow +music as a career, with what excellent results is known to all +musicians. His more important works comprise five cantatas, "The Rose +Maiden," "The Corsair," "Saint Ursula," "The Sleeping Beauty," and "St. +John's Eve," several symphonies, the opera "Thorgrim," considered his +finest work, and over two hundred songs and ballads, many of which have +attained great popularity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Adventures_of_Sherlock_Holmes" id="The_Adventures_of_Sherlock_Holmes"></a><i>The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</i></h2> + +<h2>XV.—THE ADVENTURE OF THE YELLOW FACE.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By A. Conan Doyle.</span></h3> + + +<p>In publishing these short sketches, based upon the numerous cases which +my companion's singular gifts have made me the listener to, and +eventually the actor in some strange drama, it is only natural that I +should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. And this +not so much for the sake of his reputation, for indeed it was when he +was at his wits' end that his energy and his versatility were most +admirable, but because where he failed it happened too often that no one +else succeeded, and that the tale was left for ever without a +conclusion. Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred +the truth was still discovered. I have notes of some half-dozen cases of +the kind of which "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual" and that which +I am now about to recount are the two which present the strongest +features of interest.</p> + +<p>Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise's sake. +Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly +one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen, but he +looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom +bestirred himself save where there was some professional object to be +served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he +should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is +remarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were +simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine +he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the +monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers +uninteresting.</p> + +<p>One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with +me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out +upon the elms, and the sticky spearheads of the chestnuts were just +beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves. For two hours we rambled +about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know +each other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in Baker +Street once more.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the door; "there's +been a gentleman here asking for you, sir."</p> + +<p>Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "So much for afternoon walks!" said +he. "Has this gentleman gone, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you ask him in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; he came in."</p> + +<p>"How long did he wait?"</p> + +<p>"Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir, a-walkin' and +a-stampin' all the time he was here. I was waitin' outside the door, +sir, and I could hear him. At last he goes out into the passage and he +cries: 'Is that man never goin' to come?' Those were his very words, +sir. 'You'll only need to wait a little longer,' says I. 'Then I'll wait +in the open air, for I feel half choked,' says he. 'I'll be back before +long,' and with that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldn't +hold him back."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, you did your best," said Holmes, as we walked into our +room. "It's very annoying though, Watson. I was badly in need of a case, +and this looks, from the man's impatience, as if it were of importance. +Halloa! that's not your pipe on the table! He must have left his behind +him. A nice old briar, with a good long stem of what the tobacconists +call amber. I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there are in +London. Some people think a fly in it is a sign. Why, it is quite a +branch of trade the putting of sham flies into the sham amber. Well, he +must have been disturbed in his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he +evidently values highly."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that he values it highly?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven-and-sixpence. +Now it has, you see, been twice mended: once in the wooden stem and once +in the amber. Each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> of these mends, done, as you observe, with silver +bands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. The man must +value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a +new one with the same money."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/image164.jpg" width="550" height="398" alt=""HE HELD IT UP."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE HELD IT UP."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Anything else?" I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about in his +hand and staring at it in his peculiar, pensive way.</p> + +<p>He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin forefinger as a +professor might who was lecturing on a bone.</p> + +<p>"Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest," said he. "Nothing +has more individuality save, perhaps, watches and boot-laces. The +indications here, however, are neither very marked nor very important. +The owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent +set of teeth, careless in his habits, and with no need to practise +economy."</p> + +<p>My friend threw out the information in a very off-hand way, but I saw +that he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his reasoning.</p> + +<p>"You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe?" +said I.</p> + +<p>"This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce," Holmes answered, +knocking a little out on his palm. "As he might get an excellent smoke +for half the price, he has no need to practise economy."</p> + +<p>"And the other points?"</p> + +<p>"He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gas-jets. +You can see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course, a +match could not have done that. Why should a man hold a match to the +side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a lamp without getting the +bowl charred. And it is all on the right side of the pipe. From that I +gather that he is a left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp, +and see how naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the +flame. You might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This +has always been held so. Then he has bitten through his amber. It takes +a muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth to do +that. But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall +have something more interesting than his pipe to study."</p> + +<p>An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered the room. +He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-grey suit, and carried a brown +wideawake in his hand. I should have put him at about thirty, though he +was really some years older.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment; "I suppose I +should have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact is +that I am a little upset, and you must put it all down to that." He +passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then +fell, rather than sat, down upon a chair.</p> + +<p>"I can see that you have not slept for a night or two," said Holmes, in +his easy, genial way. "That tries a man's nerves more than work, and +more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted your advice, sir. I don't know what to do, and my whole life +seems to have gone to pieces."</p> + +<p>"You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?"</p> + +<p>"Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man—as a man of the +world. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to God you'll be +able to tell me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that to +speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through was +overriding his inclinations.</p> + +<p>"It's a very delicate thing," said he. "One does not like to speak of +one's domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss the +conduct of one's wife with two men whom I have never seen before. It's +horrible to have to do it. But I've got to the end of my tether, and I +must have advice."</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. Grant Munro——" began Holmes.</p> + +<p>Our visitor sprang from his chair. "What!" he cried. "You know my name?"</p> + +<p>"If you wish to preserve your <i>incognito</i>," said Holmes, smiling, "I +should suggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of your +hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you are +addressing. I was about to say that my friend and I have listened to +many strange secrets in this room, and that we have had the good fortune +to bring peace to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much +for you. Might I beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to +furnish me with the facts of your case without further delay?"</p> + +<p>Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead as if he found it +bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could see that he was +a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more +likely to hide his wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly with a +fierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the +winds, he began.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 333px;"> +<img src="images/image165.jpg" width="333" height="450" alt=""OUR VISITOR SPRANG FROM HIS CHAIR."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"OUR VISITOR SPRANG FROM HIS CHAIR."</span> +</div> + +<p>"The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am a married man, and +have been so for three years. During that time my wife and I have loved +each other as fondly, and lived as happily, as any two that ever were +joined. We have not had a difference, not one, in thought, or word, or +deed. And now, since last Monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier +between us, and I find that there is something in her life and in her +thoughts of which I know as little as if she were the woman who brushes +by me in the street. We are estranged, and I want to know why.</p> + +<p>"Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before I go any +further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Don't let there be any mistake +about that. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more +than now. I know it—I feel it. I don't want to argue about that. A man +can tell easily enough when a woman loves him. But there's this secret +between us, and we can never be the same until it is cleared."</p> + +<p>"Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro," said Holmes, with some +impatience.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history. She was a widow when I +met her first, though quite young—only twenty-five. Her name then was +Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was young and lived in the +town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyer with a +good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out badly +in the place, and both husband and child died of it. I have seen his +death certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back to +live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that her +husband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +about four thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested +by him that it returned an average of 7 per cent. She had only been six +months at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other, and we +married a few weeks afterwards.</p> + +<p>"I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or eight +hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice +eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was very +countrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had an inn and +two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the other side of +the field which faces us, and except those there were no houses until +you got half-way to the station. My business took me into town at +certain seasons, but in summer I had less to do, and then in our country +home my wife and I were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you +that there never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair +began.</p> + +<p>"There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When we +married, my wife made over all her property to me—rather against my +will, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs went +wrong. However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well, about six +weeks ago she came to me.</p> + +<p>"'Jack,' said she, 'when, you took my money you said that if ever I +wanted any I was to ask you for it.'</p> + +<p>"'Certainly,' said I, 'it's all your own.'</p> + +<p>"'Well,' said she, 'I want a hundred pounds.'</p> + +<p>"I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simply a new +dress or something of the kind that she was after.</p> + +<p>"'What on earth for?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'Oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that you were only my +banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.'</p> + +<p>"'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,' said I.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, yes, I really mean it.'</p> + +<p>"'And you won't tell me what you want it for?'</p> + +<p>"'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.'</p> + +<p>"So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time that +there had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a cheque, and I +never thought any more of the matter. It may have nothing to do with +what came afterwards, but I thought it only right to mention it.</p> + +<p>"Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far from our +house. There is just a field between us, but to reach it you have to go +along the road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice +little grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of strolling +down there, for trees are always neighbourly kinds of things. The +cottage had been standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity, +for it was a pretty two-storied place, with an old-fashioned porch and +honeysuckle about it. I have stood many a time and thought what a neat +little homestead it would make.</p> + +<p>"Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way when I +met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets and +things lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that +the cottage had at last been let. I walked past it, and then stopping, +as an idle man might, I ran my eye over it, and wondered what sort of +folk they were who had come to live so near us. And as I looked I +suddenly became aware that a face was watching me out of one of the +upper windows.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but it seemed +to send a chill right down my back. I was some little way off, so that I +could not make out the features, but there was something unnatural and +inhuman about the face. That was the impression I had, and I moved +quickly forwards to get a nearer view of the person who was watching me. +But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it +seemed to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood +for five minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my +impressions. I could not tell if the face was that of a man or a woman. +It had been too far from me for that. But its colour was what had +impressed me most. It was of a livid, dead yellow, and with something +set and rigid about it, which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was +I, that I determined to see a little more of the new inmates of the +cottage. I approached and knocked at the door, which was instantly +opened by a tall, gaunt woman, with a harsh, forbidding face.</p> + +<p>"'What may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a northern accent.</p> + +<p>"'I am your neighbour over yonder,' said I, nodding towards my house. 'I +see that you have only just moved in, so I thought that if I could be of +any help to you in any——'</p> + +<p>"'Aye, we'll just ask ye when we want ye,' said she, and shut the door +in my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and walked +home. All the evening,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> though I tried to think of other things, my mind +would still turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the +woman. I determined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for she +is a nervous, highly-strung woman, and I had no wish that she should +share the unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. I +remarked to her, however, before I fell asleep that the cottage was now +occupied, to which she returned no reply.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 306px;"> +<img src="images/image167.jpg" width="306" height="450" alt=""WHAT MAY YOU BE WANTIN'?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WHAT MAY YOU BE WANTIN'?"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing jest in +the family that nothing could ever wake me during the night; and yet +somehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slight +excitement produced by my little adventure or not, I know not, but I +slept much more lightly than usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly +conscious that something was going on in the room, and gradually became +aware that my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle +and her bonnet. My lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of +surprise or remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my +half-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle light, +and astonishment held me dumb. She wore an expression such as I had +never seen before—such as I should have thought her incapable of +assuming. She was deadly pale, and breathing fast, glancing furtively +towards the bed, as she fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed +me. Then, thinking that I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from +the room, and an instant later I heard a sharp creaking, which could +only come from the hinges of the front door. I sat up in bed and rapped +my knuckles against the rail to make certain that I was truly awake. +Then I took my watch from under the pillow. It was three in the morning. +What on this earth could my wife be doing out on the country road at +three in the morning?</p> + +<p>"I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mind +and trying to find some possible explanation. The more I thought the +more extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I was still puzzling +over it when I heard the door gently close again and her footsteps +coming up the stairs.</p> + +<p>"'Where in the world have you been, Effie?' I asked, as she entered.</p> + +<p>"She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I spoke, and +that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there was +something indescribably guilty about them. My wife had always been a +woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her +slinking into her own room, and crying out and wincing when her own +husband spoke to her.</p> + +<p>"'You awake, Jack?' she cried, with a nervous laugh. 'Why, I thought +that nothing could awaken you.'</p> + +<p>"'Where have you been?' I asked, more sternly.</p> + +<p>"'I don't wonder that you are surprised,' said she, and I could see that +her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle. +'Why, I never remember having done such a thing in my life before. The +fact is, that I felt as though I were choking, and had a perfect longing +for a breath of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if +I had not gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and now I am +quite myself again.'</p> + +<p>"All the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked +in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> tones. It was +evident to me that she was saying what was false. I said nothing in +reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind +filled with a thousand venomous doubts and suspicions. What was it that +my wife was concealing from me? Where had she been during that strange +expedition? I felt that I should have no peace until I knew, and yet I +shrank from asking her again after once she had told me what was false. +All the rest of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after +theory, each more unlikely than the last.</p> + +<p>"I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too perturbed in my +mind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My wife seemed to +be as upset as myself, and I could see from the little questioning +glances which she kept shooting at me, that she understood that I +disbelieved her statement and that she was at her wits' ends what to do. +We hardly exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards +I went out for a walk that I might think the matter out in the fresh +morning air.</p> + +<p>"I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the grounds, and +was back in Norbury by one o'clock. It happened that my way took me past +the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to look at the windows and to +see if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked out +at me on the day before. As I stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. +Holmes, when the door suddenly opened and my wife walked out!</p> + +<p>"I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her, but my +emotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her face +when our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back +inside the house again, and then, seeing how useless all concealment +must be, she came forward with a very white face and frightened eyes +which belied the smile upon her lips.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, Jack!' she said, 'I have just been in to see if I can be of any +assistance to our new neighbours. Why do you look at me like that, Jack? +You are not angry with me?'</p> + +<p>"'So,' said I, 'this is where you went during the night?'</p> + +<p>"'What do you mean?' she cried.</p> + +<p>"'You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these people that you should +visit them at such an hour?'</p> + +<p>"'I have not been here before.'</p> + +<p>"'How can you tell me what you know is false?' I cried. 'Your very voice +changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? I shall +enter that cottage and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.'</p> + +<p>"'No, no, Jack, for God's sake!' she gasped, in incontrollable emotion. +Then as I approached the door she seized my sleeve and pulled me back +with convulsive strength.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 290px;"> +<img src="images/image168.jpg" width="290" height="450" alt=""'TRUST ME, JACK!' SHE CRIED."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'TRUST ME, JACK!' SHE CRIED."</span> +</div> + +<p>"'I implore you not to do this, Jack,' she cried. 'I swear that I will +tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if +you enter that cottage.' Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to +me in a frenzy of entreaty.</p> + +<p>"'Trust me, Jack!' she cried. 'Trust me only this once. You will never +have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a secret from +you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> on +this. If you come home with me all will be well. If you force your way +into that cottage, all is over between us.'</p> + +<p>"There was such earnestness, such despair in her manner that her words +arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.</p> + +<p>"'I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,' said I +at last. 'It is that this mystery comes to an end from now. You are at +liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there +shall be no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my +knowledge. I am willing to forget those which are passed if you will +promise that there shall be no more in the future.'</p> + +<p>"'I was sure that you would trust me,' she cried, with a great sigh of +relief. 'It shall be just as you wish. Come away, oh, come away up to +the house!' Still pulling at my sleeve she led me away from the cottage. +As we went I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching +us out of the upper window. What link could there be between that +creature and my wife? Or how could the coarse, rough woman whom I had +seen the day before be connected with her? It was a strange puzzle, and +yet I knew that my mind could never know ease again until I had solved +it.</p> + +<p>"For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appeared to abide +loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she never stirred out +of the house. On the third day, however, I had ample evidence that her +solemn promise was not enough to hold her back from this secret +influence which drew her away from her husband and her duty.</p> + +<p>"I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40 instead of +the 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered the house the maid ran +into the hall with a startled face.</p> + +<p>"'Where is your mistress?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'I think that she has gone out for a walk,' she answered.</p> + +<p>"My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairs to make +sure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happened to glance out +of one of the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom I had just been +speaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. Then, +of course, I saw exactly what it all meant. My wife had gone over there +and had asked the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with +anger, I rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter +once and for ever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back together +along the lane, but I did not stop to speak with them. In the cottage +lay the secret which was casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, +come what might, it should be a secret no longer. I did not even knock +when I reached it, but turned the handle and rushed into the passage.</p> + +<p>"It was all still and quiet upon the ground-floor. In the kitchen a +kettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in a +basket, but there was no sign of the woman whom I had seen before. I ran +into the other room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up the +stairs, but only to find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. +There was no one at all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures +were of the most common and vulgar description save in the one chamber +at the window of which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable +and elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce, bitter blaze when +I saw that on the mantelpiece stood a full-length photograph of my wife, +which had been taken at my request only three months ago.</p> + +<p>"I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was absolutely +empty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never +had before. My wife came out into the hall as I entered my house, but I +was too hurt and angry to speak with her, and pushing past her I made my +way into my study. She followed me, however, before I could close the +door.</p> + +<p>"'I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,' said she, 'but if you knew +all the circumstances I am sure that you would forgive me.'</p> + +<p>"'Tell me everything, then,' said I.</p> + +<p>"'I cannot, Jack, I cannot!' she cried.</p> + +<p>"'Until you tell me who it is that has been living in that cottage, and +who it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be any +confidence between us,' said I, and breaking away from her I left the +house. That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen her since, +nor do I know anything more about this strange business. It is the first +shadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not +know what I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to +me that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and +I place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which I +have not made clear, pray question me about it. But above all tell me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +quickly what I have to do, for this misery is more than I can bear."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image170.jpg" width="450" height="322" alt=""'TELL ME EVERYTHING,' SAID I."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'TELL ME EVERYTHING,' SAID I."</span> +</div> + +<p>Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this extraordinary +statement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a +man who is under the influence of extreme emotion. My companion sat +silent now for some time, with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said he at last, "could you swear that this was a man's face +which you saw at the window?"</p> + +<p>"Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so that it is +impossible for me to say."</p> + +<p>"You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it."</p> + +<p>"It seemed to be of an unnatural colour and to have a strange rigidity +about the features. When I approached, it vanished with a jerk."</p> + +<p>"How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly two months."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?"</p> + +<p>"No, there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after his death, and +all her papers were destroyed."</p> + +<p>"And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you saw it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she got a duplicate after the fire."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever meet anyone who knew her in America?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Or get letters from it?"</p> + +<p>"Not to my knowledge."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now. If the +cottage is permanently deserted we may have some difficulty; if on the +other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of your +coming, and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be back +now, and we should clear it all up easily. Let me advise you, then, to +return to Norbury and to examine the windows of the cottage again. If +you have reason to believe that it is inhabited do not force your way +in, but send a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an +hour of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of +the business."</p> + +<p>"And if it is still empty?"</p> + +<p>"In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you. +Good-bye, and above all do not fret until you know that you really have +a cause for it."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson," said my companion, as +he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. "What did +you make of it?"</p> + +<p>"It had an ugly sound," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes. There's blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken."</p> + +<p>"And who is the blackmailer?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it must be this creature who lives in the only comfortable room +in the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my word, +Watson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at the +window, and I would not have missed the case for worlds."</p> + +<p>"You have a theory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not turn +out to be correct. This woman's first husband is in that cottage."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think so?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should +not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this: This +woman was married in America. Her husband developed some hateful +qualities, or, shall we say, that he contracted some loathsome disease, +and became a leper or an imbecile. She fled from him at last, returned +to England, changed her name, and started her life, as she thought, +afresh. She had been married three years, and believed that her position +was quite secure—having shown her husband the death certificate of some +man, whose name she had assumed—when suddenly her whereabouts was +discovered by her first husband, or, we may suppose, by some +unscrupulous woman, who had attached herself to the invalid. They write +to the wife and threaten to come and expose her. She asks for a hundred +pounds and endeavours to buy them off. They come in spite of it, and +when the husband mentions casually to the wife that there are new-comers +in the cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. She +waits until her husband is asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavour +to persuade them to leave her in peace. Having no success, she goes +again next morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as she +came out. She promises him then not to go there again, but two days +afterwards, the hope of getting rid of those dreadful neighbours is too +strong for her, and she makes another attempt, taking down with her the +photograph which had probably been demanded from her. In the midst of +this interview the maid rushes in to say that the master has come home, +on which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to the +cottage, hurries the inmates out at the back door, into that grove of +fir trees probably which was mentioned as standing near. In this way he +finds the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised, however, if it +is still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. What do you think of +my theory?"</p> + +<p>"It is all surmise."</p> + +<p>"But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our +knowledge, which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to +reconsider it. At present we can do nothing until we have a fresh +message from our friend at Norbury."</p> + +<p>But we had not very long to wait. It came just as we had finished our +tea. "The cottage is still tenanted," it said. "Have seen the face again +at the window. I'll meet the seven o'clock train, and take no steps +until you arrive."</p> + +<p>He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could see in +the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering with +agitation.</p> + +<p>"They are still there, Mr. Holmes," said he, laying his hand upon my +friend's sleeve. "I saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We shall +settle it now, once and for all."</p> + +<p>"What is your plan, then?" asked Holmes, as we walked down the dark, +tree-lined road.</p> + +<p>"I am going to force my way in, and see for myself who is in the house. +I wish you both to be there as witnesses."</p> + +<p>"You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife's warning +that it was better that you should not solve the mystery?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am determined."</p> + +<p>"Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better than +indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course, legally we are +putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong, but I think that it is worth +it."</p> + +<p>It was a very dark night and a thin rain began to fall as we turned from +the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either +side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we +stumbled after him as best we could.</p> + +<p>"There are the lights of my house," he murmured, pointing to a glimmer +among the trees, "and here is the cottage which I am going to enter."</p> + +<p>We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the building +close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black foreground showed +that the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story +was brightly illuminated. As we looked we saw a dark blurr moving across +the blind.</p> + +<p>"There is that creature," cried Grant Munro; "you can see for yourselves +that someone is there. Now follow me, and we shall soon know all."</p> + +<p>We approached the door, but suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadow +and stood in the golden track of the lamp light. I could not see her +face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of +entreaty.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, don't, Jack!" she cried. "I had a presentiment that you +would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me again, and +you will never have cause to regret it."</p> + +<p>"I have trusted you too long, Effie!" he cried, sternly. "Leave go of +me! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle this matter +once and for ever." He pushed her to one side and we followed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> closely +after him. As he threw the door open, an elderly woman ran out in front +of him and tried to bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an +instant afterwards we were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into +the lighted room at the top, and we entered it at his heels.</p> + +<p>It was a cosy, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon +the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a +desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turned +away as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red +frock, and that she had long white gloves on. As she whisked round to us +I gave a cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards +us was of the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely +devoid of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained. +Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a mask +peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little coal-black +negress with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed +faces. I burst out laughing out of sympathy with her merriment, but +Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching at his throat.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image172.jpg" width="400" height="320" alt=""THERE WAS A LITTLE COAL-BLACK NEGRESS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THERE WAS A LITTLE COAL-BLACK NEGRESS."</span> +</div> + +<p>"My God!" he cried, "what can be the meaning of this?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady, sweeping into the +room with a proud, set face. "You have forced me against my own judgment +to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. My husband died +at Atlanta. My child survived."</p> + +<p>"Your child!"</p> + +<p>She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "You have never seen this +open."</p> + +<p>"I understood that it did not open."</p> + +<p>She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portrait +within of a man, strikingly handsome and intelligent, but bearing +unmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent.</p> + +<p>"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and a nobler man +never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wed +him; but never once while he lived did I for one instant regret it. It +was our misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than +mine. It is often so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than +ever her father was. But, dark or fair, she is my own dear little +girlie, and her mother's pet." The little creature ran across at the +words and nestled up against the lady's dress.</p> + +<p>"When I left her in America," she continued, "it was only because her +health was weak, and the change might have done her harm. She was given +to the care of a faithful Scotchwoman who had once been our servant. +Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my child. But when +chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned to love you, I feared to +tell you about my child. God forgive me, I feared that I should lose +you, and I had not the courage to tell you. I had to choose between you, +and in my weakness I turned away from my own little girl. For three +years I have kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the +nurse, and I knew that all was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> well with her. At last, however, there +came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled +against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger I determined to have +the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds +to the nurse, and I gave her instructions about this cottage, so that +she might come as a neighbour without my appearing to be in any way +connected with her. I pushed my precautions so far as to order her to +keep the child in the house during the daytime, and to cover up her +little face and hands, so that even those who might see her at the +window should not gossip about there being a black child in the +neighbourhood. If I had been less cautious I might have been more wise, +but I was half crazy with fear lest you should learn the truth.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 451px;"> +<img src="images/image173.jpg" width="451" height="450" alt=""HE LIFTED THE LITTLE CHILD."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE LIFTED THE LITTLE CHILD."</span> +</div> + +<p>"It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I should +have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for excitement, and +so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awaken you. But +you saw me go, and that was the beginning of my troubles. Next day you +had my secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your +advantage. Three days later, however, the nurse and child only just +escaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. And now +to-night you at last know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my +child and me?" She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.</p> + +<p>It was a long two minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, and when +his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted the +little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his +other hand out to his wife and turned towards the door.</p> + +<p>"We can talk it over more comfortably at home," said he. "I am not a +very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have +given me credit for being."</p> + +<p>Holmes and I followed them down to the lane, and my friend plucked at my +sleeve as we came out. "I think," said he, "that we shall be of more use +in London than in Norbury."</p> + +<p>Not another word did he say of the case until late that night when he +was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.</p> + +<p>"Watson," said he, "if it should ever strike you that I am getting a +little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than +it deserves, kindly whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, and I shall be +infinitely obliged to you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Illustrated_Interviews" id="Illustrated_Interviews"></a><i>Illustrated Interviews.</i></h2> + + +<h3>No. XX.—<span class="smcap">Dr.</span> BARNARDO, F.R.C.S. Ed.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image174.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="'BABIES' CASTLE, HAWKHURST. From a Photo. by Elliot & +Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">'BABIES' CASTLE, HAWKHURST. From a Photo. by Elliot & +Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>When it is remembered that the Homes founded and governed by Dr. +Barnardo comprise fifty distinct institutions; that since the foundation +of the first Home, twenty-eight years ago, in Stepney, over 22,000 boys +and girls have been rescued from positions of almost indescribable +danger; that to-day five thousand orphans and destitute children, +constituting the largest family in the world, are being cared for, +trained, and put on a different footing to that of shoeless and +stockingless, it will be at once understood that a definite and +particular direction must be chosen in which to allow one's thoughts and +investigations to travel. I immediately select the babies—the little +ones of five years old and under; and it is possible that ere the last +words of this paper are written, the Doctor may have disappeared from +these pages, and we may find ourselves in fancy romping and playing with +the babes in the green fields—one day last summer.</p> + +<p>There is no misjudging the character of Dr. Barnardo—there is no +misinterpreting his motives. Somewhat below the medium height, strong +and stoutly built, with an expression at times a little severe, but with +benevolent-looking eyes, which immediately scatter the lines of +severity: he at once impresses you as a man of immovable disposition and +intentions not to be cast aside. He sets his heart on having a thing +done. It <i>is</i> done. He conceives some new departure of rescue work. +There is no rest for him until it is accomplished. His rapidity of +speech tells of continual activity of mind. He is essentially a business +man—he needs must be. He takes a waif in hand, and makes a man or woman +of it in a very few years. Why should the child's unparentlike parent +now come forward and claim it once more for a life of misery and +probable crime? Dr. Barnardo thinks long before he would snap the +parental ties between mother and child; but if neglect, cruelty, or +degradation towards her offspring have been the chief evidences of her +relationship, nothing in the wide world would stop him from taking the +little one up and holding it fast.</p> + +<p>I sat down to chat over the very wide subject of child rescue in Dr. +Barnardo's cosy room at Stepney Causeway. It was a bitter cold night +outside, the streets were frozen, the snow falling. In an hour's time we +were to start for the slums—to see baby life in the vicinity of Flower +and Dean Street, Brick Lane, and Wentworth Street—all typical +localities where the fourpenny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> lodging-house still refuses to be +crushed by model dwellings. Over the comforting fire we talked about a +not altogether uneventful past.</p> + +<p>Dr. Barnardo was born in 1845, in Dublin. Although an Irishman by birth, +he is not so by blood. He is really of Spanish descent, as his name +suggests.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<img src="images/image175.jpg" width="303" height="400" alt="DR. BARNARDO. From a Photo by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">DR. BARNARDO. From a Photo by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>"I can never recollect the time," he said, "when the face and the voice +of a child has not had power to draw me aside from everything else. +Naturally, I have always had a passionate love for children. Their +helplessness, their innocence, and, in the case of waif children, their +misery, constitute, I feel, an irresistible appeal to every humane +heart.</p> + +<p>"I remember an incident which occurred to me at a very early age, and +which made a great impression upon me.</p> + +<p>"One day, when coming home from school, I saw standing on the margin of +the pavement a woman in miserable attire, with a wretched-looking baby +in her arms. I was then only a schoolboy of eleven years old, but the +sight made me very unhappy. I remember looking furtively every way to +see if I was observed, and then emptying my pockets—truly they had not +much in them—into the woman's hands. But sauntering on, I could not +forget the face of the baby—it fascinated me; so I had to go back, and +in a low voice suggested to the woman that if she would follow me home I +would try to get her something more.</p> + +<p>"Fortunately, I was able to let her into the hall without attracting +much attention, and then went down to the cook on my errand. I forget +what was done, except that I know a good meal was given to the 'mother' +and some milk to the baby. Just then an elder sister of mine came into +the hall, and was attracted as I had been to the infant; but observing +the woman she suddenly called out: 'Why, you are the woman I have spoken +to twice before, and this is a different baby; this is the third you +have had!'</p> + +<p>"And so it came to pass that I had my first experience of a beggar's +shifts. The child was not hers; she had borrowed it, or hired it, and it +was, as my sister said, the third in succession she had had within a +couple of months. So I was somewhat humiliated as 'mother' and infant +were quietly, but quickly, passed out through the hall door into the +street, and I learned my first lesson that the best way to help the poor +is not necessarily to give money to the first beggar you meet in the +street, although it is well to always keep a tender heart for the +sufferings of children."</p> + +<p>"Hire babies! Borrow babies!" I interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the Doctor, "and buy them, too. I know of several +lodging-houses where I could hire a baby from fourpence to a shilling a +day. The prettier the child is the better; should it happen to be a +cripple, or possessing particularly thin arms and face, it is always +worth a shilling. Little girls always demand a higher price than boys. I +knew of one woman—her supposed husband sells chickweed and +groundsel—who has carried a baby exactly the same size for the last +nine or ten years! I myself have, in days gone by, bought children in +order to rescue them. Happily, such a step is now not needful, owing to +changes in the law, which enable us to get possession of such children +by better methods. For one girl I paid 10s. 6d., whilst my very first +purchase cost me 7s. 6d. It was for a little boy and girl baby—brother +and sister. The latter was tied up in a bundle. The woman—whom I found +sitting on a door-step—offered to sell the boy for a trifle, +half-a-crown, but not the mite of a girl, as she was 'her living.' +However, I rescued them both, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> the sum I have mentioned. In another +case I got a poor little creature of two years of age—I can see her +now, with arms no thicker than my finger—from her drunken 'guardian' +for a shilling. When it came to washing the waif—what clothes it had on +consisted of nothing but knots and strings; they had not been untied for +weeks, perhaps months, and had to be cut off with a pair of scissors—we +found something tied round its waist, to which the child constantly +stretched out its wasted fingers and endeavoured to raise to its lips. +On examination it proved to be an old fish-bone wrapped in a piece of +cotton, which must have been at least a month old. Yet you must remember +that these 'purchases' are quite exceptional cases, as my children have, +for the most part, been obtained by legitimate means."</p> + +<p>Yes, these little mites arrive at Stepney somewhat strangely at times. A +child was sent from Newcastle in a hamper. It bore a small tablet on the +wicker basket which read: "To Dr. Barnardo, London. With care." The +little girl arrived quite safe and perfectly sound. But the most +remarkable instance of all was that of little Frank. Few children reach +Dr. Barnardo whose antecedents cannot be traced and their history +recorded in the volumes kept for this purpose. But Frankie remains one +of the unknown. Some time ago a carrier delivered what was presumably a +box of Swiss milk at the Homes. The porter in charge received it, and +was about to place it amongst other packages, when the faintest possible +cry escaped through the cracks in the lid. The pliers were hastily +brought, the nails flew out, the lid came off, and there lay little +Frank in his diminutive baby's robe, peacefully sleeping, with the end +of the tube communicating with his bottle of milk still between his +lips!</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 308px;"> +<img src="images/image176.jpg" width="308" height="450" alt=""TO DR. BARNARDO, WITH CARE." From a Photo." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"TO DR. BARNARDO, WITH CARE." From a Photo.</span> +</div> + +<p>"That is one means of getting rid of children," said Dr. Barnardo, after +he had told me the story of Frank, "but there are others which might +almost amount to a respectable method. I have received offers of large +sums of money from persons who have been desirous of my receiving their +children into these Homes <i>without asking any questions</i>. Not so very +long ago a lady came to Stepney in her carriage. A child was in it. I +granted her an interview, and she laid down five £100 notes, saying they +were mine if I would take the child and ask no questions. I did not take +the child. Again. A well-known peer of the realm once sent his footman +here with £100, asking me to take the footman's son. No. The footman +could support his child. Gold and silver will never open my doors unless +there is real destitution. It is for the homeless, the actually +destitute, that we open our doors day and night, without money and +without price. It is a dark night outside, but if you will look up on +this building, the words, '<i>No destitute boy or girl ever refused +admission</i>, are large enough to be read on the darkest night and with +the weakest eyesight; and that has been true all these seven-and-twenty +years.</p> + +<p>"On this same pretext of 'asking no questions,' I have been offered +£10,000 down, and £900 a year guaranteed during the lifetime of the +wealthy man who made the offer, if I would set up a Foundling +Institution. A basket was to be placed outside, and no attempt was ever +to be made either to see the woman or to discover from whence she came +or where she went. This, again, I refused. We <i>must</i> know all we can +about the little ones who come here, and every possible means is taken +to trace them. A photo is taken of every child when it arrives—even in +tatters; it is re-photographed again when it is altogether a different +small creature."</p> + +<p>Concerning these photographs, a great deal might be said, for the +photographic studio at Stepney is an institution in itself. Over 30,000 +negatives have been taken, and the photograph of any child can be turned +up at a moment's notice. Out of this arrangement romantic incidents +sometimes grow.</p> + +<p>Here is one of many. A child of three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> years old, discovered in a +village in Lancashire deserted by its parents, was taken to the nearest +workhouse. There were no other children in the workhouse at the time, +and a lady visitor, struck with the forlornness of the little girl waif, +beginning life under the shadow of the workhouse, benevolently wrote to +Dr. Barnardo, and after some negotiations the child was admitted to the +Homes and its photograph taken. Then it went down to the Girls' Village +Home at Ilford, where it grew up in one of the cottage families until +eleven years old.</p> + +<p>One day a lady called on Dr. Barnardo and told him a sad tale concerning +her own child, a little girl, who had been stolen by a servant who owed +her a spite, and who was lost sight of years ago. The lady had done all +she could at the time to trace her child in vain, and had given up the +pursuit; but lately an unconquerable desire to resume her inquiries +filled her. Among other places, she applied to the police in London, and +the authorities suggested that she should call at Stepney.</p> + +<p>Dr. Barnardo could, of course, give her no clue whatever. Eight years +had passed since the child had been lost; but one thing he could do—he +could turn to his huge photographic album, and show her the faces of all +the children who had been received within certain dates. This was done, +and in the course of turning over the pages the lady's eye fell on the +face of the little girl waif received from a Lancashire workhouse, and +with much agitation declared that she was her child. The girl was still +at Ilford. In an hour's time she was fetched up, and found to be a +well-grown, nice-mannered child of eleven years of age—to be folded +immediately in her mother's arms. "There could be no doubt," the Doctor +added, "of the parentage; they were so much alike." Of course, inquiries +had to be made as to the position of the lady, and assurances given that +she was really able to maintain the child, and that it would be well +cared for. These being satisfactory, Dorothy changed hands, and is now +being brought up under her mother's eye.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image177.jpg" width="500" height="708" alt="FRANKIE'S BOX, EXTERIOR." title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The boys and girls admitted to the fifty Homes under Dr. Barnardo's care +are of all nationalities—black and white, even Hindus and Chinese. A +little while ago there were fourteen languages spoken in the Homes.</p> + +<p>"And what about naming the 'unknown'?" I asked. "What about folk who +want to adopt a child and are willing to take one of yours?"</p> + +<p>"In the naming of unknown children," the Doctor replied, "we have no +certain method, but allow ourselves to be guided by the facts of the +case. A very small boy, two years ago, was discovered destitute upon a +door-step in Oxford. He was taken to the workhouse, and, after more or +less investigation to discover the people who abandoned him, he came +into my hands. He had no name, but he was forthwith christened, and +given the name of a very celebrated building standing close to where he +was found.</p> + +<p>"<i>Marie Perdu</i> suggests at once the history which attaches to her. +<i>Rachel Trouvé</i> is equally suggestive. That we have not more names of +this sort is due to the fact that we insist upon the most minute, +elaborate and careful investigation of every case; and it is, I think, +to the credit of our institutions that not more than four or five small +infants have been admitted from the first without our having been able +to trace each child home to its parentage, and to fill our records with +incidents of its early history.</p> + +<p>"Regarding the question of adoption. I am very slow to give a child out +for adoption in England. In Canada—by-the-bye, during the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> year 1892, +720 boys and girls have emigrated to the Colonies, making a grand total +of 5,834 young folks who have gone out to Canada and other British +Colonies since this particular branch was started. As I was saying, in +Canada, if a man adopts a child it really becomes as his own. If a girl, +he must provide her with a marriage dowry."</p> + +<p>"But the little ones—the very tiny ones, Dr. Barnardo, where do they +go?" I interrupted.</p> + +<p>"To 'Babies' Castle' at Hawkhurst, in Kent. A few go to Ilford, where +the Girls' Village Home is. It is conducted on the cottage +principle—which means <i>home</i>. I send some there—one to each cottage. +Others are 'boarded out' all over the kingdom, but a good many, +especially the feebler ones who need special medical and nursing care, +go to 'Babies' Castle,' where you were—one day last summer!"</p> + +<p>One day last summer! It was remembered only too well, and more so when +we hurried out into the cold air outside and hastened our +footsteps—eastwards. And as we walked along I listened to the story of +Dr. Barnardo's first Arab boy. His love for waifs and strays as a child +increased with years; it had been impressed upon his boyish memory, and +when he became a young man and walked the wards of the London Hospital, +it increased.</p> + +<p>It was the winter of 1866. Together with one or two fellow students he +conducted a ragged school in an old stable. The young student told the +children stories—simple and understandable, and read to them such works +as the "Pilgrim's Progress." The nights were cold, and the young +students subscribed together—in a practical move—for a huge fire. One +night young Barnardo was just about to go when, approaching the warming +embers to brace himself up for the snow outside, he saw a boy lying +there. He was in rags; his face pinched with hunger and suffering.</p> + +<p>"Now then, my boy—it's time to go," said the medico.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, <i>do</i> let me stop."</p> + +<p>"I can't, my lad—it's time to go home. Where do you live?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't live nowhere, sir!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Nowhere! Where's your father and mother?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't got none, sir!"</p> + +<p>"For the first time in my life," said Dr. Barnardo as he was telling +this incident, "I was brought face to face with the misery of outcast +childhood. I questioned the lad. He had been sleeping in the streets for +two or three years—he knew every corner of refuge in London. Well, I +took him to my lodgings. I had a bit of a struggle with the landlady to +allow him to come in, but at last I succeeded, and we had some coffee +together.</p> + +<p>"His reply to one question I asked him impressed me more than anything +else.</p> + +<p>"'Are there many more like you?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Heaps, sir.</i>'</p> + +<p>"He spoke the truth. He took me to one spot near Houndsditch. There I +obtained my first view of real Arab life. Eleven lads—some only nine +and ten years of age—lay on the roof of a building. It was a strange +sight—the moon seemingly singling out every sleeper for me. Another +night we went together over to the Queen's Shades, near Billingsgate. On +the top of a number of barrels, covered with tarpaulin, seventy-three +fellows were sleeping. I had the whole lot out for a halfpenny apiece.</p> + +<p>"'By God's help,' I cried inwardly, 'I'll help these fellows.'</p> + +<p>"Owing to a meeting at Islington my experiences got into the daily +Press. The late Lord Shaftesbury sent for me, and one night at his house +at dinner I was chaffed for 'romancing.' When Lord Shaftesbury went with +me to Billingsgate that same night and found thirty-seven boys there, he +knew the terrible truth. So we started with fifteen or twenty boys, in +lodgings, friends paying for them. Then I opened a dilapidated house, +once occupied by a stock dealer, but with the help of brother medicos it +was cleaned, scrubbed, and whitewashed. We begged, borrowed, and very +nearly stole the needful bedsteads. The place was ready, and it was soon +filled with twenty-five boys. And the work grew—and grew—and grew—you +know what it is to-day!"</p> + +<p>We had now reached Whitechapel. The night had increased in coldness, the +snow completely covered the roads and pavements, save where the ruts, +made by the slowly moving traffic and pedestrians' tread, were visible. +To escape from the keen and cutting air would indeed have been a +blessing—a blessing that was about to be realized in strange places. +Turning sharply up a side street, we walked a short distance and stopped +at a certain house. A gentle tap, tap at the door. It was opened by a +woman, and we entered. It was a vivid picture—a picture of low life +altogether indescribable.</p> + +<p>The great coke fire, which never goes out save when the chimney is +swept, and in front<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> of which were cooking pork chops, steaks, +mutton-chops, rashers of bacon, and that odoriferous marine delicacy +popularly known as a bloater, threw a strange glare upon "all sorts and +conditions of men." Old men, with histories written on every wrinkle of +their faces; old women, with straggling and unkempt white hair falling +over their shoulders; young men, some with eyes that hastily dropped at +your gaze; young women, some with +never-mind-let's-enjoy-life-while-we're-here expressions on their faces; +some with stories of misery and degradation plainly lined upon their +features—boys and girls; and little ones! Tiny little ones!</p> + +<p>Still, look at the walls; at the ceiling. It is the time of Christmas. +Garlands of paper chains are stretched across; holly and evergreens are +in abundance, and even the bunch of mistletoe is not missing. But, the +little ones rivet my attention. Some are a few weeks old, others two, +three, four, and five years old. Women are nursing them. Where are their +mothers? I am told that they are out—and this and that girl is +receiving twopence or threepence for minding baby until mother comes +home once more. The whole thing is too terribly real; and now, now I +begin to understand a little about Dr. Barnardo's work and the urgent +necessity for it. "Save the children," he cries, "at any cost from +becoming such as the men and women are whom we see here!"</p> + +<p>That night I visited some dozen, perhaps twenty, of these +lodging-houses. The same men and women were everywhere, the same fire, +the same eatables cooking—even the chains of coloured papers, the holly +and the bunch of mistletoe—and the wretched children as well.</p> + +<p>Hurrying away from these scenes of the nowadays downfall of man and +woman, I returned home. I lit my pipe and my memory went away to the +months of song and sunshine—one day last summer!</p> + +<p>I had got my parcel of toys—balls and steam-engines, dolls, and funny +little wooden men that jump about when you pull the string, and +what-not. But, I had forgotten the sweets. Samuel Huggins, however, who +is licensed to sell tobacco and snuff at Hawkhurst, was the friend in +need. He filled my pockets—for a consideration. And, the fine red-brick +edifice, with clinging ivy about its walls, and known as "Babies' +Castle," came in view.</p> + +<p>Here they are—just on their way to dinner. Look at this little fellow! +He is leading on either side a little girl and boy. The little girl is a +blind idiot, the other youngster is also blind; yet he knows every child +in the place by touch. He knew what a railway engine was. And the poor +little girl got the biggest rubber ball in the pack, and for five hours +she sat in a corner bouncing it against her forehead with her two hands.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image179.jpg" width="500" height="319" alt=""LADDIE" AND "TOMMY". From a Photo by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"LADDIE" AND "TOMMY". From a Photo by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>Here they come—the fifty yards' race down the corridor; a dozen of the +very smallest crawling along, chuckling and screaming with excitement. +Frank leads the way. Artful Frank! He is off bottles now, but he still +has an inclination that way, and, unless his miniature friends and +acquaintances keep a sharp look-out, he annexes theirs in the twinkling +of an eye. But, then, Frank is a veritable young prize-fighter. And as +the race continues, a fine Scotch collie—Laddie—jumps and flies over +the heads of the small competitors for the first in to lunch. You don't +believe it? Look at the picture of Tommy lying down with his head +resting peacefully on Laddie. Laddie! To him the children are as lambs. +When they are gambolling in the green fields he wanders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> about amongst +them, and "barks" them home when the time of play is done and the hour +of prayer has come, when the little ones kneel up in their cots and put +up their small petitions.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image180-1.jpg" width="500" height="339" alt="EVENING PRAYER. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">EVENING PRAYER. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image180-2.jpg" width="500" height="330" alt="THE DINING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE DINING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>Here they are in their own particular dining-room. Never were such huge +bowls of meat soup set before children. Still, they'll eat every bit, +and a sweet or two on the top of that. I asked myself a hundred times, +Can these ever have been such children as I have seen in the slums? This +is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> little Daisy. Her name is not the only pretty thing about her. She +has a sweet face. Daisy doesn't know it; but her mother went mad, and +Daisy was born in a lunatic asylum. Notice this young man who seems to +take in bigger spoonfuls than all the others. He's got a mouth like a +money box—open to take all he can get. But when he first came to +"Babies' Castle" he was so weak—starved in truth—that for days he was +carried about on a pillow. Another little fellow's father committed +suicide. Fail not to observe and admire the appetite of Albert Edward. +He came with no name, and he was christened so. His companions call him +"The Prince!" Yet another. This little girl's mother is to-day a +celebrated beauty—and her next-door diner was farmed out and insured. +When fourteen months old the child only weighed fourteen pounds. Every +child is a picture—the wan cheeks are no more, a rosy hue and healthy +flush are on every face.</p> + +<p>After dinner comes the mid-day sleep of two hours.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 641px;"> +<img src="images/image181-1.jpg" width="641" height="400" alt="THE MID-DAY SLEEP. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE MID-DAY SLEEP. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 313px;"> +<img src="images/image181-2.jpg" width="313" height="450" alt="SISTER ALICE. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SISTER ALICE. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>Now, I must needs creep through the bedrooms, every one of which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> is a +pattern of neatness. The boots and shoes are placed under the bed—not a +sound is heard. Amongst the sleepers the "Midget" is to be found. It was +the "Midget" who came in the basket from Newcastle, "with care." I had +crept through all the dormitories save one, when a sight I had not seen +in any of the others met me. It was in a double bed—the only one at +"Babies' Castle." A little boy lay sleeping by the side of a +four-year-old girl. Possibly it was my long-standing leaning over the +rails of the cot that woke the elder child. She slowly opened her eyes +and looked up at me.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 482px;"> +<img src="images/image182-1.jpg" width="482" height="450" alt=""ANNIE'S BATH." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"ANNIE'S BATH." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Who are you, my little one?" I whispered.</p> + +<p>And the whisper came back—"I'm Sister's Fidget!"</p> + +<p>"Sister's who?"</p> + +<p>"Sister's Fidget, please, sir."</p> + +<p>I learnt afterwards that she was a most useful young woman. All the +clothes worn at "Babies' Castle" are given by friends. No clothing is +bought, and this young woman has them all tried on her, and after the +fitting of some thirty or forty frocks, etc., she—fidgets! Hence her +name.</p> + +<p>"But why does that little boy sleep by you?" I questioned again.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image182-2.jpg" width="450" height="357" alt=""IN THE INFIRMARY." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"IN THE INFIRMARY." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>"That's Erney. He walks in his seep. One night I couldn't seep. As I was +tieing to look out of the window—Erney came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> walking down here. He was +fast aseep. I got up ever so quick."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/image183-1.jpg" width="550" height="312" alt=""A QUIET PULL." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"A QUIET PULL." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>"And what did you do?'</p> + +<p>"Put him in his bed again!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/image183-2.jpg" width="550" height="430" alt=""IN THE SCHOOLROOM." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"IN THE SCHOOLROOM." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>I went upstairs with Sister Alice to the nursery. Here are the very +smallest of them all. Some of the occupants of the white enamel +cribs—over which the name of the babe appears—are only a very few +weeks old. Here is Frank in a blue frock. It was Frank who came in the +condensed milk box. He is still at his bottle as he was when first he +came. Sleeping opposite each other are the fat lady and gentleman of the +establishment. Annie is only seven months and three days old. She weighs +16lb. 4oz. She was bathed later on—and took to the water beautifully. +Arthur is eleven months. He only weighs 22lb. 4oz.! Eighteen gallons of +milk are consumed every day at "Babies' Castle," from sixty to seventy +bottles filled per diem, and all the bottle babies are weighed every +week and their record carefully kept. A glance through this book reveals +the indisputable fact that Arthur puts on flesh at a really alarming +rate. But there are many others who are "growing" equally as well. The +group of youngsters who were carried from the nursery to the garden, +where they could sit in their chairs in the sunshine and enjoy a quiet +pull at their respective bottles, would want a lot of beating for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +healthy faces, lusty voices, and seemingly never-to-be-satisfied +appetites.</p> + +<p>A piteous moan is heard. It comes from a corner partitioned off. The +coverlet is gently cast on one side for a moment, and I ask that it may +quickly be placed back again. It is the last one sent to "Babies' +Castle." I am wondering still if this poor little mite can live. It is +five months old. It weighs 4lb. 1oz. Such was the little one when I was +at "Babies' Castle."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image184-1.jpg" width="450" height="375" alt="THE NURSING STAFF. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE NURSING STAFF. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>I looked in at the surgery, presided over by a fully-qualified lady +doctor; thence to the infirmary, where were just three or four occupants +suffering from childish complaints, the most serious of which was that +of the youngster christened "Jim Crow." Jimmy was "off his feed." Still, +he could shout—aye, as loud as did his famous namesake. He sat up in +his little pink flannel nightgown, and screamed with delight. And poor +Jimmy soon learnt how to do it. He only had to pull the string, and the +aforementioned funny little wooden man kicked his legs about as no +mortal ever did, could, or will.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image184-2.jpg" width="500" height="309" alt=""BABIES' BROUGHAM." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"BABIES' BROUGHAM." From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>I saw the inhabitants at "Babies' Castle" in the schoolroom. Here they +are happily perched on forms and desks, listening to some simple story, +which appeals to their childish fancies. How they sing! They "bring down +the house" with their thumping on the wooden desks as an accompaniment +to the "big bass drum," whilst a certain youngster's rendering of a +juvenile ditty, known as "The Muffin Man," is calculated to make one +remember his vocal efforts whenever the hot and juicy muffin is put on +the breakfast table. Little Mary still trips it neatly. She can't quite +forget the days and nights when she used to accompany her mother round +the public-houses and dance for coppers. Jane is also a terpsichorean +artiste, and tingles the tambourine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> to the stepping of her feet; whilst +Annie is another disciple of the art, and sings a song with the strange +refrain of "Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image185-1.jpg" width="450" height="325" alt="AT THE GATE. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AT THE GATE. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>Now, hurrah for play!—and off we go helter-skelter to the fields, +Laddie barking and jumping at the youngsters with unsuppressed delight.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/image185-2.jpg" width="550" height="283" alt="IN THE PLAYING FIELDS. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">IN THE PLAYING FIELDS. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>If you can escape from joining in their games—but they are +irresistible—do, and walk quietly round and take stock of these rescued +little ones. Notice this small contingent just starting from the porch. +Babies' brougham only consists of a small covered cart, with a highly +respectable donkey—warranted not to proceed too fast—attached to it. +Look at this group at the gate. They can't quite understand what "the +genelman" with the cloth over his head and a big brown box on three +pieces of stick is going to do, but it is all right. They are taught to +smile here, and the photographer did not forget to put it down. And I +open the gate and let them down the steps, the little girl with the +golden locks all over her head sharply advising her smaller companions +to "Come along—come along!" Then young Christopher mounts the +rocking-horse of the establishment, the swinging-boats are quickly +crammed up with passengers, and twenty or thirty more little minds are +again set wondering as to why "the genelman" will wrap his head up in a +piece of black cloth and cover his eyes whenever he wants to <i>see</i> them! +And the Castle perambulator! How pretty the occupants—how ready the +hands to give Susan and Willie a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> trip round. They shout, they jump, +they do all and more than most children, so wild and free is their +delight.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image186-1.jpg" width="500" height="338" alt="THE "CASTLE" PERAMBULATOR. From a Photo. by Elliott & +Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE "CASTLE" PERAMBULATOR. From a Photo. by Elliott & +Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>The sun is shining upon these one-time waifs and strays, these children +of the East—the flowers seem to grow for them, and the grass keeps +green as though to atone for the dark days which ushered in their birth. +Let them sing to-day—they were made to sing—let them be <i>children</i> +indeed. Let them shout and tire their tiny limbs in play—they will +sleep all the better for it, and eat a bigger breakfast in the morning. +The nurses are beginning to gather in their charges. Laddie is leaping +and barking round the hedge-rows in search of any wanderers.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 618px;"> +<img src="images/image186-2.jpg" width="618" height="450" alt="ON THE STEPS. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ON THE STEPS. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.</span> +</div> + +<p>And the inhabitants of "Babies' Castle" congregate on the steps of their +home. We are saying "Good-bye." "Jim Crow" is held up to the window +inside, and little Ernest, the blind boy, waves his hands with the +others and shouts in concert. I drive away. But one can hear their +voices just as sweet to-night as on one day last summer!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Harry How.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Beauties_Children" id="Beauties_Children"></a><i>Beauties:—Children.</i></h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 589px;"> +<img src="images/image187.jpg" width="589" height="950" alt="From a Photo. by A. Bassano." title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 594px;"> +<img src="images/image188.jpg" width="594" height="950" alt="From Photographs by Alex. Basanno." title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 583px;"> +<img src="images/image189.jpg" width="583" height="950" alt="From a Photo. by A. Bassano." title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Shafts_from_an_Eastern_Quiver" id="Shafts_from_an_Eastern_Quiver"></a><i>Shafts from an Eastern Quiver.</i></h2> + +<h2>VIII.—THE MASKED RULER OF THE BLACK WRECKERS</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Charles J. Mansford, B.A.</span></h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>"Hassan," called Denviers to our guide in an imperative tone, as the +latter was looking longingly at the wide expanse of sea over which our +boat was helplessly drifting, "lie down yonder immediately!" The Arab +rose slowly and reluctantly, and then extended himself at the bottom of +the boat out of sight of the tempting waters.</p> + +<p>"How much longer are these torments to last, Frank?" I asked wearily, as +I looked into the gaunt, haggard face of my companion as we sat in the +prow of our frail craft and gazed anxiously but almost hopelessly onward +to see if land might even yet loom up in the distance.</p> + +<p>"Can't say, Harold," he responded; "but I think we can hold out for two +more days, and surely by that time we shall either reach some island or +else be rescued by a passing vessel." Two more days—forty-eight more +hours of this burning heat and thirst! I glanced most uneasily at our +guide as he lay impassively in the boat, then I continued:—</p> + +<p>"Do you think that Hassan will be able to resist the temptation of these +maddening waters round us for so long as that?" There was a serious look +which crossed Denviers' face as he quietly replied:—</p> + +<p>"I hope so, Harold; we are doing our best for him. The Arab gets a +double share now of our pitifully slender stock, although, happily, he +doesn't know it; if he did he would certainly refuse to take his dole of +rice and scanty draught of water, and then I'm afraid that it would be +all over with him. He bears up bravely enough, but I don't at all like +the bright look in his eyes which has been there for the last few hours. +We must have travelled now more than half way across the Bay of Bengal +with such a driving wind as this behind us. It's certainly lucky for us +that our valuables were not on board the other boat, for we shall never +see that again, nor its cowardly occupants. The horses, our tent, and +some of our weapons are, of course, gone altogether, but we shall be +able to shift for ourselves well enough if once we are so lucky as to +reach land again."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 279px;"> +<img src="images/image190.jpg" width="279" height="450" alt=""HELPLESSLY DRIFTING."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HELPLESSLY DRIFTING."</span> +</div> + +<p>"I can't see of what use any weapons are just at present," I responded, +"nor, for the matter of that, the gems which we have hidden about our +persons. For the whole five days during which we have been driven on by +this fierce, howling wind I have not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> seen a living thing except +ourselves—not even a bird of the smallest size."</p> + +<p>"Because they know more about these storms than we do, and make for the +land accordingly," said Denviers; then glancing again at the Arab, he +continued:—</p> + +<p>"We must watch Hassan very closely, and if he shows signs of being at +all likely to lose his self-control, we shall have to tie him down. We +owe a great deal to him in this present difficulty, because it was +entirely through his advice that we brought any provisions with us at +all."</p> + +<p>"That is true enough," I replied; "but how were we to know that a +journey which we expected would occupy less than six hours was to end in +our being cast adrift at the mercy of wind and wave in such a mere +cockle-shell as this boat is, and so driven sheer across this waste of +waters?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Harold," said Denviers, quietly, "we must stick to our original +plan of resting turn and turn about if we wish to keep ourselves alive +as long as possible. I will continue my watch from the prow, and +meantime you had better endeavour to obtain some rest; at all events we +won't give in just yet." He turned his head away from me as he spoke and +narrowly surveyed the scene around us, magnificent as it was, +notwithstanding its solitude and the perils which darkly threatened us.</p> + +<p>Leaving the hut of the Cingalese after our adventure with the Dhahs in +the forest of Ceylon, we had made our way to Trincomalee, where we had +embarked upon a small sailing boat, similar in size and shape to those +which may be constantly seen on the other side of the island, and which +are used by the pearl-divers. We had heard of some wonderful sea-worn +caves, which were to be seen on the rocky coast at some distance from +Trincomalee, and had thus set out, intending afterwards to land on a +more southerly portion of the island—for we had determined to traverse +the coast, and, returning to Colombo again, to take ship for Burmah. Our +possessions were placed in a second boat, which had a planked covering +of a rounded form, beneath which they were secured from the dashing +spray affecting them. We had scarcely got out for about an hour's +distance when the natives stolidly refused to proceed farther, declaring +that a violent storm was about to burst upon us. We, however, insisted +on continuing our journey, when those in the second boat suddenly turned +its prow round and made hastily for the land, at the same time that our +own boatman dived from the side and dexterously clambered up on the +retreating boat, leaving us to shift for ourselves as best we could. +Their fears were only too well grounded, for before we were able to make +an attempt to follow them as they coolly made off with our property in +the boat, the wind struck our own little boat heavily, and out to sea we +went, driven through the rapidly rising waves in spite of our efforts to +render the boat manageable.</p> + +<p>For five days we had now been whirled violently along; a little water +and a few handfuls of rice being all that we had to share between the +three of us who occupied the boat, and upon whom the sun each day beat +fiercely down in a white heat, increasing our sufferings ten-fold—the +effects of which could be seen plainly enough as we looked into each +other's faces.</p> + +<p>Behind us the sun had just set in a sky that the waves seemed to meet in +the distance, and to be blended with them into one vast purple and +crimson heaving mass. Round us and before us, the waters curled up into +giant waves, which flung high into the air ridges of white foam and then +fell sheer down into a yawning gulf, only to rise again nearer and +nearer to the quivering sides of our frail craft, which still pressed +on—on to where we expected to meet with death rather than rescue, as we +saw the ripped sail dip itself into the seething waters like the wing of +a wounded sea-bird.</p> + +<p>Following my companion's suggestion I lay down and closed my eyes, and +was so much exhausted, indeed, that before long I fell into a restless +sleep, from which I at last awoke to hear Denviers speaking to me as he +shook my arm gently to arouse me.</p> + +<p>"Harold," he said, in a subdued tone, "I want you to see whether I am +deceiving myself or not. Come to the prow of the boat and tell me what +you can see from there."</p> + +<p>I rose slowly, and as I did so gave a glance at the Arab, who was lying +quite still in the bottom of the boat, where Denviers had commanded him +to rest some hours before. Then, following the direction in which my +companion pointed, I looked far out across the waves. The storm had +abated considerably in the hours during which I had slept, for the +waters which stretched round us were becoming as still as the starlit +sky above. Looking carefully ahead of us, I thought that in the distance +I could discern the faint flicker of a flame, and accordingly pointed it +out to Denviers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then I am not mistaken," he exclaimed. "I have been watching it for +some time, and as the waves have become less violent, it seemed to shine +out; but I was afraid that after all I might be deluding myself by +raising such a hope of assistance, for, as you know, our guide Hassan +has been seeing land all day, which, unfortunately for us, only existed +in his imagination."</p> + +<p>"He is asleep," I responded; "we will watch this light together, and +when we get near to it, then he can be awakened if necessary." We slowly +drew closer and closer to the flame, and then we thought that we could +discern before us the mast of a vessel, from which the light seemed to +be hung out into the air. At last we were sufficiently near to clearly +distinguish the mast, which was evidently rising from out of the sea, +for the hull of the vessel was not apparent to us, even when we were +cast close to it.</p> + +<p>"A wreck!" cried Denviers, leaning over the prow of our boat. "We were +not the only ones who suffered from the effects of the driving storm." +Then pointing a little to the east of the mast, he continued:—</p> + +<p>"There is land at last, for the tops of several trees are plainly to be +seen." I looked eastward as he spoke, and then back again to the mast of +the vessel.</p> + +<p>"We have been seen by those clinging yonder," I exclaimed. "There is a +man evidently signalling to us to save him." Denviers scanned the mast +before us, and replied:—</p> + +<p>"There is only one man clinging there, Harold. What a strange being he +is—look!" Clinging to the rigging with one hand, a man, who was +perfectly black and almost clothless, could be seen holding aloft +towards us a blazing torch, the glare of which fell full upon his face.</p> + +<p>"We must save him," said Denviers, "but I'm afraid there will be some +difficulty in doing so. Wake Hassan as quickly as you can." I roused the +Arab, and when he scanned the face and form of the apparently wrecked +man he said, in a puzzled tone:—</p> + +<p>"Sahibs, the man looks like a Papuan, but we are far too distant from +their land for that to be so."</p> + +<p>"The mast and ropes seem to me to be very much weather-beaten," I +interposed, as the light showed them clearly. "Why, the wreck is an old +one!"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 349px;"> +<img src="images/image192.jpg" width="349" height="450" alt=""A STRANGE BEING."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"A STRANGE BEING."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Jump!" cried Denviers, at that moment, to the man clinging to the +rigging, just as the waters, with a swirl, sent us past the ship. The +watcher flung his blazing torch into the waves, and the hiss of the +brand was followed by a splash in the sea. The holder of it had dived +from the rigging and directly after reappeared and clambered into our +boat, saved from death, as we thought—little knowing the fell purpose +for which he had been stationed to hold out the flaring torch as a +welcoming beacon to be seen afar by any vessel in distress. I glanced at +the dangerous ring of coral reef round the island on which the ship had +once struck, and then looked at the repulsive islander, who sat gazing +at us with a savage leer. Although somewhat resembling a Papuan, as +Hassan had said, we were soon destined to know what he really was, for +the Arab, who had been glancing narrowly and suspiciously at the man, +whispered to us cautiously:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Sahibs, trust not this islander. We must have reached the land where +the Tamils dwell. They have a sinister reputation, which even your slave +has heard. This savage is one of those who lure ships on to the coral +reefs, and of whom dark stories are told. He is a black wrecker!"</p> + + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>We managed by means of Hassan to communicate to the man who was with us +in the boat that we were desperately in need of food, to which he made +some unintelligible response. Hassan pressed the question upon him +again, and then he volunteered to take our boat through the dangerous +reefs which were distinguishable in the clear waters, and to conduct us +to the shore of the island, which we saw was beautifully wooded. He +managed the boat with considerable skill, and when at last we found +ourselves upon land once again, we began to think that, perhaps, after +all, the natives might be friendly disposed towards us.</p> + +<p>Our new-found guide entered a slight crevice in the limestone rock, and +came forth armed with a stout spear tipped, as we afterwards found, with +a shark's tooth.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we must trust to fortune," said Denviers, as we carefully +followed the black in single file over a surface which seemed to be +covered with a mass of holes.</p> + +<p>"We must get food somehow," I responded. "It will be just as safe to +follow this Tamil as to remain on the shore waiting for daybreak. No +doubt, if we did so the news of our arrival would be taken to the tribe +and an attack made upon us. Thank goodness, our pistols are in our belts +after all, although our other weapons went with the rest of the things +which we lost."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 353px;"> +<img src="images/image193.jpg" width="353" height="550" alt=""WE SLOWLY FOLLOWED HIM."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WE SLOWLY FOLLOWED HIM."</span> +</div> + +<p>The ground which we were traversing now began to assume more the +appearance of a zigzag pathway, leading steeply downward, however, for +we could see it as it twisted far below us, and apparently led into a +plain. The Tamil who was leading the way seemed to purposely avoid any +conversation with us, and Denviers catching up to him grasped him by the +shoulder. The savage stopped suddenly and shortened his hold upon the +spear, while his face glowed with all the fury of his fierce nature.</p> + +<p>"Where does this path lead to?" Denviers asked, making a motion towards +it to explain the information which he desired to obtain. Hassan hurried +up and explained the words which were returned in a guttural tone:—</p> + +<p>"To where the food for which ye asked may be obtained."</p> + +<p>The path now began to widen out, and we found ourselves, on passing over +the plain which we had seen from above, entering a vast grotto from the +roof of which long crystal prisms hung, while here and there natural +pillars of limestone seemed to give their support to the roof above. Our +strange guide now fastened a torch of some resinous material to the butt +end of his spear and held it high above us as we slowly followed him, +keeping close to each other so as to avoid being taken by surprise.</p> + +<p>The floor of this grotto was strewn with the bones of some animal, and +soon we discovered that we were entering the haunt of the Tamil tribe. +From the far end of the grotto we heard the sound of voices, and as we +approached saw the gleam of a wood fire lighting up the scene before us. +Round this were gathered a number of the tribe to which the man +belonged, their spears resting in their hands as though they were ever +watchful and ready to make an attack. Uttering a peculiar bird-like cry, +the savage thus apprised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> the others of our approach, whereupon they +hastily rose from the fire and spread out so that on our nearing them we +were immediately surrounded.</p> + +<p>"Hassan," said Denviers, "tell these grinning niggers that we mean to go +no farther until they have provided us with food."</p> + +<p>The Arab managed to make himself understood, for the savage who had led +us into the snare pointed to one of the caverns which ran off from the +main grotto, and said:—</p> + +<p>"Sports of the ocean current, which brought ye into the way whence ye +may see the Great Tamil, enter there and food shall be given to ye."</p> + +<p>We entered the place pointed out with considerable misgivings, for we +had not forgotten the plot of the Hindu fakir. We could see very little +of its interior, which was only partly lighted by the torch which the +Tamil still carried affixed to his spear. He left us there for a few +minutes, during which we rested on the limestone floor, and, being +unable to distinguish any part of the cavern around us, we watched the +entry closely, fearing attack. The shadows of many spears were flung +before us by the torch, and, concluding that we were being carefully +guarded, we decided to await quietly the Tamil's return. The much-needed +food was at length brought to us, and consisted of charred fragments of +fish, in addition to some fruit, which served us instead of water, for +none of the last was given to us. The savage contemptuously threw what +he had brought at our feet, and then departed. Being anxious to escape, +we ventured to approach again the entrance of the cavern, but found +ourselves immediately confronted by a dozen blacks, who held their +spears in a threatening manner as they glared fiercely at us, and +uttered a warning exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Back to the cave!" they cried, and thinking that it would be unwise for +us to endeavour to fight our way through them till day dawned, we +returned reluctantly, and threw ourselves down where we had rested +before. After some time, the Tamil who evidently looked upon us as his +own prisoners entered the cavern, and with a shrill laugh motioned to us +to follow him. We rose, and re-entering the grotto, were led by the +savage through it, until at last we stood confronting a being at whom we +gazed in amazement for some few minutes.</p> + +<p>Impassive and motionless, the one whom we faced rested upon a curiously +carved throne of state. One hand of the monarch held a spear, the butt +end of which rested upon the ground, while the other hung rigidly to his +side. But the glare which came from the torches which several of the +Tamils had affixed to their spears revealed to us no view of the face of +the one sitting there, for, over it, to prevent this, was a hideous +mask, somewhat similar to that which exorcists wear in many Eastern +countries. The nose was perfectly flat, from the sides of the head large +ears protruded, huge tusks took the place of teeth, while the leering +eyes were made of some reddish, glassy substance, the entire mask +presenting a most repulsive appearance, being evidently intended to +strike terror into those who beheld it. The strangest part of the scene +was that one of the Tamils stood close by the side of the masked +monarch, and seemed to act as interpreter, for the ruler never spoke, +although the questions put by his subject soon convinced us that we were +likely to have to fight our way out of the power of the savage horde.</p> + +<p>"The Great Tamil would know why ye dared to land upon his sacred +shores?" the fierce interpreter asked us. Denviers turned to Hassan, and +said:—</p> + +<p>"Tell the Great Tamil who hides his ugly face behind this mask that his +treacherous subject brought us, and that we want to leave his shores as +soon as we can." Hassan responded to the question, then the savage +asked:—</p> + +<p>"Will ye present your belts and weapons to the Great Tamil as a peace +offering?" We looked at the savage in surprise for a moment, wondering +if he shrewdly guessed that we had anything valuable concealed there. We +soon conjectured rightly that this was only a ruse on his part to disarm +us, and Hassan was instructed to say that we never gave away our weapons +or belts to friends or foes.</p> + +<p>"Then the Great Tamil orders that ye be imprisoned in the cavern from +which ye have come into his presence until ye fulfil his command," said +the one who was apparently employed as interpreter to the motionless +ruler. We signified our readiness to return to the cave, for we thought +that if attacked there we should have enemies only in front of us, +whereas at that moment we were entirely surrounded. The fierce guards as +they conducted us back endeavoured to incite us to an attack, for they +several times viciously struck us with the butts of their spears, but, +following Denviers' example, I managed to restrain my anger, waiting for +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> good opportunity to amply repay them for the insult.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image195.jpg" width="450" height="515" alt=""THE GREAT TAMIL."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THE GREAT TAMIL."</span> +</div> + +<p>"What a strange ruler, Harold," said Denviers, as we found ourselves +once more imprisoned within the cave.</p> + +<p>"He made no attempt to speak," I responded; "at all events, I did not +hear any words come from his lips. It looked like a piece of +masquerading more than the interrogation of three prisoners. I wonder if +there is any way of escaping out of this place other than by the +entrance through which we came."</p> + +<p>"We may as well try to find one," said Denviers, and accordingly we +groped about the dim cave, running our hands over its roughened sides, +but could discover no means of egress.</p> + +<p>"We must take our chance, that is all," said my companion, when our +efforts had proved unsuccessful. "I expect that they will make a strong +attempt to disarm us, if nothing worse than that befalls us. These +savages have a mania for getting possession of civilized weapons. One of +our pistols would be to them a great treasure."</p> + +<p>"Did you notice the bones which strewed the cavern when we entered?" I +interrupted, for a strange thought occurred to me.</p> + +<p>"Hush! Harold," Denviers whispered, as we reclined on the hard granite +flooring of the cave. "I don't think Hassan observed them, and there is +no need to let him know what we infer from them until we cannot prevent +it. There is no reason why we should hide from each other the fact that +these savages are evidently cannibals, which is in my opinion the reason +why they lure vessels upon the reefs here. I noticed that several of +them wore bracelets round their arms and ankles, taken no doubt from +their victims. I should think that in a storm like the one which drove +us hither, many vessels have drifted at times this way. We shall have to +fight for our lives, that is pretty certain; I hope it will be in +daylight, for as it is we should be impaled on their spears without +having the satisfaction of first shooting a few of them."</p> + +<p>"Sahibs," said Hassan, who had been resting at a little distance from +us, "it will be best for us to seek repose in order to be fit for +fighting, if necessary, when these savages demand our weapons."</p> + +<p>"Well, Hassan," said Denviers, "you are better off than we are. True we +have our pistols, but your sword has never left your side, and I dare +say you will find plenty of use for it before long."</p> + +<p>"If the Prophet so wills," said the Arab, "it will be at the service of +the Englishmen. I rested for many hours on the boat before we reached +this land, and will now keep watch lest any treachery be attempted by +these Tamils." We knew that under the circumstances Hassan's keen sense +of hearing would be more valuable than our own, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> after a slight +protest agreed to leave him to his self-imposed task of watching while +we slept. He moved close to the entrance of the cave, and we followed +his example before seeking repose. Hassan made some further remark, to +which I do not clearly remember responding, the next event recalled +being that he awoke us from a sound sleep, saying:—</p> + +<p>"Sahibs, the day has dawned, and the Tamils are evidently going to +attack us." We rose to our feet and, assuring ourselves that our pistols +were safe in our belts, we stood at the entrance of the cave and peered +out. The Tamils were gathering round the spot, listening eagerly to the +man who had first brought us into the grotto, and who was pointing at +the cave in which we were and gesticulating wildly to his companions.</p> + + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>The savage bounded towards us as we appeared in the entry, and, grinning +fiercely, showed his white, protruding teeth.</p> + +<p>"The Great Tamil commands his prisoners to appear before him again," he +cried. "He would fain learn something of the land whence they came." We +looked into each other's faces irresolute for a minute. If we advanced +from the cave we might be at once surrounded and slain, yet we were +unable to tell how many of the Tamils held the way between us and the +path down which we had come when entering the grotto.</p> + +<p>"Tell him that we are ready to follow him," said Denviers to Hassan; +then turning to me he whispered: "Harold, watch your chance when we are +before this motionless nigger whom they call the Great Tamil. If I can +devise a scheme I will endeavour to find a way to surprise them, and +then we must make a dash for liberty." The Tamils, however, made no +attempt to touch us as we passed out before them and followed the +messenger sent to summon us to appear again before their monarch. The +grotto was still gloomy, for the light of day did not penetrate well +into it. We could, however, see clearly enough, and the being before +whom we were brought a second time seemed more repulsive than ever. We +noticed that the limbs of his subjects were tattooed with various +designs as they stood round us and gazed in awe upon the silent form of +their monarch.</p> + +<p>"The Great Tamil would know whether ye have yet decided to give up your +belts and weapons, that they may adorn his abode with the rest which he +has accumulated," said the savage who stood by the monarch's spear, as +he pointed to a part of the grotto where we saw a huge heap of what +appeared to us to be the spoils of several wrecks. Our guide interpreted +my companion's reply.</p> + +<p>"We will not be disarmed," answered Denviers. "These are our weapons of +defence; ye have your own spears, and they should be sufficient for your +needs."</p> + +<p>"Ye will not?" demanded the savage, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"No!" responded Denviers, and he moved his right hand to the belt in +which his pistols were.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image196.jpg" width="400" height="486" alt=""DENVIERS RUSHED FORWARD."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"DENVIERS RUSHED FORWARD."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Seize them!" shrieked the impassioned savage; "they defy us. Drag them +to the mortar and crush them into dust!" The words had scarcely passed +his lips when Denviers rushed forward and snatched the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> mask from the +Tamil sitting there! The savages around, when they saw this, seemed for +a moment unable to move; then they threw themselves wildly to the ground +and grovelled before the face which was thus revealed. The motionless +arm of the form made no attempt to move from the side where it hung to +protect the mask from Denviers' touch, for the rigid features upon which +we looked at that moment were those of the dead!</p> + +<p>"Quick, Harold!" exclaimed Denviers, as he saw the momentary panic which +his action had caused among the superstitious Tamils. "On to the entry!" +We bounded over the guards as they lay prostrate, and a moment +afterwards were rushing headlong towards the entrance of the grotto. Our +escape was by no means fully secured, however, for as we emerged we +found several Tamils prepared to bar our further advance.</p> + +<p>Denviers dashed his fist full in the face of one of the yelling savages, +and in a moment got possession of the spear which he had poised, while +the whirl of Hassan's blade cleared our path. I heard the whirr of a +spear as it narrowly missed my head and pierced the ground before me. +Wrenching it out of the hard ground I followed Hassan and Denviers as +they darted up the zigzag path. On we went, the savages hotly pursuing +us, then those in the van stopped until the others from the cave joined +them, when they all made a mad rush together after us. Owing to the path +zigzagging as it did, we were happily protected in a great measure from +the shower of spears which fell around us.</p> + +<p>We had nearly reached the top of the path when, turning round, I saw +that our pursuers were only a few yards away, for the savages seemed to +leap rather than to run over the ground, and certainly would leave us no +chance to reach our boat and push off from them. Denviers saw them too, +and cried to me:—</p> + +<p>"Quick, Harold, lend Hassan and me a hand!" I saw that they had made for +a huge piece of granite which was poised on a hollow, cup-like base, and +directly afterwards the three of us were behind it straining with all +our force to push it forward. The foremost savage had all but reached us +when, with one desperate and successful attempt, we sent the monster +stone crashing down upon the black, yelling horde!</p> + +<p>We stopped and looked down at the havoc which had been wrought among +them; then we pressed on, for we knew that our advantage was likely to +be only of short duration, and that those who were uninjured would dash +over their fallen comrades and follow us in order to avenge them. Almost +immediately after we reached the spot where our boat was moored we saw +one of our pursuers appear, eagerly searching for our whereabouts. We +hastily set the sail to the breeze, which was blowing from the shore, +while the savage wildly urged the others, who had now reached him, to +dash into the water and spear us.</p> + +<p>Holding their weapons between their teeth, fully twenty of the blacks +plunged into the sea and made a determined effort to reach us. They swam +splendidly, keeping their fierce eyes fixed upon us as they drew nearer +and nearer.</p> + +<p>"Shall we shoot them?" I asked Denviers, as we saw that they were within +a short distance of us.</p> + +<p>"We don't want to kill any more of these black man-eaters," he said; +"but we must make an example of one of them, I suppose, or they will +certainly spear us."</p> + +<p>I watched the savage who was nearest to us. He reached the boat, and, +holding on by one of his black paws, raised himself a little, then +gripped his spear in the middle and drew it back. Denviers pointed his +pistol full at the savage and fired. He bounded completely out of the +water, then fell back lifeless among his companions! The death of one of +their number so suddenly seemed to disconcert the rest, and before they +could make another attack we were standing well out to sea. We saw them +swim back to the shore and line it in a dark, threatening mass, +brandishing their useless spears, until at last the rising waters hid +the island from our view.</p> + +<p>"A sharp brush with the niggers, indeed!" said Denviers. "The worst of +it is that unless we are picked up before long by some vessel we must +make for some part of the island again, for we must have food at any +cost."</p> + +<p>We had not been at sea, however, more than two hours afterwards when +Hassan suddenly cried:—</p> + +<p>"Sahibs, a ship!"</p> + +<p>Looking in the direction towards which he was turned we saw a vessel +with all sails set. We started up, and before long our signals were +seen, for a boat was lowered and we were taken on board.</p> + +<p>"Well, Harold," said Denviers, as we lay stretched on the deck that +night, talking over our adventure, "strange to say we are bound for the +country we wished to reach, although<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> we certainly started for it in a +very unexpected way."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 401px;"> +<img src="images/image198.jpg" width="401" height="500" alt=""HE BOUNDED COMPLETELY OUT OF THE WATER."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE BOUNDED COMPLETELY OUT OF THE WATER."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Did the sahibs fully observe the stone which was hurled upon the +savages?" asked Hassan, who was near us.</p> + +<p>Denviers turned to him as he replied:—</p> + +<p>"We were in too much of a hurry to do that, Hassan, I'm afraid. Was +there anything remarkable about it?" The Arab looked away over the sea +for a minute—then, as if talking to himself, he answered: "Great is +Allah and his servant Mahomet, and strange the way in which he saved us. +The huge stone which crushed the savages was the same with which they +have destroyed their victims in the hollowed-out mortar in which it +stood! I have once before seen such a stone, and the death to which they +condemned us drew my attention to it as we pushed it down upon them."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Denviers, "their strange monarch was not disappointed after +all in his sentence being carried out—only it affected his own +subjects."</p> + +<p>"That," said Hassan, "is not an infrequent occurrence in the East; but +so long as the proper number perishes, surely it matters little who +complete it fully."</p> + +<p>"A very pleasant view of the case, Hassan," said Denviers; "only we who +live Westward will, I hope, be in no particular hurry to adopt such a +custom; but go and see if you can find out where our berths are, for we +want to turn in." The Arab obeyed, and returned in a few minutes, saying +that he, the unworthy latchet of our shoes, had discovered them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="From_Behind_the_Speakers_Chair" id="From_Behind_the_Speakers_Chair"></a><i>From Behind the Speaker's Chair.</i></h2> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<h3>(VIEWED BY HENRY W. LUCY.)</h3> + +<p>Looking round the House of Commons now gathered for its second Session, +one is struck by the havoc death and other circumstances have made with +the assembly that filled the same chamber twenty years ago, when I first +looked on from behind the Speaker's Chair. Parliament, like the heathen +goddess, devours its own children. But the rapidity with which the +process is completed turns out on minute inquiry to be a little +startling. Of the six hundred and seventy members who form the present +House of Commons, how many does the Speaker suppose sat with him in the +Session of 1873?</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 238px;"> +<img src="images/image199-1.jpg" width="238" height="300" alt="THE SPEAKER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE SPEAKER.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Peel himself was then in the very prime of life, had already been +eight years member for Warwick, and by favour of his father's old friend +and once young disciple, held the office of Parliamentary Secretary to +the Board of Trade. Members, if they paid any attention to the +unobtrusive personality seated at the remote end of the Treasury Bench, +never thought the day would come when the member for Warwick would step +into the Chair and rapidly establish a reputation as the best Speaker of +modern times.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 273px;"> +<img src="images/image199-2.jpg" width="273" height="300" alt="SIR ROBERT PEEL." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR ROBERT PEEL.</span> +</div> + +<p>I have a recollection of seeing Mr. Peel stand at the table answering a +question connected with his department; but I noticed him only because +he was the youngest son of the great Sir Robert Peel, and was a striking +contrast to his brother Robert, a flamboyant personage who at that time +filled considerable space below the gangway.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 149px;"> +<img src="images/image199-3.jpg" width="149" height="300" alt="SIR W. BARTTELOT." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR W. BARTTELOT.</span> +</div> + +<p>In addition to Mr. Peel there are in the present House of Commons +exactly fifty-one members who sat in Parliament in the Session of +1873—fifty-two out of six hundred and fifty-eight as the House of that +day was numbered. Ticking them off in alphabetical order, the first of +the Old Guard, still hale and enjoying the respect and esteem of members +on both sides of the House, is Sir Walter Barttelot. As Colonel +Barttelot he was known to the Parliament of 1873. But since then, to +quote a phrase he has emphatically reiterated in the ears of many +Parliaments, he has "gone one step farther," and become a baronet.</p> + +<p>This tendency to forward movement seems to have been hereditary; Sir +Walter's father, long honourably known as Smyth, going "one step +farther" and assuming the name of Barttelot. Colonel Barttelot did not +loom large in the Parliament of 1868-74, though he was always ready to +do sentry duty on nights when the House was in Committee on the Army +Estimates. It was the Parliament of 1874-80, when the air was full of +rumours of war, when Russia and Turkey clutched each other by the throat +at Plevna, and when the House of Commons, meeting for ordinary business, +was one night startled by news that the Russian Army was at the gates of +Constantinople—it was then Colonel Barttelot's military experience +(chiefly gained in discharge of his duties as Lieutenant-Colonel of the +Second Battalion Sussex Rifle Volunteers) was lavishly placed at the +disposal of the House and the country.</p> + +<p>When Disraeli was going out of office he made the Colonel a baronet, a +distinction the more honourable to both since Colonel Barttelot, though +a loyal Conservative, was never a party hack.</p> + +<p>Sir Michael Beach sat for East Gloucestershire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> in 1873, and had not +climbed higher up the Ministerial ladder than the Under Secretaryship of +the Home Department. Another Beach, then as now in the House, was the +member for North Hants. William Wither Bramston Beach is his full style. +Mr. Beach has been in Parliament thirty-six years, having through that +period uninterruptedly represented his native county, Hampshire. That is +a distinction he shares with few members to-day, and to it is added the +privilege of being personally the obscurest man in the Commons. I do not +suppose there are a hundred men in the House to-day who at a full muster +could point out the member for Andover. A close attendance upon +Parliament through twenty years necessarily gives me a pretty intimate +knowledge of members. But I not only do not know Mr. Beach by sight, but +never heard of his existence till, attracted by the study of relics of +the Parliament elected in 1868, I went through the list.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 187px;"> +<img src="images/image200-1.jpg" width="187" height="300" alt="MR. W. W. B. BEACH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. W. W. B. BEACH.</span> +</div> + +<p>Another old member still with us is Mr. Michael Biddulph, a partner in +that highly-respectable firm, Cocks, Biddulph, and Co. Twenty years ago +Mr. Biddulph sat as member for his native county of Hereford, ranked as +a Liberal and a reformer, and voted for the Disestablishment of the +Irish Church and other measures forming part of Mr. Gladstone's policy. +But political events with him, as with some others, have moved too +rapidly, and now he, sitting as member for the Ross Division of the +county, votes with the Conservatives.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 131px;"> +<img src="images/image200-2.jpg" width="131" height="350" alt="MR. A. H. BROWN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. A. H. BROWN.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 297px;"> +<img src="images/image200-3.jpg" width="297" height="300" alt="MR. CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Jacob Bright is still left to us, representing a division of the +city for which he was first elected in November, 1867. Mr. A. H. Brown +represents to-day a Shropshire borough, as he did twenty years ago. I do +not think he looks a day older than when he sat for Wenlock in 1873. But +though then only twenty-nine, as the almanack reckons, he was a +middle-aged young man with whom it was always difficult to connect +associations of a cornetcy in the 5th Dragoon Guards, a post of danger +which family tradition persistently assigns to him. Twenty years ago the +House was still struggling with the necessity of recognising a Mr. +Campbell-Bannerman. In 1868, one Mr. Henry Campbell had been elected +member for the Stirling Districts. Four years later, for reasons, it is +understood, not unconnected with a legacy, he added the name of +Bannerman to his patronymic. At that time, and till the dissolution, he +sat on the Treasury Bench as Financial Secretary to the War Office.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 225px;"> +<img src="images/image200-4.jpg" width="225" height="300" alt="MR. HENRY CHAPLIN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. HENRY CHAPLIN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Henry Chaplin is another member, happily still left to us, who has, +over a long space of years, represented his native county. It was as +member for Mid-Lincolnshire he entered the House of Commons at the +memorable general election of 1868, the fate of the large majority of +his colleagues impressing upon him at the epoch a deeply rooted dislike +of Mr. Gladstone and all his works.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jeremiah James Colman, still member for Norwich, has sat for that +borough since February, 1871, and has preserved, unto this last, the +sturdy Liberalism imbued with which he embarked on political life. When +he entered the House he made the solemn record that J. J. C. "does not +consider the recent Reform Bill as the end at which we should rest." The +Liberal Party has marched far since then, and the great Norwich +manufacturer has always mustered in the van.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the Session of 1873, Sir Charles Dilke had but lately crossed the +threshold of manhood, bearing his days before him, and possibly viewing +the brilliant career through which for a time he strongly strode. Just +thirty, married a year, home from his trip round the world, with Greater +Britain still running through successive editions, the young member for +Chelsea had the ball at his feet. He had lately kicked it with audacious +eccentricity. Two years earlier he had made his speech in Committee of +Supply on the Civil List. If such an address were delivered in the +coming Session it would barely attract notice any more than does a +journey to America in one of the White Star Liners. It was different in +the case of Columbus, and in degree Sir Charles Dilke was the Columbus +of attack on the extravagance in connection with the Court.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 295px;"> +<img src="images/image201-1.jpg" width="295" height="325" alt="SIR CHARLES DILKE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR CHARLES DILKE.</span> +</div> + +<p>What he said then is said now every Session, with sharper point, and +even more uncompromising directness, by Mr. Labouchere, Mr. Storey, and +others. It was new to the House of Commons twenty-two years ago, and +when Mr. Auberon Herbert (to-day a sedate gentleman, who writes good +Tory letters to the <i>Times</i>) seconded the motion in a speech of almost +hysterical vehemence, there followed a scene that stands memorable even +in the long series that succeeded it in the following Parliament. Mr. +James Lowther was profoundly moved; whilst as for Mr. Cavendish +Bentinck, his feelings of loyalty to the Throne were so overwrought +that, as was recorded at the time, he went out behind the Speaker's +chair, and crowed thrice. Amid the uproar, someone, anticipating the +action of Mr. Joseph Gillis Biggar on another historic occasion, "spied +strangers." The galleries were cleared, and for an hour there raged +throughout the House a wild scene. When the doors were opened and the +public readmitted, the Committee was found placidly agreeing to the vote +Sir Charles Dilke had challenged.</p> + +<p>Mr. George Dixon is one of the members for Birmingham, as he was twenty +years ago, but he wears his party rue with a difference. In 1873 he +caused himself to be entered in "Dod" as "an advanced Liberal, opposed +to the ratepaying clause of the Reform Act, and in favour of an +amendment of those laws which tend to accumulate landed property." Now +Mr. Dixon has joined "the gentlemen of England," whose tendency to +accumulate landed property shocks him no more.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 176px;"> +<img src="images/image201-2.jpg" width="176" height="300" alt="MR. GEORGE DIXON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. GEORGE DIXON.</span> +</div> + +<p>Sir William Dyke was plain Hart Dyke in '73; then, as now, one of the +members for Kent, and not yet whip of the Liberal Party, much less +Minister of Education. Mr. G. H. Finch also then, as now, was member for +Rutland, running Mr. Beach close for the prize of modest obscurity.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 257px;"> +<img src="images/image201-3.jpg" width="257" height="250" alt="MR. W. HART DYKE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. W. HART DYKE.</span> +</div> + +<p>In the Session of 1873 Mr. Gladstone was Prime Minister, sixty-four +years of age, and wearied to death. I well remember him seated on the +Treasury Bench in those days, with eager face and restless body. +Sometimes, as morning broke on the long, turbulent sitting, he let his +head fall back on the bench, closing his eyes and seeming to sleep; the +worn face the while taking on ten years of added age. In the last two +Sessions of the Salisbury Parliament he often looked younger than he had +done eighteen or nineteen years earlier. Then, as has happened to him +since, his enemies were those of his own household. This Session—of +1873—saw the birth of the Irish University Bill, which broke the power +of the strongest Ministry that had ruled in England since the Reform +Bill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Gladstone introduced the Bill himself, and though it was singularly +intricate, he within the space of three hours not only made it clear +from preamble to schedule, but had talked over a predeterminedly hostile +House into believing it would do well to accept it. Mr. Horsman, not an +emotional person, went home after listening to the speech, and wrote a +glowing letter to the <i>Times</i>, in which he hailed Mr. Gladstone and the +Irish University Bill as the most notable of the recent dispensations of +a beneficent Providence. Later, when the Tea-room teemed with cabal, and +revolt rapidly spread through the Liberal host, presaging the defeat of +the Government, Mr. Horsman, in his most solemn manner, explained away +this letter to a crowded and hilarious House. The only difference +between him and seven-eighths of Mr. Gladstone's audience was that he +had committed the indiscretion of putting pen to paper whilst he was yet +under the spell of the orator, the others going home to bed to think it +over.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/image202-1.jpg" width="250" height="300" alt="MR. GLADSTONE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. GLADSTONE.</span> +</div> + +<p>On the eve of a new departure, once more Premier, idol of the populace, +and captain of a majority in the House of Commons, Mr. Gladstone's +thoughts may peradventure turn to those weary days twenty years dead. He +would not forget one Wednesday afternoon when the University Education +Bill was in Committee, and Mr. Charles Miall was speaking from the +middle of the third bench below the gangway. The Nonconformist +conscience then, as now, was a ticklish thing. It had been pricked by +too generous provision made for an alien Church, and Mr. Miall was +solemnly, and with indubitable honest regret, explaining how it would be +impossible for him to support the Government. Mr. Gladstone listened +with lowering brow and face growing ashy pale with anger. When plain, +commonplace Mr. Miall resumed his seat, Mr. Gladstone leaped to his feet +with torpedoic action and energy. With voice stinging with angry scorn, +and with magnificent gesture of the hand, designed for the cluster of +malcontents below the gangway, he besought the honourable gentleman "in +Heaven's name" to take his support elsewhere. The injunction was obeyed. +The Bill was thrown out by a majority of three, and though, Mr. Disraeli +wisely declining to take office, Mr. Gladstone remained on the Treasury +Bench, his power was shattered, and he and the Liberal party went out +into the wilderness to tarry there for six long years.</p> + +<p>To this catastrophe gentlemen at that time respectively known as Mr. +Vernon Harcourt and Mr. Henry James appreciably contributed. They +worried Mr. Gladstone into dividing between them the law offices of the +Crown. But this turn of affairs came too late to be of advantage to the +nation. The only reminders of that episode in their political career are +the title of knighthood and a six months' salary earned in the recess +preceding the general election of 1874.</p> + +<p>Mr. Disraeli's keen sight recognised the game being played on the Front +Bench below the gangway, where the two then inseparable friends sat +shoulder to shoulder. "I do not know," he slyly said, one night when the +Ministerial crisis was impending, "whether the House is yet to regard +the observations of the hon. member for Oxford (Vernon Harcourt) as +carrying the authority of a Solicitor-General!"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 210px;"> +<img src="images/image202-2.jpg" width="210" height="300" alt=""MEMBER FOR DUNGARVAN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"MEMBER FOR DUNGARVAN."</span> +</div> + +<p>Of members holding official or ex-official positions who will gather in +the House of Commons this month, and who were in Parliament in 1873, are +Mr. Goschen, then First Lord of the Admiralty, and Liberal member for +the City of London; Lord George Hamilton, member for Middlesex, and not +yet a Minister; Mr. Shaw-Lefevre, member for Reading, and Secretary to +the Admiralty; Mr. J. Lowther, not yet advanced beyond the Secretaryship +of the Poor Law Board, and that held only for a few months pending the +Tory rout in 1868; Mr. Henry Matthews,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> then sitting as Liberal member +for Dungarvan, proud of having voted for the Disestablishment of the +Irish Church in 1869; Mr. Osborne Morgan, not yet on the Treasury Bench; +Mr. Mundella, inseparable from Sheffield, then sitting below the +gangway, serving a useful apprenticeship for the high office to which he +has since been called; George Otto Trevelyan, now Sir George, then his +highest title to fame being the Competition Wallah; Mr. David Plunket, +member for Dublin University, a private member seated on a back bench; +Sir Ughtred Kay-Shuttleworth, just married, interested in the "First +Principles of Modern Chemistry"; and Mr. Stansfeld, President of the +Local Government Board, the still rising hope of the Radical party.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 306px;"> +<img src="images/image203-1.jpg" width="306" height="300" alt="SIR GEORGE TREVELYAN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR GEORGE TREVELYAN.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 190px;"> +<img src="images/image203-2.jpg" width="190" height="350" alt="SIR W. LAWSON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR W. LAWSON.</span> +</div> + +<p>Members of the Parliament of 1868 in the House to-day, seated on back +benches above or below the gangway, are Colonel Gourley, inconsolable at +the expenditure on Royal yachts; Mr. Hanbury, as youthful-looking as his +contemporary, ex-Cornet Brown, is aged; Mr. Staveley Hill, who is +reported to possess an appreciable area of the American Continent; Mr. +Illingworth, who approaches the term of a quarter of a century's +unobtrusive but useful Parliamentary service; Mr. Johnston, still of +Ballykilbeg, but no longer a Liberal as he ranked twenty years ago; Sir +John Kennaway, still towering over his leaders from a back bench above +the gangway; Sir Wilfrid Lawson, increasingly wise, and not less gay +than of yore; Mr. Lea, who has gone over to the enemy he faced in 1873; +Sir John Lubbock, who, though no sluggard, still from time to time goes +to the ants; Mr. Peter M'Lagan, who has succeeded Sir Charles Forster as +Chairman of the Committee on Petitions; Sir John Mowbray, still, as in +1873, "in favour of sober, rational, safe, and temperate progress," and +meanwhile voting against all Liberal measures; Sir Richard Paget, model +of the old-fashioned Parliament man; Sir John Pender, who, after long +exile, has returned to the Wick Burghs; Mr. T. B. Potter, still member +for Rochdale, as he has been these twenty-seven years; Mr. F. S. Powell, +now Sir Francis; Mr. William Rathbone, still, as in times of yore, "a +decided Liberal"; Sir Matthew White Ridley, not yet Speaker; Sir Bernard +Samuelson, back again to Banbury Cross; Mr. J. C. Stevenson, all these +years member for South Shields; Mr. C. P. Villiers, grown out of +Liberalism into the Fatherhood of the House; Mr. Hussey Vivian, now Sir +Hussey; Mr. Whitbread, supremely sententious, courageously commonplace; +and Colonel Saunderson.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 185px;"> +<img src="images/image203-3.jpg" width="185" height="300" alt="SIR J. MOWBRAY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SIR J. MOWBRAY.</span> +</div> + +<p>But here there seems a mistake. There was an Edward James Saunderson in +the Session of 1873 as there is one in the Session of 1893: But Edward +James of twenty years ago sat for Cavan, ranked as a Liberal, and voted +with Mr. Gladstone, which the Colonel Saunderson of to-day certainly +does not. Yet, oddly enough, both date their election addresses from +Castle Saunderson, Belturbet, Co. Cavan.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 169px;"> +<img src="images/image203-4.jpg" width="169" height="300" alt="COLONEL SAUNDERSON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">COLONEL SAUNDERSON.</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> +<p><a name="A_SLAVE" id="A_SLAVE"></a></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image204.jpg" width="650" height="414" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>BY LEÏLA-HANOUM.</h3> + +<h4>TRANSLATED FROM A TURKISH STORY.</h4> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>I was sold in Circassia when I was only six years old. My uncle, +Hamdi-bey, who had inherited nothing from his dying brother but two +children, soon got rid of us both. My brother Ali was handed over to +some dervishes at the Mosque of Yéni-Chéïr, and I was sent to +Constantinople.</p> + +<p>The slave-dealer to whom I was taken was a woman who knew nothing of our +language, so that I was obliged to learn Turkish in order to understand +my new mistress. Numbers of customers came to her, and every day one or +other of my companion slaves went away with their new owners.</p> + +<p>Alas! my lot seemed terrible to me. I was nothing but a slave, and as +such I had to humble myself to the dust in the presence of my mistress, +who brought us up to be able to listen with the most immovable +expression on our faces, and with smiles on our lips, to all the good +qualities or faults that her customers found in us.</p> + +<p>The first time that I was taken to the <i>sélamlik</i> (reception-room) I was +ten years old. I was considered very pretty, and my mistress had bought +me a costume of pink cotton, covered with a floral design; she had had +my nails tinted and my hair plaited, and expected to get a very good +price for me. I had been taught to dance, to curtesy humbly to the men +and to kiss the ladies' <i>féradje</i> (cloaks), to hand the coffee (whilst +kneeling) to the visitors, or stand by the door with my arms folded +ready to answer the first summons. These were certainly not very great +accomplishments, but for a child of my age they were considered enough, +especially as, added to all that, I had a very white skin, a slender, +graceful figure, black eyes and beautiful teeth.</p> + +<p>I felt very much agitated on finding myself amongst all the other slaves +who were waiting for purchasers. Most of them were poor girls who had +been brought there to be exchanged. They had been sent away from one +harem, and would probably have to go to some other. My heart was filled +with a vague kind of dread of I knew not what, when suddenly my eyes +rested on three hideous negroes, who had come there to buy some slaves +for the harem of their Pasha. They were all three leaning back on the +sofa discussing the merits and defects of the various girls standing +around them.</p> + +<p>"Her eyes are too near together," said one of them.</p> + +<p>"That one looks ill."</p> + +<p>"This tall one is so round-backed."</p> + +<p>I shivered on hearing these remarks, whilst the poor girls themselves +blushed with shame or turned livid with anger.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Féliknaz," called out my mistress, for I was hiding behind +my companions. I went forward with lowered eyes, but my heart was +beating wildly with indignation and fear. As soon as the negroes caught +sight of me they said something in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> Arabic and laughed, and this was not +lost on my mistress.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 356px;"> +<img src="images/image205.jpg" width="356" height="450" alt=""THREE HIDEOUS NEGROES."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THREE HIDEOUS NEGROES."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Where does this one come from?" asked one of them, after examining me +attentively.</p> + +<p>"She is a Circassian. She has cost me a lot of money, for I bought her +four years ago and have been bringing her up carefully. She is very +intelligent and will be very pretty. <i>Bir elmay</i> (quite a diamond)," she +added, in a whisper. "Féliknaz, dance for us, and show us how graceful +you can be."</p> + +<p>I drew back, blushing, and murmured, "There is no music for me to dance +to."</p> + +<p>"That doesn't matter at all. I'll sing something for you. Come, commence +at once!"</p> + +<p>I bowed silently and went back to the end of the room, and then came +forward again dancing, bowing to the right and left on my way, whilst my +mistress beat time on an old drum and sang the air of the <i>yassédi</i> +dance in a hoarse voice. In spite of my pride and my terror, my dancing +appeared to please these men.</p> + +<p>"We will certainly buy Féliknaz," said one of them; "how much will you +take for her?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve Késatchiés<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a>! not a fraction less."</p> + +<p>The negro drew a large purse out of his pocket and counted the money +over to my mistress. As soon as she had received it she turned to me and +said:—</p> + +<p>"You ought to be thankful, Féliknaz, for you are a lucky girl. Here you +are, the first time you have been shown, bought for the wealthy Saïd +Pasha, and you are to wait upon a charming Hanoum of your own age. Mind +and be obedient, Féliknaz; it is the only thing for a slave."</p> + +<p>I bent to kiss my mistress's hand, but she raised my face and kissed my +forehead. This caress was too much for me at such a moment, and my eyes +filled with tears. An intense craving for affection is always felt by +all who are desolate. Orphans and slaves especially know this to their +cost.</p> + +<p>The negroes laughed at my sensitiveness, and pushed me towards the door, +one of them saying, "You've got a soft heart and a face of marble, but +you will change as you get older."</p> + +<p>I did not attempt to reply, but just walked along in silence. It would +be impossible to give an idea of the anguish I felt when walking through +the Stamboul streets, my hand held by one of these men. I wondered what +kind of a harem I was going to be put into. "Oh, Allah!" I cried, and I +lifted my eyes towards Him, and He surely heard my unuttered prayer, for +is not Allah the protector of all who are wretched and forlorn?</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> One Késatchié is about £4 10s.</p></div> + + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>The old slave-woman had told me the truth. My new mistress, +Adilé-Hanoum, was good and kind, and to this day my heart is filled with +gratitude when I think of her.</p> + +<p>Allah had certainly cared for me. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> many of my companion-slaves had, +at ten years old, been obliged to go and live in some poor Mussulman's +house to do the rough work and look after the children. They had to live +in unhealthy parts of the town, and for them the hardships of poverty +were added to the miseries of slavery, whilst I had a most luxurious +life, and was petted and cared for by Adilé-Hanoum.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 268px;"> +<img src="images/image206.jpg" width="268" height="500" alt=""MY MISTRESS BEAT TIME."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"MY MISTRESS BEAT TIME."</span> +</div> + +<p>I had only one trouble in my new home, and that was the cruelty and the +fear I felt of my little mistress's brother, Mourad-bey. It seemed as +though, for some inexplicable reason, he hated me; and he took every +opportunity of teasing me, and was only satisfied when I took refuge at +his sister's feet and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>In spite of all this I liked Mourad-bey. He was six years older than I, +and was so strong and handsome that I could not help forgiving him; and, +indeed, I just worshipped him.</p> + +<p>When Adilé-Hanoum was fourteen her parents engaged her to a young Bey +who lived at Salonica, and whom she would not see until the eve of her +marriage. This Turkish custom of marrying a perfect stranger seemed to +me terrible, and I spoke of it to my young mistress.</p> + +<p>She replied in a resigned tone: "Why should we trouble ourselves about a +future which Allah has arranged? Each star is safe in the firmament, no +matter in what place it is."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One evening I was walking up and down on the closed balcony outside the +<i>haremlik</i>. I was feeling very sad and lonely, when suddenly I heard +steps behind me, and by the beating of my heart I knew that it was +Mourad-bey.</p> + +<p>"Féliknaz," he said, seizing me by the arm, "what are you doing here, +all alone?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of my country, Bey-Effendi. In our Circassia all men are +equal, just like the ears of corn in a field."</p> + +<p>"Look up at me again like that, Féliknaz; your eyes are gloomy and +troubled, like the Bosphorus on a stormy day."</p> + +<p>"It is because my heart is like that," I said, sadly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that I am going to be married?" he asked, after a moment's +silence.</p> + +<p>I did not reply, but kept my eyes fixed on the ground.</p> + +<p>"You are thinking how unhappy I shall make my wife," he continued: "how +she will suffer from my bad treatment."</p> + +<p>"Oh! no," I exclaimed. "I do not think she will be unhappy. You will, of +course, love <i>her</i>, and that is different. You are unkind to <i>me</i>, but +then that is not the same."</p> + +<p>"You think I do not love <i>you</i>," said the Bey, taking my hands and +pressing them so that it seemed as though he would crush them in his +grasp. "You are mistaken, Féliknaz. I love you madly, passionately; I +love you so much that I would rather see you dead here at my feet than +that you should ever belong to any other than to me!"</p> + +<p>"Why have you been so unkind to me always, then?" I murmured, +half-closing my eyes, for he was gazing at me with such an intense +expression on his dark, handsome face that I felt I dare not look up at +him again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because when I have seen you suffering through me it has hurt me too; +and yet it has been a joy to me to know you were thinking of me and to +suffer with you, for whenever I have made you unhappy, little one, I +have been still more so myself. Your smiles and your gentleness have +tamed me though, at last; and now you shall be mine, not as Féliknaz the +slave, but as Féliknaz-Hanoum, for I respect you, my darling, as much as +I love you!"</p> + +<p>Mourad-bey then took me in his arms and kissed my face and neck, and +then he went back to his rooms, leaving me there leaning on the balcony +and trembling all over.</p> + +<p>Allah had surely cared for me, for I had never even dared to dream of +such happiness as this.</p> + + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>And so I became a <i>Hanoum</i>. My dear Adilé was my sister, and though +after years of habit I was always throwing myself down at her feet, she +would make me get up and sit at her side, either on the divan or in the +carriage. Mourad's love for me had put aside the barrier which had +separated us. There was, however, now a terrible one between my slaves +and myself. Most of them were poor girls from my own country and of my +own rank. Until now we had been companions and friends, but I felt that +they detested me at present as much as they used to love me, and I was +afraid of their hatred. They had all of them undoubtedly hoped to find +favour in the eyes of their young master, and now that I was raised to +so high a position their hatred was terrible. I did my utmost: I +obtained all kinds of favours for them; but all to no purpose, for they +were unjust and unreasonable.</p> + +<p>My great refuge and consolation was Mourad's love for me—he was now +just as gentle and considerate as he had been tyrannical and +overbearing. My sister-in-law was married on the same day that I was, +and went away to Salonica, and so I lost my dearest friend.</p> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>Mourad loved me, I think, more and more, and when a little son was born +to us it seemed as though my cup of happiness was full. I had only one +trouble: the knowledge of the hatred of my slaves; and after the birth +of my little boy, that increased, for in the East, the only bond which +makes a marriage indissoluble is the birth of a child.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;"> +<img src="images/image207.jpg" width="381" height="450" alt=""SLAVES."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SLAVES."</span> +</div> + +<p>When our little son was a few months old Mourad went to spend a week +with his father, who was then living at Béïcos. I did not mind staying +alone for a few days, as all my time was taken up with my baby-boy. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +took entire charge of him, and would not trust anyone else to watch over +him at all.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One night, when eleven o'clock struck, everything was silent in the +harem; evidently everyone was asleep.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the door of my room was pushed open, and I saw the face of one +of my slaves. She was very pale, and said in a defiant tone, "Fire, +fire! The <i>conak</i> (house) is on fire!" Then she laughed, a terrible, +wild laugh it was too, and she locked my door and rushed away. Fire! +Why, that meant ruin and death!</p> + +<p>I had jumped up immediately, and now rushed to the window. There was a +red glow in the sky over our house and I heard the crackling of wood and +saw terrible smoke. Nearly wild with fright I took my child in my arms, +snatched up my case of jewels, and wrapping myself up in a long white +<i>simare</i>, I hurried to the door. Alas! it was too true; the girl had +indeed locked it! The window, with lattice-work outside, looked on to a +paved court-yard, and my room was on the second floor of the house. I +heard the cry of "<i>Yanghen var!</i>" (fire, fire) being repeated like an +echo to my misery.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Allah!" I cried, "my child, my child!" A shiver ran through me at +the horrible idea of being burned alive and not being able to save him.</p> + +<p>I called out from the window, but all in vain. The noisy crowd on the +other side of the house, and the crackling of the wood, drowned the +sound of my voice.</p> + +<p>I did my utmost to keep calm, and I walked again to the door and shook +it with all my strength; then I went and looked out of the window, but +that only offered us a speedy and certain death. I could now hear the +sound of the beams giving way overhead. Had I been alone I should +undoubtedly have fainted, but I had my child, and so I was obliged to be +brave.</p> + +<p>Suddenly an idea came to me. There was a little closet leading out of my +room, in which we kept extra covers and mattresses for the beds. There +was a small window in this closet looking on to the roof of the stables. +This was my only hope or chance. I fastened my child firmly to me with a +wide silk scarf, and then I got out of the window and dropped on to the +roof of the stable, which was about two yards below. Everything around +me was covered with smoke, but fortunately there were gusts of wind, +which drove it away, enabling me to see what I was doing. From the roof +to the ground I had to let myself down, and then jump. I sprained my +wrist and hurt my head terribly in falling, but my child was safe. I +rushed across the court-yard and out to the opposite side of the road, +and had only just time to sit down behind a low wall away from the +crowd, when I fainted away.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;"> +<img src="images/image208.jpg" width="295" height="500" alt=""I GOT OUT OF THE WINDOW."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I GOT OUT OF THE WINDOW."</span> +</div> + + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>When I came to myself again, nothing remained of our home but a smoking +ruin, upon which the <i>touloumbad jis</i> were still throwing water. The +neighbours and a crowd of other people were watching the fire finish its +work. Not very far away from me, among the spectators, I recognised +Mourad-bey, standing in the midst of a little group of friends.</p> + +<p>His face was perfectly livid, and his eyes were wild with grief. I saw +him pick up a burning splinter from the wreck of his home, where he +believed all that he loved had perished. He offered it to his friend, +who was lighting his cigarette, and said, bitterly, "This is the only +hospitality I have now to offer!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tone of his voice startled me—it was full of utter despair, and I +saw that his lips quivered as he spoke.</p> + +<p>I could not bear to see him suffer like that another second.</p> + +<p>"Bey Effendi!" I cried, "your son is saved!"</p> + +<p>He turned round, but I was covered with my torn <i>simare</i>, which was all +stained with mud; the light did not fall on me, and he did not recognise +me at all. My voice, too, must have sounded strange, for after all the +emotion and torture I had gone through, and then my long fainting-fit, I +could scarcely articulate a sound. He saw the baby which I was holding +up, and stepped forward.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 404px;"> +<img src="images/image209.jpg" width="404" height="450" alt=""HE SAW THE BABY."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE SAW THE BABY."</span> +</div> + +<p>"What is he to me," he said, "without my Féliknaz?"</p> + +<p>"Mourad!" I exclaimed, "I am here, too! He darted to me, and took me in +his arms; then, with his eyes full of tears, he looked at tenderly and +kissed me over and again.</p> + +<p>"Effendis," he cried, turning at last to his friends, and with a joyous +ring in his voice, "I thought I was ruined, but Allah has given me back +my dearest treasure. Do not pity me any more, I am perfectly happy!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We lost a great deal of our wealth by that fire. Our slaves had escaped, +taking with them all our most valuable things.</p> + +<p>Mourad is quite certain that the women had set fire to the house from +jealousy, but instead of regretting our former wealth, he does all in +his power to make up for it by increased attention and care for me, and +his only trouble is to see me waiting upon him.</p> + +<p>But whenever he says anything about that I throw my arms around his neck +and whisper, "Have you forgotten, Mourad, my husband, that your Féliknaz +is your slave?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Queer_Side_of_Things" id="The_Queer_Side_of_Things"></a><i>The Queer Side of Things.</i></h2> + +<h3>or</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image210-1.jpg" width="650" height="155" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>One day the Lord Chamberlain rushed into the throne-room of the palace, +panting with excitement. The aristocracy assembled there crowded round +him with intense interest.</p> + +<p>"The King has just got a new Idea!" he gasped, with eyes round with +admiration. "Such a magnificent Idea—!"</p> + +<p>"It is indeed! Marvellous!" said the aristocracy. "By Jove—really the +most brilliant Idea we ever——!"</p> + +<p>"But you haven't heard the Idea yet," said the Lord Chamberlain. "It's +this," and he proceeded to tell them the Idea. They were stricken dumb +with reverential admiration; it was some time before they could even coo +little murmurs of inarticulate wonder.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image210-2.jpg" width="150" height="666" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"The King has just got a new Idea," cried the Royal footman (who was +also reporter to the Press), bursting into the office of <i>The Courtier</i>, +the leading aristocratic paper, with earls for compositors, and heirs to +baronetcies for devils.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image210-3.jpg" width="150" height="151" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Has he, indeed? Splendid!" cried the editor. "Here, Jones"—(the Duke +of Jones, chief leader-writer)—"just let me have three columns in +praise of the King's Idea. Enlarge upon the glorious results it will +bring about in the direction of national glory, imperial unity, +commercial prosperity, individual liberty and morality, domestic——"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image210-4.jpg" width="150" height="165" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"But hadn't I better tell you the Idea?" said the reporter.</p> + +<p>"Well, you might do that perhaps," said the editor.</p> + +<p>Then the footman went off to the office of the <i>Immovable</i>—the leading +paper of the Hangback party, and cried, "The King has got a new Idea!"</p> + +<p>"Ha!" said the editor. "Mr. Smith, will you kindly do me a column in +support of His Majesty's new Idea?"</p> + +<p>"Hum! Well, you see," put in Mr. Smith, the eminent journalist. "How +about the new contingent of readers you said you were anxious to +net—the readers who are not altogether satisfied with the recent +attitude of His Majesty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! ah! I quite forgot," said the editor. "Look here, then, just do me +an enigmatical and oracular article that can be read either way."</p> + +<p>"Right," replied the eminent journalist. "By the way, I didn't tell you +the Idea," suggested the footman.</p><div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image210-6.jpg" width="150" height="205" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Oh! that doesn't matter; but there, you can, if you like," said the +editor.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image210-5.jpg" width="200" height="159" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>After that the footman sold the news of the Idea to an ordinary +reporter, who dealt with the Rushahead and the revolutionary papers; and +the reporter rushed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> into the office of the <i>Whirler</i>, the leading +Rushahead paper.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-1.jpg" width="150" height="164" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"King! New Idea!" said the editor of the <i>Whirler</i>. "Here, do me five +columns of amiable satire upon the King's Idea; keep up the tone of +loyalty—tolerant loyalty—of course; and try to keep hold of those +readers the <i>Immovable</i> is fishing for, of course."</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Brown.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you the Idea?" asked the reporter.</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes; if you want to," replied editor.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-2.jpg" width="150" height="101" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>Then the reporter rushed off to the <i>Shouter</i>, the leading revolutionary +journal.</p> + +<p>"Here!—hi!—Cruncher!" shouted the editor; "King's got a new Idea. Do +me a whole number full of scathing satire, bitter recrimination, vague +menace, and so on, about the King's Idea. Dwell on the selfishness and +class-invidiousness of the Idea—on the resultant injury to the working +classes and the poor; show how it is another deliberate blow to the +writhing son of toil—you know."</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-3.jpg" width="150" height="118" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>"I know," said Redwrag, the eminent Trafalgar Square journalist.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like to hear what the Idea is?" asked the reporter.</p> + +<p>"No, I should NOT!" thundered the editor. "Don't defile my ears with +particulars!"</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/image211-4.jpg" width="100" height="99" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>The moment the public heard how the King had got a new Idea, they rushed +to their newspapers to ascertain what judgment they ought to form upon +it; and, as the newspaper writers had carefully thought out what sort of +judgment their public would like to form upon it, the leading articles +exactly reflected the views which that public feebly and +half-consciously held, but would have feared to express without support; +and everything was prejudiced and satisfactory.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-5.jpg" width="150" height="163" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>Well, on the whole, the public verdict was decidedly in favour of the +King's Idea, which enabled the newspapers gradually to work up a fervent +enthusiasm in their columns; until at length it had become the very +finest Idea ever evolved. After a time it was suggested that a day +should be fixed for public rejoicings in celebration of the King's Idea; +and the scheme grew until it was decided in the Lords and Commons that +the King should proceed in state to the cathedral on the day of +rejoicing, and be crowned as Emperor in honour of the Idea. There was +only one little bit of dissent in the Lower House; and that was when Mr. +Corderoy, M.P. for the Rattenwell Division of Strikeston, moved, as an +amendment, that Bill Firebrand, dismissed by his employer for blowing up +his factory, should be allowed a civil service pension.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-7.jpg" width="150" height="156" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>So the important day came, and everybody took a holiday except the +pickpockets and the police; and the King was crowned Emperor in the +cathedral, with a grand choral service; and the Laureate wrote a fine +poem calling upon the universe to admire the Idea, and describing the +King as the greatest and most virtuous King ever invented. It was a very +fine poem, beginning:—</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/image211-6.jpg" width="100" height="130" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Notion that roars and rolls, lapping the stars with its hem;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bursting the bands of Space, dwarfing eternal Aye.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-8.jpg" width="150" height="165" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>It became tacitly admitted that the King was the very greatest King in +the world; and he was made an honorary fellow of the Society of +Wiseacres and D.C.L. of the universities.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image211-9.jpg" width="150" height="207" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>But one day it leaked out that the Idea was <i>not</i> the King's but the +Prime Minister's. It would not have been known but for the Prime +Minister having taken offence at the refusal of the King to appoint a +Socialist agitator to the vacant post of Lord Chamberlain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> You see, it +was this way—the Prime Minister was very anxious to get in his +right-hand man for the eastern division of Grumbury, N. Now, the +Revolutionaries were very strong in the eastern division of Grumbury, +and, by winning the favour of the agitator, the votes of the +Revolutionaries would be secured. So, when the King refused to appoint +the agitator, the Prime Minister, out of nastiness, let out that the +Idea had really been his, and it had been he who had suggested it to the +King.</p><div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image212-1.jpg" width="150" height="126" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image212-2.jpg" width="150" height="124" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>There were great difficulties now; for the honours which had been +conferred on the King because of his Idea could not be cancelled; the +title of Emperor could not be taken away again, nor the great poem +unwritten. The latter step, especially, was not to be thought of; for a +leading firm of publishers were just about to issue an <i>édition de luxe</i> +of the poem with sumptuous illustrations, engraved on diamond, from the +pencil of an eminent R.A. who had become a classic and forgotten how to +draw. (His name, however, could still draw: so he left the matter to +that.)</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image212-3.jpg" width="200" height="126" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image212-4.jpg" width="150" height="104" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Well, everybody, except a few newspapers, said nothing about the King's +part in the affair; but the warmest eulogies were passed on the Prime +Minister by the papers of his political persuasion, and by the public in +general. The Prime Minister was now the most wonderful person in +existence; and a great public testimonial was got up for him in the +shape of a wreath cut out of a single ruby; the colonies got up a +millennial exhibition in his honour, at which the chief exhibits were +his cast-off clothes, a lock of his hair, a bad sixpence he had passed, +and other relics. He was invited everywhere at once; and it became the +fashion for ladies to send him a slice of bread and butter to take a +bite out of, and subsequently frame the slice with the piece bitten out, +or wear it on State occasions as a necklace pendant. At length the King +felt himself, with many wry faces, compelled to make the Prime Minister +a K.C.B., a K.G., and other typographical combinations, together with an +earl, and subsequently a duke.</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image212-5.jpg" width="150" height="169" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image212-6.jpg" width="150" height="168" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>So the Prime Minister retired luxuriously to the Upper House and sat in +a nice armchair, with his feet on another, instead of on a hard bench.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image212-7.jpg" width="200" height="326" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image212-8.jpg" width="200" height="147" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p>Then it suddenly came out that the Idea was not the Prime Minister's +either, but had been evolved by his Private Secretary. This was another +shock to the nation. It was suggested by one low-class newspaper +conspicuous for bad taste that the Prime Minister should resign the +dukedom and the capital letters and the ruby wreath,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> seeing that he had +obtained them on false pretences; but he did not seem to see his way to +do these things: on the contrary, he very incisively asked what would be +the use of a man's becoming Prime Minister if it was only to resign +things to which he had no right. Still, he did the handsome thing: he +presented an autograph portrait of himself to the Secretary, together +with a new £5 note, as a recognition of any inconvenience he might have +suffered in consequence of the mistake.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/image213-1.jpg" width="100" height="111" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Now, too, there was another little difficulty: the Private Secretary +was, to a certain extent, an influential man, but not sufficiently +influential for an Idea of his to be so brilliant as one evolved by a +King or a Prime Minister. Nevertheless, the Press and the public +generously decided that the Idea was a good one, although it had its +assailable points; so the Private Secretary was considerably boomed in +the dailies and weeklies, and interviewed (with portrait) in the +magazines; and he was a made man.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image213-2.jpg" width="150" height="108" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But, after he had got made, it was accidentally divulged that the Idea +had never been his at all, but had sprung from the intelligence of his +brother, an obscure Government Clerk.</p> + +<p>There it was again—the Private Secretary, having been made, could not +be disintegrated; so he continued to enjoy his good luck, with the +exception of the £5 note, which the Prime Minister privately requested +him to return with interest at 10 per cent.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/image213-3.jpg" width="100" height="205" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>It was put about at first that the Clerk who had originated the Idea was +a person of some position; and so the Idea continued to enjoy a certain +amount of eulogy and commendation; but when it was subsequently divulged +that the Clerk was merely a nobody, and only had a salary of five and +twenty shillings a week on account of his having no lord for a relation, +it was at once seen that the Idea, although ingenious, was really, on +being looked into, hardly a practicable one. However, the affair brought +the Clerk into notice; so he went on the stage just as the excitement +over the affair was at its height, and made quite a success, although he +couldn't act a bit.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image213-4.jpg" width="200" height="136" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>And then it was proved beyond a doubt that the Clerk had not found the +Idea at all, but had got it from a Pauper whom he knew in the St. +Weektee's union workhouse. So the Clerk was called upon in the Press to +give up his success on the boards and go back to his twenty-five +shilling clerkship; but he refused to do this, and wrote a letter to a +newspaper, headed, "Need an actor be able to act?" and, it being the +off-season and the subject a likely one, the letter was answered next +day by a member of the newspaper's staff temporarily disguised as "A +Call-Boy"—and all this gave the Clerk another lift.</p> + +<p>About the Pauper's Idea there was no difficulty whatever; every +newspaper and every member of the public had perceived long ago, on the +Idea being originally mooted, that there was really nothing at all in +it; and the <i>Chuckler</i> had a very funny article, bursting with new and +flowery turns of speech, by its special polyglot contributor who made +you die o' laughing about the Peirastic and Percipient Pauper.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image213-5.jpg" width="150" height="246" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>So the Pauper was not allowed his evening out for a month; and it became +a question whether he ought not to be brought up before a magistrate and +charged with something or other; but the matter was magnanimously +permitted to drop.</p> + +<p>By this time the public had had a little too much of it, as they were +nearly reduced to beggary by the contributions they had given to one +ideal-originator after another; and they certainly would have lynched +any new aspirant to the Idea, had one (sufficiently uninfluential) +turned up.</p> + +<p>And, meanwhile, the Idea had been quietly taken up and set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> going by a +select company of patriotic personages who were in a position to set the +ball rolling; and the Idea grew, and developed, and developed, until it +had attained considerable proportions and could be seen to be full of +vast potentialities either for the welfare or the injury of the Empire, +according to the way in which it might be worked out.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/image214-1.jpg" width="450" height="105" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Now, at the outset, owing to tremendous opposition from various +quarters, the Idea worked out so badly that it threatened incalculable +harm to the commerce and general happiness of the realm; whereupon the +public decided that it certainly <i>must</i> have originated with the Pauper; +and they went and dragged him from the workhouse, and were about to hang +him to a lamp-post, when news arrived that the Idea was doing less harm +to the Empire than had been supposed.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image214-2.jpg" width="200" height="99" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>So they let the Pauper go; for it became evident to them that it had +been the Clerk's Idea; and just as they were deliberating what to do +with the Clerk, it was discovered that the Idea was really beginning to +work out very well indeed, and was decidedly increasing the prosperity +of the realm. Thereupon the public decided that it must have been the +Private Secretary's Idea, after all; and were just setting out in a +deputation to thank the Private Secretary, when fresh reports arrived +showing that the Idea was a very great national boon; and then the +public felt that it <i>must</i> have originated with the Prime Minister, in +spite of all that had been said to the contrary.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/image214-3.jpg" width="150" height="194" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But in the course of a few months, everybody in the land became aware +that the tide of national prosperity and happiness was indeed advancing +in the most glorious way, and all owing to the Great Idea; and <i>now</i> +they perceived as one man that it had been the King's own Idea, and no +doubt about the matter. So they made another day of rejoicing, and +presented the King with a diamond throne and a new crown with "A1" in +large letters upon it. And that King was ever after known as the very +greatest King that had ever reigned.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/image214-4.jpg" width="200" height="137" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But it was the Pauper's Idea after all.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">J. F. Sullivan</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 371px;"> +<img src="images/image215-1a.jpg" width="371" height="531" alt="From Photos. by R. Gabbott, Chorley." title="" /> +<span class="caption">From Photos. by R. Gabbott, Chorley.</span> +</div> + +<p>These are two photographs of a "turnip," unearthed a little time ago by +a Lancashire farmer. We are indebted for the photographs to Mr. Alfred +Whalley, 15, Solent Crescent, West Hampstead.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 252px;"> +<img src="images/image215-1.jpg" width="252" height="351" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>This is a photo. of a hock bottle that was washed ashore at Lyme Regis +covered with barnacles, which look like a bunch of flowers. The +photograph has been sent to us by Mr. F. W. Shephard, photographer, Lyme +Regis.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image215-2.jpg" width="500" height="291" alt="LOCOMOTIVE BOILER EXPLOSION." title="" /> +<span class="caption">LOCOMOTIVE BOILER EXPLOSION.</span> +</div> + +<p>The drawing, taken from a photo., shows the curious result of a boiler +explosion which occurred some time ago at Soosmezo, in Hungary. The +explosion broke the greater part of the windows in the neighbouring +village, and the cylindrical portion of the boiler, not shown in +drawing, as well as the chimney, were hurled some two hundred yards +away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image216.jpg" width="650" height="1024" alt="Pal's Puzzle Page." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Pal's Puzzle Page.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/image217.jpg" width="650" height="980" alt="ON THE SAGACITY OF THE DOG." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ON THE SAGACITY OF THE DOG.</span> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30105 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |