Mother Tranchet paid the risk, but she does not own him, he belongs to
nobody, it is Cadichon, whose mistress, poor Pauline died; her parents
drove him off, and he has lived all winter in the woods.”
“Cadichon! the famous Cadichon who saved his little mistress from the
fire? Ah! I am very glad to know him; he is truly an extraordinary and
admirable donkey.”
And she walked around me, regarding me attentively. Proud to see my
reputation so well established, I reared my head, inflated my nostrils
and shook my mane.
“Oh! how thin he is! Poor beast! his devotion met with little
recompense,” said the grandmother in a serious manner and tone of
reproach. “We will keep him, my child, we will keep him, since he has
been abandoned and driven off by those who ought to have cared for and
loved him. Call Bouland to put him in the stable and give him a good
bed.”
James, delighted, ran to get Bouland, who came immediately.
“Bouland, here is a donkey the children have brought home; take him to
the stable and feed and water him,” said the grandmother.
“Must he then be taken to his master?” said Bouland.
“No; he has no master. It appears that he is the famous Cadichon that
was driven off after the death of his little mistress. He came to the
village and my little children found him abandoned in the field. They
brought him home and we are going to keep him.”
“And madam does well to keep him; there is not his equal in all the
country. I have heard most wonderful things about him. They say he
hears and understands all that is said to him. Let us try him, madam.
Come, Cadichon, come get some oats.”
I immediately turned and followed Bouland.
“It is astonishing,” said the grandmother; “he really understood.”
And she went in the house, but James and Ruth accompanied me to the
stable. I was placed in a stall, my companions being two horses and a
donkey. Bouland, assisted by James, made me a good bed, and then went
to get my oats.
“More, more, Bouland; I beg you to give him more,” said James; “he
needs a hearty meal, he has run so hard.”
“But, Master James, if you give him too many oats he will get so lively
that you and Miss Ruth can’t ride him.”
“Oh! he is such a good donkey, I know we can ride him all the same.”
They gave me an enormous quantity of oats and put a bucket of water
beside me. Being thirsty, I first drank a little and then attacked my
oats, meanwhile congratulating myself upon having fallen into the hands
of this good little James. I also made some reflections upon mother
Tranchet’s ingratitude. Then devouring my bundle of hay, I lay down on
my straw, and, couched like a king, I slept.
XI.
CADICHON SICK.
My only employment next morning was to take the children riding an
hour. James himself got me my oats, and in spite of Bouland’s warning,
he gave me enough to feed three donkeys my size. I ate all that was
given me; I was happy. But on the third day I felt sick, I had fever,
and both head and stomach seemed affected; I could eat neither hay nor
oats, but remained extended upon the straw.
“Here is Cadichon not up yet,” said James coming to see me. “Come,
Cadichon, it is time to rise, I am going to give you your oats.”
I endeavored to rise but my head fell back heavily upon the straw.
“Oh! Cadichon is sick,” exclaimed little James, “Bouland, Bouland, come
quick, Cadichon is sick!”
“How is that,” said Bouland, “he ate his breakfast this morning?”
Going up to the trough, Bouland looked in and said:
“He is sick, he has not touched his oats—his ears are warm,” added he,
taking hold of my ears, “and his side beats.”
“What does that mean, Bouland?” exclaimed poor James, in great alarm.
“It means master James, that Cadichon has a fever, you have fed him too
high, we must get the veterinary.”
“What is a veterinary?” asked James, still more alarmed.
“It is a horse doctor. You see, master James, I told you right. The
poor beast suffered this winter from hunger and want of shelter, (you
can tell by looking at him, see the color of his hair and how lean he
is,) then he got very much heated running at the race. He ought to have
had a few oats, and some grass to strengthen him, but you have given
him just as many oats as he could eat.”
“Oh! my poor Cadichon! he is going to die, and it is my fault!” said
James with a sob.
“No, master James, he is not going to die this time, but he must be
bled and put out on grass.”
“Oh! but it will hurt so to bleed him,” said James, all in tears.
“Not this bleeding; you will see, for I am going to bleed him at once,
whilst waiting for the veterinary.”
“I don’t want to see, I don’t want to see,” cried James, running away,
“I am sure it will hurt him.”
Bouland took his lancet, placed it on a vein in my neck, struck it a
slight blow with a hammer, and the blood gushed out immediately. As the
blood flowed, I began to feel better, my head became less heavy, and I
was relieved of oppression; I was soon able to rise. Bouland stopped
the blood and gave me some bran water, and in about an hour led me into
the field. I was better but not well, and nearly eight days elapsed
before I entirely recovered. Meanwhile, James and Ruth loaded me with
such kindness and attentions as I shall never forget. They came to see
me several times a day; they gathered grass and held it up to my mouth,
that I might be spared the trouble of bending my head to browse; they
brought me garden salad, cabbage and carrots; every evening they led
me into the stable themselves, to find the trough full of my favorite
dainty, potato pickings with salt. One day, dear little James wanted to
give me his pillow, because, he said, my head was too low when I slept.
Another time Ruth wished to lend me her coverlet, to keep me warm at
night, and again, they wrapped my legs with pieces of woolen stuff, for
fear of my taking cold. I was distressed at not being able to express
my gratitude, for I had the misfortune of understanding everything,
without the power of uttering a word. I got well at last, and soon
after my recovery, learned that James and Ruth with several of their
cousins, were getting up a donkey party to the woods.
XII.
THE ROBBERS.
The children were assembled in the yard, and with them were many
donkeys from the neighboring villages. I recognized nearly all of the
latter as my rivals at the race. John’s donkey eyed me savagely, whilst
I, in return, bestowed upon him most insulting glances. Nearly all
the grandchildren of James’s grandmother were there: Maud, Beatrice,
Elizabeth, Helen, Ruth, William, Henry, Louis and James. All the mammas
were to accompany them on donkeys, whilst the papas went on foot and
armed with switches to keep the lazy animals moving. Before starting,
there was as usual in such cases, a slight contention as to who should
have the best animal; everybody wanted me, no one was willing to give
up, so it was at last decided to draw lots. I fell to the lot of little
Louis, James’s cousin; he was an excellent child, and I would have been
well satisfied had I not seen poor little James’s unsuccessful efforts
to hide his tears. Every time he looked at me they would flow afresh.
I felt very sorry, but was unable to comfort him; however, it was
necessary for him as well as myself to learn resignation and patience.
With manly resolution he mounted his donkey, saying to Louis as he did
so:
“I will keep near you, Louis; don’t make Cadichon gallop too fast, or I
will be behind.”
“And why would you remain behind? why not gallop like me?”
“Because Cadichon gallops faster than any other donkey in the country.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw him run for the prize the day of the donkey race at the
village, and he was far ahead of all the others.”
Louis promised his cousin not to go too fast, and we both started off
in a trot. My companion was no laggard, so I had to restrain myself but
little that we might keep together. The others following, some briskly,
some tardily, we thus reached the forest where stood the very beautiful
ruins of an old convent and chapel that the children were anxious to
see. The place bore an evil reputation throughout the country, and
no one liked to go there except in large companies. At night, it was
said, strange noises were heard issuing from the ruins, groans, cries,
the clinking of chains; and several travelers who laughed at these
accounts, and went to visit the spot alone, never returned and were
never afterwards heard of.
Every one dismounted, and when we had been turned loose to graze with
the bridle over our heads, the papas and mammas took their children
by the hand to prevent their straying off or lagging behind, and much
to my anxiety the whole party was soon lost to sight amid the ruins.
I likewise left my companions, and screened myself from the sun under
a half-ruined arch, upon a declivity beside the woods, and a little
farther distant than the convent. I had scarcely been there a quarter
of an hour when I heard a noise near the arch. Crouching in a recess of
the ruined wall, where unperceived, I could see all around, I listened.
The noise, though dull, increased; it seemed to be underground.
Not many minutes and I saw a man’s head cautiously peering up amidst
the bushes.
“Nothing,” said he in a low tone, looking all around. “No one—you may
come, comrades. Every one is to take a donkey and lead him carefully.”
He then moved out of the way to allow passage to about a dozen men.
“If the donkeys escape,” said he, in an undertone, “don’t amuse
yourselves running after them. Quick, and no noise, that is the order.”
Creeping through the woods, which were very thick just there, the men
moved cautiously but quickly. The donkeys seeking shade, were browsing
upon the grass at the edge of the forest. At a given signal, every
robber caught a donkey by his bridle and led him into the thicket.
Instead of resisting, struggling and braying to give the alarm, these
donkeys allowed themselves to be taken as passively as if they were
sheep. Five minutes after the robbers had reached the thicket at the
foot of the arch. One by one my comrades were led into the bushes,
whence they disappeared. I heard the noise of their footsteps under
ground, then all was silent.
“Here,” thought I, “is an explanation of the mysterious noises that
have frightened the country, a band of robbers concealed in the convent
vaults. They must be taken, but how? that’s the difficulty.”
I remained concealed in my recess (whence I had a fine view of the
entire convent ruins, and the surrounding country), and did not stir
until I heard the voices of the children seeking their donkeys. Then I
ran forward to prevent their going too near the arch and thicket, so
skilfully concealing the entrance to the vaults that it was impossible
to perceive them.
“There is Cadichon!” exclaimed Louis.
“But where are the others?” said all the children at once.
“They must be near,” said Louis’s papa.
“We had better seek them by the ravine behind the arch; the grass there
is fine, and they have probably wished to taste it.”
Trembling at thoughts of the danger they incurred, I rushed from the
side of the arch to prevent their passing. They endeavored to make me
move, but I resisted so stoutly, barring the passage whichever way they
attempted to go, that Louis’s papa stopped his brother-in-law and said
to him:
“Listen, there is something very extraordinary about Cadichon’s
behavior. You know what is said of this animal’s intelligence. Listen
to me, and let us turn back. Besides, it is not likely that all the
donkeys would be on the other side of the ruins.”
“You are right,” answered James’s papa, “and I perceive the grass
around the arch pressed down as if it had been recently trampled upon.
No doubt our donkeys have been stolen.”
They returned towards the mammas, who had kept the children with them,
and I followed with a light heart, happy at having probably averted a
terrible calamity. They talked low, and I perceived that they got close
together.
“How shall we manage this?” said Louis’s mamma, when they had called me
up. “One donkey can’t carry all these children.”
“Put the smallest on Cadichon, and let the rest follow with us,” said
James’s mamma.
“Come, Cadichon, let us see how many you can carry,” said Helen’s mamma.
Ruth being the smallest, was put in front, then Helen, then James, then
Louis. The whole four were not heavy, and wishing to show that I could
carry them without the least fatigue, I set off in a trot.
“Not so fast, Cadichon!” cried the papas, “gently, so we can hold on to
those on your back.”
I changed my gait to a walk, and proceeded, surrounded by the larger
children and the mammas, the papas following to assist those that were
disposed to lag behind.
“Mamma, why didn’t papa hunt for our donkeys?” said Henry, who was the
youngest of the band, and found the way long.
“Because your papa thinks they have been stolen, and it would be
useless to seek them.”
“Stolen! who stole them? I saw nobody.”
“Nor did I, but there were traces of footsteps around the arch.”
“But then, mamma, he ought to have hunted for the robbers,” said
William.
“That would have been very imprudent, as there must have been several
men, to have taken thirteen donkeys. They were probably armed, and
would have killed or wounded your papas.”
“Armed, mamma!” said William.
“Yes, with clubs, knives, perhaps pistols.”
“Oh! how very dangerous! Papa was right to return with my uncles!”
exclaimed Maud.
“We must hasten home, for your papa and uncles are going to the village
after our return.”
“Why, mamma?” asked William.
“To warn the guards, and try to recover the donkeys.”
“I am sorry we went to see the ruins,” said Maud.
“Why?” replied Beatrice, “they were beautiful.”
“Yes, but it was very dangerous. Suppose the robbers had captured us
instead of the donkeys?”
“That would have been impossible! there were too many of us,” said
Elizabeth.
“But there must have been a number of robbers,” was Maud’s reply.
“We would all have fought them,” said Elizabeth.
“With what? we had only a stick.”
“And our feet, our fists, our teeth; I would have scratched them to
death; I would have torn their eyes out!”
“And the robbers would have killed you, that’s all,” said William.
“Killed me! and papa and mamma there! do you suppose they would have
allowed the robbers to carry me off or kill me?”
“The robbers would have killed them too, and before they killed you,”
answered Beatrice.
“Do you think, then, that there was an army of robbers?”
“There could not have been less than a dozen.”
“A dozen? what nonsense! do you believe that robbers always go in
dozens, like oysters?”
“You are always making fun of whatever is said to you! I say that to
carry off thirteen donkeys, there must have been at least twelve men.”
“I bet so myself, and the thirteenth was to make good measure, like
little pies.”
The mammas, and the other children laughed at this conversation, until
it turned into dispute; then Elizabeth’s mamma bade her be silent, and
said that Beatrice was probably correct as to the number of robbers.
We were not long in reaching the house, and great was the surprise
of all there, to see the party returning on foot, and me, Cadichon,
carrying four children. But when the papas recounted the disappearance
of the donkeys, and my persistency in not allowing any one to approach
the arch, all shook their heads, and gave vent to a multitude of
most singular suppositions; some said the donkeys had been swallowed
up by demons; others, that the religious buried in the chapel had
seized them to ride all over with them; and others again, that the
angels guarding the convent, reduced to dust and ashes every animal
approaching too near the cemetery where the souls of the religious
wandered. Not one suggested the idea of robbers concealed in the vaults.
Immediately on their return, the three papas acquainted the grandmother
with the probable theft of their donkeys, after which the horses were
put to the carriage, and they went to lay their complaint before the
authorities of the neighboring town. In two hours they returned with an
officer and six guards. Such was my reputation for intelligence, that
the gravest suspicions were based upon my resistance to the attempted
passage of the arch. The guards were armed with pistols and carbines,
ready to take the field. However, they accepted the grandmother’s
invitation to dinner, and sat down to the table with the ladies and
gentlemen.
XIII.
THE VAULTS.
The dinner was not long, for the soldiers were anxious to make their
inspection before night. They asked the grandmother’s permission to
take me with them.
“He will be very useful in our expedition, madam,” said the officer.
“This Cadichon is not an ordinary donkey; he has already accomplished
more difficult things than we are going to require of him.”
“Take him, if you think it necessary, but do not fatigue him too
much, I beg of you. The poor beast made that journey this morning and
returned with four of my grandchildren on his back.”
“Oh, as to that, madam, you may be perfectly easy; be sure we will
treat him as kindly as possible.”
Having eaten and drunk, my dinner being a peck of oats, an armful of
salad, carrots and other vegetables, with a bucket of water, I was
ready to start. When they came to take me, I placed myself at the
head and they all followed—a donkey guiding soldiers! They did not
seem vexed at this, however, for they were all good men. Soldiers are
generally considered rough and harsh, but I assure you they are just
the contrary; no people in the world are kinder, none more charitable,
patient and generous than these same military men. Whilst on the road
they took every imaginable care of me, relaxing their pace when they
thought me fatigued, and proposing to let me drink at every stream we
crossed.
It was nearly night when we reached the convent. Fearing their horses
might be a disadvantage, they had been left at a village near the
forest. The officer now gave orders for the men to follow all my
movements and to keep together. Without hesitation I led them to the
entrance of the arch overgrown with bushes, and whence I had seen the
twelve robbers issue.
With the greatest anxiety, I saw that they remained there. To get them
away I went a few steps behind the wall; they followed and I returned
to the bushes, preventing them from returning also, by barring the way
whenever they attempted a step in that direction. They understood me
and remained concealed along the wall.
I then approached the entrance to the vaults, and began to bray with
all the strength of my lungs. I was not long in attaining my object.
All my imprisoned comrades responded vigorously. I made a step towards
the soldiers, who divined my manœuvres, and I returned to the entrance
of the vaults, where I began to bray again. This time there was no
answer, and I suspected that the robbers to prevent my comrades’
braying had tied stones to their tails. Everybody knows that on braying
we raise our tails, and not being able to raise their tails, because of
the weight of the stones, my comrades held their peace.
I remained about two steps from the entrance. Soon a man’s head
cautiously peered up amidst the bushes. Looking all around and seeing
no one but myself:
“Ah!” said he, “here is the knave we missed this morning. You will
rejoin your companions, my brayer.”
As he was about to seize me, I retreated a couple of steps, he
followed, I still kept out of his reach, until I had brought him to
the angle of the wall, behind which my friends, the soldiers, were
concealed.
[Illustration]
Before he had time to utter a cry even, they had seized, gagged, and
bound and extended him on the ground. I returned to the entrance and
brayed again, not doubting but this would bring another to see what
had become of his companion. And sure enough, I soon heard a slight
movement among the bushes, and saw a new head looking around with
the same precaution. Not being able to reach me, the second robber
did precisely as the first. I executed the same manœuvre, and he was
in the soldiers’ hands before he had time to know what had happened.
I proceeded thus, until six were taken. After the sixth, I brayed in
vain; no one appeared. I suppose, noticing that their companions did
not return, the robbers began to suspect a trap and determined to run
no more risks.
[Illustration]
Meanwhile, night had set in and we could scarcely see. The officer sent
one of his men for reinforcements to attack the robbers in their cave,
and to take away in a vehicle, the six prisoners bound and gagged. The
remaining soldiers were divided into two bands to guard the convent
outlets; as for me, receiving many caresses and unbounded compliments,
I was allowed to follow my own inclinations.
“If he were not a donkey,” said one soldier, “he would merit the cross.”
“Hasn’t he one on his back?” said another.
“Hush that,” said a third, “its a poor joke; you know very well that
this cross is marked upon their backs to remind us that one of their
number had once the honor of carrying our Lord Jesus Christ.”
“That’s why it is a cross of honor,” was the answer.
“Silence,” said the officer in an undertone, “Cadichon pricks up his
ears.”
I indeed heard an extraordinary noise from beneath the arch, it was not
the sound of footsteps, but rather that of stifled cries and a sort of
crackling. The soldiers likewise heard it, but could not divine the
cause. At last a thick smoke was seen issuing from the air holes and
lower windows of the convent, tongues of flame leaped out, and in a few
minutes all was on fire.
“They have set fire to the vaults, so they can escape by the doors,”
said the officer.
“It must be extinguished, lieutenant,” replied a soldier.
“Be very careful! Guard every opening more closely than ever, and
if the robbers show themselves, fire your carbines, use the pistols
afterwards.”
The officer had truly divined their manœuvres; understanding that they
had been discovered and their comrades captured, the robbers hoped to
avail themselves of the opportunity afforded by the soldiers’ efforts
in extinguishing the flames, to make their own escape and liberate
their friends. We soon saw the remaining six and their captain rush
out of the masked entrance by the bushes; but three guards were at
this post; each one drew his carbine before the robbers had time to
use their arms. Two of the thieves fell, and the third let his pistol
drop from his hands, his arm was broken. But the captain and the other
three rushed furiously upon the soldiers, who, sabre in one hand and
pistol in the other, fought like lions. Before the officer and the two
soldiers guarding the opposite side of the convent had had time to come
to their companions’ assistance, the combat was nearly ended and the
robbers all either killed or wounded; the captain who still defended
himself against a soldier, being the only one on his feet. His two
comrades were dangerously wounded. The arrival of reinforcements ended
the contest. In the twinkling of an eye, the captain was surrounded,
disarmed, gagged and put beside the other six.
During this struggle the fire died out; in fact, nothing had been
burning but some bushes and undergrowth, but the officer before
penetrating into the vaults wished to await the arrival of the
expected reinforcements. The night was well advanced, when we saw the
six additional soldiers and the vehicle which was to take away the
prisoners. They were placed in it side by side. The officer being
humane, had given orders to remove the gags, and in consequence, the
soldiers were loaded with all manner of abusive epithets, to which,
however, they paid no attention. Two of them got into the wagon to
escort the prisoners, and meanwhile litters were made to carry the
wounded.
During these preparations, I accompanied the officer, who, with eight
men, penetrated into the vaults. We traversed a long corridor, which
sloped downward, until at last we reached the vaults, where the
brigands had established their dwelling. One of these caves served for
their stable, and here we found all my comrades captured that day, each
one with a stone to his tail. The stones were immediately detached,
and the donkeys began to bray in unison. Being underground, it was
deafening.
“Silence! donkeys!” said a soldier, “unless you want your trinkets put
on again.”
“Let them alone,” responded another soldier, “you know very well they
are sounding Cadichon’s praises.”
“I would prefer their doing it in another tone,” said the first soldier
laughing.