schemes, and had to be seized and brought along, or else made away with.
“I--I don’t--see why,” Charles stammered.
“Will tells me that Marmaduke is to suppose I’m the captive, and that I’m
to be dressed accordingly,” Henry said lazily. “Now, if you boys can’t
see what I mean, keep your eyes and ears open, and when the time comes,
there will be so much the more sport for you.”
The plotters did not see what Henry was driving at; but, thinking it must
be an “improvement” that had suggested itself to him, they were content
to wait.
“Now, we must all swear that none of us will laugh, no matter how droll
things may be,” Will observed.
Henry could never be guilty of such a misdemeanor. He was a boy who could
do and say the most absurdly ridiculous things without the slightest
smile on his face; and the others had tolerable control over their facial
muscles.
“Don’t be too hard on Marmaduke, Henry;” said Charles, still at a loss to
conjecture to what use the imaginary priest was to be put, and beginning
to fear that some great danger menaced hapless Marmaduke.
“I will be careful,” Henry replied.
“About the letter--let us write it,” Steve cried, impatiently.
“I have the materials to write it in the rough,” said Henry. “To-night I
shall polish it, and write it off on French note paper, and to-morrow I
shall hand it over to you.”
“Make the letter very strong,” Charles suggested. “The more extraordinary
and whimsical it is, the more poor deluded Marmaduke will be delighted.
Poor fellow, if it is hard to make it out, he will stammer over it till
his face and hands get damp with sweat.”
“Doesn’t he understand French very well?” Henry asked.
“None of us do,” Charles dolefully acknowledged.
“Well, is he in the habit of wandering through the dictionary?”
“I--don’t--know,” said Charles, wondering what Henry was driving at now.
“Well, then, I will run the risk,” said the master-plotter, like the hero
he was.
Not allowing the curious boys to ask any questions, he continued: “As
you don’t understand French very well, I must read the letter carefully
to you to-morrow, for it would be jolly fun if none of you could make it
out. Well, fire ahead, and I’ll write; but after I polish it, your letter
may be very different from the original draft.”
With that he produced pencil and paper, and then slowly, like a
blood-thirsty author hatching his plot, a draught was made of the letter;
each particular, as it occurred to the boys, being set down at random.
When finished, it was, like Will’s letter, so incoherent that it would
give a person a headache to read it. But in their own room that night
Henry wrote and “polished,” whilst Will looked for words and phrases
in his dictionary. They worked long and carefully, and about midnight
the letter was transcribed for the last time; and with dizzy head and
heavy, blinking eyes, poor Henry tumbled into bed, saying, drowsily, “I
have portentous ap--apprehensions that by--by to-morrow night--I shall
need--need some--some Cayenne pepper mixture.”
But he slept long and well, and felt himself again the next morning.
We give the letter in French, just as Henry wrote it. This is not
done because of a morbid love of writing something in a foreign
language--which seems to be so strong in some people, whether they
understand it or not--but because of three very good reasons: First,
to show the length to which the boys went in carrying out their plot;
secondly, to give the good-natured reader an insight into Henry’s
character--for a man is best known by his writings; thirdly, because it
is a well-known fact that intelligent youths who are studying a foreign
language have an eager desire to read, or attempt to read, whatever they
can find in that language; and it is well to gratify such healthy desires.
After holding forth in this strain, perhaps it will be as well to
observe, that the youth who expects to perfect himself in French by a
careful perusal of this letter will be most bitterly deceived.
One word more: Henry, and Henry only, is responsible for this letter,
therefore all the praise must be given to him. But is it reasonable to
suppose that the French Academy will survive the publication of this
letter?
The envelope enclosing the letter bore the following superscription:
“A celui qui trouvera: Lisez le contenu de cette lettre sans délai!”
“To the finder: Read the contents of this letter without delay!” as Henry
read it to the boys.
That is good; that is orthodox.
The letter ran as follows:
O lecteur, je suis prisonnière! Un méchant homme m’a prise, et
m’a emportée de mon pays. Je suis la fille d’un des seigneurs
de la France, le Duc de la Chaloupe en Poitou. Un des ennemis
de mon père--quoiqu’il soit le meilleur homme du monde, il ne
laisse pas d’avoir ses adversaires, mais c’est parce qu’il est
favori de notre empereur puissant, Napoléon trois--je répète,
un de ses ennemis, un faquin impitoyable--un _misérable_--un
DÉMON, considéra tous les moyens de le perdre.
Enfin, voyant qu’il n’a pas d’autre moyen de blesser mon papa,
ce monstre résout de lui dérober sa fille. Il ourdit finement
sa trame, et conspire à dresser des embûches pour m’attraper.
Il fait emplette d’un yacht à vapeur, un vaisseau bon voilier,
et il l’équipe. Puis il ancre dans une petite crique, près du
château de mon père. Ne songeant pas au danger, mon précepteur
et moi nous sortons pour voir ce vaisseau étranger; et en nous
promenant le long du rivage le capitaine nous prie d’aller
à bord, pour en faire le tour. Nous le font; mais à peine
sommes-nous montés sur la tillée, qu’on nous saisit et nous
enferme dans deux petites cabines! O perfide! il s’empare
facilement de sa prise! Et moi! Depuis ce moment j’ai éprouvé
beaucoup de malheurs.
Ses drôles ingambes se mettent en train; l’équipage lève
tout de suite l’ancre; le pompier vole à sa pompe à feu; les
matelots déferlent les voiles; bientôt le yacht vogue; tout à
l’heure il marche à pleines voiles. La fenêtre treillissée de
ma cabine, ou prison, donne sur la demeure de mes ancêtres, et
je vois courir ça et là nos serviteurs, avec des cris aigres
de chagrin et d’horreur. Trop tard! le maroufle s’évade avec
sa captive! Oh, mon cher père et ma chère mère! Qu’êtes-vous
devenus!
Le yacht a marché quelques heures quand il entre un homme dans
ma cabine, suivi de mon précepteur, le bon prêtre. Je reconnais
Bélître Scélérat, l’ennemi de mon papa! C’est lui qui m’a
captivée. “Tranquillisez-vous,” me dit-il; “je ne vous ferai
pas de mal. Je suis l’ennemi de votre père le duc, mais je ne
suis point votre ennemi. J’en userai bien avec vous, tant que
vous n’essaierez pas de vous échapper. Ce prêtre sera votre
instituteur comme a l’ordinaire; et vous pouvez y être aussi
heureuse que si vous étiez chez vos parents.” Je le prie de
me rendre, mais j’ai beau supplier. Le prêtre, à son tour,
raisonne avec lui, mais le monstre hausse les épaules et il est
sourd à nos prières.
Après un voyage de long cours nous abordons en
Amérique--c’est-à-dire, je crois que c’est ce pays. Un complice
de mon capteur l’aide a transporter le prêtre et moi dans
le sein du pays, où l’on a préparé une prison pour nous. Je
fus captivée le cinq mai; c’est maintenant le dix juillet.
Il y a donc soixante-six jours que je n’ai vu mes parents!
J’ai passé le temps dans solitude et tristesse. Le bon prêtre
m’encourage, mais il est le seul sur qui je puisse compter. Ah!
je deviendrai folle si personne ne vient me secourir.
Il semble que je sois près d’un chemin de fer, parce que
j’entends quelquefois le hennissement du cheval de fer. La
prison dans laquelle je me trouve couronne la cime d’une
petite colline, auprès laquelle il serpente un beau courant.
Quant à la prison, elle est fortifiée en forteresse; et le
prêtre et moi nous sommes gardés comme des bêtes sauvages par
les guichetiers durs. Le voisinage est la solitude même. Pour
surcroît de malheur, la place est l’abord de revenants! J’avais
coutume chez moi de rire de l’idée de spectres, mais j’ai vu
dans cette prison une infinité d’affreuses apparitions, de
lutins ailés.
Bélître Scélérat nous traite passablement, c’est-à-dire, il
ne nous menace pas. Il ne nous voit pas souvent, comme il
va partout le pays, pour conférer avec ses agents, ou bien
il court la mer en forban. Ses geôliers, pourtant, ont soin
de nous, et ils nous gardent rigoureusement. Je n’ai jamais
été hors de l’enclos, et toutes les fois que j’y vais pour
aspirer de l’air frais les geôliers montent la garde pour me
surveiller. Bélître Scélérat dit qu’il m’affranchira aussitôt
que mon papa lui paiera une rançon énorme; mais il ajoute qu’il
compte me tenir prisonnière long-temps, pour que mon papa paie
la rançon promptement.
J’ai écrit cette lettre en secret, et j’ai dessein de la mettre
en sûreté dans une bouteille. Puis j’essaierai de la jeter
dans le ruisseau, dans l’espérance que quelqu’un la trouvera.
Lecteur, ayez pitié de moi! Venez à mes secours, ou c’est fait
de moi! Je vis en espoir d’être sauvée. Suivez le cours dans
lequel vous trouvez cette lettre, et vous arriverez à la maison
qui est ma prison. Si vous ne pourrez me délivrer, envoyez ma
lettre au Duc de la Chaloupe, et il viendra avec une armée pour
me sauver. Hélas! peut-être mon illustre père est-il mort!
Si le lecteur est à même de me sauver qu’il se dépêche car
Bélître Scélérat ne sera pas à la maison cette semaine, et les
gardes sont plus poltrons que braves. Ainsi mon élargissement
se fera aisément! Mon père le duc récompensera qui que ce soit
qui me sauve, j’en suis sûre. Peut-être sa majesté l’empereur
desire-t-il encore un général. Voulez-vous être ce personage
honoré? Mon père le duc est un de ses conseillers:--le sage
entend à demi-mot!
J’écris mon placet en français, parce que je n’entends bien
aucun autre langage; mais si le découvreur n’est pas en état
de le prouver,--c’est-à-dire, si je suis en Amérique, où l’on
ne parle point français, il ne faudra pas qu’il la détruise.
Il pourra trouver aux environs quelqu’un qui sait le français,
car ma langue incomparable est sue par toutes les parties de la
terre.
J’attends ma liberté. Venez avec des hommes braves, et les
projets de mon persécuteur seront renversés. Hâtez vous.
SAUTERELLE HIRONDELLE DE LA CHALOUPE.
This is the letter as Henry wrote it. Lest the reader should not be able
to make out this “langue incomparable” as rendered by him, we give the
translation which he gave to his admiring fellow-plotters next morning.
Oh reader, I am a prisoner! A wicked man has captured me and
taken me away from my country. I am the daughter of one of the
lords of France, the Duke de la Chaloupe, in Poitou. An enemy
of my father--although he is the best man in the world he has
his enemies, nevertheless, but it is because he is a favorite
of our mighty emperor, Napoleon the Third--I repeat, an enemy
of his, a pitiless scoundrel--a _wretch_--a DEMON, cast about
to hit upon some plot to ruin him.
Seeing that he had no other means of harming my father, this
monster resolved to rob him of his daughter. He hatched his
plot artfully, and conspired to lay an ambush to entrap me. He
bought a steam yacht, a fast sailer, and manned and equipped
it. Then he anchored in a little cove, near my father’s castle.
Little dreaming of danger, my tutor and I went to see this
strange ship, and while we were walking along the shore, the
captain invited us to go on board, to examine it. We did so;
but we had scarcely got on the main deck when we were seized
and shut up in two little cabins! O treacherous man! how
easily he got possession of his victim! And I? From that time I
have experienced many misfortunes.
His agile knaves sprang to their work; the crew weighed anchor
immediately; the engine-driver flew to his engine; the sailors
unfurled the sails; soon the yacht was under way; presently she
sailed away under full sail. The grated window of my cabin, or
prison, looked upon the home of my ancestors, and I saw our
retainers running to and fro, with shrill cries of grief and
horror. Too late! The villain escapes with his captive! Oh, my
dear father and mother! What has become of you!
The yacht had sailed a few hours when a man entered my cabin,
followed by my tutor, the good priest. I recognized Bélître
Scélérat, the enemy of my father! It was he who had captured
me. “Compose yourself,” said he, “I will do you no harm. I am
the enemy of your father, the duke, but I am not your enemy. I
will treat you well, so long as you do not attempt to escape.
The priest will be your tutor the same as before; and you may
be as happy here as if you were with your parents.” I implored
him to return me, but I implored in vain. The priest, in his
turn, reasoned with him, but the monster shrugged his shoulders
and was deaf to our entreaties.
After a long voyage we landed in America--at least, I believed
it was that country. An accomplice of my captor assisted him to
convey the priest and me into the heart of the country, where a
prison had been prepared for us. I was captured May fifth, and
it is now July tenth. Sixty-six days, therefore, have passed
since I saw my parents! I have spent the time in solitude and
sadness. The good priest encourages me, but he is the only one
on whom I can rely. Ah! I shall go mad if no one comes to help
me.
It seems that I am near a railroad, because I often hear the
neigh of the iron horse. The prison in which I find myself
crowns the top of a low hillock, past which winds a fine
stream. As for the prison, it is fortified equal to a fortress;
and the priest and I are guarded like wild beasts by the
remorseless turnkeys. The neighborhood is solitude itself. For
greater misfortune, the place is the resort of ghosts! At home
I used to laugh at the idea of ghosts, but I have seen a great
number of hideous apparitions, of winged hobgoblins, in this
prison.
Bélître Scélérât treats us tolerably, that is to say, he does
not threaten us. We do not see him often, as he goes all over
the country, to confer with his agents, or else he cruises as a
pirate. His jailers, however, take care of us, and they guard
us rigorously. I have never gone out of the enclosure, and
whenever I go there to breathe the fresh air, the jailers mount
guard to watch. Bélître Scélérât says that he will set me free
as soon as my papa pays him an enormous ransom, but he adds
that he intends to keep me a prisoner a long time, so that my
papa shall pay the ransom promptly.
I have written this letter in secret, and I intend to secure it
in a bottle. Then I shall try to throw it into the stream, in
hopes that some one may find it. Reader, have pity on me! Come
and help me, or it is all over with me! I live in hope of being
saved. Follow the stream in which you find this letter, and
you will arrive at the house which is my prison. If you cannot
release me, send my letter to the Duke de la Chaloupe, and he
will come with an army to save me. Alas! perhaps my illustrious
father is dead!
If the reader is in a position to save me, let him make haste,
for Bélître Scélérât will not be at home this week, and the
watchmen are more cowardly than brave. Thus my release will
come about easily! My poor father will reward whoever saves
me, I am sure. Perhaps his majesty the emperor might wish one
more general. Should you like to be that honored person? My
father, the duke, is a counsellor of his:--a word to the wise
is sufficient.
I write my petition in French, because I do not understand any
other language well; but if the finder is not able to make it
out--that is to say, if I am in America, where French is not
spoken--he need not destroy it. He will find some one in his
neighborhood who knows it, for my incomparable language is
known throughout the world.
I am waiting for my freedom. Come with brave men, and the
schemes of my persecutor will be overset! Hasten!
SAUTERELLE HIRONDELLE DE LA CHALOUPE.
If Henry had been an authorized translator, he would have exerted himself
and made the translation entirely different from the original; as he was
only a school-boy, he gave a close, but not excellent, rendering of it;
and by employing the past tense instead of the present, all sublimity was
lost. In fact, like everything else translated into _English_, it did not
equal the original.
In the whole of this letter not a single reference is made to the beings
of Mythology, to the state of affairs in France, to the goblins of the
Hartz Mountains, to Macaulay’s New Zealander, nor to our own Pilgrim
Fathers! This neglect is intolerable; but remembering that Henry was only
a boy, we must judge him with leniency, and give him credit for writing
in a straightforward and business-like style.
The boys listened with rapt attention while Henry read this letter. To
them, it was grand, sublime, awful; and from that moment Henry was looked
on as a superior being, as far above ordinary mortals as an average
American citizen is above any “crowned head” in Europe.
Their admiration was graciously acknowledged by Henry. But he made
several innovations, some of which took the embryo villains by surprise.
In their wildest dreams they had never soared so high as to think of
giving the imprisoned one a title--and Henry had made her a duke’s
heiress! Ah! they were not so well acquainted with the ways of the world
and the laws of romance as Henry.
But perhaps what pleased the plotters more than anything was the liberal
use made of notes of exclamation. Charles counted them carefully, and
reported their number to the gaping boys. The more the better, in this
case, at all events, thought Steve. Poor innocent! he did not know that
villainy and notes of exclamation go hand in hand.
_Chapter XXXIV._
HENRY TAKES HIS BEARINGS.--A STAMPEDE.
“I must have a copy of that letter;” Charles declared, emphatically.
“Yes; as a lesson in French, it’s worth from twenty to thirty of Mr.
Meadows’,” Stephen chimed in.
He, however, had no great desire to obtain a copy and buzz over it.
(Steve always buzzed when he “studied.”)
“I don’t doubt that Marmaduke will believe in it,” Henry said, with
pardonable conceit in his own production; “but the question is, will he
act on it? I know if I should come upon such a petition, I should let
somebody else do the rescuing, and fly the other way as if I were pursued
by--”
“A demon!” Steve interposed, grinning foolishly.
“No,” continued Henry, “by worse than a demon--by an _algebra_!”
Stephen hated the study of algebra--hated it with deadly hatred; hence he
smiled in sympathy.
“Yes,” Charles commented, “most boys would be apt to run away; but
Marmaduke isn’t like most boys.”
“Henry, there is one point I don’t quite understand,” George observed.
“Why do you say in the letter, ‘if you cannot rescue me, send this letter
to my father’? Suppose that Marmaduke should take it into his head to
send it! Then--then--”
“Well, George, I put that in to make the letter seem less like a fable.
Don’t you know that a person in trouble would naturally say or write
something to that effect; and besides, right under that I wrote, ‘perhaps
my father is dead.’ Therefore, he will hardly send the appeal off to
France; but if he speaks of it, use your wits and persuade him to hurry
to the rescue.”
The plotters held their breath for admiration, and their honor for Henry
increased. To them he was a wiser and greater being than any of the grave
heroes who figured in their dog’s-eared, mutilated histories--wiser than
the great Solon--deeper than the emissaries of Mephistopheles--more
learned than--than--but here their well of eloquence ran dry, and they
could not express themselves further.
Will was quite happy now; his cousin had come; the plot was well under
way; the genius who was to direct it was admired, honored, reverenced. It
was glory enough for him to have such a phenomenon for a near relative.
But George was bold enough to point out another irregularity. Said he:
“Look here, Henry, we didn’t give any account of the journey from the
coast to the prison! Marmaduke is very particular to have little things
explained; and that is passed by.”
“George, don’t be foolish;” Will returned angrily. “Henry couldn’t
explain everything; and the letter is long enough as it is.”
“Of course; no one can improve on it;” Charles declared.
“Leave that to Marmaduke,” said Steve. “His imagination will soon find
the ways and means.”
“Yes,” chimed in Charles, “his imagination will supply all defects--but
there are none. The letter is perfect perfection.”
“That about ‘the general’ is a happy thought,” Stephen remarked.
“Marmaduke will snatch at that like a hungry hawk.”
“Yes, I changed your draft a good deal, and added new points,” Henry
observed. “But it is greatly improved by them, I think,” he added
complacently.
Alas! Henry was beginning to have a very good opinion of himself. Two
days before he was not aware that he was so clever.
But the Sage, actuated by--what? seemed determined to criticize the
letter still further. “Henry,” said he, poring over the letter with
knitted brows, “Henry, near the end you have written, ‘if the reader is
not able to make this out,’ and so on. Henry,” smiling pleasantly, “I
didn’t know you were an Irishman before, but that sounds like it!”
Henry was about to reply, but Charles took up the defence, saying:
“George, give me that letter; you do nothing but find fault with it.
Don’t you see that Marmaduke will take that passage as a piece of refined
French na--nave--_knavery_! Botheration! You know the word I mean, Henry.”
“Naïveté?” Henry suggested.
“Yes, that’s it. Marmaduke will take it for na-a-a-a--. Yes; for that;”
he concluded, gulping down a sob, and becoming somewhat flushed and
perturbed.
“Charley, listen to a little sound advice,” Henry said, with the air of
a great philosopher. “In the first place, that isn’t the right word in
the right place. Second place, never speak in a foreign language, nor
whisper even a syllable of it, till you know it, and not then, unless you
are learning it, or unless it is necessary. Some people who can write
their address in French strike out in print in the village ‘Weekly’ with
half-a-dozen meaningless words, that they themselves don’t understand.
But the printer, who knows even _less_, and cares for no one’s feelings,
always makes an interesting muddle of it all. So, Charley, take warning
and steer clear of such nonsense. English is the best, as long as you are
where it is spoken.”
All looked admiringly at the oracle, Charley by no means angry at being
thus reproved.
“How did you manage to get the pretty French names?” Jim asked,
innocently enough.
Will scowled at the boy, but Henry answered readily: “They are not real
_names_, Jim; only _common nouns_. I relied on Marmaduke’s ignorance
of French to bring in some rather uncommon words instead of names.
Besides, I didn’t know of any names long enough, and grand enough, and
sonorous enough, to suit the occasion; but still, some of these words
may be family names for all I know or care. First name, _Sauterelle_,
a grasshopper; second name, _Hirondelle_, a swallow; Patronymic, _de
la Chaloupe_, of the longboat. Now _Bélître Scélérat_ really means
_Atrocious Scoundrel_; but _Scheming Scoundrel_ sounds better in
English--it has a true poetic ring. Of course, boys, when he finds the
letter and you help him to make it out, you will read the words as they
are in the letter, not as I have explained them.”
The plotters’ admiration knew no bounds. The substitution of _nouns_ for
_names_ was, in their eyes, the very acme of wit; and Henry was no longer
an ordinary hero, but a veritable demi-god.
How learned this boy must be, and how ignorant they must seem to him! In
fact, this so worked on the feelings of one boy (it is immaterial which
one, gentle reader,--no, we _defy_ you to guess which boy it was) that,
in order to demonstrate _he_, at least, knew the difference between nouns
and names, he laughed so hard, so monotonously, and so patiently, that
long-headed Henry perceived the cause, and was, very rightly, disgusted.
“Well, boys,” said Henry, “I haven’t seen the prison-house yet, and if
you will bundle me up in your disguises, we’ll set out for it, ‘The
Wigwam of the Seven Sleepers,’ as George says Stephen calls it, and
arrange everything as it should be and is to be.”