The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, fifth series, no. 132, vol. III, July 10, 1886
    
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Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, fifth series, no. 132, vol. III, July 10, 1886

Author: Various

Release date: December 28, 2023 [eBook #72525]

Language: English

Original publication: Edinburgh: William and Robert Chambers

Credits: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 132, VOL. III, JULY 10, 1886 ***





[Illustration:

CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL

OF

POPULAR

LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.

Fifth Series

ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832

CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS)

NO. 132.—VOL. III.      SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1886.      PRICE 1½_d._]




‘CHOP’ WITH KING JA-JA.


Rumours of war came floating down the Bonny river to the traders at
its mouth. The oil-canoes which came sluggishly alongside the towering
black hulks brought whispers of solemn palavers and Egbo meetings in
the recesses of the far river reaches; and the long black war-canoes
of the Bonny chiefs, with their forty or fifty little black slave-boy
rowers, were manœuvring every day with an amount of shrieking and
yelling out of all proportion to the result attained. Will Braid
and Yellow, two mighty black chiefs, were understood to be in open
rebellion against their lawful sovereign, King Amachree of New Calabar.
Forts of mud and wattles had been thrown up on the New Calabar river,
and Gatling guns and other gruesome instruments had been mounted
thereon, and the two recalcitrant niggers were having a high good time
of it challenging the universe at large to mortal combat, and, what was
of much more importance, stopping the all-dominating palm-oil trade on
the New Calabar river. The puissant kingdom of Bonny, too, next door,
was supposed to be mixed up in the quarrel, and was lending more or
less overt assistance to the rebellious chiefs, and things were tending
generally to one of those lingering, little, all-round wars which so
delight the West African nigger, and so sorely afflict the unfortunate
white or rather yellow traders who wear out their few years of life on
hulks at the mouths of the fever-breeding oil-rivers.

At this juncture, the great king-maker, righter of wrongs, and
arbitrator-in-chief, Her Majesty’s Consul-general at Fernando Po, was
invoked; and the result was the convocation of the greatest ‘palaver’
that had taken place for years, on board the big hulk _Adriatic_ in
the Bonny river. One by one the long war-canoes shot alongside, the
glistening brown backs of the long line of rowers bending like one
great machine to the rhythm of their shrill song, and the swish and dig
of their paddles in the green water. One by one the gorgeous beings
who sat on a raised platform in the centre of each canoe emerged from
under the great umbrellas that covered them, and took their places on
the quarter-deck of the hulk. They were a motley lot to look upon,
these owners of thousands of their fellow-men, many of them decked up
for the occasion with gaudy, ill-fitting European garments, but mostly
wearing bright plush waistcoats, high hats, and what is called a fathom
of cloth round their loins, this fathom of cloth being two large-sized,
brilliant-patterned cotton handkerchiefs joined together.

A table covered with the union-jack was placed upon the quarter-deck,
under the penthouse roof of the hulk, at which sat the British consul
in his war-paint, surely the best of good fellows and finest of
officers. Poor fellow! He never wore his war-paint again, as the sequel
will show. On each side of the consul sat a wandering M.P. and myself
as visitors; and next to us, again, sat Captain Barrow, the secretary
of the governor of the Gold Coast, who was down here to prepare for a
Niger recruiting expedition; and Captain Von Donop of Her Majesty’s
ship _Decoy_, whose orders would not allow him to bring his ship into
the pestilent river, but who came in himself, accompanied by two black
Houssa troops. In a semicircle in front of us sat the Bonny chiefs;
and similarly behind us were ranged the New Calabar chiefs, most of
whom carried a large portion of their wealth round their necks in the
form of enormous coral beads, of almost fabulous value, and some of
whom had their arms literally covered with beautiful ivory bangles. In
advance of the Bonny-men sat King George, a fine, tall, well-educated
young negro, well known in London, and a very favourable specimen of
his race, but an utter cipher in his so-called kingdom; a well-dressed
and well-behaved enough young oil-merchant, but, from a regal point of
view, a decided fraud, as his father was before him.

It had been proposed that the neighbouring King Ja-Ja of Opobó should
act as arbitrator in the dispute, which was really between Bonny
and New Calabar, the insurgent Will Braid and Yellow being quite
powerless to resist their sovereign without the Bonny-men’s assistance;
and across the thick yellow haze and sheets of falling rain, which
blurred the endless vista of mangrove swamps, we all stretched our
eyes to watch for the arrival of King Ja-Ja. But Ja-Ja had once, and
not so long ago, been a Bonny chief himself; and after many years of
fierce warfare with his great rival, the mighty Oko Jumbo, had slipped
away one night in the dark with all his people, his wives, and his
riches, and founded a kingdom for himself a few miles away on the
Opobó river, where he had waxed rich and powerful; so the wily old
Ja-Ja thought it wisest to avoid the reaches of the Bonny, even with
the king-making consul as his friend, for who could tell whither the
far-reaching vengeance of the dread Oko might extend? So Ja-Ja sent a
very diplomatic message, saying he had mistaken the day, and hoped to
see the consul next week to talk over the matter at Opobó.

The consul began by stating the case—that he could not allow trade
to be stopped by this war, and severely took the Bonny-men to task
for helping the rebels to withstand King Amachree, their lawful
sovereign—and a great deal more to the same effect, which, being
interpreted by the king of Bonny, produced a very depressing effect
on gentlemen in front of us, and a most liberal display of ivories
and broad smiles from the potentates in our rear. The Bonny-men were
ill at ease, and many and many a time their opal eyeballs strained
across the yellow mist and falling torrents as their king began, sadly
and apologetically, albeit in good English, to reply to the consul’s
scolding; for the greatest of all Bonny-men, before whom King George
is but a puppet—the overpowering Oko Jumbo—had not arrived, and the
Bonny-men saw how hopeless was their case with the great white consul
against them and their own champion absent.

But suddenly, as the king was speaking, came faintly at first, through
the wet sickly air, the shrill song of the paddlers, and a cry went
up from the Bonny-men, and many a dusky finger pointed to where Oko’s
canoe, with its sixty rowers and its ostrich feathers at the prow, came
swiftly gliding over the waters. The king ceased speaking with a sigh
of relief; and soon the master of Bonny stepped on the hulk’s deck. A
grand old pagan of the bygone school is Oko Jumbo, tall and strong,
with a fine handsome face and powerful head, with very little attempt
at European dress, or indeed dress of any sort, although his two sons,
who reside mostly in England, are civilised gentlemen.[1] Oko, in a few
trenchant words, closed the business for the day. He would undertake to
produce the two rebel chiefs on board the hulk on the next Thursday,
if the white consul would guarantee the attendance of King Ja-Ja the
arbitrator, all things in the meantime to remain _in statu quo_. Of
course everybody knew that one promise was as improbable of fulfilment
as the other; but a palaver which comes to a definite conclusion at a
first, second, or even third sitting would be against all precedent, so
both sides were satisfied, and the high contending parties adjourned
for refreshment, amidst much friendly snapping of fingers and other
strange rites.

Early next morning, the little steam launch _Ewaffa_ started from Bonny
to convey the consul, his secretary, and myself to visit the domains
of Ja-Ja. A broad river stretches on either side of us, the waters of
which are thick and green with the rotting slime of myriads of fallen
leaves. The banks are not of land, but a dense jungle of trees growing
down into the water, and dropping long suckers from their outstretched
arms to form fresh trees. The roots of this jungle intercept as in a
net the mud and slime and vegetable débris brought down by the river,
and in course of time the inner parts of the jungle become sufficiently
solid to afford footing for crocodiles and hippopotami, but quite
impenetrable to human beings, the outskirts of the jungle being always
comparatively new trees, growing dense and rank in the water itself,
and interlaced thickly with great, strong, green hanging creepers,
upon which swing and chatter the mangrove monkeys. As we steam up the
river and across its numerous branches, no sound but the shrill chirp
of these monkeys breaks the oppressive stillness. Now and again the
black snout of a hippopotamus shows out of the thick ooze on the banks,
or a motionless crocodile is seen basking in the sun. Occasionally, a
long, low canoe glides noiselessly by; the boat, rower, and paddles
all jet black, and hardly visible against the dark-green background of
impenetrable jungle. The air is soft and sickly, with a whiff now and
then of unutterable nastiness. The great fierce sun casts a yellow,
all-pervading, hazy glare on the thick water, which is covered with a
festering scum of miasmatic air-bubbles.

After some monotonous hours of this unvarying prospect, with a rare
glimpse of the far-away sea through some of the maze of creeks, we
suddenly stick fast in the mud. Oh, those three hours! Our nude crew of
fine stalwart Krooboys up to their waist in water pushing and tugging;
the screw of the launch stirring up the horrors at the bottom, and the
blistering sun on the fetid water, made up an ensemble I shall never
forget. And so we dragged on all the weary day, now sticking fast, now
going on a few miles, the consul’s secretary already down with fever;
past several batteries of Gatling guns mounted upon canoes moored
across the mouths of creeks, and past the river and town of Andony,
with its little mud battery and six-pounder Krupp guns, until, turning
sharply the corner of an island of jungle, we find ourselves in the
Opobó river, with the distant sea and the white men’s hulks on the
horizon. Soon we come to an inlet in the dense mass of verdure, and,
passing the mournful wrecks of two hulks half submerged in the muddy
ooze, we land, carried on the stalwart shoulders of our Krooboys to a
little sandy gully, and are received by about three-quarters of the
population of Ja-Ja’s kingdom, with perhaps a dozen yards of clothing
amongst the lot. Some old muzzle-loading guns, nine and eighteen
pounders, of obsolete pattern, were scattered about, half buried in the
deep white sand, unused and unusable. Inward, following the course of
the gully, was what may be called the main street of the town, although
no attempt was made at uniformity, the houses, such as they were,
merely mud and palm-leaf huts, being scattered at random under and
amidst the great palms and india-rubber trees. Followed at a respectful
distance by the male portion of the crowd, the females being generally
rather shy of white men, and apparently desirous of hiding behind tree
trunks and peeping round at us from afar, we advanced up the gully to
the interior of the town.

Ja-Ja is a most fanatical fetich-man, and signs of his paganism were
to be seen at every few steps in the numerous ju-jus on our way. These
ju-jus may, and do, assume any shape, and the most unlikely objects
may be made sacred by their dedication, although no information is
obtainable with regard to the exact rites practised or the supposed
uses of the ju-jus. Idols in the usually accepted sense of the word
they certainly are not, but rather things set apart for the worship of
unseen spirits, or dedicated to the honour of a certain supposed god.
A very common ju-ju, and, as it happened, the first one that met our
eyes in Opobó, is a white hen cruelly nailed up alive to the top of a
pole and left to starve and flutter to death. Then, in succession, we
saw a grotesque human figure of yellow clay surmounted by an ox-skull,
and covered with a penthouse roof of thatch; a miscellaneous collection
of bones in a suspended grass cradle; a conical mound of yellow clay
daubed and decorated with colour, and stuck all over with cocks’
feathers; a Bass’s beer-bottle on the top of a white pole; and so on
_ad infinitum_. The great ju-ju house itself is much smaller than the
celebrated building of human skulls at Bonny, and is a conical mud
building with a high thatch roof, surmounted by an ox-skull, and lined
with human skulls in the usual artistic, West African fashion.

Wading up to our ankles in mud through the rank dense vegetation, and
passing a primitive forge, where four swart negroes were making nails
on a stone anvil with a stone hammer, their forge bellows being two
sheepskins worked alternately by a man with two short sticks, as if
he were playing on a pair of kettledrums—such a bellows and forge, in
fact, as you may see any day on the Egyptian hieroglyphics—we caught
sight of King Ja-Ja coming to meet us. A brilliant-coloured umbrella
was held over his head by an attendant, and, as usual with African
chiefs, he was followed by quite a crowd of evil-looking rapscallions
of all ages and in all states of undress, carrying a perfect museum
of obsolete arms, the staff of state, like a beadle’s mace, and other
paraphernalia. Ja-Ja is a fine-looking old savage, as black as polished
ebony, with hair like silver, and was in full dress to receive us—a red
flannel shirt, worn as usual with the tails loose, embroidered most
elaborately with the imperial French arms, and plentifully besprinkled
with _N_s and _E_s, the Napoleonic bees, and other emblems of a bygone
dynasty in France. This was the king’s only garment, except the usual
bandana loincloth of two uncut handkerchiefs.

Ja-Ja received his great patron the consul with much finger-snapping
and other signs of friendship, and led the way to his house. The outer
wall of his compound, which incloses some three acres of ground, is
formed by the huts of his slaves and people, the whole place reeking
with filth beyond all European imagination. In the centre of the
compound stands a fetich india-rubber tree, with a ju-ju hut under
it; and near it is built the house inhabited by some of Ja-Ja’s
favourite wives; the palace itself being at the end of the compound,
and overlooking all. It is a gaudily painted wooden building, raised
on piles some eight feet high, and surrounded by a veranda. The house,
a new one, is the pride of old Ja-Ja’s heart, and was constructed by
negro workmen from the British settlement at Accra. It is furnished
with a desperate attempt at European style; but the whole effect
is absurdly incongruous with the nude or semi-nude male and female
servitors, and the evident uneasiness of Ja-Ja himself amongst his
civilised surroundings. In the corner of the principal parlour,
which leads straight from the veranda, is a most gorgeous red and
gold throne, with a liberal allowance of crowns, sceptres, orbs, and
‘King Ja-Jas’ scattered on every coign of vantage; and on its topmost
pinnacle is stuck jauntily an absurd conical hat like a fool’s-cap,
with enormous feather-like ears on each side of it, with which
head-dress the king volunteered the statement that he had been ‘making
ju-ju’—whatever that might mean.

I was trying hard, but unsuccessfully, to make out Ja-Ja’s
extraordinary attempts at pigeon-English, when from the adjoining room
came a female voice, which partly explained the attempts I had noticed
at European furnishing.

‘O yas, sah,’ said the voice, with the comical affectation and
bombastic intonation of the civilised nigger—‘O yas, sah, I’se berry
seedy, sah; I’se miscalkerlated de day, sah!’ and thereupon Miss Sally
Johnson—‘a Barbadian born, sah!’—sailed into the room, positively
_dressed_ in a flowing cotton gown of most approved fashion; evidently
a very superior person, looking down upon poor Ja-Ja and his people
with much commiseration, and not a little contempt. This lady is
prime-minister, secretary of state, and Ja-Ja’s guide, philosopher,
and friend in all that relates to the ways of the white man; and her
experience and knowledge of all civilised matters are too great to
be questioned within the realms of Opobó. Her initiative with regard
to the gown, however, was not followed, for she was the only person
dressed in the place, unless we so consider the eccentric harlequin
suits of dye upon the children of all ages, and even upon Ja-Ja’s
marriageable daughters, who were plentifully scattered about the
compound. The patterns stained upon the bright sleek brown skins are
in some cases very elaborate and brilliant, and had really a pleasing
effect.

Ja-Ja was rather overcome with the responsibility of entertaining the
consul and his friend at so short a notice, and seemed so distressed
that he had no civilised ‘chop’ to offer us, that we proposed to go
on to the mouth of the river and dine with the white traders in
the hulks, and return on the morrow to a grand ‘chop’ or banquet at
Ja-Ja’s. So the old king brought out some calabashes of _mimbo_ or
palm-wine—which tastes like soap-suds and gin—and, what was more
acceptable, a bottle of very drinkable Rudesheimer, and saw us down to
our boat, followed by all his rabble rout of subjects.

The next morning, in a tropical downpour, we were received at Opobó
with due honour. One of the rusty old guns had been turned right
side uppermost, and was being banged away at a great rate, to the
imminent risk of everybody within a hundred yards of it. Ja-Ja, with
a largely reinforced guard of more truculent-looking ragamuffins than
ever, awaited us on the beach. Tom-toms and horns vied in their din
with the shrieks, yells, and howls with which the untutored subjects
of Ja-Ja honoured their monarch’s guests. In the principal room of
the palace we found the table laid for our repast, and Miss Johnson
was continually changing from the languid super-fine importance of
the reception-room to the fierce invective and stern command of the
kitchen, or back again, as circumstances required. It required several
applications of severe corporal punishment to the wretched slaves—to
judge from the howls we heard when any hitch occurred—before what is
termed the ‘chop’ was served. Neither beef nor mutton can be reared
on this pestilent coast, so the choice of viands is not large; but
what was wanting in variety was made up in quantity. Kids stewed and
roasted whole, great fish, and fowls enough for a ship’s company, were
served up, all in great clay bowls, and all made into ‘palm-oil chop,’
the prevailing dish of the coast. This is a sort of greasy curry, made
with many spices and the finer parts of the palm-oil, very trying to
European stomachs unaccustomed to such delicacies. Mimbo, again, was
the principal drink, and Ja-Ja pledged us all in mimbo many a time
and oft; but although I can stand palm-oil _or_ mimbo, I cannot stand
palm-oil _and_ mimbo, so contented myself with a beverage at once less
soap-suddy and less intoxicating. Ancient steel knives and forks were
produced with an air of proud superiority by Miss Johnson for our use;
but Ja-Ja, although he made a timid attempt to use them too, soon gave
it up as a dangerous experiment, and took to his fingers with a sigh of
relief, handing us out the titbits, moreover, by the same medium.

The redoubtable guard flocked round the veranda, and scrambled to
every point where a view of our extraordinary proceedings could be
gained, and an aggregate of acres of ivories saluted each movement of
the wonderful white men who can do everything. Doors and windows were
darkened by grinning happy brown faces, and the crowd of servitors
within the room were envied mortals indeed. Ja-Ja himself was served
by the heir-apparent or heir-presumptive of his swampy kingdom; but it
is wonderful how little difference there is between heirs-apparent and
common clay when there is no tailor to accentuate it. The consul seeing
the king in so good a temper, broached the subject of a mission-school
to be established at Opobó, which Ja-Ja had always refused; but on this
occasion he not only promised to allow it, with effusion, but offered
to build the house at his own expense. All being arranged about the
next palaver at Bonny, which Ja-Ja promised to attend personally or by
proxy, we took our leave with many presents and words of good-will.

Of our tedious, sickly journey back to Bonny, I say nothing here, only
that in it our brave, great-hearted consul, as true an Englishman as
ever breathed, caught the deadly fever he had defied so long. The next
morning, I found him yellow and delirious; and in three days he died,
one more sacrifice of England’s brightest and best to the insatiable
fever-fiend of the West Coast.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] One of these sons died since this was written, and left an English
wife and family.




IN ALL SHADES.


CHAPTER XXXIV.

That same afternoon, Rosina Fleming met Isaac Pourtalès, hanging about
idly below the shrubbery, and waiting to talk with her, by appointment,
about some important business she had to discuss with him of urgent
necessity.

‘Isaac, me fren’,’ Rosina began in her dawdling tone, as soon as they
had interchanged the first endearments of negro lovers, ‘I send for you
to-day to ax you what all dis talk mean about de naygur risin’? I want
to know when dem gwine to rise, an’ what dem gwine to do when dem done
gone risen?’

Isaac smiled a sardonic smile of superior intelligence. ‘Missy Rosie,
sweetheart,’ he answered evasively, ‘le-ady doan’t understand dem ting
same as men does. Dis is political business, I tell you. Le-ady doan’t
nebber hab no call to go an’ mix himself up along wit politic an’
political business.’

‘But I tellin’ you, Isaac, what I want for to know is about de missy.
Mistah Delgado, him tell me de odder ebenin’, when de great an’
terrible day come, de missy an’ all gwine to be murdered. So I come for
to ax you, me fren’, what for dem want to go an’ kill de poor little
missy? Him doan’t nebber do no harm to nobody. Him is good little
le-ady, kind little le-ady. Why for you doan’t can keep him alive an’
let him go witout hurtin’ him, Isaac?’

Pourtalès smiled again, this time a more diabolical and sinister smile,
as though he were concealing something from Rosina. ‘We doan’t gwine to
kill her,’ he answered hastily, with that horrid light illumining once
more his cold gray eyes. ‘We gwine to keep de women alive, accordin’ to
de word ob de holy prophet: “Have dey not divided de prey? To ebbery
man a damsel or two: to Sisera, a prey ob divers colours.” What dat
mean, de divers colours, Rosie? Dat no mean you an’ de missy? Ha, ha,
ha! you an’ de missy!’

Rosina started back a little surprised at this naive personal effort of
exegetical research. ‘How dat, Isaac?’ she screamed out angrily. ‘You
lub de missy! You doan’t satisfied wit your fren’ Rosie?’

Isaac laughed again. ‘Ho, ho!’ he said; ‘dat make you jealous, Missy
Rosie? Ha, ha, dat good now! Pretty little gal for true, de missy! You
tink me gwine to kill him when him is so pretty?’

Rosina gazed at him open-eyed in blank astonishment. ‘You doan’t must
kill him,’ she answered stoutly. ‘I lub de missy well meself for true,
Isaac. If you kill de missy, I doan’t nebber gwine to speak wit you no
more. I gwine to tell de missy all about dis ting ob Delgado’s, I tink,
to-morrow.’

Isaac stared her hard in the face. ‘You doan’t dare, Rosie,’ he said
doggedly.

The girl trembled and shuddered slightly before his steady gaze. A
negro, like an animal, can never bear to be stared at straight in the
eyes. After a moment’s restless shrinking, she withdrew her glance
uneasily from his, but still muttered to herself slowly: ‘I tell de
missy—I tell de missy!’

‘If you tell de missy,’ Pourtalès answered with rough emphasis, seizing
her by the shoulder with his savage grasp, ‘you know what happen to
you? Delgado send evil one an’ duppy to creep ober you in de dead ob
night, an’ chatter obeah to you, an’ tear de heart out ob you when you
lyin’ sleepin’. If you tell de missy, you know what happen to me? Dem
will take me down to de big court-house in Wes’moreland village, sit on
me so try me for rebel, cut me up into little pieces, burn me dead, an’
trow de ashes for rubbish into de harbour. Den I come, when I is duppy,
sit at de head ob your pillow ebbery ebenin’, grin at you, make you
scream an’ cry an’ wish youself dead, till you dribben to trow youself
down de well, or poison youself for fright wit berry ob manchineel
bush!’

This short recital of penalties to come was simple and ludicrous enough
in its own matter, but duly enforced by Isaac’s horrid shrugs and
hideous grimaces, as well as by the iron clutch with which he dug his
firm-gripped fingers, nails and all, deep into her flesh, to emphasise
his prediction, it affected the superstitious negro girl a thousand
times more than the most deliberately awful civilised imprecation
could possibly have done. ‘You doan’t would do dat, Isaac,’ she cried
all breathless, struggling in vain to free her arm from the fierce
grip that held it resistlessly—‘you doan’t would do dat, me fren’. You
doan’t would come when you is duppy to haunt me an’ to frighten me!’

‘I would!’ Isaac answered firmly, with close-pressed lips, inhuman
mulatto-fashion (for when there is a demon in the mulatto nature, it
is a demon more utterly diabolical than any known to either white men
or black men: it combines the dispassionate intellectual power of the
one with the low cunning and savage moral code of the other). ‘I would
hound you to deat’, Rosie, an’ kill you witout pity. For if you tell de
missy about dis, dem will cut your fren’ all up into little pieces, I
tellin’ you, le-ady.’

‘Doan’t call me le-ady,’ Rosina said, melting at the formal address and
seizing his hand penitently: ‘call me Rosie, call me Rosie. O Isaac, I
doan’t will tell de missy, if you doan’t like; but you promise me for
true you nebber gwine to take missy an’ kill him.’

Isaac smiled again the sinister smile. ‘I promise,’ he said, with a
curious emphasis; ‘I doan’t gwine to _kill_ him, Rosie! When I take
him, I no will _kill_ him!’

Rosina hesitated a moment, then she asked shortly: ‘What day you tink
Delgado gwine at last to hab him risin’?’

The mulatto laughed a scornful little laugh of supreme mockery.
‘Delgado’s risin’!’ he cried, with a sneer—‘Delgado’s risin’! You
tink, den, Rosie, dis is Delgado’s risin’! You tink we gwine to risk
our own life, black men an’ brown men, so make Delgado de king ob
Trinidad! Ha, ha, ha! dat is too good, now. No, no, me fren’; dis
doan’t at all Delgado’s risin’! You tink we gwine to hand ober de whole
island to a pack ob common contemptful naygur fellow! Ha, ha, ha!
Le-ady doan’t nebber understand politic an’ political business. _Hé_,
Rosie, I tell you de trut’; when we kill de buckra clean out ob de
island, I gwine meself to be de chief man in all Trinidad!’ And as he
spoke, he drew himself up proudly to his full height, and put one hand
behind his back in his most distinguished and magnificent attitude.

Rosina looked up at him with profound admiration. ‘You is clebber
gentleman for certain, Isaac,’ she cried in unfeigned reverence for his
mental superiority. ‘You let Delgado make de naygur rise; den, when dem
done gone risen, you gwine to eat de chestnut yourself him pull out ob
de fire witout burn your fingers!’

Isaac nodded sagaciously. ‘Le-ady begin to understand politic a
little,’ he said condescendingly. ‘Dat what for dem begin to ax dis
time for de female suffrage.’

Grotesque, all of it, if you forget that each of these childish
creatures is the possessor of a sharp cutlass and a pair of stout
sinewy arms, as hard as iron, wherewith to wield it: terrible and
horrible beyond belief if only you remember that one awful element
of possible tragedy inclosed within it. The recklessness, the folly,
the infantile misapprehension of mischievous children, incongruously
combined with the strength, the passions, the firm purpose of fierce
and powerful full-grown men. An infant Hercules, with superadded
malevolence—the muscles of a gorilla with the brain of a cruel
schoolboy—that is what the uneducated negro is in his worst and ugliest
moments of vindictive anger.

‘You doan’t tell me yet,’ Rosina said again, pouting, after a short
pause, ‘what day you gwine to begin your war ob de delibberance.’

Isaac pondered. If he told her the whole truth, she would probably
reveal it. On the other hand, if he didn’t mention Wednesday at all,
she would probably hear some vague buzzing rumour about some Wednesday
unfixed, from the other conspirators. So he temporised and conciliated.
‘Well, Rosie,’ he said in a hesitating voice, ‘if I tell you de trut’,
you will not betray me?’—Rosie nodded.—‘Den de great an’ terrible day
is comin’ true on Wednesday week, Rosie!’

‘Wednesday week,’ Rosina echoed. ‘Den, on Wednesday week, I gwine to
make de missy go across to Mistah Hawtorn’s!’

Isaac smiled. His precautions, then, had clearly not been unneeded. You
can’t trust le-ady with high political secrets. He smiled again, and
muttered complacently: ‘Quite right, quite right, Rosie.’

‘When can I see you again, me darlin’?’ Rosie inquired anxiously.

Isaac bethought him in haste of a capital scheme for removing Rosina
to-morrow evening from the scene of operations. ‘You can get away
to-morrow?’ he asked with a cunning leer. ‘About eight o’clock at me
house, Rosie?’

Rosie reflected a moment, and then nodded. ‘Aunt Clemmy will do de
missy hair,’ she answered slowly. ‘I come down at de time, Isaac.’

Isaac laughed again. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I doan’t can get away so
early, me fren’, from de political meetin’—dar is political meetin’
to-morrow ebenin’ down at Delgado’s; but anyhow, you wait till ten
o’clock. Sooner or later, I is sure to come dar.’

Rosina gave him her hand reluctantly, and glided away back to the
house in a stealthy fashion. As soon as she was gone, Pourtalès flung
his head back in a wild paroxysm of savage laughter. ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ he
cried. ‘De missy, de missy! Ha, ha, I get Rosina out ob de road anyhow.
Him doan’t gwine to tell nuffin now, an’ him clean off de scent ob de
fun altogedder to-morrow ebenin’!’




STATION NO. 4.


Standing at the corner of two unimportant streets, in Philadelphia,
U.S., and having no external features to distinguish it from the
numberless stables and coach-houses in its vicinity, except the words
‘Station No. 4’ painted in large black letters on its gray door, its
unpretentious exterior gives no hint of the marvels to be found within.
Yet, for all its modesty and seeming indifference to appearances,
Station No. 4 is no whit behind its more elaborate fellow-stations in
matters of organisation and interior economy, down to the minutest
details of drill and machinery; and the fine stalwart lads, whose
acquaintance we are about to make, have shown their pluck and training
in many of the most destructive fires which from time to time have
ravaged the Quaker City.

As is usual in America, no order or official introduction is requisite
to insure sightseers a welcome and the fullest explanation of
everything of interest; nor is the application of the ‘silver key’
expected; while the mere fact that the visitor is a foreigner, and
more especially if he prove to be an Englishman, is sufficient to
secure him a hospitable reception and a more than ordinarily courteous
escort. Our rap on the door-panel is instantly followed by the
appearance of a sturdy, good-looking young fellow in a plain uniform
of dark-blue cloth, under whose guidance we are soon deep in the
mysteries of electric signalling, self-adjusting harness, and all the
thousand-and-one ingenious contrivances for time-saving, which have
long since made the American fire-brigades the most efficient in the
world.

We find ourselves in a long narrow building, some forty or fifty feet
in length, and ten or twelve in width. On one side is a staircase
leading to the upper floors; on the other, a narrow gangway, kept clear
of encumbrances, runs from end to end of the building. A wide doorway,
like that of a coach-house, opens upon the main street; and at the
farther end, facing the doorway, are three stalls, in each of which
stands a horse, wearing a blind-halter, but otherwise unencumbered,
and not attached in any way to the stall. A single line of rails is
laid in the floor from end to end, on which rest the wheels of the
engine and hosecart; for, unlike our English machines, the engine does
not carry either the hose itself or the men who work it, a separate
two-wheeled vehicle, something of the build of a small wagonette, being
employed for this purpose. This hosecart stands in front of the engine,
and carries, besides the long coil of tube, all the appliances, such as
axes, ropes, &c., which are likely to be needed at a fire; and a couple
of the portable chemical engines, known as _Extincteurs_, packed away
in boxes beneath the seats. Both engine and hosecart are furnished with
large clear-toned bells, and it is the duty of one of the men to keep
these bells ringing during the whole journey to a fire, as a warning
to all other traffic to leave the car-tracks in the centre of the
street clear for the passage of the engine. The clamour of these bells,
as, in the dead of night, engine after engine rushes at full gallop
through the streets, is one of the most impressive accompaniments
of a great fire, and is a far more effectual means of clearing a
crowded thoroughfare than the shouts of the firemen, so familiar to a
Londoner’s ears.

Having exhausted the hosecart, and shown how carefully all its
equipments are packed so as to combine the minimum of space with the
maximum of availability, our guide passes on to the engine itself, for
which he seems to entertain as much affectionate pride as if it were a
living pet. It stands immediately behind the hosecart, allowing a space
of about three feet between the end of its pole and the back of the
cart. The driving-seat is very high, and gives room for one man beside
the driver, all the rest of the force having their allotted seats in
the cart. The engine itself, a powerful steamer, is as handsome an
object as bright paint and brilliantly polished metal can make it; and
no one, judging from its spick-and-span appearance, would credit it
with the yeoman service it has done in many a conflagration. Beneath
the boiler, the fire is already laid, with wood soaked in coal-oil and
a substratum of highly inflammable ‘kindling,’ ready to spring into a
blaze on the smallest conceivable provocation. The boiler is connected
by a tube with a large stationary boiler in the cellar beneath, and
a constant supply of hot water passes from the latter to the former.
This tube being automatically severed from the engine the instant an
alarm is sounded, and the engine-fire kindled at the same moment, a
sufficient pressure of steam for the pumps is generated long before the
scene of the fire is reached, and so again valuable time is saved.

Our attention is next drawn to the harness, which is suspended from the
ceiling exactly over the places occupied by the horses when attached
to the engine and cart. Great ingenuity is displayed both in the
construction of each part of the trappings and in the mathematical
accuracy with which it adjusts itself to the exact spot of the horse’s
anatomy which it is intended to occupy. The collars are of iron, hinged
at the topmost point, and having a clasp like that of a lady’s bracelet
to close them beneath the horse’s neck. When hanging, they are open to
their full extent; and as they descend upon the horse, they close and
snap by their own weight. The polechains are attached by spring snaps
to the collars, and this is the only part of the harnessing which has
to be done by hand after the alarm sounds. The entire harness for each
vehicle is suspended by a single cord, which merely requires a touch of
the driver’s hand, when he reaches his seat, to adjust and liberate the
whole.

Against the wall, close by the door, and well in view from the foot of
the staircase, are a large gong, a clock, and a glass-covered dial, the
last bearing the numbers which indicate all the sections into which
the city is divided for the purposes of the brigade. At the further
end of the building, as already mentioned, are the horses, clever,
well-trained, serviceable-looking animals, of which our guide has much
to say, his anecdotes and manner of speaking of them showing that
they are as great favourites with the brigade as their engine itself.
The big sturdy fellow on our right, as we stand facing them in their
stalls, does duty between the shafts of the hosecart; the others, a
well-matched pair so far as size and strength go, belonging to the
engine.

As yet, our cicerone is the only member of the force whom we have
seen, the rest being ‘off duty,’ and spending their leisure hours in
the comfortable reading-room on the first floor. But now our guide
disappears for a moment, and presently returns with an older man, whom
he introduces as the superintendent of the station. The latter, after a
few minutes’ chat, in the course of which we manage to pay one or two
well-merited compliments to the American system, volunteers to indulge
us with a private view of the working of the station. Placing us so
as to insure fair-play to the men and horses, and assuring us that no
one in the building but ourselves is in the secret of his intention,
he approaches the gong, and touches a spring which sets the electric
current working. The transformation is instantaneous. The gong sounds
sharply; the doors of the stalls fly open; a whiplash, suspended like
the sword of Damocles over the hosecart horse’s flanks, descends
sharply, and sends him off down the narrow gangway at a swinging trot.
His companions follow, and range themselves in place on either side of
the engine-pole. The harness falls into place obedient to the touch of
the driver, who, with the rest of the men, has glided from the floor
above, and has already swung himself to his seat. Two others clasp the
chains to the collars; and in another instant each stands ready to
mount to his place in the cart the moment the word is given to start.
Glancing at our watches, we see that the whole time since the first
stroke of the gong is exactly _eight seconds_—an almost incredible
illustration of what can be done by perfect organisation and careful
drilling.

The private rehearsal being now at an end, the reverse process follows,
with scarcely less despatch and mechanical regularity; and almost
before we have realised the completeness of the preparations, the
horses are once more in their stalls, the men have returned to their
occupations above-stairs, and the usual orderly aspect of things is
restored, _within one minute_ from the sounding of the alarm. The
superintendent is well pleased with the admiration and applause his
little performance elicits, and now proceeds to point out one or two
minor details which had escaped our notice. He shows that the clock has
stopped—registering the exact moment at which the call sounded—explains
the machinery by which the electric current throws open the doors of
the building and of the horses’ stalls—points out how the precise
locality of the fire is shown by the number of beats on the gong and
by the numbered dial; how the tube which supplies hot water to the
boiler has been closed and disconnected; and finally, conducting us
upstairs to the dormitory, how the gas in the chandelier is turned on
and ignited by an electric spark, so as to avoid delay in case of a
night-alarm.

And so at length, rather exhausted by then having exhausted the
wonders of the place, we bid our friendly guide ‘good-day,’ and once
more find ourselves in the street. Station No. 4 has resumed its
unpretentious aspect, and as we turn away, we can hardly credit that
commonplace exterior with such marvellous contents. It is as if we had
been admitted for a brief space to the Palace of Enchantments of some
fairy tale or Arabian Nights’ story, and it is difficult to realise
that we have only been behind the scenes of one of the hardest-worked
departments of a nineteenth-century police.

Each Company is responsible only for attendance upon calls within
certain fixed limits, except in the case of a general call. But as
every summons rings in every station, the organisation is kept in
perfect order by the frequency of the alarms. In connection with the
fire brigade there is also a Patrol or Salvage Corps, whose quarters
are similarly equipped in all respects; while the arrangements for the
comfort and recreation of the staff are rather better, and the number
of hands employed considerably larger than in the individual stations.
The importance of efficiency in both departments may be judged from the
fact that, as our guide informed us, the calls to actual fires, upon
Station No. 4, average about twenty per month during the long winter
season.




WHERE THE TRACKS LED TO.


IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAP. II.

The very next day the office porter at Thurles & Company—I never heard
who the ‘Company’ was—received orders to go to Bristol on some errand
for the firm, and wait for a packet, which he was to bring back with
him. Thurles & Company had two out-of-door porters or messengers;
but this was the man who attended to the head-clerk’s room, to the
counting-house, and, of course, on Mr Thurles. He went, and I suppose
his employers had written to the Bristol people asking them to keep the
man down there for a while, as he was gone a very long time. In his
absence, another person had to be appointed to perform his duties; and
I may as well say at once that I was the temporary porter, and that
the regular party had been purposely sent away to make room for me.
Dressed in plain brown livery, with brass buttons, wearing a false
pair of whiskers—I shaved quite close in those days—with collar and
tie as much unlike my usual style as could be, without anything like a
caricature, I was not easily to be recognised, even if—as was hardly
probable—some of the clerks had ever seen and known Sergeant Holdrey
of the metropolitan police. There were not many clerks at Thurles &
Company’s, so on the first day of my taking office I knew them all.

My inexperience in my duties occasioned me, and others too, some
inconvenience at first, and would have been much worse but for a little
assistance I derived from a clerk who observed it—a young fellow named
Picknell. I had noticed him when I first went in, and did not like his
looks. He was short and thin, very dark-complexioned like a gipsy,
with eyes that you couldn’t fix, and couldn’t say whether they were
watching you or not; and I never could make up my mind from first to
last as to whether he had or had not a cast in his eye. However, he
took compassion on me, and told me several things which were useful,
and from the first seemed to take an interest in me. Well, on this day
I could do but little. I kept my eyes open; noticed the manner and
style of the clerks, and of the porters as well. These latter had not
been suspected; but they were none the less likely to have been in the
job, and of course I noticed thoroughly the window and its position as
regarded the safe.

Mr Thurles had said the robbery must have been committed by some one
whose appearance was familiar to the people in the neighbourhood,
as he would certainly be noticed; but after seeing the premises, I
did not agree with him. The entry was made in just the way a regular
‘tradesman’ would have done it; but this was no guide, if the place had
been prepared for him.

I went home to think over the matter and to decide what my first move
should be. I was going round a crescent which lay in my road home,
when I was startled by seeing two figures cross the farther end, and,
as they passed under the light of a lamp, I could have sworn that one
was my Winny; the other was a man I could not recognise. I laughed
at the fancy, however, as it was impossible that my girl should be
there; and I had turned down a street which led to my place, when, by a
sudden change of mind, I turned sharply round and went in the direction
where I had seen these persons. But just there the crescent joined a
large and busy thoroughfare, in which it was easy to lose any one; at
anyrate, I could see nothing of them, although I walked first on one
side and then the other for several minutes. Once I thought I saw a
couple resembling them enter a shop, and I hurried up, only to find,
when close to them, that these were not in the least like the persons I
thought I had seen.

This incident disturbed me more than I could account for, and do what I
would, I could not help thinking of it all the way home; and as I put
my key in the door, my heart fluttered in such a way as it had never
done with more serious business. It was an immense relief to me to find
Winny there and my tea waiting for me as usual.

‘What has been troubling you, father?’ she said, as I took off my hat
and coat. ‘You look harassed.’

‘Well, I am a little harassed, Winny. I don’t like being taken from
home again.’ I had determined to say nothing about the crescent
incident, of which I began to feel a trifle ashamed.

I made up my mind to have a nice enjoyable Christmas, for the business
of Thurles & Company was not of the kind to demand my running about
without rest, and, in honest truth, I did not see how I was to begin
anywhere, so a day’s consideration would not hurt it.

We had a quiet day enough. My wife’s brother and his wife came to tea
and supper; as also did Dick Berry, an old comrade—pensioned off like
myself—and his wife. We had a cosy evening; but Winny and I had our
dinner alone. When it was over and I got my pipe, I could not help
thinking of very different times—when my poor wife was alive—always
so cheerful!—when the two boys, who died with the scarlet fever, were
still with us, and when Tom, my other boy, had not gone to Australia.
While I was thinking like this, I caught Winny’s eye fixed on my own,
and I supposed something of the same train of fancy was in her mind,
for she rose from her chair, threw her arms round my neck, and—to my
alarm, as well as my surprise, for she was not a girl to give way—burst
out sobbing.

I was upset for the moment; but rallying, I said: ‘Come, Winny, my
dear! We must keep up a better heart than this. I know you are thinking
of the past; but I would rather you, with all your life before you,
thought of the future.’

For the moment she was worse instead of better for this cheering up,
and I really thought was going to be hysterical; but she rallied
herself with a great effort, and after kissing me again and again,
dried her eyes, and laughed at herself for being so foolish.

We had no fresh outbreak; but, for all that, I was glad when my friends
dropped in and things became more generally cheerful. We had our usual
chat, our game at cards; although Winny was a woman grown, she always
looked for the ‘speculation’ at Christmas, just as she had done when a
child. We had our songs too; but over these, I gave my old friend Dick,
who was a beautiful singer—had been better, I know, but was capital
still—a hint not to make the ballads too sentimental, consequently he
left out _Isle of Beauty_, which was his great favourite, and worth
walking a mile to listen to. So the evening passed off pretty well.

On the next day I was at Mr Thurles’ office again. Being Boxing Day,
there was only one clerk there. It was necessary, it appeared, to keep
the office open; but no particular business was expected to be done.
The clerk on duty was the young man Picknell. He was as pleasant as
before, and quite disposed to make the time pass agreeably, so that the
loss of my holiday should not be so bad after all. He sent out for a
bottle of wine, as on such a day, he said, no one ever came after the
morning; and being, it seemed, of an abstemious turn, he meant it all,
or nearly all, for me. Now, that was kind of him; but, as it happens,
I am abstemious also, and do not care for anything in that way until
the evening. However, to show that I appreciated his kindness, I drank
a glass or two. Also—it was a waste of good liquor, I own—I threw a
little under the grate while he was out of the room. I wanted to please
him, and at the same time to keep my head clear.

To keep up the idea that I was enjoying myself, I allowed my tongue to
run somewhat more than usual. He was by no means displeased at this,
but rather encouraged it. I was at a loss how to introduce the robbery.
I wanted to get at the gossip and opinion of the office on the subject;
but it was a ticklish matter to begin upon, when the difficulty was
solved by Mr Picknell mentioning it. Mr Thurles had told me that only a
few of his people knew all the facts of the burglary; but if he thought
such a thing was possible, I did not, and would have betted that every
man in the concern knew quite as much about it as did his master.

‘Through the window under which you are sitting, David,’ said Mr
Picknell—I was ‘David’ as the new porter—‘some thieves broke into the
office a little time back. We had a most mysterious robbery here.’

‘Then that must have been what I heard two of the gentlemen talking
about the other day,’ I answered. ‘Did you lose much, sir?’

‘I believe not a great deal,’ continued the clerk; ‘and why such expert
burglars as these must have been, should not have arranged for a
greater haul, no one can guess.’ He went on to tell me, very clearly,
how all was supposed to have been done, and in telling me this, he
mentioned Mr Godfrey’s name. He showed me where the young man sat, and
explained his duties. He touched only slightly upon these things; yet
it was quite clear from what he said that no one had such facilities
for knowing what was in the safe as Mr Harleston, and no one could so
easily have taken a cast of the keys. He did not say this right out,
yet he contrived to impress it all upon me as clearly as though he had
put it down in writing.

I was easily led, you may suppose, to talk upon this subject, and he
led me on accordingly. But, of course, if you lead a man anywhere, you
have to go first along the same path, hence, naturally, he had to dwell
upon the matter just as much as I did. Having learned so much, I wanted
to hear more about Mr Godfrey.

‘Why does not the young gentleman come here now?’ I asked. ‘I
understood he was engaged in the office.’

‘So he was,’ returned the clerk with a queer smile; ‘but things are not
pleasant just now.’

‘I should have thought Mr Thurles would have liked some confidential
person in his establishment,’ I continued; ‘it would be very
convenient.’

‘Perhaps he would,’ said Picknell, with another smile; ‘but sometimes
confidential persons know too much, and then, you see’—— He broke off
here, but of course I understood his hint.

Well, the day wore away pleasantly, after a fashion, and I strove to
see something like the ghost of a clue in what little I had already
gathered. It certainly looked rather suspicious as against Mr Godfrey,
and I resolved to pay some attention to him and his associates. And
then there were other things to be thought of, because I am not one of
those men who, having taken up an idea, try to make everything fit in
with that, instead of making my ideas fit the facts.

The first thing now to be done was to ascertain what expenses young
Mr Godfrey was running into and what companions he mixed with. It was
certain that it was not he who had paid in the forged bills; and as
those were lost, a good deal of the regular way of proceeding was of
no avail. Here, too, a hint or two from Mr Picknell came in useful. It
appeared that the young fellow had a great taste for horseracing—or for
betting on horseracing, which is not altogether the same thing. This
was important, and so were several other scraps of information I picked
up from the clerk.

In the little time that I was at home, I was sorry to see that Winny
was not yet her old self; and I determined that as soon as this
business was over, winter-time though it might be, she should take a
holiday, and we would go to some sheltered place on the south coast for
a fortnight, as I feared she was working too hard.

I now learned that Mr Harleston was supposed to be entangled with some
disreputable female acquaintance. Mr Picknell let this fall as though
by accident. I did not greatly believe in the accidental character of
the information, for I had soon decided that the clerk did not like
Mr Harleston; nevertheless, such news was valuable, as my experience
had long taught me that such an entanglement was enough to account for
anything.

I had not seen Mr Godfrey. This was indispensable, so I resolved on a
bold stroke, and determined to call at the house of Mrs Thurles with
some excuse, to ask for him. Well dressed up, I thought I was safe; and
luck befriended me. I had got up a clumsy story: it was to the effect
that I heard they were taking on people at Thurles & Company, and I
had been recommended to apply to him. It was absurd enough, I know,
to go to a gentleman in the evening on such an errand; but in my case
it did not matter, as the stroke of luck I referred to saved me all
trouble. I was opposite the house, at the foot of the steps, turning
over the beginning of the story in my mind for the last time, when the
door opened and a servant looked out. Seeing me, by the light of the
street-lamp, he beckoned and said: ‘Do you want to earn a shilling, my
man?’ I said ‘Yes’ promptly enough, and went up the steps; while the
man, turning to a gentleman whom I now saw in the hall, said: ‘Here is
one who will go, Mr Godfrey. The very chance! A tall, fine, handsome
young fellow, but without that air of resolution I like to see in a
man’s eyes and mouth.’ ‘A good enough fellow you are,’ I thought; ‘but
could easily be made a tool of by man or woman either.’

It appeared he had an appointment with a gentleman, but being detained
at home, would be an hour behind time; and to send word to this
effect was why he wanted a messenger. Mr Godfrey was man of business
sufficient to make sure of my doing my errand properly, by adding a
line to say I was to have a shilling on my giving the note in. He told
me this with a smile. As nothing particular came of the message, I
will merely say that I delivered it promptly and got my money.

Now I had seen Mr Godfrey, I should not forget him easily. But what
struck me as strange was the feeling that I had seen him before. Of
course one may meet anybody, casually pass him in the street, and so
forth, retaining a vague recollection of his features; but this was not
altogether like that. I seemed to have some recent knowledge of him,
but where, or how, I racked my brains in vain to find out.

My plan was to watch Mr Godfrey. I had learned, I considered, all I
could at the office; the only thing to be done now was to find out more
concerning his habits and associates; therefore I gave up the porter’s
livery next day. To do this was not difficult, as one of the out-door
men was ordered to take my duty until the return of the regular
official.

I felt in duty bound to return Mr Picknell’s liberality, and to ask him
to have a glass with me at my expense; but I would not do this before
the other clerks, as the young man might not like it; consequently,
I waited until the men had left, and then, lingering outside for Mr
Picknell, I intended to speak to him when a little way from the office.
As I knew where he lived, I took up a position accordingly; but he
turned in an unexpected direction, and went quickly away from me. This
might easily happen from his having a special engagement; but there was
something in the manner of his crossing the road, and then hurrying
down a bystreet, which looked like a man endeavouring to escape notice;
and I made up my mind to follow and watch, instead of speaking to
him. It was not easy to keep him in sight, so quickly did he go, and
so suddenly did he turn down unexpected streets, but I managed pretty
well, until I found, much to my astonishment, that we were drawing near
the neighbourhood in which I had earned my shilling on the previous
evening, and, in fact, were close to the house of Mr Godfrey Harleston.

It was surely impossible that he could be going _there_; but he kept
on until we were almost in the street, when he entered a low-looking
public-house which stood in a mews close by. I waited, hidden in a
neighbouring doorway, to see him come out. A long time passed; and as
he did not appear, I began to grow uneasy. At last I went into the
house, and found, to my disgust, that it opened on the other side
into a bystreet near the mews, and by this way, no doubt, Mr Picknell
had gone. This was surprise enough; but, to add to my astonishment, I
saw, leaning against the bar, smoking, and with a half-emptied tumbler
before him, Sam Braceby, the Long-necked Sam whom I had saved at the
Old Bailey. I knew him at once, and the recognition was mutual. Sam
had nothing to fear from me now, but I could tell that he was rather
staggered by seeing me. Of course I could not consider him as being
after any good, see him where I might, and he knew that as well as
I did. He touched his cap, and asked to be allowed the pleasure of
standing a glass. When I declined this, he said he had been to the West
End on a profitable bit of business—indeed, he thought he was going to
take a snug little beerhouse there, which a friend had promised to put
him into. I looked at him steadily while he said this, and smiled when
he had finished. In spite of himself, Sam could not help smiling also,
although he tried to disguise it by drinking some gin-and-water.




AN ANCIENT SPINNER.


In the ‘good old days’ before the invention of the spinning-jenny and
the steam-engine, when working-men were slaves, and the rich had not
the luxuries they have now, spinning was the work of the mistress
of the house. Many good stories begin with an account of a fair
maiden at a spinning-wheel, and a very ancient rhyme refers to the
days ‘when Adam delved and Eve span.’ When a young lady was growing
of a marriageable age, in the days of the spinning-wheel, she made
preparation for her nuptials by spinning the material for sheets,
tablecloths, napkins, and all manner of household necessaries; hence
she was called a ‘spinster.’

Words change in their meanings with the changing fashions of a
changeful world. There is one class of spinners, however, to which the
whir of the loom and the steam-engine has made but little difference.
‘Men may come, and men may go, but _they_ go on for ever.’ All the
changes of our complex civilisation make but little difference to these
little spinners. They live in their dark little houses; spin their
threads; live their lives; die in peace, or else get eaten up, and pass
off the scene, making no fuss, seeking no honour. Some people call
them mussels; scientific naturalists call them _Mytilus edulis_. They
deserve a good name, for they are an ancient and honourable family,
that have fought a good fight in the fierce battle of life, and have
endured through long ages, while many others have perished.

Every one who has visited the seashore must have noticed at times a
little mussel forming the centre of a tangled mass of threads, shells,
stones, and all sorts of fragments. These are bound together by the
labour of the black-shelled spinster. Instead of anchoring to a rock,
as a well-behaved little mussel ought to have done, this one has gone
off and anchored to all sorts of rubbish, and been driven and tossed
by the waves of the sea in all directions, until it has formed the
centre of the tangled mass we find on the beach. In the natural way,
a mussel settles between high and low water mark. When covered by the
tide, he opens his doors, and angles for a living with his wonderful
fishing-apparatus, for the spinsters of the sea are all born fishermen.
When the tide is going out, the little angler closes the valves of his
house as tight as a steel safe, and keeps his mouth shut, with a lot of
water inside, until the tide covers him again.

How the Frenchmen have learned the habits of this well-known little
spinner, and cultivated him, and made of him a cheap and nutritious
article of diet for the French nation, is fairly well known. How the
little fellow builds his house and weaves his ropes, is not quite
so well known. The house itself, with its black outside, and the
beautiful sky-blue, pearly inside, is a work of the greatest skill,
while the mechanism by which it is opened and closed forms a chapter
in the world’s wonder-lore. The little spinner lives in a soft, fleshy
‘mantle,’ inside of his stony house. On the edge of this mantle are
tiny fingers (_cilia_) and little pigment cells with which he builds.
The material—carbonate of lime—is extracted from the clear sea-water by
a simple process in the life of the animal. Just as our food goes to
form blood and bone, muscle and sinew, so does the food of the little
spinner go to form his delicate tissues and his hard shelly house.
The mussel-house is as much a part of the mussel’s life as our homes
are part of our lives, and the processes of building are not so very
different either; both are simple, both are mysterious.

To watch this little spinner make his thread is very interesting.
From one side of his house protrudes a curious little pad of flesh, a
quaint, pointed sort of a tab. This is called his ‘foot,’ though it
might just as well have been called his hand. He touches the rock,
or whatever he desires to attach himself to, with this foot, then
withdraws it, leaving a tiny thread, which he has made by some mystic
process, in his own body, just as a spider makes her silken cord. The
foot comes out again and again, always leaving a thread, until a strong
rope is woven, which binds him securely to his chosen home. He can
shorten or lengthen this cable by a simple contractile motion, which
allows him a little play; but he may be said to be fixed for life, once
he settles down. After a severe storm, some of them will generally be
found on the shore, driven from their moorings, helpless and homeless
on the strand; but they can stand the storm as well as the ships of
more skilful people, and their disasters at sea are probably less
numerous in proportion than ours are.

I had one little fellow in an aquarium, who had been gathered from
a spot where the tide left him for a long period every day. He did
not care to be under water all the time, so, by the aid of his foot
and his wonderful home-made thread, he climbed up the glass to the
surface of the water. There he attached some threads above water to the
glass, leaving some below. When the little spinner felt like having a
breath of fresh air, he ‘hauled in’ on his upper guys, and rose above
the surface. When tired of that, he ‘slacked off,’ and took a turn
underneath, thus making something like his accustomed tidal habit.

Watching these little animals in their daily movements, one grows to
have a fellow-feeling for them. Some of their actions seem almost
human, and they form a part of the household, just as the cat, the dog,
or the canary. One day a conscienceless sea-pirate known as a dog-whelk
settled on this little spinner, and began to bore through his shell
with murderous intent. The whelk was taken off, and removed to another
part of the aquarium. On the morrow, he had found his way back and
settled down again on the innocent little victim, so he was sentenced
to death as a murderer, and paid the penalty with his life.

This mussel has inherited the spinning business from a long line of
ancestors; for when the coal-forests bloomed where the iron furnaces
now roar, in the ‘Black Country’ of England, the forefathers of our
little spinner were inhabitants of the fresh-water pools in the
carboniferous forests. Ages have come and gone since then; the stony
remainders of the ancient spinners are dug from out the deepest
coal-mines, but the clever little fellows still spin their simple
threads along our shores as of old. We sometimes weave their threads
into gloves and hose, as a matter of curiosity; but few ever seem
to have time to listen to the wonderful story that can be told to
listening ears by this Ancient Spinner.




AN ESCORT ADVENTURE.


‘Sergeant, you have been detailed to proceed on escort with the
prisoner Scales. I would advise you to keep a sharp eye upon him. He is
a desperate character, and if he gets half a chance, will endeavour to
give you the slip,’ remarked our adjutant to me.

‘Very good, sir,’ I replied.

‘Here is your paper,’ said the officer, as he handed me the warrant
which bound me, under severe penalties for non-fulfilment of its
provisions, to take private Jeremiah Scales ‘dead or alive’ to the
district military prison.

I saluted the adjutant, and was turning to leave, when the colonel
entered the orderly-room.

‘Good-morning, colonel,’ said the adjutant. ‘This sergeant is going on
Scales’s escort, and I was just warning him to take great care of the
rascal.’

‘Confound the fellow!’ grumbled the colonel. ‘After all, it seems the
scoundrel is coming back to me. The court-martial that tried him—very
properly, considering his antecedents—sentenced him to be discharged
on the expiry of his term of imprisonment; and now the general,
presumably acting on superior instructions, remits the only part of
the punishment that is likely to benefit the service. During my twenty
years’ experience, I have always found it the same in the army. Last
spring, for instance, during the wholesale reduction that took place,
we had, perforce, to send away a number of good men, infinitely better
than this blackguard. Now, the Franco-Prussian business comes on the
boards, and the authorities at the Horse Guards are moving creation
to obtain recruits in order to get the regiments up to full strength.
Every broken-down scarecrow in the kingdom is being enlisted, at least
if I may judge from the precious specimens sent up to me. Besides,
the recommendations of courts-martial with regard to the discharge
with ignominy of the scum of the army are not being given effect to,
and the rascals are allowed to remain in the service.—Yes, sergeant,’
resumed the commanding officer, addressing me, ‘you’ve got a cut-throat
incorrigible blackguard to deal with; and if you don’t look out, he’ll
give you some trouble.’

I then saluted the officers, and leaving the orderly-room, retired
to my quarters to make a few preparations for my journey, which was
a tramp of about eight miles along the seacoast. These finished, I
proceeded to the room of the private who was detailed to accompany me,
in order to have a consultation with him on the subject. This man, a
Welshman, named Williams, was a veteran whose period of service had
almost expired. He was, speaking literally, the ‘hero of a hundred
fights;’ his experience of active service beginning while a boy in the
second Sikh war. He subsequently was engaged in Kaffirland, the Crimea,
and in India during the suppression of the Mutiny, finishing with the
Abyssinian expedition, which took place two years prior to the time of
which I write.

I narrated to Williams the remarks of the colonel and the adjutant
regarding our prisoner; but the veteran affected to treat the matter
very lightly. ‘I’ve had tougher jobs than this in my time, sergeant,’
he said; and then added significantly, pointing to his Snider: ‘Just
let him try to bolt, and my word, he won’t get very far!’

The prisoner, Scales, was a repulsive-looking fellow of about
twenty-five. He was more a lithe and active than a powerful man, but
was nevertheless, by reason of his brutal and vindictive disposition,
the terror of all the peaceably disposed men of the corps. He had
served in the army for about three years, during which period he was
always in trouble. On the return of the regiment from abroad, he came
to us from the depôt with an extremely bad character; and this evil
reputation he afterwards consistently maintained. At the reduction
of the army referred to in the colonel’s remarks, the services of Mr
Scales would to a certainty have been dispensed with had he not at the
time been a deserter. Being apprehended and brought back to the corps
at the beginning of the scare occasioned by the disturbed relations
of Prussia and France, he received two months’ imprisonment, and was
sent to his duty. Three days after his release, an officer’s room was
broken into and all his valuables abstracted; and in this business
it was supposed Scales was implicated conjointly with a comrade of
equally had repute. This private deserted with the booty, and Scales
was apprehended on suspicion and handed over to the civil authorities;
but he was liberated owing to no sufficient evidence being forthcoming
to warrant his being sent to trial on the charge. His next feat was
striking a non-commissioned officer, and for this offence he was now
sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment; the further recommendation by
the court-martial for his dismissal from the service with ignominy
being remitted by the general commanding the district.

No wonder that our worthy colonel was indignant at the prospect of
having such a character sent back to the regiment! Blackguards of his
description, in regard to the relations of soldiers with civilians,
invariably bring the regiments which have the misfortune to own them
into general discredit. The great majority of soldiers are respectable
and well-conducted men, and to such it is very galling and annoying
to be subjected to a social ostracism as rigid, in some cases, as
that experienced by a time-expired convict, because of the excesses
committed by a disreputable minority of their number; the civil
community being addicted to the belief that all who wear the red coat
are bad alike. It is to be regretted that the commanding officer of a
regiment has not the power of summarily dispensing with the services of
an incorrigible ruffian by having him kicked out of the barrack gate.

In the afternoon, Williams and I, equipped in marching order, and
provided each with ten rounds of ammunition and a day’s rations,
made our appearance at the regimental guardroom. The sergeant of the
guard gave me a word of caution, and informed me that Scales had been
boasting to the men that he meant to make his escape.

Our man received us with a stolid look, and mechanically held out
his wrists for the reception of the handcuffs; and after a word of
farewell to the other prisoners, he took his place beside the private,
who had his bayonet fixed. I then marched them out of barracks into
the principal street of the town. Perceiving a man of my own regiment
who was engaged on garrison police duty, I asked him to accompany us
to the outskirts, in case the prisoner took a fancy to bolt down one
of the numerous tortuous alleys that led to the wharfs near the pier.
Having reached the limits of his beat, the private returned, and I was
congratulating myself on having nearly reached the open country, in
which Scales would run a poor chance of escaping from our custody, when
we were met by a large drove of oxen. In spite of the exertions of the
drovers, the cattle passed on either side of us, and Scales, handcuffed
though he was, watching his opportunity, suddenly sprung aside, and
dodging among the animals, gained the footpath, and ran townwards with
the fleetness of a hare. Disengaging ourselves as quickly as possible
from the cattle, we started in pursuit; but as we were encumbered with
our rifles and knapsacks, we made but little headway, only managing to
keep the fugitive in sight. We shouted to a few rustics to intercept
him; but the yokels perceiving that it was only a soldier running
away from an escort, greeted him instead with cries of encouragement.
Suddenly, to my delight, a policeman appeared ahead, who spread out his
arms and tried to catch the runaway; but Scales, dropping his head,
butted him like a ram, and knocking over the guardian of the peace,
turned to his right, and disappeared down a lane a little distance
ahead. This lane led into a yard, which was situated at the back of
a row of warehouses, and which was a _cul de sac_. Reinforced by the
policeman, we followed close on the heels of the fugitive, feeling
certain that as there were no means of exit, we would speedily capture
him. Meeting at the entrance to the yard a drayman with his vehicle
loaded with barrels, we eagerly asked him if he had seen a soldier.

‘Yes,’ the fellow replied with a grin; ‘I guess you will find him in
the farthest cellar.’

We hastened in the direction indicated, but found, to our dismay, that
the cellar door was securely padlocked, while the rusty condition of
the hasp showed that it could not recently have been opened. The high
wall that bounded the other side of the yard precluded the idea of
the prisoner being able to scale it; so we stood for a moment, out of
breath with excitement and our recent chase, perfectly perplexed with
Scales’s unaccountable disappearance. Williams at this juncture began
ominously to untie his packet of cartridges, and placed them loose in
his ball-bag ready for use, in the eventuality of the fugitive, should
we come across him, declining to surrender when ordered. Knowing the
determined character of my comrade, I knew that Scales’s life, if
he proved obdurate, would not be worth a pin’s fee. (In the days of
the muzzle-loader, it was customary, I may mention, to carry loaded
rifles while escorting prisoners; but since the introduction of the
breech-loader, the practice has been discontinued.)

We searched the yard thoroughly, but found no signs of our man. All the
cellar doors, like the first we examined, were closed. The warehouses
referred to were principally used for the storage of grain; but owing
to the war in progress, trade was interrupted with the Prussian towns
in the Baltic, and little business being transacted, the buildings had
in consequence been shut up. At last a light seemed to break upon the
policeman, who exclaimed: ‘I’m blessed, sergeant, if I don’t think the
cove wasn’t stowed in one of the drayman’s barrels!’

This idea seemed to explain Scales’s mysterious disappearance; so
we started in the direction of the main road, and turning towards
the town, found the drayman unloading barrels at the door of a
public-house. The man, with volleys of the choicest Billingsgate,
stoutly denied that he had afforded shelter to the fugitive; so,
perceiving that it was useless wasting words on him, we again pursued
our search, scarcely knowing in which direction to turn. Pursuant to
my request, the constable proceeded to the police office to report the
matter, in order to have the other members of the force put on the
alert.

I was now in a terrible quandary. Trial by court-martial and reduction
to the ranks, together with a possible sentence of imprisonment, for
allowing the man to escape, stared me in the face; while imprisonment
for Williams was a certainty. My chances of advancement in the service
would be absolutely ruined, I reflected, if I did not recapture the
man, so I resolved, when I had so much at stake, to continue the
search, although I looked for him all night. It was no use hunting for
Scales in the principal streets of the town, as these were patrolled
by military police, intent on apprehending soldiers who showed the
slightest symptom of having had an extra allowance of liquor; besides
being ruthlessly down on delinquents who had a tunic button undone, or
the chin strap not adjusted in the regulation position.

While I was mentally shaping out a course of action, my companion
stopped and excitedly exclaimed: ‘I have it now, sergeant! I’ll bet ten
to one he’s gone to old Nathan’s!’

‘I’m not sure of that,’ I remarked dubiously; ‘but at all events we’ll
go and see.’

Nathan was a rascally old Jew, who, though he was rigorously kept out
of barracks, carried on with the soldiers a brisk business in the sale
of coarse, rank, contraband tobacco. He had ‘agents’ in the different
regiments to further this branch of commerce; and one of his accredited
representatives in ours was private Scales. Besides, the old rascal,
although it had never been brought home to him, was suspected of
purchasing articles of ‘kit’ from ne’er-do-wells, and supplying ragged
plain clothes to deserters in exchange for their uniforms. We lost
no time in making our way to the squalid alley in the slums near the
harbour where the business establishment of Mr Nathan was located; and
when we reached the Jew’s dirty little huckster’s shop, we found him
weighing out a small quantity of a condiment resembling toffee to a
couple of grimy children. Pausing until the juvenile customers had left
the shop, I asked Nathan whether that afternoon he had received a visit
from Mr Scales.

‘No, sergeant; no soldier hash been here,’ replied the Jew, who then
continued in an undertone: ‘Can I do bishness wit you in some goot
tobacco?’

I paid no heed to the old Israelite’s statement, and decided to inspect
the premises myself, without any scruples as to the legality of that
course of action. Placing Williams at the door with instructions
to allow no one to pass in or out, I proceeded, in spite of the
expostulations of Nathan and his threats to call the police, to
carefully search the little back-room behind the shop. No one was
there; so I ascended a rickety staircase, and finding the door at the
top locked, I kicked it open; but the foul-smelling apartment into
which the door led was plunged in utter darkness. Returning to the
shop, I helped myself _sans cérémonie_ to one of a bunch of candles,
and lighting it, returned to the upper room, which, on examination,
proved to be a storehouse for the rags and bones in which the Jew dealt
largely. I opened the shutters of the dirt-incrusted diamond-paned
window, and probed with my gun-barrel every heap of rags; but, to my
disappointment, the fugitive was not concealed in them. Suddenly, I
perceived some glittering particles on the floor, which, on stooping
to examine, I found to be bright iron filings! I was now filled with
a feeling of exultation. Scales had apparently been to the Jew’s, and
thus relieved of his handcuffs.

I once more examined the room. The window was apparently a fixture, and
no one could make his exit without removing the sash. I next surveyed
the roof, and perceived a trap-door giving access to the attics just
large enough to allow a man to enter it. ‘My man is there right
enough,’ I exclaimed to myself in great glee. I then shouted through
the aperture: ‘I know you are there, Scales; it will be better for
you if you come down at once.’ There was no response; so I decided to
have the region explored. I called to Williams to keep a lookout for a
policeman, and almost immediately my comrade shouted to me that he had
secured the services of a constable. I thereupon summoned Williams to
my assistance, leaving the Jew in charge of the policeman. Placing the
rickety table under the trap, Williams speedily crawled through and
gained the attic. Knowing the desperate character we had to deal with,
I considered it expedient that my comrade should be prepared for an
encounter; so I unfixed his bayonet, and handed it to him together with
the lighted candle. Crawling over the creaking joists in the direction
of the gable in which the window was fixed, Williams made a careful
examination of the interior, while in the room below I waited with
breathless excitement.

‘Anybody there?’ I cried.

‘One moment; I haven’t had time to see,’ Williams replied; and then
began to search the opposite end. ‘Come out of that, you rascal!’ he at
length indignantly shouted. ‘I’ve got him sergeant; he’s stowed in a
corner!’

I then heard the fellow hiss out: ‘I’ve got a knife, and if you come
near me, I’ll cut your throat, if I have to swing for it!’

Fearful of exposing my comrade to the peril of a hand-to-hand tussle
with such a ruffian in the circumscribed area of the attic, I called
Williams to the trap-door, and placing a cartridge in my Snider, I
handed it to him. Then mounting the table, I thrust my head through
the trap and held the candle. My blood was now up, and I determined to
order the rascal to be shot if he refused to obey my commands.

‘Surrender, in the Queen’s name!’ I shouted.

There was no response; but the click of the lock of Williams’s rifle as
he placed the hammer at full cock, must have been distinctly audible to
the runaway.

‘If you don’t come out before I count five, you are a dead
man.—One—two—three!’

‘Stop! For mercy’s sake, give me a chance!’ now pleaded the wretch in a
husky whisper.

‘First throw your knife this way, and then come out.’

The villain tossed his knife to Williams, who threw it behind him to
the other extremity of the attic; then leaving his retreat, he crawled
towards us, and I was surprised to see by the dim light of the candle
that he was attired in plain clothes. When he got near us, we were
astonished beyond measure to find that he was not the man of whom we
had been in search, but Scales’s companion the deserter, who had been
suspected of rifling the officer’s room!

‘I own I took the things,’ confessed the man doggedly, seemingly
anxious to make a clean breast of it; ‘but Scales helped me, and old
Nathan put us both on the job’——

‘Scales has been here,’ I interrupted. ‘You may as well tell me what
you know about him; it will be the better for you.’

‘Yes,’ replied the deserter, when he had dropped through the trap on
the floor; ‘I got off his handcuffs, and here they are;’ scattering a
heap of bones and displaying the ‘bracelets,’ each receptacle for the
wrists being filed in two.

‘Now,’ I continued, ‘if you can give me any information that will
enable me to catch Scales, I’ll report in your favour at headquarters.
Perhaps it will save you something when you are tried.—Where is he now?’

‘Well, sergeant, Nathan gave him a suit of “plains,” and he went out. I
don’t know where he has gone. But I don’t mind “rounding” on him, and
I’ll tell you this: he’s to be back here to-night at twelve. Nathan’s
to let him in by the little window that looks into the yard.’

We then descended the stair with our prisoner; and the man perceiving
the Jew, broke away from us, exclaiming: ‘You old villain! if it hadn’t
been for you, I wouldn’t have got into this!’ and before we could
prevent him, struck the miserable Israelite a terrible blow. This act
of castigation, under the circumstances, however, rather pleased me
than otherwise.

Two additional policemen having been summoned, the deserter and Nathan
were taken away in custody. When they had gone, I was rather amused
when Williams informed me that, despite the Jew’s extreme trepidation,
while I was examining his upper storey, his commercial proclivities
did not for a moment desert him, as he attempted to open negotiations
with the private regarding the purchase of his war medals.

Two detectives now arrived to search the premises; but of course
this investigation did not lie within my province. No article of a
criminating nature was found, however, except Scales’s uniform, which
was concealed beneath the Jew’s filthy mattress. I lost no time in
despatching my companion to an adjacent blacksmith’s shop, in order
to have the divided parts of the handcuffs welded together; and this
operation was completed within an hour.

It was now dark; the Jew’s house had been locked up by the police;
so my companion and I turned into the back yard, in order to await
the expected return of Scales. We first made sure that he was not
concealed about the dilapidated outhouses, which consisted of a disused
coal-cellar and shed. In the latter place we set a couple of boxes,
and seating ourselves upon them, with our loaded rifles within reach,
patiently awaited the return of the runaway—prepared, if need be, to
give him a very warm reception. As the night wore on, the sky became
clouded, while the oppressive heat was apparently the precursor of
a thunderstorm. Suddenly, we were startled by a loud clap, followed
almost immediately by a blinding flash of lightning, which, as we could
see from our place of vantage, vividly lighted up the towering chalk
cliffs that overhung the town. Then rain began to fall in torrents, and
the decayed roof of the shed proving most indifferent shelter, we were
compelled to put on our greatcoats. To add to our misery, the floor
became a regular pool, occasioned by the overflow of a huge water-butt.

After a while the storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun; and being
perfectly overpowered with fatigue and the day’s excitement, I fell
fast asleep, and slumbered until Williams shook me up and informed me
that the town clocks had struck twelve. Being stiff and chilled with
the drenching I had received, I got on my feet and took a turn about
the shed, keeping at the same time a wary eye on the wall, every minute
expecting to see the form of the fugitive in the act of scaling it.
The monotony of our vigil was now a little relieved by the appearance
of the Jew’s cat, a large brindled animal, which came purring and
rubbing against us. Williams took Puss in his arms and caressed her for
some time; and when he got tired of this amusement, he stepped over
to the water-butt and, acting on a sudden mischievous impulse, tossed
the animal inside. To our surprise, a howl of pain proceeded from the
interior of the cask; and upon investigation there stood our prisoner
up to the neck in water! Williams had thrown the frightened cat with
outstretched claws plump on his face. The poor wretch was stiff and
numb with cramp, and was perfectly unable to get out of the butt. We
then, with a heavy plank, stove it in near the bottom, and when it was
empty, assisted Scales to the shed, where I made him at once strip
off his wet clothes—with which Nathan had provided him—and assume his
uniform. When the shivering wretch was able to speak, he informed us,
that having returned sooner than arranged, and perceiving the arrest
of the Jew and the deserter, he was so overcome with fright, that he
took refuge in the water-butt, as no other place of concealment was
available. At dusk, he was thinking of getting out of his uncomfortable
hiding-place, when he was deterred by seeing us take up a position in
the yard. He had, he asserted, been nearly drowned by the volumes of
water that poured on his head during the thunderstorm, and confessed
to having been terribly scared by the lightning—a circumstance,
considering his situation, perhaps not to be wondered at. Also, he
admitted, he had actually been concealed in an empty barrel on the
drayman’s cart, and that the driver had further facilitated his escape
by arranging with a fellow-wagoner to have him transferred to his
vehicle and driven to the alley in which the Jew’s shop was situated.

In consideration of the trouble Scales had given us, I had but little
sympathy with his sufferings, and put slender faith in his profuse
promises to go with us quietly. Having replaced on his wrists the
repaired handcuffs, of which the previous day he had managed to get
relieved so speedily, I decided also, by way of making assurance doubly
sure, to strap his arm to that of Williams.

We then set out in the direction of our destination; but Scales, even
supposing he intended mischief, was too much played out to give any
further trouble. At last, to my intense relief, we reached the prison
at daybreak, and I handed Mr Scales over to the custody of a warder.

My comrade and I, after partaking of much-needed refreshment kindly
offered us by one of the prison officials, returned to headquarters,
where I lost no time in reporting the whole circumstances of the case
to the adjutant.

That officer ordered the private and myself to appear before the
commanding officer, a command which at ‘orderly hour’ we obeyed. The
colonel administered to us—to speak paradoxically—a commendatory
reprimand, alternately animadverting on the enormity of our offence in
allowing the man to escape, and praising the qualities of courage and
perseverance we had displayed in tracking and capturing him, together
with the missing thief—‘Conduct,’ as the commanding officer was pleased
to put it, ‘which is creditable to the British army in general, and the
—th Regiment in particular.’

The Jew was committed for trial on a charge of receiving stolen
property; but a day or two before the assizes, he committed suicide by
strangling himself in his cell.

The deserter was handed over to the civil authorities, and received
a long term of imprisonment: and a similar fate awaited Scales when
his term in the military prison had expired. The case of the latter
individual was further considered by the general, who cancelled his
remission of Scales’s discharge with ignominy, so that Her Majesty’s
—th Regiment of foot was happily enabled to get rid of a knave.

I may now relate my final experience with regard to the foregoing
adventure. The sergeant of the barrack-guard reported the roughly
repaired handcuffs to the orderly officer, who mentioned the matter in
the return he sent to the orderly-room. The case was then remitted
to the quartermaster, who had the handcuffs examined by the armourer;
and that functionary having reported them unfit for service, I was
mulcted in the sum required for a new pair. I paid the charge without
grumbling, as, everything considered, I was heartily glad to get off so
cheap.




MONEY LENT!


Young Sixty per Cent. flourishes in the off-streets of the Haymarket
and Regent Street. From his babyhood, money has been the chief joy
of his existence; his infant rattle jingled with silver coins,
and at school he amassed a small fortune by lending shillings at
frightfully usurious rates till ‘after the holidays.’ His chief study
was arithmetic, and the supreme moment of his early life was when
his father playfully gave him the complicated account of an earl of
racing and theatrical tastes to make out, and he succeeded beyond all
expectation, making such a beautifully innocent mistake of forty or
fifty pounds on the side of the firm, that it was felt that such talent
should no longer be wasted at the academy of Dr Birchington. He became
a regular attendant at ‘the office,’ and at the age of twenty, knew as
well as any one with twice his years the worth of any given name on
stamped paper. He succeeded to the general control of the business,
being assisted in the ornamental duties of the position by an elder
brother, who had gone to the bad through the usual channels, but had
always plenty of gossip and good stories for ‘clients.’

The office is a plain room, without picture or ornament, but covered
with a rich soft carpet, and ‘upholstered’ in the very best taste.
The desk is a very solid piece of mahogany, with different keys for
every drawer, and with numerous secret recesses. Should the straits
of fortune at any time drive you to seek the assistance of Sixty per
Cent., it is into this room you will be ushered by the long-legged
boy in the anteroom, who appears to divide his time between cracking
nuts and casting up the figures in a disused ledger; but he has other
uses, and if anybody should be foolish enough to cut up ‘rumbustical’
with the usurer, the youth has his orders. You will find Sixty per
Cent. clean, well attired, and agreeable, seated at the desk; and your
business proving satisfactory, you will be turned over to ‘my brother,’
who will regale you with some spicy anecdotes, an excellent glass of
sherry, and a cigar, and such gossip of the town as may seem to be to
your taste.

Meantime, the boy has been despatched to Berners Street to obtain
information from certain lists in the possession of that mysterious
body known as the T. P. S., which are open to the privileged in that
thoroughfare; and Sixty per Cent. occupies himself with consulting the
rack of books on his desk, containing Burke, Debrett, the Army List,
the University Calendars, the Clergy List, &c., according to what may
be your requirements; and when the boy has returned with satisfactory
accounts of yourself or your securities, your signature on some neatly
written slips of blue paper produces the cheque that relieves your
necessities. ‘Not half a bad fellow,’ you tell your friends; and you
are convinced he is the victim of prejudice. But woe betide you,
should the time ever come when, the end of your tether reached, you
plead delay or ask abatement of your bond! There is no mercy in that
hawk face, pleasantly though it can smile; and the soft, well-kept
hands can strike like a hawk’s talons when the occasion arises. There
are times—usually early, before the ordinary hours of business—when
Sixty per Cent. may be found in conversation at his office with a
shady-looking individual who has ‘minion of the law’ stamped legibly on
his countenance; and the tone in which the usurer utters such sentences
as ‘Broke at Doncaster last week’—‘The writs are out already’—‘Sell him
up, stock, lock, and barrel’—‘Going to bolt, I believe’—‘Hang his wife
and family!’ &c., is rather different from the suave accents in which
he usually addresses his clients.

He is fond of music, and is a pretty regular frequenter of the opera on
Saturday nights during the season; and in the lobby, often manages to
combine a little business with his pleasure, especially in the Epsom,
Ascot, and Newmarket July weeks, when backers have had what is termed
a facer. He sports a smart mail phaeton with a pair of high stepping
bays; and as he drives round the park of an afternoon, he can impart
a pretty considerable amount of information to any friend who happens
to be with him regarding the occupants of the drags and victorias that
they meet. He has his ‘bad times,’ like everybody else, and when, as
occasionally happens, he has an enforced interview with one of Her
Majesty’s judges, he is obliged to listen to some remarkably plain
speaking in respect of his little transactions; and should a vaulting
ambition induce him to seek membership in any more respectable club
than the third-rate ‘proprietary pothouse,’ his _amour propre_ is
liable to be considerably wounded by the extent of the ‘pilling’ he
is subjected to. As a rule, however, he is early taught to ‘keep his
place,’ and ‘recreates’ himself with gambling in stocks, buying old
china, or breeding poultry; jingles the sovereigns in his pocket, and
snaps his fingers at the world and its opinion.




PROFESSOR SHELDON ON BUTTERINE.


Professor Sheldon, who delivered an exhaustive paper on the ‘Butterine
Question’ at a meeting of the Farmers’ Alliance, said that the
quantity of butterine produced in Great Britain was not known, but was
understood to be considerable; nor was the volume of imported butterine
known before the beginning of 1885, because, up to the end of 1884,
it was entered in the Board of Trade Returns under the heading of
‘butter.’ The weight of butterine imported in the four months ending
April 1885 was 308,548 cwt., and in the corresponding months of the
current year the volume of it had risen to 324,275 cwt. The quantity of
butterine imported, at the rate of the past four months, amounts to one
hundred and thirty tons a day, day in and day out, Sunday and Monday
alike, or getting on towards fifty thousand tons a year; and this
over and above what is produced in the United Kingdom. The effect of
the enormous trade on the dairy-farming of this country may be easily
imagined, and foreign dairy-farmers are also feeling the competition
quite as keenly. The Professor admitted that butterine, when made in a
proper way and from good materials, is a wholesome and useful article
of food. He considered it beyond dispute that butter would have been
outside the reach of a vast number of poor people, had not butterine
come in as a substitute and lowered the price. He admitted that
well-made butterine is a very tolerable substitute, though it is not
butter in another form, as some would have us believe. The utilisation
of surplus fat in the form of butterine was about the best possible
way in which it could be used at all as an article of food and in a
systematic manner. The clause relating to the penalties to be imposed
upon retailers who sold butterine as butter, in the Butter Substitutes
Bill before parliament, he considered the most important clause in the
bill, as it concerned the men who had hitherto been the chief offenders.




YOUTH AND AGE.


YOUTH.

    When I am old, these hills that bound
    My life within their narrow round,
      Will be the threshold of the door
        That leads to Freedom and to Fame,
      And the wide world beyond no more
        An idle dream, an empty name;
    But I, from cares and troubles free,
    Its glories and its joys shall see.

    The summer isles of southern seas;
    Great battles, glorious victories;
      The boundless prairies of the West,
        Where red men hunt the buffalo;
      Whatever fairest gifts and best
        The gods have given to men below—
    These, heart of mine, these shall we see
    In the brave days that are to be.


AGE.

    When I was young, this narrow round
    Of hills a glorious world did bound;
      Here, on the quiet valley floor,
        I dreamed of Freedom and of Fame,
      Ere yet I learned they were no more
        Than a vain dream, an empty name;
    In that glad careless long ago,
    The happy hours seemed all too slow.

    I have been wrecked in stormy seas;
    Not mine life’s glorious victories;
      Gone the bright spell on boyhood cast;
        No more along the primrose way
      I wander, for my paths have passed
        To this sad world of everyday.
    Ah, heart of mine, no more we know
    The days and dreams of long ago!

       *       *       *       *       *

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

       *       *       *       *       *

_All Rights Reserved._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text:

Page 439: than to then—“by then having”.]






*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 132, VOL. III, JULY 10, 1886 ***


    

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