Presently the little lion went away, and when we came to loo_Boys of Other Countries

BOYS OF OTHER COUNTRIES

BAYARD TAYLOR

ENLARGED EDITION, INCLUDING

THE ROBBER REGION OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

_ILLUSTRATED_

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

=The Knickerbocker Press=

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

IN RENEWAL OF COPYRIGHT ORIGINALLY REGISTERED IN 1876

MARIE TAYLOR

[Illustration]

Made in the United States of America

CONTENTS

PAGE

I. THE LITTLE POST-BOY 3

II. THE PASHA’S SON 25

III. JON OF ICELAND 47

IV. THE TWO HERD-BOYS 129

V. THE YOUNG SERF 151

VI. STUDIES OF ANIMAL NATURE 203

VII. A ROBBER REGION OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA 235

The Little Post-Boy

In my travels about the world I have made the acquaintance of a great

many children, and I might tell you many things about their dress, their

speech, and their habits of life in the different countries I have

visited. I presume, however, that you would rather hear me relate some

of my adventures in which children participated, so that the story and

the information shall be given together. Ours is not the only country in

which children must frequently begin at an early age to do their share

of work and accustom themselves to make their way in life. I have found

many instances among other races, and in other climates, of youthful

courage, and self-reliance, and strength of character, some of which I

propose to relate to you.

This one shall be the story of my adventure with a little post-boy, in

the northern part of Sweden.

Very few foreigners travel in Sweden in the winter on account of the

intense cold. As you go northward from Stockholm, the capital, the

country becomes ruder and wilder, and the climate more severe. In the

sheltered valleys along the Gulf of Bothnia and the rivers which empty

into it, there are farms and villages for a distance of seven or eight

hundred miles, after which fruit-trees disappear, and nothing will grow

in the short, cold summers except potatoes and a little barley. Farther

inland, there are great forests and lakes, and ranges of mountains where

bears, wolves, and herds of wild reindeer make their home. No people

could live in such a country unless they were very industrious and

thrifty.

I made my journey in the winter, because I was on my way to Lapland,

where it is easier to travel when the swamps and rivers are frozen, and

the reindeer-sled can fly along over the smooth snow. It was very cold

indeed, the greater part of the time; the days were short and dark, and

if I had not found the people so kind, so cheerful, and so honest, I

should have felt inclined to turn back more than once. But I do not

think there are better people in the world than those who live in

Norrland, which is a Swedish province commencing about two hundred miles

north of Stockholm.

They are a tall, strong race, with yellow hair and bright blue eyes, and

the handsomest teeth I ever saw. They live plainly, but very

comfortably, in snug wooden houses, with double windows and doors to

keep out the cold; and since they cannot do much out-door work, they

spin and weave and mend their farming implements in the large family

room, thus enjoying the winter in spite of its severity. They are very

happy and contented, and few of them would be willing to leave that cold

country and make their homes in a warmer climate.

Here there are neither railroads nor stages, but the government has

established post-stations at distances varying from ten to twenty miles.

At each station a number of horses, and sometimes vehicles, are kept,

but generally the traveller has his own sled, and simply hires the

horses from one station to another. These horses are either furnished by

the keeper of the station or some of the neighboring farmers, and when

they are wanted a man or boy goes along with the traveller to bring them

back. It would be quite an independent and convenient way of travelling,

if the horses were always ready; but sometimes you must wait an hour or

more before they can be furnished.

I had my own little sled, filled with hay and covered with reindeer

skins to keep me warm. So long as the weather was not too cold, it was

very pleasant to speed along through the dark forests, over the frozen

rivers, or past farm after farm in the sheltered valleys, up hill and

down until long after the stars came out, and then to get a warm supper

in some dark-red post cottage, while the cheerful people sang or told

stories around the fire. The cold increased a little every day, to be

sure, but I became gradually accustomed to it, and soon began to fancy

that the Arctic climate was not so difficult to endure as I had

supposed. At first the thermometer fell to zero; then it went down ten

degrees below; then twenty, and finally thirty. Being dressed in thick

furs from head to foot, I did not suffer greatly; but I was very glad

when the people assured me that such extreme cold never lasted more than

two or three days. Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went with me to

bring back their fathers’ horses, and so long as those lively,

red-cheeked fellows could face the weather, it would not do for me to be

afraid.

One night there was a wonderful aurora in the sky. The streamers of red

and blue light darted hither and thither, chasing each other up to the

zenith and down again to the northern horizon with a rapidity and a

brilliance which I had never seen before. “There will be a storm soon,”

said my post-boy; “one always comes after these lights.”

Next morning the sky was overcast, and the short day was as dark as our

twilight. But it was not quite so cold, and I travelled onward as fast

as possible. There was a long tract of wild and thinly settled country

before me and I wished to get through it before stopping for the night.

Unfortunately it happened that two lumber-merchants were travelling the

same way and had taken the horses; so I was obliged to wait at the

stations until horses were brought from the neighboring farms. This

delayed me so much that at seven o’clock in the evening I had still one

more station of three Swedish miles before reaching the village where I

had intended to spend the night. Now, a Swedish mile is nearly equal to

seven English, so that this station was at least twenty miles long.

[Illustration:

“Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went with me to bring back

their father’s horses”

Drawing by F. S. Coburn

]

I decided to take supper while the horse was eating his feed. They had

not expected any more travellers at the station, and were not prepared.

The keeper had gone on with the two lumber-merchants; but his wife—a

friendly, rosy-faced woman—prepared me some excellent coffee, potatoes,

and stewed reindeer-meat, upon which I made a satisfactory meal. The

house was on the border of a large, dark forest, and the roar of the icy

northern wind in the trees seemed to increase while I waited in the warm

room. I did not feel inclined to go forth into the wintry storm, but,

having set my mind on reaching the village that night, I was loath to

turn back.

“It is a bad night,” said the woman, “and my husband will certainly stay

at Umea until morning. His name is Niels Petersen, and I think you will

find him at the post-house when you get there. Lars will take you, and

they can come back together.”

“Who is Lars?” I asked.

“My son,” said she. “He is getting the horse ready. There is nobody else

about the house to-night.”

Just then the door opened, and in came Lars. He was about twelve years

old; but his face was so rosy, his eyes so clear and round and blue, and

his golden hair was blown back from his face in such silky curls, that

he appeared to be even younger. I was surprised that his mother should

be willing to send him twenty miles through the dark woods on such a

night.

“Come here, Lars,” I said. Then I took him by the hand, and asked, “Are

you not afraid to go so far to-night?”

He looked at me with wondering eyes, and smiled; and his mother made

haste to say: “You need not fear, sir. Lars is young, but he’ll take you

safe enough. If the storm doesn’t get worse, you’ll be at Umea by eleven

o’clock.”

I was again on the point of remaining; but while I was deliberating with

myself, the boy had put on his overcoat of sheep-skin, tied the lappets

of his fur cap under his chin and a thick woolen scarf around his nose

and mouth so that only the round blue eyes were visible, and then his

mother took down the mittens of hare’s fur from the stove, where they

had been hung to dry. He put them on, took a short leather whip, and was

ready.

I wrapped myself in my furs, and we went out together. The driving snow

cut me in the face like needles, but Lars did not mind it in the least.

He jumped into the sled, which he had filled with fresh, soft hay,

tucked in the reindeer-skins at the sides, and we cuddled together on

the narrow seat, making everything close and warm before we set out. I

could not see at all, when the door of the house was shut, and the horse

started on the journey. The night was dark, the snow blew incessantly,

and the dark fir-trees roared all around us. Lars, however, knew the

way, and somehow or other we kept the beaten track. He talked to the

horse so constantly and so cheerfully, that after a while my own spirits

began to rise, and the way seemed neither so long nor so disagreeable.

“Ho there, Axel!” he would say. “Keep the road,—not too far to the left.

Well done. Here’s a level; now trot a bit.”

So we went on,—sometimes up hill, sometimes down hill,—for a long time,

as it seemed. I began to grow chilly, and even Lars handed me the reins,

while he swung and beat his arms to keep the blood in circulation. He no

longer sang little songs and fragments of hymns, as when we first set

out; but he was not in the least alarmed, or even impatient. Whenever I

asked (as I did about every five minutes), “Are we nearly there?” he

always answered, “A little farther.”

Suddenly the wind seemed to increase.

“Ah,” said he, “now I know where we are; it’s one mile more.” But one

mile, you must remember, meant _seven_.

Lars checked the horse, and peered anxiously from side to side in the

darkness. I looked also but could see nothing.

“What is the matter?” I finally asked.

“We have got past the hills on the left,” he said. “The country is open

to the wind, and here the snow drifts worse than anywhere else on the

road. If there have been no ploughs out to-night we’ll have trouble.”

You must know that the farmers along the road are obliged to turn out

with their horses and oxen, and plough down the drifts, whenever the

road is blocked up by a storm.

In less than a quarter of an hour we could see that the horse was

sinking in the deep snow. He plunged bravely forward, but made scarcely

any headway, and presently became so exhausted that he stood quite

still. Lars and I arose from the seat and looked around. For my part, I

saw nothing except some very indistinct shapes of trees; there was no

sign of an opening through them. In a few minutes the horse started

again, and with great labor carried us a few yards farther.

“Shall we get out and try to find the road?” said I.

“It’s no use,” Lars answered. “In these new drifts we would sink to the

waist. Wait a little, and we shall get through this one.”

It was as he said. Another pull brought us through the deep part of the

drift, and we reached a place where the snow was quite shallow. But it

was not the hard, smooth surface of the road; we could feel that the

ground was uneven, and covered with roots and bushes. Bidding Axel stand

still, Lars jumped out of the sled, and began wading around among the

trees. Then I got out on the other side, but had not proceeded ten steps

before I began to sink so deeply into the loose snow that I was glad to

extricate myself and return. It was a desperate situation, and I

wondered how we should ever get out of it.

I shouted to Lars, in order to guide him, and it was not long before he

also came back to the sled. “If I knew where the road is,” said he, “I

could get into it again. But I don’t know; and I think we must stay here

all night.”

“We shall freeze to death in an hour!” I cried. I was already chilled to

the bone. The wind had made me very drowsy, and I knew that if I slept I

should soon be frozen.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Lars cheerfully. “I am a Norrlander, and Norrlanders

never freeze. I went with the men to the bear-hunt, last winter, up on

the mountains, and we were several nights in the snow. Besides, I know

what my father did with a gentleman from Stockholm on this very road,

and we’ll do it to-night.”

“What was it?”

“Let me take care of Axel first,” said Lars. “We can spare him some hay

and one reindeer-skin.”

It was a slow and difficult task to unharness the horse, but we

accomplished it at last. Lars then led him under the drooping branches

of a fir-tree, tied him to one of them, gave him an armful of hay, and

fastened the reindeer-skin upon his back. Axel began to eat, as if

perfectly satisfied with the arrangement. The Norrland horses are so

accustomed to cold that they seem comfortable in a temperature where one

of ours would freeze.

When this was done, Lars spread the remaining hay evenly over the bottom

of the sled and covered it with the skins, which he tucked in very

firmly on the side towards the wind. Then, lifting them on the other

side, he said: “Now take off your fur coat, quick, lay it over the hay,

and then creep under it.”

I obeyed as rapidly as possible. For an instant I shuddered in the icy

air; but the next moment I lay stretched in the bottom of the sled,

sheltered from the storm. I held up the ends of the reindeer-skins while

Lars took off his coat and crept in beside me. Then we drew the skins

down and pressed the hay against them. When the wind seemed to be

entirely excluded Lars said we must pull off our boots, untie our

scarfs, and so loosen our clothes that they would not feel tight upon

any part of the body. When this was done, and we lay close together,

warming each other, I found that the chill gradually passed out of my

blood. My hands and feet were no longer numb; a delightful feeling of

comfort crept over me; and I lay as snugly as in the best bed. I was

surprised to find that, although my head was covered, I did not feel

stifled. Enough air came in under the skins to prevent us from feeling

oppressed.

There was barely room for the two of us to lie, with no chance of

turning over or rolling about. In five minutes, I think, we were sound

asleep, and I dreamed of gathering peaches on a warm August day at home.

In fact, I did not wake up thoroughly during the night; neither did

Lars, though it seemed to me that we both talked in our sleep. But as I

must have talked English and he Swedish, there could have been no

connection between our remarks. I remember that his warm, soft hair

pressed against my chin, and that his feet reached no further than my

knees. Just as I was beginning to feel a little cramped and stiff from

lying so still I was suddenly aroused by the cold wind on my face. Lars

had risen up on his elbow, and was peeping out from under the skins.

“I think it must be near six o’clock,” he said. “The sky is clear, and I

can see the big star. We can start in another hour.”

I felt so much refreshed that I was for setting out immediately; but

Lars remarked, very sensibly, that it was not yet possible to find the

road. While we were talking, Axel neighed.

“There they are!” cried Lars, and immediately began to put on his boots,

his scarf and heavy coat. I did the same, and by the time we were ready

we heard shouts and the crack of whips. We harnessed Axel to the sled,

and proceeded slowly in the direction of the sounds, which came, as we

presently saw, from a company of farmers, out thus early to plough the

road. They had six pairs of horses geared to a wooden frame, something

like the bow of a ship, pointed in front and spreading out to a breadth

of ten or twelve feet. The machine not only cut through the drifts but

packed the snow, leaving a good, solid road behind it. After it had

passed, we sped along merrily in the cold morning twilight and in little

more than an hour reached the post-house at Umea, where we found Lars’s

father prepared to return home. He waited, nevertheless, until Lars had

eaten a good warm breakfast, when I said good-bye to both, and went on

towards Lapland.

Some weeks afterwards, on my return to Stockholm, I stopped at the same

little station. This time the weather was mild and bright, and the

father would have gone with me to the next post-house; but I preferred

to take my little bed-fellow and sled-fellow. He was so quiet and

cheerful and fearless that, although I had been nearly all over the

world, and he had never been away from home,—although I was a man and he

a young boy,—I felt that I had learned a lesson from him, and might

probably learn many more, if I should know him better. We had a merry

trip of two or three hours, and then I took leave of Lars forever. He is

no doubt still driving travellers over the road, a handsome, courageous,

honest-hearted young man, perhaps with his own son growing up to take

his place, and help some later stranger like myself through a winter

storm.

The Pasha’s Son

A good many years ago I spent a winter in Africa. I had intended to go

up the Nile only as far as Nubia, visiting the great temples and tombs

of Thebes on the way; but when I had done all this, and passed beyond

the cataracts at the southern boundary of Egypt, I found the journey so

agreeable, so full of interest, and attended with so much less danger

than I had supposed, that I determined to go on for a month or two

longer, and penetrate as far as possible into the interior. Everything

was favorable to my plan. I crossed the great Nubian Desert without

accident or adventure, reached the ancient region of Ethiopia, and

continued my journey until I had advanced beyond all the cataracts of

the Nile, to the point where the two great branches of the river flow

together.

This point, which you will find on your maps in the country called

Sennaar, bordering Abyssinia on the northwestern side, has become very

important within the last twenty or thirty years. The Egyptians, after

conquering the country, established there their seat of government for

all that part of Africa, and very soon a large and busy town arose where

formerly there had only been a few mud huts of the natives. The town is

called Khartoum, and I suppose it must contain, by this time, forty or

fifty thousand inhabitants. It is built on a sandy plain, studded here

and there with clumps of thorny trees. On the east side the Blue Nile,

the source of which was discovered by the Scotch traveller, Bruce, in

the last century, comes down clear and swift from the mountains of

Abyssinia; on the west, the broad, shallow, muddy current of the White

Nile, which rises in the great lakes discovered by Speke and Baker

within the last twenty years, makes its appearance. The two rivers meet

just below the town, and flow as a single stream to the Mediterranean, a

distance of fifteen hundred miles.

Formerly all this part of Africa was considered very wild, barbarous,

and dangerous to the traveller. But since it has been brought under the

rule of the Egyptian government, the people have been forced to respect

the lives and property of strangers, and travelling has become

comparatively safe. I soon grew so accustomed to the ways of the

inhabitants that by the time I reached Khartoum I felt quite at home

among them. My experience had already taught me that, where a traveller

was badly treated, it was generally his own fault. You must not despise

a people because they are ignorant, because their habits are different,

or because they sometimes annoy you by a natural curiosity. I found that

by acting in a kind yet firm manner towards them, and preserving my

patience and good-nature, even when it was tried by their slow and

careless ways, I avoided all trouble, and even acquired their friendly

good-will.

When I reached Khartoum, the Austrian Consul invited me to his house;

and there I spent three or four weeks in that strange town, making

acquaintance with the Egyptian officers, the chiefs of the desert

tribes, and the former kings of the different countries of Ethiopia.

When I left my boat, on arriving, and walked through the narrow streets

of Khartoum, between mud walls, very few of which were even whitewashed,

I thought it a miserable place, and began to look out for some garden

where I might pitch my tent, rather than live in one of those

dirty-looking habitations. The wall around the Consul’s house was of mud

like the others; but when I entered I found clean, handsome rooms which

furnished delightful shade and coolness during the heat of the day. The

roof was of palm-logs, covered with mud, which the sun baked into a hard

mass, so that the house was in reality as good as a brick dwelling. It

was a great deal more comfortable than it appeared from the outside.

There were other features of the place, however, which it would be

difficult to find anywhere except in Central Africa. After I had taken

possession of my room, and eaten breakfast with my host, I went out to

look at the garden. On each side of the steps leading down from the door

sat two apes, who barked and snapped at me. The next thing I saw was a

leopard tied to the trunk of an orange-tree. I did not dare to go within

reach of his rope, although I afterwards became well acquainted with

him. A little farther, there was a pen full of gazelles and an antelope

with immense horns; then two fierce, bristling hyenas; and at last,

under a shed beside the stable, a full-grown lioness, sleeping in the

shade. I was greatly surprised when the Consul went up to her, lifted up

her head, opened her jaws so as to show the shining white tusks, and

finally sat down upon her back.

She accepted these familiarities so good-naturedly that I made bold to

pat her head also. In a day or two we were great friends; she would

spring about with delight whenever she saw me, and would purr like a cat

whenever I sat down upon her back. I spent an hour or two every day

among the animals, and found them all easy to tame except the hyenas,

which would gladly have bitten me if I had allowed them a chance. The

leopard, one day, bit me slightly in the hand; but I punished him by

pouring several buckets of water over him, and he was always very

amiable after that. The beautiful little gazelles would cluster around

me, thrusting up their noses into my hand, and saying, “_Wow! wow!_” as

plainly as I write it. But none of these animals attracted me so much as

the big lioness. She was always good-humored, though occasionally so

lazy that she would not even open her eyes when I sat down on her

shoulder. She would sometimes catch my foot in her paws as a kitten

catches a ball, and try to make a plaything of it,—yet always without

thrusting out her claws. Once she opened her mouth and gently took one

of my legs in her jaws for a moment; and the very next instant she put

out her tongue and licked my hand. There seemed to be almost as much of

the dog as of the cat in her nature. We all know, however, that there

are differences of character among animals, as there are among men; and

my favorite probably belonged to a virtuous and respectable family of

lions.

The day after my arrival I went with the Consul to visit the Pasha, who

lived in a large mud palace on the bank of the Blue Nile. He received us

very pleasantly, and invited us to take seats in the shady courtyard.

Here there was a huge panther tied to one of the pillars, while a little

lion, about eight months old, ran about perfectly loose. The Pasha

called the latter, which came springing and frisking towards him. “Now,”

said he, “we will have some fun.” He then made the lion lie down behind

one of the pillars, and called to one of the black boys to go across the

courtyard on some errand. The lion lay quite still until the boy came

opposite to the pillar, when he sprang out and after him. The boy ran,

terribly frightened; but the lion reached him in five or six leaps,

sprang upon his back and threw him down, and then went back to the

pillar as if quite satisfied with his exploit. Although the boy was not

hurt in the least, it seemed to me like a cruel piece of fun. The Pasha,

nevertheless, laughed very heartily, and told us that he had himself

trained the lion to frighten the boys.

Presently the little lion went away, and when we came to look for him,

we found him lying on one of the tables in the kitchen of the palace,

apparently very much interested in watching the cook. The latter told us

that the animal sometimes took small pieces of meat, but seemed to know

that it was not permitted, for he would run away afterwards in great

haste. What I saw of lions during my residence in Khartoum satisfied me

that they are not very difficult to tame,—only, as they belong to the

cat family, no dependence can be placed on their continued good

behavior.

Among the Egyptian officers in the city was a Pasha named Rufah, who had

been banished from Egypt by the Viceroy. He was a man of considerable

education and intelligence, and was very unhappy at being sent away from

his home and family. The climate of Khartoum is very unhealthy, and this

unfortunate Pasha had suffered greatly from fever. He was uncertain how

long his exile would continue; he had been there already two years, and

as all the letters directed to him passed through the hands of the

officers of government, he was quite at a loss how to get any help from

his friends. What he had done to cause his banishment, I could not

ascertain; probably he did not know himself. There are no elections in

those Eastern countries; the people have nothing to do with the choice

of their own rulers. The latter are appointed by the Viceroy at his

pleasure, and hold office only so long as he allows them. The envy or

jealousy of one Pasha may lead to the ruin of another, without any fault

on the part of the latter. Probably somebody else wanted Rufah Pasha’s

place, and slandered him to the Viceroy for the sake of getting him

removed and exiled.

The unhappy man inspired my profound sympathy. Sometimes he would spend

the evening with the Consul and myself, because he felt safe in our

presence, to complain of the tyranny under which he suffered. When we

met him at the houses of the other Egyptian officers, he was very

careful not to talk on the subject, lest they should report the fact to

the government.

Being a foreigner and a stranger, I never imagined that I could be of

any service to Rufah Pasha. I did not speak the language well, I knew

very little of the laws and regulations of the country, and moreover, I

intended simply to pass through Egypt on my return. Nevertheless, one

night, when we happened to be walking the streets together, he whispered

that he had something special to say to me. Although it was bright

moonlight, we had a native servant with us, to carry a lantern. The

Pasha ordered the servant to walk on in advance; and a turn of the

narrow, crooked streets soon hid him from our sight. Everything was

quiet, except the rustling of the wind in the palm-trees which rose

above the garden-walls.

“Now,” said the Pasha, taking my hand, “now we can talk for a few

minutes, without being overheard. I want you to do me a favor.”

“Willingly,” I answered, “if it is in my power.”

“It will not give you much trouble,” he said, “and may be of great

service to me. I want you to take two letters to Egypt,—one to my son,

who lives in the town of Tahtah, and one to Mr. Murray, the English

Consul-General, whom you know. I cannot trust the Egyptian merchants,

because, if these letters were opened and read, I might be kept here

many years longer. If you deliver them safely, my friends will know how

to assist me, and perhaps I may soon be allowed to return home.”

I promised to deliver both letters with my own hands, and the Pasha

parted from me in more cheerful spirits at the door of the Consul’s

house. After a few days I was ready to set out on the return journey;

but, according to custom, I was first obliged to make farewell visits to

all the officers of the government. It was very easy to apprise Rufah

Pasha beforehand of my intention, and he had no difficulty in slipping

the letters into my hand without the action being observed by any one. I

put them into my portfolio, with my own letters and papers, where they

were entirely safe, and said nothing about the matter to any one in

Khartoum.

Although I was glad to leave that wild town, with its burning climate,

and retrace the long way back to Egypt, across the Desert and down the

Nile, I felt very sorry at being obliged to take leave forever of all my

pets. The little gazelles said, “_Wow! Wow!_” in answer to my

“Good-bye”; the hyenas howled and tried to bite, just as much as ever;

but the dear old lioness I know would have been sorry if she could have

understood that I was going. She frisked around me, licked my hand, and

I took her great tawny head into my arms, and gave her a kiss. Since

then I have never had a lion for a pet, and may never have one again. I

must confess, I am sorry for it; for I still retain my love for lions

(four-footed ones, I mean) to this day.

Well, it was a long journey, and I should have to write many days in

order to describe it. I should have to tell of fierce sand-storms in the

Desert; of resting in palm-groves near the old capital of Ethiopia; of

plodding day after day, through desolate landscapes, on the back of a

camel, crossing stony ranges of mountains, to reach the Nile again, and

then floating down with the current in an open boat. It was nearly two

months before I could deliver the first of the Pasha’s letters,—that

which he had written to his son. The town of Tahtah is in Upper Egypt,

near Siout; you will hardly find it on the maps. It stands on a little

mound, several miles from the Nile, and is surrounded by the rich and

beautiful plain which is every year overflowed by the river.

There was a head wind, and my boat could not proceed very fast; so I

took my faithful servant, Achmet, and set out on foot, taking a path

which led over the plain between beautiful wheat-fields and orchards of

lemon-trees. In an hour or two we reached Tahtah,—a queer, dark old

town, with high houses and narrow streets. The doors and balconies were

of carved wood, and the windows were covered with lattices, so that no

one could look in, although those inside could easily look out. There

were a few sleepy merchants in the bazaar, smoking their pipes and

enjoying the odors of cinnamon and dried roses which floated in the air.

After some little inquiry, I found Rufah Pasha’s house, but was not

admitted, because the Egyptian women are not allowed to receive the

visits of strangers. There was a shaded entrance-hall, open to the

street, where I was requested to sit, while the black serving-woman went

to the school to bring the Pasha’s son. She first borrowed a pipe from

one of the merchants in the bazaar, and brought it to me. Achmet and I

sat there, while the people of the town, who had heard that we came from

Khartoum and knew the Pasha, gathered around to ask questions.

They were all very polite and friendly, and seemed as glad to hear about

the Pasha as if they belonged to his family. In a quarter of an hour the

woman came back, followed by the Pasha’s son and the schoolmaster, who

had dismissed his school in order to hear the news. The boy was about

eleven years old, but tall for his age. He had a fair face, and large

dark eyes, and smiled pleasantly when he saw me. If I had not known

something of the customs of the people, I should have given him my hand,

perhaps drawn him between my knees, put an arm around his waist and

talked familiarly; but I thought it best to wait and see how he would

behave towards me.

He first made me a graceful salutation, just as a man would have done,

then took my hand and gently touched it to his heart, lips, and

forehead, after which he took his seat on the high divan, or bench, by

my side. Here he again made a salutation, clapped his hands thrice, to

summon the woman, and ordered coffee to be brought.

“Is your Excellency in good health?” he asked.

“Very well, praised be Allah!” I answered.

“Has your Excellency any commands for me? You have but to speak; you

shall be obeyed.”

“You are very kind,” said I; “but I have need of nothing. I bring you

greetings from the Pasha, your father, and this letter, which I promised

him to deliver into your own hands.”

Thereupon I handed him the letter, which he laid to his heart and lips

before opening. As he found it a little difficult to read, he summoned

the schoolmaster, and they read it together in a whisper.

In the meantime coffee was served in little cups, and a very handsome

pipe was brought by somebody for my use. After he had read the letter,

the boy turned to me with his face a little flushed, and his eyes

sparkling, and said, “Will your Excellency permit me to ask whether you

have another letter?”

“Yes,” I answered; “but it is not to be delivered here.”

“That is right,” said he. “When will you reach Cairo?”

“It depends on the wind; but I hope in seven days from now.”

The boy again whispered to the schoolmaster, but presently they both

nodded, as if satisfied, and nothing more was said on the subject.

Some sherbet (which is nothing but lemonade flavored with rose-water)

and pomegranates were then brought to me, and the boy asked whether I

would not honor him by remaining during the rest of the day. If I had

not seen his face, I should have supposed I was visiting a man,—so

dignified and self-possessed and graceful was the little fellow. The

people looked on as if they were quite accustomed to such mature manners

in children. I was obliged to use as much ceremony with the child as if

he had been the governor of the town. But he interested me,

nevertheless, and I felt curious to know the subject of his consultation

with the schoolmaster. I was sure they were forming some plan to have

the Pasha recalled from exile.

After two or three hours I left, in order to overtake my boat, which was

slowly working its way down the Nile. The boy arose, and walked by my

side to the end of the town, the other people following us. When we came

out upon the plain, he took leave of me with the same salutations, and

the words, “May God grant your Excellency a prosperous journey!”

“May God grant it!” I responded; and all the people repeated, “May God

grant it!”

The whole interview seemed to me like a scene out of the _Arabian

Nights_. To me it was a pretty, picturesque experience, which cannot be

forgotten; to the people, no doubt, it was an every day matter.

When I reached Cairo, I delivered the other letter, and in a fortnight

afterwards left Egypt; so that I could not ascertain, at the time,

whether anything had been done to forward the Pasha’s hopes. Some months

afterwards, however, I read in a European newspaper, quite accidentally,

that Rufah Pasha had returned to Egypt from Khartoum. I was delighted

with the news; and I shall always believe, and insist upon it, that the

Pasha’s wise and dignified little son had a hand in bringing about the

fortunate result.

III

Jon of Iceland

The boys of Iceland must be content with very few acquaintances and

playmates. The valleys which produce grass enough for the farmer’s

ponies, cattle, and sheep are generally scattered widely apart, divided

by ridges of lava so hard and cold that only a few wild flowers succeed

in growing in their cracks and hollows. Then, since the farms must be

all the larger, because the grass is short and grows slowly in such a

severe northern climate, the dwellings are rarely nearer than four or

five miles apart; and were it not for their swift and nimble ponies, the

people would see very little of each other except on Sundays, when they

ride long distances to attend worship in their little wooden churches.

But of all boys in the island, not one was so lonely in his situation as

Jon Sigurdson. His father lived many miles beyond that broad, grassy

plain which stretches from the Geysers to the sea, on the banks of the

swift river Thiörvǎ. On each side there were mountains so black and bare

that they looked like gigantic piles of coal; but the valley opened to

the southward as if to let the sun in, and far away, when the weather

was clear, the snowy top of Mount Hecla shone against the sky. The

farmer Sigurd, Jon’s father, was a poor man, or he would not have

settled so far away from any neighbors; for he was of a cheerful and

social nature, and there were few at Kyrkedal who could vie with him in

knowledge of the ancient history and literature of Iceland.

The house was built on a knoll, under a cliff which sheltered it from

the violent west and northwest winds. The walls, of lava stones and

turf, were low and broad; and the roofs over dwelling, storehouses, and

stables were covered deep with earth, upon which grew such excellent

grass that the ponies were fond of climbing up the sloping corners of

the wall in order to get at it. Sometimes they might be seen, cunningly

balanced on the steep sides of the roof, grazing along the very

ridge-poles, or looking over the end of the gable when some member of

the family came out of the door, as much as to say, “Get me down if you

can!” Around the buildings there was a square wall of enclosure, giving

the place the appearance of a little fortress.

On one side of the knoll a hot spring bubbled up. In the morning or

evening, when the air was cool, quite a little column of steam arose

from it, whirling and broadening as it melted away; but the water was

pure and wholesome as soon as it became cold enough for use. In front of

the house, where the sun shone warmest, Sigurd had laid out a small

garden. It was a great labor for him to remove the huge stones and roll

them into a protecting wall, to carry good soil from the places where

the mountain rills had gradually washed it down from above, and to

arrange it so that frosts and cold rains should do the least harm; and

the whole family thought themselves suddenly rich, one summer, when they

pulled their first radishes, saw the little bed of potatoes coming into

blossom, and the cabbages rolling up their leaves in order to make, at

least, baby-heads before the winter came.

Within the house, all was low and dark and dismal. The air was very

close and bad, for the stables were only separated from the

dwelling-room by a narrow passage, and bunches of dry salt fish hung on

the walls. Besides, it was usually full of smoke from the fire of peat,

and, after a rain, of steam from Sigurd’s and Jon’s heavy woollen coats.

But to the boy it was a delightful, a comfortable home, for within it he

found shelter, warmth, food, and instruction. The room for visitors

seemed to him the most splendid place in the world, because it had a

wooden floor, a window with six panes of glass, a colored print of the

King of Denmark, and a geranium in a pot. This was so precious a plant

that Jon and his sister Gudrid hardly dared to touch its leaves. They

were almost afraid to smell it, for fear of sniffing away some of its

life; and Gudrid, after seeing a leaf of it laid on her dead sister’s

bosom, insisted that some angel, many hundred years ago, had brought the

seed straight down from heaven.

These were Sigurd’s only children. There had been several more, but they

had died in infancy, from the want of light and pure air, and the great

distance from help when sickness came. Gudrid was still pale and

slender, except in summer, when her mild, friendly face took color from

the sun; but Jon, who was now fourteen, was a sturdy, broad-breasted

boy, who promised to be as strong as his father in a few years more. He

had thick yellow hair, curling a little around his forehead; large

bright blue eyes; and a mouth rather too broad for beauty, if the lips

had not been so rosy and the teeth so white and firm. He had a serious

look, but it was only because he smiled with his eyes oftener than with

his mouth. He was naturally true and good, for he hardly knew what evil

was. Except his parents and his sister he saw no one for weeks at a

time; and when he met other boys after church at Kyrkedal, so much time

was always lost in shyly looking at each other and shrinking from the

talk which each wanted to begin, that no very intimate acquaintance

followed.

But in spite of his lonely life, Jon was far from being ignorant. There

were the long winter months, when the ponies—and sometimes the

sheep—pawed holes in the snow in order to reach the grass on the bottoms

beside the river; when the cows were warmly stabled and content with

their meals of boiled hay; when the needful work of the day could be

done in an hour or two, and then Sigurd sat down to teach his children,

while their mother spun or knit beside them, and from time to time took

part in the instruction. Jon could already read and write so well that

the pastor at Kyrkedal lent him many an old Icelandic legend to copy; he

knew the history of the island, as well as that of Norway and Denmark,

and could answer (with a good deal of blushing) when he was addressed in

Latin. He also knew something of the world, and its different countries

and climates; but this knowledge seemed to him like a strange dream, or

like something that happened long ago and never could happen again. He

was accustomed to hear a little birch-bush, four or five feet high,

called “a tree,” and he could not imagine how any tree could be a

hundred feet high, or bear flowers and fruit. Once, a trader from

Rejkiavik—the chief seaport of Iceland—brought a few oranges to

Kyrkedal, and Sigurd purchased one for Jon and Gudrid. The children kept

it day after day, never tired of enjoying the splendid color and

strange, delightful perfume; so when they decided to cut the rind at

last the pulp was dried up and tasteless. A city was something of which

Jon could form no conception, for he had never even seen Rejkiavik; he

imagined that palaces and cathedrals were like large Icelandic

farm-houses, with very few windows and turf growing on the roofs.

Sigurd’s wealth, if it could be called so, was in a small flock of

sheep, the pasture for which was scattered in patches for miles up and

down the river. The care of these sheep had been intrusted chiefly to

Jon, ever since he was eight years old, and he had learned their natures

and ways—their simple animal virtues and silly animal vices—so

thoroughly that they acquired a great respect for him, and very rarely

tried to be disobedient. Even Thor, the ram, although he sometimes

snorted and tossed his horns in protest, or stamped impatiently with his

forefeet, heeded his master’s voice. In fact, the sheep became Jon’s

companions, in the absence of human ones; he talked to them so much

during the lonely days that it finally seemed as if they understood a

great deal of his speech.

There was a rough bridle-path leading up the valley of the Thiörvǎ; but

it was rarely travelled, for it struck northward into the cold, windy,

stony desert which fills all the central part of Iceland. For a hundred

and fifty miles there was no dwelling, no shelter from the fierce and

sudden storms, and so little grass that the travellers who sometimes

crossed the region ran the risk of losing their ponies from starvation.

There were lofty plains of black rock, as hard as iron; groups of bare,

snowy-headed mountains; and often, at night, you could see a pillar of

fire in the distance, showing that one of the many volcanoes was in

action. Beyond this terrible wilderness the grassy valleys began again,

and there were houses and herds, increasing as you came down to the

bright bays along the northern shore of the island.

[Illustration:

“In fact the sheep became Jon’s companions in the absence of human

ones”

Drawing by F. S. Coburn

]

More than once, a trader or government messenger, after crossing the

desert, had rested for a night under Sigurd’s roof; and many were the

tales of their adventures which Jon had treasured up in his memory.

Sometimes they spoke of the _trolls_ or mischievous fairies who came

over with the first settlers from Norway, and were still supposed by

many persons to lurk among the dark glens of Iceland. Both Sigurd and

the pastor at Kyrkedal had declared that there were no such creatures,

and Jon believed them faithfully; yet he could not help wondering as he

sat upon some rocky knoll overlooking his sheep, whether a strange

little figure _might_ not come out of the chasm opposite, and speak to

him. The more he heard of the terrors and dangers of the desert to the

northward, the more he longed to see them with his own eyes and know

them through his own experience. He was not the least afraid; but he

knew that his father would never allow him to go alone, and to disobey a

father was something of which he had never heard, and could not have

believed to be possible.

When he was in his fifteenth year, however (it was summer, and he was

fourteen in April), there came several weeks when no rain fell in the

valley. It was a lovely season for the garden; even the geranium in the

window put forth twice as many scarlet blossoms as ever before. Only the

sheep began to hunger; for the best patch of grass in front of the house

was carefully kept for hay, and the next best, further down the river,

for the ponies. So Jon was obliged to lead his flock to a narrow little

dell, which came down to the Thiörvǎ, three or four miles to the

northward. Here, for a week they nibbled diligently wherever anything

green showed itself at the foot of the black rocks; and when the pasture

grew scanty again, they began to stare at Jon in a way which many

persons might have thought stupid. _He_ understood them; they meant to

say: “We’ve nearly finished this; find us something more!”

That evening, as he was leading his flock into the little enclosure

beside the dwelling, he heard his father and mother talking. He thought

it no harm to listen, for they had never said anything that was not kind

and friendly. It seemed, however, that they were speaking of him, and

the very first words he heard made his heart beat more rapidly.

“Two days’ journey away,” said Sigurd, “are excellent pastures that

belong to nobody. There is no sign of rain yet, and if we could send Jon

with the sheep——”

“Are you sure of it?” his wife asked.

“Eyvindur stopped to talk with me,” he answered; “and he saw the place

this morning. He says there were rains in the desert, and, indeed, I’ve

thought so myself, because the river has not fallen; and he never knew

as pleasant a season to cross the country.”

“Jon might have to stay out a week or two; but, as you say, Sigurd, we

should save our flock. The boy may be trusted, I’m sure; only, if

anything should happen to him?”

“I don’t think he’s fearsome,” said Sigurd; “and what should happen to

him there that might not happen near home?”

They moved away, while Jon clasped the palms of his hands hard against

each other, and stood still for a minute to repeat to himself all he had

heard. He knew Eyvindur, the tall, strong man with the dark, curling

hair, who rode the swift, cream-colored pony with black mane and tail.

He knew what his father meant—nothing else than that he, Jon, should

take the sheep two days’ journey away, to the very edge of the terrible

wilderness, and pasture them there, alone, probably for many days! Why,

Columbus, when he set sail from Palos, could not have had a brighter

dream of unknown lands! Jon went in to supper in such a state of

excitement that he hardly touched the dried fish and hard oaten bread;

but he drank two huge bowls of milk and still felt thirsty. When, at

last, Sigurd opened his lips and spake, and the mother sat silent with

her eyes fixed upon her son’s face, and Gudrid looked frightened, Jon

straightened himself as if he were already a man, and quietly said:

“I’ll do it!”

He wanted to shout aloud for joy; but Gudrid began to cry.

However, when a thing had once been decided in the family, that was the

end of any question or remonstrance, and even Gudrid forgot her fears in

the interest of preparing a supply of food for Jon during his absence.

They slept soundly for a few hours; and then, at two o’clock in the

morning, when the sun was already shining on the snowy tops of the Arne

Mountains, Jon hung the bag of provisions over his shoulder, kissed his

parents and sister, and started northward, driving the sheep before him.

III