When Charlie arrived at his home, in an unmistakably ill-fitting suit of
clothes and accompanied by a Chinaman, equally badly dressed, he caused
great surprise to his family. If he had returned dressed in
'fear-noughts' and a jersey, or even in 'oilies,' they would not have
been surprised, but there was nothing nautical about his present
attire.
'Well, my boy,' Charlie's father said to him, after Ping Wang had been
introduced, 'have you had a good time?'
'Well, not exactly,' Charlie answered, 'but I have discovered that
Skipper Drummond is an old rascal, and that he believes he will have no
difficulty in swindling you.'
'He is not the first person who has thought that and has lived to find
that he has made a mistake. However, you can tell me all about it after
dinner. You had better run upstairs and change your clothes.'
After dinner, Charlie related all that had happened to him, from the
time he met the bow-legged cook until he came back to Grimsby.
'I suspected that you would have a rough time,' Mr. Page said, when
Charlie had finished his story, 'but I never thought that you would meet
with so many unpleasant adventures. However, as you have discovered that
Skipper Drummond is a dishonourable man, I am not sorry that you went to
sea. I don't suppose you will be in a hurry to go again.'
'I want to go very soon,' Charlie replied. 'I want to go to China with
Ping Wang.'
'To settle there?'
'Oh, no; simply to recover Ping Wang's family riches.'
Mr. Page and Fred, not knowing whether Charlie was serious or not, made
no remark.
'I'm quite sane,' Charlie declared, seeing that they were surprised;
'Ping Wang will tell you about it.'
Ping Wang, thus called upon, repeated the story of his father's death
and the seizure of all his property by Chin Choo.
'But how do you know that Chin Choo still possesses the idol with the
secret drawer?' Mr. Page inquired, when Ping Wang finished speaking. 'He
may have sold it?'
'That is not at all likely,' Ping Wang declared. 'I know that he has had
it fixed up in his chief room, and there it will remain as long as the
house stands, or until Chin Choo moves somewhere else.'
'And you think that Chin Choo cannot discover that the idol contains
precious stones?'
'I am certain of it. My father was a richer man than Chin Choo imagined,
and the wealth that the murderer found in our house was more than he had
expected. He is quite certain that he has found all my father's wealth.
If he were not, he would never think of looking for it in the image.'
'But do you think it possible to get into Chin Choo's house and remove
the idol without being discovered?'
'I am certain of it; of course, I shall watch for a favourable
opportunity.'
'Well,' Mr. Page said, after a few moments' thought, 'I must think over
the matter for a few days before deciding whether I can permit Charlie
to accompany you.'
'I wish I could go with them,' Fred joined in. 'I don't desire a share
of the treasure. I simply want to go for the experience.'
'But how about your studies?' Mr. Page asked.
'I wouldn't neglect them. I would read hard on board, and as my next
examination does not come on for nearly two years, I shall have plenty
of time. And when I'm in China I shall be able to study tropical
diseases. Medical men are very keen on that, nowadays.'
'Well, if Charlie goes, I see no reason why you should not; but it
requires serious consideration.'
'I will share my portion of the treasure with you,' Charlie said to his
brother, but Ping Wang objected to that arrangement.
'We will each have a third of what the rubies realise,' he declared,
and, in spite of all protests, he insisted that the division of the
treasure, if they ever got it, should be made in that way.
Mr. Page listened in silence to their conversation. He was by no means
convinced that Ping Wang's story was not an Oriental fiction, invented
to arouse sympathy and obtain a free passage home. Now, as it happened,
Mr. Page had a friend who was the senior partner of a large firm of
Chinese merchants, and had himself resided in China for many years, and
he decided, therefore, to question him as to the probability of Ping
Wang's story. A day or two later Mr. Page went to London and had an
interview with this friend, who confirmed many details of Ping Wang's
story, and even came down to Lincolnshire to see the Chinaman in person.
Ping Wang was delighted when he found that the merchant had lived in his
country for many years, and could speak his language fluently.
'Ping Wang's story is, I am convinced, quite true,' the merchant said to
Mr. Page, when they were alone, 'but his plan is a very risky one.'
'I know, but that has only made them more anxious to go. It is another
case of "like father like son." If I had not travelled while young, I am
sure I should never have settled down. And the fact that in every place
I visited I found scores of Englishmen yearning to return home made me
feel that I was a fortunate man to see our distant possessions without
being doomed to pass my life in exile. I have sufficient money to keep a
home for my children, but I want my sons to be able to earn a living and
hold their own by themselves; and I think that, as I have the means to
permit them to travel before settling down, they will do well to learn
as much as they can of the world outside England. They shall go with
Ping Wang. If they help Ping Wang to secure his inheritance, I shall of
course be pleased, but I shall be glad for both the lads to gain
experience, and I hope they will return in good health.'
A little later Mr. Page told Charlie and Fred that he had decided to
allow them to go to China, an announcement which was received with great
delight. The next day he went to the shipping agent's, and finding that
a boat would start from Liverpool to Hong-kong in twelve days' time,
booked saloon passages for Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang.
'To-morrow,' Mr. Page said to his sons and Ping Wang after he had
returned from the shipping agent's, 'you must see about your outfit. The
time is very short.'
[Illustration: "There was nothing nautical about Charlie's present
attire."]
'I think, sir,' Ping Wang said, 'that the clothes I have will be good
enough.'
'Would you not like to go in your native dress?'
Ping Wang's eyes brightened.
'Yes,' he answered, 'but you have paid my passage.'
'Don't let that thought trouble you. When you have got back your jewels,
you will be able to offer to repay me.'
'You are very generous, sir,' Ping Wang declared.
'Nonsense,' Mr. Page answered. 'You have been a good friend to my boy
and have had a rough time since you have been in England. If you carry
away a better impression of our country than you would otherwise have
done, I shall consider myself repaid for what I have been able to do for
you.'
(_Continued on page 277._)
[Illustration: A Scene in Regent's Park.]
THE PARKS OF LONDON.--III.
Happiest of little Londoners are those who are so fortunate as to live
near enough to the Regent's Park for it to form their daily playground.
To them the wooded shores of the winding lake, with its three long arms
crossed by bridges that rock delightfully, must seem like a little
world, with mountains, bays, capes, forests, and many more wonderful
things, just as in the great world itself. It is filled with so many
living things that dwell round the banks of the lake--the stately swans,
the many varieties of the duck family that swim and fly and chase each
other all day long, the gentle moorhens gliding in and out of the
rushes, and the mother vole or water-rat nibbling a juicy bit of grass
in the sunshine, or swimming to cover with her babies on her back; and
now and again the peace of this little world is rudely broken by the
distant roar of a real lion or the shriek of a hungry hyena, which
frightens all the smaller animals into silence.
Perhaps no greater benefit ever befell the good folk of London town than
when, early in the nineteenth century, it occurred to the authorities to
turn the old Royal Park of St. Mary-le-bone into a real people's park. A
great many plans were suggested for laying out the ground. One very
ornamental scheme was probably rejected because of its expense; in it a
fine church was to form a central point, with avenues running from it
like spokes of a wheel. The design which was accepted and carried out
consists of four oval drives lying like rings inside one another; in the
centre of the inside one are the Royal Botanical Gardens. Rare and
wonderful treasures of vegetable life are kept there--flowering plants
and shrubs, palms, ferns, mosses, water-plants, and trees from many
lands, each the object of deep thought and care. From time to time grand
floral fêtes are held in the gardens, and often on summer evenings
Shakespeare's plays are acted in the open air.
The northern side of the park is chiefly given up to the Zoological
Gardens; and, indeed, to the world at large, apart from Londoners,
Regent's Park often means nothing but 'the Zoo.' Probably it is safe to
say that no other park in the world annually attracts so many visitors.
The collection at the Zoological Gardens was begun in 1828, and amongst
the first arrivals were the lions from the Tower, for, from ancient
days, lions and bears kept the old royal fortress lively. Great sums of
money have been spent in securing fine specimens, and now Britons have
the satisfaction of knowing that our Zoo is second to none. Amongst
recent arrivals at the gardens were two young gorillas from Western
Africa, who reached the Zoo in apparent health, but, as has happened on
former occasions, after a few weeks the poor things sickened and died.
Whether they suffer from the effects of the voyage, or whether the shock
of their capture is too great for them, the fact remains that gorillas
seem unable to endure the altered conditions of life which most of the
other members of the great ape family can put up with.
But, with all the attractions of the Zoo, it would not do to be
dependent on it for amusement, for even on Monday, 'the people's day,'
it costs sixpence, and many of the park's most frequent visitors find
pennies hard to come by. Pleasure has to be sought and found on the
various recreation grounds, and, in fine weather, cricket and other
games are usually in full swing.
A very favourite walk with many visitors is to Primrose Hill, north-west
of the Zoo, which rises two hundred and nineteen feet above sea-level,
where the air is usually clear and bright, whilst the view over London
is very fine. The hill is the property of Eton College, and is separated
from the Zoo by the Regent's Canal, as well as by the Albert Road.
Beneath the slope is a fine gymnasium, which still further adds to the
attractions of the park, and many fine terraces of houses line the outer
circles.
The park takes its name from the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.
HELENA HEATH.
NEVER CAUGHT IT.
'He is always very busy,' said one man to another.
'Yes,' answered a gentleman who knew the person in question. 'He is so
lazy in getting up that he loses an hour every morning, and spends all
the rest of the day in running after it.'
An hour lost means an hour which can only be regained by neglecting
other work.
RAT-SKINS.
The Japanese are a wonderful people, and their foresight in even the
smallest matters is really marvellous. Here is a case in point.
Late in 1904, when the time came to forward the winter outfits for their
soldiers fighting in Manchuria, amongst the wadded overcoats and thick
blankets were some hundreds of thousands of ear-protectors made out of
rats' skins.
Even the military authorities were surprised by these, and wondered
where the Government could have found so many rats as to be able to
supply their soldiers with such soft and comfortable coverings for their
ears.
It seems that two years ago plague was raging along the China coast,
and, to keep the disease out of Japan, the quarantine authorities made
war against the rats. In all the seaports and larger cities rewards were
offered for each rat brought; small boys found this a delightful way of
earning money, and the competition at once became very keen.
Every rat was duly registered, and the place where it was caught noted,
and if any suspicious germs were found, the building from which the rat
came was raided, all the rats in it hunted down, and the place
disinfected. So the plague was kept out of Japan.
Meanwhile the rat-skins had not been thrown away; war was even then
threatening, and ear-protectors _might_ be wanted.
So the rat-skins were all thoroughly cleansed and disinfected, and made
into ear-protectors, and now have proved a great blessing to the
soldiers in the field.
THE OLD CLOCK.
None of my early recollections of our pretty little home in England is
so clear as that of the old grandfather's clock that stood in the hall.
I remember that my mother and father were very fond of it, and when my
brother and I once grumbled, saying, 'That old clock is always slow,' my
mother reproved us with the words: 'Oh, children, you must not say that,
for the fact that it often goes slow when the big hand is going up
towards the hour was the very thing that once saved your
great-grandfather's life.'
That was the curious thing about the clock. Every now and then, for some
reason, the minute-hand seemed to work loose, soon after the half-hour,
and, before it reached the three-quarters, it lost five minutes. It
might manage to go a whole day without doing this; but sooner or later
it always happened, so that the clock could not be relied upon for time.
Of course, we were very eager to hear the story, and, as we sat round
the fire that evening, my mother told us the following tale:--
'You know, children, that we have not always lived in England; my
ancestors were French, and lived at Château Roquefort, in the province
of La Vendée. When the great insurrection broke out in the year 1792, my
grandfather, Philippe de Roquefort, was one of the leading insurgents
against the Republic. For a time the insurrection was successful, and
the Republican generals were driven across the Loire. But at last there
came a time when Philippe de Roquefort saw that to resist any longer was
hopeless, and, as he had a wife and a little son, he resolved that, for
their sakes, it was prudent to flee to England.
'They had abandoned Roquefort itself three days before, but the evening
before their leaving France, Philippe was obliged to ride over to the
château (five miles or so from the little town where he and his family,
with about a dozen trusty followers, had taken refuge) to fetch some
important papers.
'The whole neighbourhood swarmed with Republicans, but, with his
knowledge of the country, he reached the deserted château safely.
'The whole place had a forsaken air as Philippe entered the hall he knew
so well, where all his happy boyhood had been spent; but one familiar
object caught his eye--the old clock, which had been too cumbersome to
take with them in their flight, and which was still ticking in its
accustomed manner. Philippe secured his papers, and was just leaving the
château, taking a last fond look at his home, when a heavy hand pulled
him backwards, and, before he could reach his sword, he was bound hand
and foot.
'"We have caught the bird in his own nest," said a loud voice--and the
boisterous laughter of several men made the rafters in the old hall
ring.
'Philippe saw that he had been captured by five rough Republicans, who
dragged him into the middle of the hall and then sat round him,
consulting as to his fate. At last they decided that, at a quarter to
six by the old clock, he should be shot. They had some time to wait
before going back to their camp.
'Philippe gave himself up for lost. The ruffians soon began to jeer at
him, and asked if he had any messages for his friends. Then my
grandfather lost all his patience, and throwing aside all prudence,
cried: "Yes, you villains, if I had my faithful followers here, they
would soon make an end of you."
'The men laughed at this, but suddenly a cruel idea struck one of them.
'"Yes," he said, "Monsieur shall have his way"--and, looking up at the
clock, he continued: "It is now five o'clock; Pierre, the peasant's son,
who lives yonder, shall ride with a message to these devoted followers.
Monsieur shall be shot at a quarter to six; but he can write and tell
his friends to be here at ten minutes to the hour; they will come and
find Monsieur--five minutes too late. We can get away easily enough
before they arrive."
'His comrades agreed to this plan, which gave an adventurous tone to
their enterprise, and inflicted, as well, extra misery upon their
prisoner.
'A scrap of paper and a pencil were given to my grandfather; but, as he
was writing, Philippe remembered with joy that the old clock on which
his captors were relying had not yet lost its five minutes that day; he
had noticed this as he glanced round the hall before his capture; and,
therefore, at a quarter to six--the time when, by the clock, he was
going to be put to death--it _might_ be ten minutes to the hour by the
proper time--if the clock only went wrong for once at a convenient time!
'The peasant-boy, Pierre, was sent with the message, and the men settled
themselves down to ransacking the house, exulting over the trick they
were going to play.
'The time crept by. As a quarter to six drew near Philippe was bound to
a tree, and the men set to work to load their muskets! Had the clock
lost five minutes, or not? Every minute of waiting seemed like an hour,
and Philippe could not be sure whether the hand had stuck still too
long, or not. He thought it had, but could he trust his eyes in such a
terrible situation?
'You can imagine my grandfather's feelings during those last few awful
minutes! A hundred conjectures flashed through his mind. Suppose the boy
never gave the message! or suppose the men were late! or suppose the
clock was not slow after all!
'At last the Republicans were ready, and Philippe gave himself up for
lost. Suddenly the sound of horses' hoofs was heard breaking through the
undergrowth. The Republicans hesitated, and, as they stood undecided,
ten or a dozen men rode up hastily. They were only just in time; the
Republicans fought for a few minutes, but they were taken by surprise,
and soon surrendered. Philippe was saved!'
* * * * *
'What a narrow escape, Mother,' we cried, 'and if it had not been for
the old clock's habit of losing time----'
'Well, my dear, the story would have ended very differently.'
[Illustration: "The men set to work to load their muskets."]
[Illustration: "''Tis the very man!'"]
HEROES AND HEROINES OF FAMOUS BOOKS.
III.--GARTH AND HIS FRIENDS.[4]
This striking story belongs to the days of the Great French Revolution
of 1792. The hero is a young Englishman, the son of Colonel Mainwaring,
of the 2nd Dragoon Guards, and at the time the story opens he is on a
visit to Paris to his uncle and aunt. Before we narrate one or two
striking incidents of his life in France, however, we must say
something, very briefly, about the French Revolution, during which so
many terrible things were done that it was known as the Reign of Terror.
One of the grievances of the people in France was that the power of the
nobles had greatly increased, so that they did as they liked. Though
they claimed unlimited privileges, yet they refused to take up the
responsibilities of their position, and even evaded the taxes which they
laid on the shoulders of the people. One unpopular tax was the
_gabelle_, or salt tax, which compelled every person to bring a fixed
quantity of salt every year, and made them buy it of certain people who
alone had the right to sell, and charged enormous prices. The peasants,
too, had to work on the roads for nothing, leaving their farms and
little plots of ground whenever they were ordered. They could not earn
enough to live on, and what with heavy dues to their lords, and the
State interference with trade, they were in a wretched plight, and
discontent was widespread. Then famous writers, moved by what was going
on around them, wrote strongly against the abuse of power by the nobles
and the King, teaching that kings were but the servants of the people.
The poor, ignorant, downtrodden peasantry, urged by the selfish trading
classes who used them for their own ends, united in a great movement to
take away the privileges of the nobles. The serfs flung off the heavy
yoke, and went to the worst excesses, burning and wrecking the palaces
of their former masters, utterly ruining them and driving them out of
the country.
The Commons, or National Assembly as they styled themselves, did not
stop when they had introduced reforms that were really needed, but did
just as their passion against the aristocrats and the rich dictated.
Things passed from bad to worse when the King, who had the right of
refusing the proposals of the National Assembly, exercised his right and
vetoed (from _veto_, I forbid) two of their decrees. This made the
people furious. All this was new to Garth Mainwaring, as also was the
procession of noisy people, marching through the streets to the beating
of drums, carrying banners, and howling and shouting at any well-dressed
people they met. Garth saw the mob battering at the doors of the King's
palace, calling for his Majesty to come out, and when the King, in quiet
dignity, stood before them, they ordered him to put on the red cap of
liberty, and grossly insulted him and his beautiful Queen and their
children.
Garth had felt his blood leap up as he witnessed this, and in his young
enthusiasm he longed to fight on the side of the royal prisoner and his
nobles. On the evening of one dreadful day, during which the mob had
done wild things, as Garth was passing on towards the Rue Saint Honoré,
he heard a faint voice on his left hand. It came from the figure of a
man huddled in a doorway, who had been mortally wounded and was rapidly
dying.
'Sir,' gasped the man, in English, 'Sir, save my daughter. Go to her,
sir, and give her her father's dying blessing.'
'I will go, sir,' said Garth. 'Will you tell me your name?'
'The Baron de Méricourt. I was in the palace. I got away as by a miracle,
but I fell among the ruffians here, and they have done for me. Waste no
more time, I implore you. Save my darling Lucile, and tell her her
father----' But here, with one more gasp, he died.
Another striking adventure befell our hero at Nantes. It was after he
had offered to throw in his lot with Bonchamps, a leader of the
loyalists, and donned the white cockade of those whose watch-word was
'for God and the King.' He was asked whether he would make an attempt,
as they were to attack Nantes, a stronghold of the 'Blues,' to find out
the enemy's position. Of course he agreed; there were no dangers in the
path of duty that could deter Garth. He was disguised in a peasant's
dress, and carried a basket full of live pigeons, which he was to offer
for sale as he journeyed. Nantes was a strong position, strongly
fortified and manned by the enemy, yet the brave peasants and loyalists
of the Vendée determined to endeavour to take it for the young King (for
the unhappy Louis XVI. and his beautiful Queen had been put to death by
the influence of the more savage leaders of the Revolutionary party). It
was late in the evening when Garth started. It would be nearly midnight
before he could reach the city. When he came within two miles of the
town he saw a barge, laden with wood, moving slowly down the river.
Hailing the old man on board, who was holding the rudder, and allowing
the laden craft to drift down with the tide, 'Holà,' cried Garth, 'Hé!
can you give me a lift down to the quay?'
'Who are you?' asked the bargeman, Jules Viard by name.
'A poor chap with a pair of pigeons to sell.'
The man agreed to the request, and Garth sprang on to the barge as soon
as it came within jumping distance, and it resumed its slow passage down
the river. Presently the vessel was steered alongside the quay, where
the good-natured boatman made her fast for the night, sleeping in her
himself to save the few sous he would otherwise have had to pay for his
bed; but Garth went along on the riverside, as he wished to look about
him to learn what he could of the strength and position of the enemy.
As his wooden shoes clicked on the stone paving, he stripped them off
and strung them round his neck. The cathedral clock struck the hour of
midnight. On and on he went, using his eyes well. He had reached the
Paris road, up which his friends of the Vendean army would probably
approach, when he saw an immense obstruction. Climbing a tree, the
better to look about him, he found that the obstruction was a big
redoubt, very solidly constructed. Scaling garden walls and getting
behind the redoubt, he satisfied himself that it could be taken from the
rear, and being by this time very tired, he lay down under a hedge to
sleep till daylight.
The next morning he sold his pigeons to a lieutenant of the National
Guard for forty sous, and spent the rest of the day walking about the
town with his friend, Viard the bargeman, leaving him at nightfall to
begin his return journey. Turning down a narrow passage leading to the
river, between two high warehouses, he saw three men, and, as it turned
out, men whom he had met before, all enemies to the King's cause. One of
them, the Mayor, stopped him.
'Well, my man, where are you going?'
Garth turned his head aside.
'Where are you going?' repeated the Mayor.
'Down to the river, citizen. Came in last night on a barge to sell
pigeons.'
'On a barge, eh? Were you molested by the brigands?'
'No, citizen; I joined the barge some two miles up, and saw nothing of
brigands.'
The man standing to the left of the Mayor started as he heard the tone
of Garth's voice. He looked closely into Garth's face, suddenly pulled
off his hat, and with a quick cry, ''Tis the very man!' tried to seize
him. Quick as thought, Garth slipped aside, then, before the other two
had recovered from their surprise at their companion's strange action,
he rushed at the Mayor, threw him over backwards, turned and flung his
basket in the face of the other, then wheeled round and ran as fast as
the clumsy sabots would allow him, clattering down the passage towards
the river, the man behind him shouting, 'Help! a spy--a brigand--help!'
Two of his enemies dashed after him, and the Mayor picked himself up and
toddled off as fast as his short legs would carry him to call up the
nearest guard, two hundred yards away. The National Guard was soon
aroused, and the whole garrison was under arms. The dauntless Englishman
reached the river. He did not hesitate; pulling off his shoes and
flinging them at his pursuers, now only ten yards away, he plunged into
the river. A soldier with his gun arrived, pointed his musket at Garth's
head, and fired; Garth twisted over and dived, and the bullet hit the
water just behind him. Others of the guard came up, fired at his bobbing
head, but missed it. On he swam boldly, determinedly; and now the firing
has ceased, although he can hear the clamour. His courage and presence
of mind had saved him; he was now in a friendly country, and the first
man he met was wearing the King's cockade!
But here we must leave our hero, proud that he was an Englishman, and
that he afterwards distinguished himself by many deeds of valour,
passing unhurt through many dangers, from the worst of which he was
rescued by his old friend, Viard the bargeman. How he presently married
Lucile de Méricourt, and accepted an appointment at Lisbon, and what
became of his friends and foes, is all told by Mr. Rendel in his fine
and stirring book, which every British boy who is ready to cheer pluck
should read for himself.
JAMES CASSIDY.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] _The King's Cockade_, by H. Rendel. (Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co.,
Limited, London.)
ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.
True Anecdotes.
III.--TALKS WITHOUT WORDS.
Anybody watching a chance meeting in the street between two animals must
see that they hold some sort of conversation. By sounds, signs, or both,
they 'pass the time of day,' and make remarks. After settling affairs in
their own language, they part, either as the best of friends, or, more
frankly than politely, saying, 'Well, I hope I shall never see _you_
again!'
Out in the fields, what horse can bear to see another horse, or even a
donkey, turned into the next paddock without running up to have a chat
with him? Horses that work together are always on speaking terms. Much
rubbing of soft noses, pricking backwards and forwards of the ears, with
a snort, playful bite, or whinny, is their talk. After much talk of this
sort between two splendid cart-horses, standing in harness, I once saw a
fine plan carried out. They had been drawing a heavy load, and were
quietly enjoying their feed, each from the nosebag dangling at his head.
But the corn dwindled and the last grains of it were hard to reach. It
was then that a brilliant idea struck horse number one. He lifted his
bag to the middle pole, which he used as a prop; but then there was no
room for his companion's bag on it. Horse number two, apparently after
asking leave, hoisted his own bag even higher still, and, balancing it
on his friend's head, fed in comfort. The pair munched peacefully on,
and next day I saw them doing the same thing again.
All animals have a language of sound and sign, which they use as
intelligently as deaf and dumb men use the means of expressing thought
invented for them. Creatures that live in troops are always under the
control of a leader, who manages them by word of mouth or by gestures.
Lieutenant Shipp, in his memoirs, tells of a Cape baboon who was so
dishonest as to bring his companions to the barracks, to carry off the
soldiers' clothes. The thefts became serious, and a party of soldiers
were told off to march against the robbers, and to bring back the booty
hidden in the caves of the baboons. But the animal warriors were too
cunning. They sent out scouts, to watch the enemy's movements, told off
about fifty of their number to guard the entrance to the caves, and
posted the rest at various points. The soldiers saw the baboons
collecting large stones, and the old grey-headed rascal, who had been
ring-leader in raiding the camp, was seen giving orders like a real
general. At a scream from him they rolled down great stones upon the
men, who were forced to retreat.
Comic as the monkey-folk sometimes are, they can make very touching
appeals; they plead very earnestly in their wordless way for their own
lives, and still more tenderly on behalf of their helpless young. A
letter from Demarara thus describes a meeting between a mother baboon
and two men with guns. Mr. S---- levelled his gun to shoot her. The
animal seemed at once to understand what would probably take place, and
appealingly held out in each hand a baby baboon. His friend said, 'Don't
shoot.' 'No, I was not going to,' said Mr. S----. So Mrs. Baboon and her
family escaped unhurt, the mother showing, it will be agreed, something
greater than ordinary instinct.
[Illustration: "Balancing the bag on his friend's head."]
Something greater? Yes, love; the greatest of all instincts, higher than
reason itself. It is when filled with love for her defenceless babe that
the animal-mother learns, by many a wonderful makeshift, to appeal to
our pity, and forgets herself for its sake. A beautiful instance of this
was lately given in the _Daily News_.
A labourer, going along a lane, met a little robin redbreast. She flew
boldly within reach of his hand, almost dashing against his face, and as
he passed on tried to hinder him, uttering all the while piercing cries.
At last he stopped at a hole to which she kept flying, and found a rat
in the act of carrying off one of her nestlings. The labourer was able
to kill the enemy by a blow of his stick as it darted across the lane,
and the small mother, after hovering with a different and triumphant
note over the poor little dead bird, went gladly home.
In countries where snakes abound, the shriek of a bird whose nest is
threatened serves as a signal to its winged neighbours, who throng to
the spot and drive away, or often kill, the enemy. Sometimes the ways
in which creatures communicate are altogether mysterious. An old goose,
who had spent a fortnight hatching eggs in a farmer's kitchen, was
suddenly taken ill. She left her nest, waddled to a neighbouring
outhouse, and persuaded a young goose to go back with her. The young one
instantly scrambled into the vacant nest, and hatched and afterwards
brought up the brood. The old goose sat down by the side of the nest to
die. As the young goose had never reared a brood before, nor been inside
the kitchen, the elder must somehow have explained the duties to her,
and the younger have understood and accepted the charge.
[Illustration: "Mrs. Baboon and her family escaped unhurt."]
It seems, then, that want of understanding on our part, rather than
stupidity on theirs, prevents a closer understanding between ourselves
and the animal creation. Though we are not able to bridge over the gulf
separating speechless animals and men, we may at least take care that
the dumb prayers of the 'lower brethren' never fall on wilfully deaf
ears, or on unkind hearts.
EDITH CARRINGTON.
[Illustration: "'Good evening, skipper!'"]
AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(_Continued from page 269._)