Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: Armed only with a stick, he went straight up to the bear
and commenced belabouring her.]
TRUE HEROISM.
BY
A. L. O. E.
AUTHOR OF "NED FRANKS," "PICTURES OF ST. PAUL,"
"THE WHITE BEAR'S DEN," ETC.
GALL & INGLIS.
London: Edinburgh:
25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 20 BERNARD TERRACE.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. IVY LODGE
II. THE SHIP ON FIRE
III. CATHERINE DOUGLAS
IV. THE BOMB
V. THE LADY AND THE SERPENT, ETC.
VI. THE MAD DOG-THE BEAR
VII. THE JACOBINS
VIII. THE ROBBER TRIBE
IX. ANNE ASCUE
X. THE INVALID
XI. DISPERSION
XII. FEARS FOR OTHERS
XIII. FEAR OF RIDICULE
XIV. THE FIRST SKIRMISH
XV. FEAR OF PAIN
XVI. FEAR OF MAN
XVII. THE DAY OF TRIAL AND DELIVERANCE
TRUE HEROISM.
CHAPTER I.
IVY LODGE.
"TIRESOME—how tiresome! another rainy day!" cried Tom Gore, turning
impatiently from the window.
"Pretty sort of holidays these are, truly," muttered Louis. "One cannot
get out for five minutes for a walk, but back one is driven by a
shower! Here's the last day of our Easter holidays, and not one—no, not
one fair day have we enjoyed."
"Except Sunday," suggested Jessy.
"Oh! Sunday—I did not count Sunday. But what are we to make of
ourselves all this long morning?"
"Let's have games," suggested merry little Julia.
"What games? We're tired of all."
"And we must have nothing that is noisy, on account of old Mrs.
Presgrave! No fun! I shall almost be glad to get back to school again,"
cried Louis, "we are so moped up here!"
For want of something better to do, Willy, quietly seated in the
corner, was cutting a round hole in his drum; a box of paints lay on
the table, with which Bella had been daubing, certainly not adorning,
the plates in the last book which her uncle had given her. There was
a broken draughts-board under the table, but half of the draughtsmen
were lost, and Tom and Louis, who had taken to chess, were beginning to
quarrel over the game.
"I'll move there—check!" cried the former, putting down his queen with
an air of triumph.
In a moment an ambushed red knight pounced down upon the square, and
the white queen was in the hand of Louis.
"I'll take back that move. I did not see."
"Oh! But your hand was off!" shouted Louis. "That's not fair!"
"It's all fair!" cried the boy, reddening with excitement, and holding
his trophy behind him. In a moment sport would have been exchanged
for anger—perhaps for blows—when the door was gently opened, and an
aged gentleman with silvery hair, and a stoop which told of years
and weakness, but a bright cheerful smile, like sunshine in winter,
entered the room and joined the party. In a moment the angry voices
were stilled, young Willy pushed aside his drum, Bella sprang from the
table, and all joyfully welcomed the old man.
"What are you all doing? How are you all amusing yourselves, my young
friends?" he said, after a short pause, without appearing to notice the
sounds of strife which had attracted him to the room.
"Doing, uncle? Why, nothing," said little Julia, running to him, and
gently leading him to his armchair. It may be remarked, by the way,
that all the children addressed Mr. Presgrave as uncle, though Tom and
Willy alone were his nephews, the rest of the young people now at Ivy
Lodge being on a visit to the family.
Perhaps my young reader would like to be introduced to the little
party now assembled in the play-room together. That tall boy with the
dark eyes, and nut-brown complexion, and large heavy frame, is Tom;
and there is his more lithe and active brother Willy, with his great
earnest eyes now open wide with attention, now sparkling with merriment
and fun. Julia Merton is their cousin, an only child, but one who finds
brothers and sisters in every boy and girl who knows her. Her smile
tells of a light and joyous spirit, a cheerfulness not readily to be
damped, a temper not easily provoked—she is the darling and plaything
of all.
Bella, the young poetess, who writes sonnets on Leonidas; the fiery
Louis; and quicksilver Amy, to whom the worst penance is to have to
sit still—these, with blue-eyed, kind-hearted, dull-headed Jessy,
delighted to escape from a schoolroom in London, had come to Ivy Lodge
in the beginning of the week, for change of air and the pleasures of
the country. There remains but one of the party to be mentioned, Percy
Manners, a schoolfellow and companion of the Gores—a sickly youth,
stunted in his growth, and supported on crutches, whose chief pleasure
appeared to be a quiet corner and a book. He was buried in the recess
of one of the windows, with the curtain drawn before him to screen
him from view, till the entrance of Mr. Presgrave drew him from his
retirement, and he gathered with the others around the old man.
Mr. Presgrave was the uncle of Tom and Willy's mother. He had been as
a parent to her in the days of her youth, and now, in his old age,
he and his invalid wife were the beloved inmates of her home. Mr.
Presgrave had passed through a long pilgrimage in this world, with
his eyes steadily fixed upon a better. Religion to him was a thing
of reality, not confined to the Sabbath or the hour of prayer, but a
living principle that governed his life, that was seen in his actions
and known by his words—nay, that left its calm imprint even on his
countenance, which few could behold without loving.
"Doing nothing!" exclaimed the old gentleman, slowly seating himself,
and looking round upon the party. "Why, that is the most tedious
occupation that I know of!"
"Why, uncle, we've nothing to do," replied Louis. "We had expected to
have got out, and to have had cricket, and trap-ball, and kite-flying;
but this horrible weather—"
"Hush! my boy," said Mr. Presgrave gently. "I never like to hear any
one abuse the weather; it is the Almighty's sending, and of what He
sends, man has no right to complain. But," added he in a more lively
tone, "I find you all in a difficulty from which I am bound to try to
relieve you, for if 'idleness is the mother of mischief,' she is also
the parent of a large family of other evils. Can you name to me any of
her sons and daughters?"
"Gossip," said Bella.
"Discontent," added Willy.
"Fighting and quarrelling," whispered little Julia.
"Now, knowing the evil, let us find out the remedy."
"O uncle! Do tell us one of your long stories!" At these words of
Julia's there rose a little storm of entreaties, for Uncle Presgrave
was famous for his tales and adventures.
He waved his hand to command silence, and replied: "By all means let us
have stories, but you would not have me begin one now at ten o'clock in
the morning! We will have them in the evening, and in the meanwhile, as
a cure for idleness, why should you not each prepare one yourselves?
You shall be given a common subject, and each shall collect an anecdote
or a tale, to add to the amusement of the rest."
"A capital plan!" cried Bella and Louis, clapping their hands; the rest
of the party had a more doubtful expression on their countenances,
except poor Percy, who smiled at the idea of an amusement in which his
infirmity would not prevent his joining.
"I should not mind trying," said Louis, "if I might have the choosing
of the subject. I know a capital story of heroism—suppose that we fix
upon that."
"That may suit you, Louis, as you wish to be a soldier, but what have
we girls to do with it?" said Amy, who had often been laughed at for
her want of the quality in question.
"I see no objection to the subject," observed Mr. Presgrave cheerfully,
"if the rest of the party agree. So little is fighting a necessary
mark of heroism, that we may banish it from our stories altogether,
and yet have no difficulty in selecting examples. I should not be much
surprised either," added he, smiling at Amy, "if some of these examples
should be afforded by women."
"Are our stories to be true ones?" asked Jessy.
"Oh! I hope they are to be true!" cried Julia, "for I never could make
anything out of my own head!"
"True let them be, my little lamb," said Mr. Presgrave, patting her
rosy cheek. "I like everything better for being true."
"Shall we give real names? Perhaps our heroes might not like it,"
observed Willy thoughtfully.
"Well considered, my boy. I know few things so odious as spreading
tales and reports of others; but as in this case the anecdotes will all
be favourable to their heroes, I think that, without scruple, we may
give their real names."
"But," said Julia, "must we keep so very close to truth in our stories,
and not alter them in the very least bit? Perhaps we have heard them
but once ourselves, and do not remember them quite exactly."
"Or we wish to make our story more striking, by dressing it up a
little," added Bella. "We may want to say that our hero wore a purple
cloak, when we do not know whether it was purple or black, or whether
he wore a cloak at all."
"Oh! My poetical young lady, since you have given us fair warning, you
may dress up your heroes in any way that you please, only let your
facts be correct. But oh! Remember," he added very earnestly, "that
when you profess to repeat exact truth, no changing should ever be
permitted. The exaggerated description to heighten effect, words put
into mouths that never have spoken them, these are all wanderings from
the straight line of truth, and lead the mind insensibly to error and
falsehood."
"Will you be present at the reading of our stories, Uncle Presgrave?"
said Julia, looking up in his face.
"I will read them myself, if you will permit me, and make my
observations upon them as we go along."
"Then we are sure to have profit as well as amusement," murmured
Percy. They were the first words that the lame boy had uttered since
breakfast, and now, seeming half-ashamed at having let his voice be
heard, he retired to his recess in the window, to meditate upon the
story that he was to write.
[Illustration]