"Now, Gordon," said Frank, when he had finished playing a symphony,
"we'll have your story, and then perhaps the young stranger will give us
some of his experiences."
"I'll be delighted, I'm sure," said the cyclist, smiling. "That is," he
added, "if I can think of anything."
"I'll tell you, then," I said, "one of my service adventures."
"Is it true?" asked Ida.
"Quite true, Ida," I replied.
"I shall call it--
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"NEPTUNE: A STORY OF STRANGE MEETINGS.
"`The world is not so _very_ wide after all!'
"This exclamation, or one somewhat akin to it, we are constantly hearing
in these times of rapid travelling. For my own part I am never in the
slightest degree astonished at meeting any old friend anywhere, for
nowadays there seems but little to prevent everybody from going
everywhere.
"I could instance scores of cases of strange and unexpected meetings
from the diary of my own life, and some of them would be amusing enough,
but one or two must suffice.
"When I first left home to join the service I left Geordie M--ploughing
in one of my father's fields, with an ox and the `orra' beast. I
specially mention the ox and the `orra' beast, by way of showing that
Geordie was by no means even a first-class ploughman. [Orra, _Scotice_
`of all work,' or `for doing odd jobs.'] He was an _orra_ man himself,
and couldn't be trusted with a team of the best horses. He was slow in
his motions, and slow in his notions; he wore a corduroy coat, his boots
weighed pounds, he never lifted his feet, but trailed them; such was
Geordie.
"Just two years after this I was one day sitting forward in the sick bay
examining and taking the names of a batch of marines who had come to
join us from another ship. It was at Bombay, and the weather was hot,
and I was drowsy, so I seldom looked twice at my man, and was not in the
best of tempers; but there was one marine in the lot, and a right smart
clean-footed fellow he was, who attracted my attention, because he
laughed when I spoke to him. He talked in the broadest of Scotch, and
the very sound of his voice recalled to my memory Highland hills clothed
in blooming heather. I rubbed my eyes and looked at him again. As sure
as I live it was Geordie.
"I bade good-by to a medical friend of mine once in Soho Square. He was
going away to the country to get married, and settle down in a mining
district among the Welsh hills. Years flew by. I was out on the
eastern shores of Africa. We were hunting slavers. One rascally old
dhow gave us much trouble and a long chase. We ran her at last down to
shooting distance, and as she would not stop we brought our big guns to
bear on her; still she flew on, and on, fair and square before the wind,
till a lucky shot knocked the mainmast out of her. When we boarded her,
the very first person seen on deck was the medical friend I had bidden a
final adieu to--as I thought--in Soho Square. There was not much
mystery about the matter after all. He had _not_ got married. He had
not settled down among the Welsh mountains. He was on his way to
Zanzibar to join a mission, and had taken passage in this dhow for
cheapness' sake.
"Peter Middleton--this is not his real name--was a blacksmith's
apprentice in my parish. He was clever, too clever, for he often got
into trouble for requisitioning hares, rabbits, and such small cattle of
the hills. When he took at last to paying midnight visits to the
farmers' fowl-runs, the farmers waxed wroth, and Peter had to run
himself, and no more was heard of him in that place. My ship was lying
some time after at a town in South Australia, and I received a polite
but badly spelt note from a resident medical man requesting me to come
on shore for consultation on a difficult case. The house was a smart
one and well-furnished, but judge of my surprise to find that the doctor
himself was no other than Peter Middleton, ex-poacher and
poultry-fancier. It is a strange world!
"But to my tale. I very seldom travel anywhere, by sea or land, without
taking as a companion a well-trained and handsome dog. It is nearly
always a pure black Newfoundland, a breed for which I have obtained some
celebrity. These animals are of such extreme beauty and so
prepossessing in manners, and so noble withal, that they never fail to
make friends wherever they go. It may seem a strange thing to say, but
it is strictly true nevertheless, that my dogs have introduced me to
many of those who at the present moment I rank among my most valued
acquaintances.
"About two years before the tremendous war broke out between Germany and
France, happening to have earned a `spell of leave' as sailors call it,
I was very naturally spending it in touring through the Scottish
Highlands, my only companion being as usual a noble Newfoundland, who
not only performed the duties of bodyguard and sentry over my person,
but also those of light porter, for he carried my portmanteau. Had I
possessed any desire for exclusiveness on this journey, I should have
been quite miserable, for wherever I went--on steamboat, in trains, or
walking on foot--my princely companion was the subject of conversation
and admiration. If I had tied a slate about my neck and pretended to be
deaf and dumb, I might have been allowed to hold my tongue, but I should
have had to write.
"Who that has travelled in summer among the Western Isles of Scotland,
does not know the grand steamships of the country, with their splendid
decks and palatial saloons. One beautiful day my dog and I were on
board one of these boats on our way to Portree, the capital of Skye.
Nero was looking his best and sauciest, his crimson silver-clasped
collar showing off his raven-black colour to the best advantage. I
seated myself in an out-of-the-way corner right abaft, with a book to
read, and threw my tartan plaid over the dog. I thought we should thus
escape observation, and I would not have to answer the same questions
over and over again which I had been replying to for the last month.
But the book was too interesting. I became absorbed in it, I lost
myself, and when I found myself again, I found I had lost my dog. But
yonder he was with quite a crowd about him, his beauty greatly enhanced
by the rich colours of the plaid that floated from his broad back on
each side of him, making him look like some gaily caparisoned elephant
or embryo Jumbo. From the laughing and talking I could hear, it was
evident he was amusing them by performing his various tricks, such as
sneezing, making a bow, saying `yes,' standing on alternate legs, etc,
all of which brought him buns and tit-bits.
"`Your dog's been 'avin' a blow out,' a sailor said to me. `I see'd 'im
eat the best 'alf of a turkey, besides two pork-pies, and no end of
lumps of sugar, biscuits, and buns.'
"I soon stopped the performance, but did not get away until I had told
the whole history of the dog, his breed and pedigree, and the points and
characteristics, whims and oddities of Newfoundlands, and about fifty
anecdotes of dogs in general, given a kind of canine lecture; in fact, I
had become used to the role of public platformist by this time.
"The dog slipped down that day to dinner with the rest of us, and lay
down between a young German gentleman and myself. The steward wished to
turn the dog out. I said `certainly, by all means.' The great
good-natured dog also said `certainly, by all means,' when the steward
addressed him; `but,' the dog added, `you'll have to carry me.'
"As the Newfoundland weighed over nine stone, the steward permitted him
to remain. Then the German and I got talking about the weather, the
ship, the sea, my country, his country, history, poetry, music and
painting. His English was very good and his accent almost faultless,
and his conversational powers were great; but though he could speak
well, he could also listen, and the earnest look, the smile, or the
occasional hearty though well-timed laugh, showed he possessed a soul
that could appreciate originality in others, in whatever form it came.
Before I was an hour in this young German's company, I had come to the
conclusion that there were only _two_ human beings on board the steamer,
and that they were Hans Hegel and myself. I have reason to believe that
Hegel himself was much of the same opinion.
"We stayed at the same hotel, and next morning--and a delightful morning
it was--as we sat together on the pine-clad hill, with the blue waters
of the Loch shimmering in the sunshine far beneath us, and on every side
the marvellous rocks and wondrous hills, we agreed to travel in each
other's company for the next three weeks at least.
"When I say that those three weeks got extended to six, it will readily
be believed that we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Of all romantic
scenery it has ever been my luck in life to gaze upon, that of the
`Winged Isle' is by far and away the most enchanting. See Skye in
summer, and you will have something to think about and dream about until
your dying day.
"I was somewhat proud to be able to show my newly found friend all the
wild beauties of the island, the mysterious caves among its rocks, the
frowning glories of its mountains, the sylvan sweetness that hovers
dream-like around bonnie Armadale, and the awesome sublimities of lonely
Coruishk. I know Skye _so_ well, and there was not a glen, a hill, a
bleak moorland or one mile of surf-tormented beach, on which I could not
cause to reappear the heroes and heroines of a bygone age. There was no
attempt at effect in anything I said; I told but what I knew, I spoke
but what I felt, and if I did sometimes warm to my subject or
description, the warmth welled right up from the bottom of my heart.
"Every enjoyment must come to an end at last. I got a letter one
morning--a long white service envelope contained it--which demanded my
presence on the other side of the world.
"We were reclining on a wild-thyme scented knoll not far from the edge
of a cliff, that went down a sheer five-hundred feet to the sea below.
We could hear the boulders thundering on the beach, though we could not
see them. Beyond this was the Minch, flaked with foam; it was a breezy
day, and far away on the horizon the blue outline of the Harris hills.
"`No,' he said, in answer to a question of mine. `We will not hamper
each other with a promise to correspond. This world is full of sad
partings. We must bend to the inevitable. I'll think of you though,
sometimes, and Skye, and this lovely dog.'
"`I have one of his puppies,' I said, `he shall be yours.'
"The Franco-German war was over; even the demon of civilised warfare had
been exorcised at last by blood and tears, and peace smiled sadly on the
soil of France once more.
"I had been for a short time attached to a corps of German dragoons, in
the capacity of correspondent. But there was little more for me to do
now, only I think the officers, with whom I had got very friendly,
wished me to see their reception at home, and I could not resist the
temptation to march along with them. I have often been `homeward
bound,' but never saw before such genuine happiness as I now did. How
they talked of the mothers, wives, sweethearts, and little ones they
were soon again to see, and often too with a sigh and a manly tear or
two about the comrades they left behind them under the green sod!
"Our mess was a very jolly one. Sometimes at night the wind rose and
roared, causing our tents--we _had_ a tent then--to flap like sails in a
storm at sea. Or the rain would beat against it, until the canvas first
sweated inside, then dropped water, then ran water, till we were
drenched. But, whether drenched or dry, we always sang, oh! such
rattling choruses. The villages we passed through had all we wanted to
buy, the villagers often scowled, and I think they were usually glad to
see our backs. But some fawned on us like whipped hounds for the sake
of the money we spent. Yet I must say in justice that the Germans took
no unfair advantage, and if any allusion was made to them as conquerors,
they but laughed carelessly, muttered something about the fortunes of
war, and changed the subject.
"I was riding along one morning early, when I saw several of our fellows
on the brow of a hill looking back with some degree of interest, but
trotting on all the same.
"I should have followed their example, but the mournful howling of a dog
attracted my attention, and went straight to my very heart. So I rode
up and over the hill.
"I was hardly prepared for what I saw. A beautiful black Newfoundland,
whining pitifully beside what appeared to be the dead body of a man.
"I dismounted, and the dog came to meet me. He jumped and fawned on me,
then rushed wildly back to the side of that prostrate form. But I stood
as if one transfixed. I could not mistake those eyes. It was Neptune,
that I had given--a seven months' old puppy--to Hans Hegel three years
before.
"And the poor fellow who lay before me with sadly gashed face, upturned
to the morning sun, was Hegel himself.
"He lay on his sword, lay as he had fallen, and the absence of the coat,
the sash-bound waist, and sleeve up-rolled, told to me the history of
his trouble in a way there was no mistaking. He had fallen in a duel.
"But was he dead? No. For, soon after I had raised him in my arms, and
poured a little cordial down his throat, he opened his eyes, gazed
bewilderedly at me for a moment, then his hand tightened on mine and he
smiled. He knew me.
"I should have liked some of those strange people who do not love dogs
to have been present just then, to witness the looks of gratitude in
poor Neptune's eyes as he tenderly licked my hand with his soft tongue.
"My regiment went on: I stayed at the nearest village hostelry with Hans
Hegel.
"When he was well enough he told me the story of the duel. So far the
affair was unromantic enough, for there was not a lady in it. The
quarrel had been forced upon him by a fire-eating Frenchman, and swords
were drawn on a point of national honour.
"`I owe my life to you,' Hegel said.
"`You owe your life,' I replied, `to Heaven and that faithful dog.'"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"And now, Sir Stranger," I said as I concluded my story, "we look to
you."
"Well," said the cyclist, "as you gave a name to your tale, I daresay I
must follow suit. Your tale had a dog in it. Mine has a horse, and as
the horse's name was Doddie, so I call my story."