[Ill.u.s.tration: "The men set to work to load their muskets."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "''Tis the very man!'"]

HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.

III.--GARTH AND HIS FRIENDS.[4]

This striking story belongs to the days of the Great French Revolution of 1792. The hero is a young Englishman, the son of Colonel Mainwaring, of the 2nd Dragoon Guards, and at the time the story opens he is on a visit to Paris to his uncle and aunt. Before we narrate one or two striking incidents of his life in France, however, we must say something, very briefly, about the French Revolution, during which so many terrible things were done that it was known as the Reign of Terror.

One of the grievances of the people in France was that the power of the n.o.bles had greatly increased, so that they did as they liked. Though they claimed unlimited privileges, yet they refused to take up the responsibilities of their position, and even evaded the taxes which they laid on the shoulders of the people. One unpopular tax was the _gabelle_, or salt tax, which compelled every person to bring a fixed quant.i.ty of salt every year, and made them buy it of certain people who alone had the right to sell, and charged enormous prices. The peasants, too, had to work on the roads for nothing, leaving their farms and little plots of ground whenever they were ordered. They could not earn enough to live on, and what with heavy dues to their lords, and the State interference with trade, they were in a wretched plight, and discontent was widespread. Then famous writers, moved by what was going on around them, wrote strongly against the abuse of power by the n.o.bles and the King, teaching that kings were but the servants of the people.

The poor, ignorant, downtrodden peasantry, urged by the selfish trading cla.s.ses who used them for their own ends, united in a great movement to take away the privileges of the n.o.bles. The serfs flung off the heavy yoke, and went to the worst excesses, burning and wrecking the palaces of their former masters, utterly ruining them and driving them out of the country.

The Commons, or National a.s.sembly as they styled themselves, did not stop when they had introduced reforms that were really needed, but did just as their pa.s.sion against the aristocrats and the rich dictated.

Things pa.s.sed from bad to worse when the King, who had the right of refusing the proposals of the National a.s.sembly, exercised his right and vetoed (from _veto_, I forbid) two of their decrees. This made the people furious. All this was new to Garth Mainwaring, as also was the procession of noisy people, marching through the streets to the beating of drums, carrying banners, and howling and shouting at any well-dressed people they met. Garth saw the mob battering at the doors of the King's palace, calling for his Majesty to come out, and when the King, in quiet dignity, stood before them, they ordered him to put on the red cap of liberty, and grossly insulted him and his beautiful Queen and their children.

Garth had felt his blood leap up as he witnessed this, and in his young enthusiasm he longed to fight on the side of the royal prisoner and his n.o.bles. On the evening of one dreadful day, during which the mob had done wild things, as Garth was pa.s.sing on towards the Rue Saint Honore, he heard a faint voice on his left hand. It came from the figure of a man huddled in a doorway, who had been mortally wounded and was rapidly dying.

'Sir,' gasped the man, in English, 'Sir, save my daughter. Go to her, sir, and give her her father's dying blessing.'

'I will go, sir,' said Garth. 'Will you tell me your name?'

'The Baron de Mericourt. I was in the palace. I got away as by a miracle, but I fell among the ruffians here, and they have done for me. Waste no more time, I implore you. Save my darling Lucile, and tell her her father----' But here, with one more gasp, he died.

Another striking adventure befell our hero at Nantes. It was after he had offered to throw in his lot with Bonchamps, a leader of the loyalists, and donned the white c.o.c.kade of those whose watch-word was 'for G.o.d and the King.' He was asked whether he would make an attempt, as they were to attack Nantes, a stronghold of the 'Blues,' to find out the enemy's position. Of course he agreed; there were no dangers in the path of duty that could deter Garth. He was disguised in a peasant's dress, and carried a basket full of live pigeons, which he was to offer for sale as he journeyed. Nantes was a strong position, strongly fortified and manned by the enemy, yet the brave peasants and loyalists of the Vendee determined to endeavour to take it for the young King (for the unhappy Louis XVI. and his beautiful Queen had been put to death by the influence of the more savage leaders of the Revolutionary party). It was late in the evening when Garth started. It would be nearly midnight before he could reach the city. When he came within two miles of the town he saw a barge, laden with wood, moving slowly down the river.

Hailing the old man on board, who was holding the rudder, and allowing the laden craft to drift down with the tide, 'Hola,' cried Garth, 'He!

can you give me a lift down to the quay?'

'Who are you?' asked the bargeman, Jules Viard by name.

'A poor chap with a pair of pigeons to sell.'

The man agreed to the request, and Garth sprang on to the barge as soon as it came within jumping distance, and it resumed its slow pa.s.sage down the river. Presently the vessel was steered alongside the quay, where the good-natured boatman made her fast for the night, sleeping in her himself to save the few sous he would otherwise have had to pay for his bed; but Garth went along on the riverside, as he wished to look about him to learn what he could of the strength and position of the enemy.

As his wooden shoes clicked on the stone paving, he stripped them off and strung them round his neck. The cathedral clock struck the hour of midnight. On and on he went, using his eyes well. He had reached the Paris road, up which his friends of the Vendean army would probably approach, when he saw an immense obstruction. Climbing a tree, the better to look about him, he found that the obstruction was a big redoubt, very solidly constructed. Scaling garden walls and getting behind the redoubt, he satisfied himself that it could be taken from the rear, and being by this time very tired, he lay down under a hedge to sleep till daylight.

The next morning he sold his pigeons to a lieutenant of the National Guard for forty sous, and spent the rest of the day walking about the town with his friend, Viard the bargeman, leaving him at nightfall to begin his return journey. Turning down a narrow pa.s.sage leading to the river, between two high warehouses, he saw three men, and, as it turned out, men whom he had met before, all enemies to the King's cause. One of them, the Mayor, stopped him.

'Well, my man, where are you going?'

Garth turned his head aside.

'Where are you going?' repeated the Mayor.

'Down to the river, citizen. Came in last night on a barge to sell pigeons.'

'On a barge, eh? Were you molested by the brigands?'

'No, citizen; I joined the barge some two miles up, and saw nothing of brigands.'

The man standing to the left of the Mayor started as he heard the tone of Garth's voice. He looked closely into Garth's face, suddenly pulled off his hat, and with a quick cry, ''Tis the very man!' tried to seize him. Quick as thought, Garth slipped aside, then, before the other two had recovered from their surprise at their companion's strange action, he rushed at the Mayor, threw him over backwards, turned and flung his basket in the face of the other, then wheeled round and ran as fast as the clumsy sabots would allow him, clattering down the pa.s.sage towards the river, the man behind him shouting, 'Help! a spy--a brigand--help!'

Two of his enemies dashed after him, and the Mayor picked himself up and toddled off as fast as his short legs would carry him to call up the nearest guard, two hundred yards away. The National Guard was soon aroused, and the whole garrison was under arms. The dauntless Englishman reached the river. He did not hesitate; pulling off his shoes and flinging them at his pursuers, now only ten yards away, he plunged into the river. A soldier with his gun arrived, pointed his musket at Garth's head, and fired; Garth twisted over and dived, and the bullet hit the water just behind him. Others of the guard came up, fired at his bobbing head, but missed it. On he swam boldly, determinedly; and now the firing has ceased, although he can hear the clamour. His courage and presence of mind had saved him; he was now in a friendly country, and the first man he met was wearing the King's c.o.c.kade!

But here we must leave our hero, proud that he was an Englishman, and that he afterwards distinguished himself by many deeds of valour, pa.s.sing unhurt through many dangers, from the worst of which he was rescued by his old friend, Viard the bargeman. How he presently married Lucile de Mericourt, and accepted an appointment at Lisbon, and what became of his friends and foes, is all told by Mr. Rendel in his fine and stirring book, which every British boy who is ready to cheer pluck should read for himself.

JAMES Ca.s.sIDY.

FOOTNOTE:

[4] _The King's c.o.c.kade_, by H. Rendel. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co., Limited, London.)

ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.

True Anecdotes.

III.--TALKS WITHOUT WORDS.

Anybody watching a chance meeting in the street between two animals must see that they hold some sort of conversation. By sounds, signs, or both, they 'pa.s.s the time of day,' and make remarks. After settling affairs in their own language, they part, either as the best of friends, or, more frankly than politely, saying, 'Well, I hope I shall never see _you_ again!'

Out in the fields, what horse can bear to see another horse, or even a donkey, turned into the next paddock without running up to have a chat with him? Horses that work together are always on speaking terms. Much rubbing of soft noses, p.r.i.c.king backwards and forwards of the ears, with a snort, playful bite, or whinny, is their talk. After much talk of this sort between two splendid cart-horses, standing in harness, I once saw a fine plan carried out. They had been drawing a heavy load, and were quietly enjoying their feed, each from the nosebag dangling at his head.

But the corn dwindled and the last grains of it were hard to reach. It was then that a brilliant idea struck horse number one. He lifted his bag to the middle pole, which he used as a prop; but then there was no room for his companion's bag on it. Horse number two, apparently after asking leave, hoisted his own bag even higher still, and, balancing it on his friend's head, fed in comfort. The pair munched peacefully on, and next day I saw them doing the same thing again.

All animals have a language of sound and sign, which they use as intelligently as deaf and dumb men use the means of expressing thought invented for them. Creatures that live in troops are always under the control of a leader, who manages them by word of mouth or by gestures.

Lieutenant Shipp, in his memoirs, tells of a Cape baboon who was so dishonest as to bring his companions to the barracks, to carry off the soldiers' clothes. The thefts became serious, and a party of soldiers were told off to march against the robbers, and to bring back the booty hidden in the caves of the baboons. But the animal warriors were too cunning. They sent out scouts, to watch the enemy's movements, told off about fifty of their number to guard the entrance to the caves, and posted the rest at various points. The soldiers saw the baboons collecting large stones, and the old grey-headed rascal, who had been ring-leader in raiding the camp, was seen giving orders like a real general. At a scream from him they rolled down great stones upon the men, who were forced to retreat.

Comic as the monkey-folk sometimes are, they can make very touching appeals; they plead very earnestly in their wordless way for their own lives, and still more tenderly on behalf of their helpless young. A letter from Demarara thus describes a meeting between a mother baboon and two men with guns. Mr. S---- levelled his gun to shoot her. The animal seemed at once to understand what would probably take place, and appealingly held out in each hand a baby baboon. His friend said, 'Don't shoot.' 'No, I was not going to,' said Mr. S----. So Mrs. Baboon and her family escaped unhurt, the mother showing, it will be agreed, something greater than ordinary instinct.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Balancing the bag on his friend's head."]

Something greater? Yes, love; the greatest of all instincts, higher than reason itself. It is when filled with love for her defenceless babe that the animal-mother learns, by many a wonderful makeshift, to appeal to our pity, and forgets herself for its sake. A beautiful instance of this was lately given in the _Daily News_.

A labourer, going along a lane, met a little robin redbreast. She flew boldly within reach of his hand, almost dashing against his face, and as he pa.s.sed on tried to hinder him, uttering all the while piercing cries.

At last he stopped at a hole to which she kept flying, and found a rat in the act of carrying off one of her nestlings. The labourer was able to kill the enemy by a blow of his stick as it darted across the lane, and the small mother, after hovering with a different and triumphant note over the poor little dead bird, went gladly home.

In countries where snakes abound, the shriek of a bird whose nest is threatened serves as a signal to its winged neighbours, who throng to the spot and drive away, or often kill, the enemy. Sometimes the ways in which creatures communicate are altogether mysterious. An old goose, who had spent a fortnight hatching eggs in a farmer's kitchen, was suddenly taken ill. She left her nest, waddled to a neighbouring outhouse, and persuaded a young goose to go back with her. The young one instantly scrambled into the vacant nest, and hatched and afterwards brought up the brood. The old goose sat down by the side of the nest to die. As the young goose had never reared a brood before, nor been inside the kitchen, the elder must somehow have explained the duties to her, and the younger have understood and accepted the charge.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mrs. Baboon and her family escaped unhurt."]

It seems, then, that want of understanding on our part, rather than stupidity on theirs, prevents a closer understanding between ourselves and the animal creation. Though we are not able to bridge over the gulf separating speechless animals and men, we may at least take care that the dumb prayers of the 'lower brethren' never fall on wilfully deaf ears, or on unkind hearts.

EDITH CARRINGTON.