The journey up-river was a very tedious one, and promised to be longer
than Ping Wang had expected, for, as soon as darkness came up, the boat
was moored for the night near a riverside village. The boatman declared,
in a very humble tone, that he dared not go any further until daybreak
for fear of being attacked by pirates.
On the following morning, at daybreak, the journey was resumed, but
before the travellers had covered two miles, while the mist was still
hanging over the river, Ping Wang noticed a boat rapidly overtaking
them. It was a long, narrow craft, paddled by eight men. Another man
knelt in the bows, and two more stood up in the stern. The latter were
armed with old-fashioned rifles.
'Pirates!' the boat-owner shouted in terror when he had glanced at the
pursuers, and instantly there was a panic among his men. One of them
dived into the river and swam towards the bank; but the other three,
who could not swim, ceased rowing, and hid themselves among the cargo.
[Illustration: "Fred took aim and fired."]
'Make the cowards row,' Ping Wang commanded the boat-owner, but without
any result, for the man was himself terror-stricken.
'Hasn't the wretched man got any weapons aboard?' Charlie said aloud.
Ping Wang translated Charlie's question, and the boat-owner answered
promptly, 'Your miserable slave has one gun, which does not belong to
him. He is taking it to a mandarin. Your wretched servant does not know
where it was bought.'
'Never mind about that,' Ping Wang declared, guessing at once that the
fellow had a rifle which had been stolen from some European. 'Bring it
here at once.'
The boat-owner produced quickly a long bundle of cloth, and from the
middle of it pulled out a rifle.
'A Lee-Metford,' Fred exclaimed, as he snatched the rifle out of the
man's hand. 'Where is the ammunition?'
'Here it is,' Ping Wang said, as he burst open a box and displayed
several packets of cartridges.
'That is splendid,' Fred declared, as he opened a packet. Like many
London medical students, he had become a Volunteer, and was, moreover, a
good shot. Having placed the open packet of cartridges beside him, he
took up the rifle, and, after loading it, raised it to his shoulder, but
did not yet fire. 'I won't shoot,' he said, 'until I am sure they mean
to attack us.'
He had not long to wait before receiving proof of the pirates'
intention. The boat was approaching fast, and when it was about a
hundred yards from them, the pirates fired. Their rifles made a
tremendous noise, and the travellers' boat was hit about an inch above
water.
'That is enough,' Fred declared, and, placing his left foot on a seat
and resting his left elbow on his knee, he took aim and fired.
'Good shot, Fred!' Charlie cried, as one of the pirates who had fired on
them fell forward, wounded, among his comrades. The pirates had
evidently not expected such a reception, and the result of Fred's shot
filled them with dismay. They ceased rowing, and took counsel for a few
moments.
'Look out, Fred,' Charlie said, 'there is a man in the bow with a
breechloader. He's aiming at you.'
Just as he spoke the man fired, and the bullet whizzed perilously near
to Fred's head.
'Get under cover,' Charlie begged, but Fred replied calmly, 'I can do
best where I am.'
Again he fired, and this time he smashed the blade of an oar.
Finding that no one was hit by that shot, the pirates took courage, and
the three men with guns fired simultaneously, but without doing any
damage.
'I'll give them the magazine,' Fred said, and fired eight times in quick
succession. How many men he hit they never knew. Charlie and Ping Wang
saw five men throw up their arms, while a sixth, who fell overboard,
made such frantic efforts to save himself that the boat capsized.
'Now row,' Ping Wang shouted, and, pulling the three boatmen from their
hiding-places, pushed them back to their oars. Seeing that all danger
was gone, the men smiled happily as they resumed work, and were not at
all ashamed of their recent cowardice.
Charlie turned to his brother. 'Fred, I am awfully proud of you--you
have saved our lives! I wish I had joined the Volunteers. But, I say,'
he continued, 'put on your goggles, or the boatmen will see that you are
not a Chinaman.'
'They must have found that out some minutes ago,' Fred answered, 'for we
have been talking ever since we saw the pirates.'
'Perhaps they did not notice it,' Ping Wang suggested; but he soon
discovered that this was not the case.
While Fred, from force of habit, was cleaning the rifle after using it,
the boat-owner approached the travellers, and said to Ping Wang: 'The
foreigner shoots very straight in spite of his sore eyes.'
'He has saved your life,' Ping Wang replied, sharply. 'If he had not
shot the pirates, they would have killed all of us.'
'That is true, honourable brother. I and my men are full of gratitude.'
'Then you must all vow not to tell any one that he is a foreigner.'
The boatman considered the matter for a few moments. 'We will promise.
We will take an oath,' he declared at length. He lighted a piece of
paper, and, as it burned to ashes, he expressed the hope that, if he
told any one that the two men with goggles were foreigners, he might
also be totally destroyed by fire. The other men took the oath in the
same fashion.
'Will they keep it?' Charlie inquired, when Ping Wang had made known to
Fred and him the nature of the oath.
'I cannot be sure of it,' Ping Wang said.
'I will keep this rifle until we reach the end of our river-trip,' Fred
declared.
Shortly after the sun had set, the boat arrived at the place where Ping
Wang had decided to land.
'The foreigners and I will not land until daybreak,' he said to the
boat-owner. 'Moor the boat. It will be safer for us to begin our journey
by daylight,' Ping Wang said to Charlie and Fred, after telling them
that they were to remain on board until the morning. 'I have not
travelled by the road we are going to take since I was a small boy, and
consequently it is not familiar to me. There is another road which leads
to Kwang-ngan, but it is more frequented than the one by which we are to
travel. Our road is a round-about one, and rarely used since the shorter
road has been made. I hope that we shall meet very few people.'
'How far shall we have to walk before we reach the first village?'
Charlie asked.
'About five miles; and Kwang-ngan is six miles beyond that.'
'Then we shall be there to-morrow night, I suppose?'
'I hope so. By-the-bye, do you feel hungry?'
'Very,' Charlie answered, speaking for Fred as well as for himself.
'Then I'll ask the boat-owner to sell us a couple of ducks I know he has
on board.'
Ping Wang returned to his friends presently, holding in his hands two
well-cooked ducks.
'We shall soon polish these off,' Charlie said, as he, Fred, and Ping
Wang took their seats under the awning, with the ducks on a big wooden
plate on their knees.
'Your appetite always was enormous,' Fred remarked. 'But I was thinking
whether we ought not to save one of them. Ping Wang, shall we have any
difficulty in obtaining food to-morrow?'
'I don't think so,' Ping Wang replied. 'However, it would be a good
thing to save one of the birds until the morning, so that we may have a
good meal to start the day.'
One duck was therefore kept, and the other eaten. Ten minutes after the
meal, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were sound asleep, with the duck near
them on the wooden dish in which it had been served up. When they awoke
at daybreak the dish was where they had left it, but the duck had
disappeared.
'This is serious,' Ping Wang said. 'One of the boatmen must have stolen
it. I will ask them.'
He did so; but the men promptly vowed that they had not stolen the duck.
They did not appear at all surprised, however, when the accusation was
made; and Ping Wang concluded that they were not speaking the truth.
'As you have stolen the duck,' Ping Wang continued, sternly, 'you must
return to me the money which I gave for it.'
'Would my honourable brother rob his slave?' the boat-owner asked, in
alarm.
'Yes. If you cannot give me the duck, I must have back the price I paid
for it. If you cannot give me the money, I will keep the rifle which the
foreigner is holding.'
This decision alarmed the boat-owner. 'Honourable brother,' he said,
after a few moments' silence, 'I will search for the duck: perhaps it
has rolled off the dish.'
He searched in what appeared to Ping Wang to be very unlikely places,
and found the missing dainty in a basket on top of the pile of cargo.
'The rifle shall be given you,' said Ping Wang, and then turned to speak
to Charlie and Fred. 'We had better breakfast on shore,' he said; 'let
us land at once.'
Ping Wang handed over the Lee-Metford to the boat-owner, and the three
travellers stepped ashore, thoroughly glad to get out of the boat.
(_Continued on page 317._)
ENCOUNTERS WITH LIONS.
The accounts which travellers and hunters sometimes give us of their
encounters with wild animals are often very interesting, not only
because they are exciting, but also because they show us the habits of
the various animals, and the effects which are produced upon the human
brain by these sudden and unusual attacks.
Mr. Moffat, the missionary, describes the very strange behaviour of a
lion which caught a native asleep. The man was returning home from a
visit alone, when, tired with his walk, he sat down to refresh himself
by the side of a pool, and fell asleep. He awoke with the heat of the
sun, and found a lion crouching scarcely more than a yard from his feet.
He sat still for a few minutes, and tried to think what he ought to do.
His gun was lying a little distance away beyond his reach, and he moved
his hand towards it several times. But whenever he did so, the lion
raised his head and uttered a loud roar. So long as the man remained
quite still, the lion did not molest him. The day and the night passed,
and neither the man nor the lion moved from the spot. At noon on the
following day the lion went down to the pool for a drink, watching the
poor man all the while, and then returned to its former position.
Another night passed, and again on the following day the lion went for a
drink. On this occasion it was alarmed by some noise, and made off to
the bush. The poor native crawled to his gun, and then crept down to the
pool to drink. His toes were so scorched by the heat of the rock that he
could not walk. Fortunately, he was discovered by a person passing, and
was rescued. He lost the use of his toes, however, and he was a cripple
for the rest of his life.
Livingstone once nearly lost his life in an encounter with a lion in
South Africa. He had gone out to shoot one of a troop of lions, in order
to frighten the rest away from the village. After the natives who were
with him had allowed several to escape, Livingstone shot at one about
thirty yards off, and wounded it. He was quietly re-loading his gun,
when he heard a shout from one of his attendants, and, looking up, he
saw the lion springing upon him. It caught him by the shoulder, and
shook him as a dog shakes a rat. The shaking seemed to deprive him of
his sense of feeling, and he felt neither pain nor alarm, though he knew
quite well what was happening. The lion growled all the while, and
placed his heavy foot upon the doctor's head. At this moment one of the
natives had courage enough to fire, and, though the shot failed, the
lion's attention was drawn to the native, and it rushed upon him and bit
him in the thigh. Another native tried to spear it, and he in his turn
was attacked, and bitten in the shoulder. But this time the lion was
exhausted by its wounds, and fell down dead.
Not long ago a Government ranger in the Transvaal had a fierce struggle
with a lion, which was reported in _The Field_. He was riding homewards
alone, having left his companions behind, when he heard his dog bark at
something near the path, and saw a lion crouching near him on the right
side, ready to spring. He turned his horse quickly and the lion missed
his spring, but the ranger was thrown from his horse. No sooner did he
touch the ground than another lion pounced upon him from the opposite
side, while the first ran after the runaway horse. The second lion
seized him by the right shoulder, and dragged him quickly along the
path, his back and legs trailing along the ground. The animal growled
and purred like a cat with a mouse, but in very much louder tones. The
poor ranger was greatly distressed, both in body and in mind, and it was
not until the lion had dragged him about two hundred yards that he
remembered that he had a sheath-knife at his belt. As the lion stopped
at the foot of a large tree, he drew his sheath-knife with his left
hand, and stabbed the animal twice in the right side. The lion jumped
back, and in a few moments he turned and walked away, growling and
moaning as he went. Meanwhile, the ranger climbed a tree, and tied
himself to a branch, lest he should lose consciousness and fall off.
There he was found by his companions, and conveyed to the nearest
hospital. The body of the lion was afterwards discovered not far away.
Its heart had been pierced by the blade of the sheath-knife. The lion
was an old male, and its empty stomach showed that it had been rendered
unusually fierce by hunger.
[Illustration: "The second lion seized him."]
[Illustration: "'It is good! very good!'"]
PHILIP WOOD AND SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.
'Be off, I tell you! We want no loiterers here!' said a workman, roughly
pushing away a country lad who was gazing with deep interest at the busy
crowd of people engaged in the rebuilding of St. Paul's Cathedral.
This famous church, destroyed by the Great Fire in 1666, was now--some
three years later--being restored under the direction of Sir Christopher
Wren.
'I am not loitering, sir,' answered the lad humbly. 'I have come up from
Suffolk to seek work. I can carve, and I can----'
'Be off, I tell you!' harshly interrupted the foreman; 'we want no
hedge-carpenters here! Here comes the master. Be off, or he will make
short work of you!'
The master, no less a person than the great Sir Christopher himself, now
came up, and catching sight of the lad, said sternly:
'Who is that youth? Has he business here? If not, bid him begone, for
lookers-on hinder the work.'
'Just what I was telling him, your honour,' said the foreman, scowling
at the boy. 'He has come to look for work, he says, but I told him we
wanted no country bumpkins here.'
Sir Christopher cast a searching glance at the boy. 'What sort of work
can you do?' he asked.
The boy, Philip Wood, by name, was much flustered at being addressed by
the great architect himself, and hardly knowing what he said, he
stammered out, 'I am very fond of carving, sir.'
'Carving--umph! What was the last thing you carved?' asked Sir
Christopher.
'The last thing was a trough, but----' and Philip was about to describe
the group of roses and columbines he had made for the Squire's
chimney-piece, but was interrupted by a scornful laugh from the foreman.
'A trough! and he to seek work on St. Paul's! Let him return to his
swine.'
Sir Christopher joined in the laugh. Then, seeing the crestfallen look
of the boy, he said, half-scornfully, 'Troughs! Well, then, you have
seen pigs. Suppose your carve me a sow and her little ones; that will be
in your line. Bring it me here this day week.'
He walked away, and the workmen burst into loud laughter as they hustled
Philip out of the yard.
He, poor fellow, was utterly cast down at this mocking suggestion of Sir
Christopher's, and hurrying back to his attic he flung himself on his
bed and burst into tears.
Some hours later, his landlady, a motherly old soul, who pitied the
friendless lad, toiled up the attic stairs with a basin of broth for
him, knowing that he had had no food that day.
'Highty-tighty!' she said, going up to Philip and putting a kind hand on
his shoulder. 'What's amiss? What's wrong to-day may prove right on the
morrow, so never fret, lad.'
Philip could not resist her sympathy, and she soon got from him the
story of his reception by Sir Christopher, and how the great architect
had scornfully told him to go and carve 'a sow and her little ones.'
'It was all my own fault,' continued the boy. 'I was so confused, I
never told him of the bedstead I had carved for the Hall, nor of the
mantel-shelf, but I blurted out about the trough, and then he bade me
"carve a sow,"' and Philip turned red at the remembrance.
'He said that, did he?' said the woman eagerly. 'Then do it, and show
your skill. Sir Christopher bade you come again, and he will not refuse
to see you. Set to work on the sow, and mind she is a good one.'
Encouraged by these words, Philip got up, drank the broth, and, feeling
cheered by the food, took his last crown-piece, bought a good block of
wood, and returned to his attic.
He worked at his wood block from morning to night for the next week,
hoping--aye, and praying earnestly--that he might turn out something
that the master would not despise.
It was finished at last, and pronounced by the landlady to be 'as like a
sow as one pea is like another.' So, hoping much and fearing more,
Philip took his group, carefully wrapped in an apron lent him for the
purpose, and made his way to the Cathedral yard.
'Hallo! here comes our young hedge-carpenter,' exclaimed the foreman, as
Philip passed the gate. 'What's he got so carefully wrapped up? Another
trough, I take it. Let's have a look at the treasure,' and as he spoke
he reached towards the bundle.
But Philip would not part with it. 'No,' he said firmly. 'Sir
Christopher set me the task, and he shall be the first to see it.'
Before long Sir Christopher appeared, and, seeing the boy standing
humbly waiting by the gate, he called to him, and, taking the bundle
from Philip's hands, slowly unwound the wrapping. There, to the very
life, was a fat old sow, with nine little piglings grouped about her in
every possible attitude.
Sir Christopher looked long at the group, saying never a word, whilst
poor Philip grew hot and cold with terror. He hardly knew if his work
were good or bad; he only knew that he had put all his heart into it,
and tried to do his very best.
At last the great man spoke.
'It is good! very good!' he said firmly. 'I will keep it and give you a
guinea for it, and I engage you, young man, to work on this building.
Attend at my office to-morrow forenoon.'
Philip bowed low; his heart was too full to speak, and Sir Christopher
continued:
'I fear I did you some injustice a little time back, and for this I am
sorry; but a great national work is entrusted to my care, and it is my
duty to see that no part of the work falls into unskilful hands.'
* * * * *
So the country lad, Philip Wood of Sudbury, accomplished his ambition,
and found regular work on St. Paul's Cathedral.
Those people who care to study the old parchments, still preserved, on
which the building accounts of the Cathedral are kept, may read that
large sums of money were from time to time paid to Philip Wood (or
Haylittle as he was called after his marriage, when he took his wife's
name), 'for carved work in the cathedral church of St. Paul.'
S. CLARENDON.
THE TWO DOLLS.
I have a doll, an old, old doll,
The playmate of many years;
I've danced around with her in my smiles,
And hugged her tight in my tears.
And I've a doll, a new, new doll,
'Twas given me yesterday;
Dressed out in silk and beautiful lace,
Ever so bonny and gay.
One is battered and scratched and grey,
The other has hair like gold;
But much as I love the new, new doll,
Better I love the old.
GEMMAL RINGS.
Rings, from a time very far back, have been worn as ornaments on the
hands, and given by people to each other as tokens of affection or as a
sign of power. The oldest rings known were very large and cumbrous, and
they were adorned with stones, sometimes flattened to make seals on wax
or clay. The gemmal ring, as it is called, is an old kind, probably
several centuries old, and rings of this sort are not made now. From
what we know about them, it would appear the first ones were of French
work, that nation being long remarkable for skill in contriving curious
jewellery. Some may have been made in Italy, and even in our own land
rings have been dug up from the earth, where they were hidden away with
other valuables, or perhaps occasionally buried with those who had worn
them.
A gemmal ring has a double row of hoops, locked within each other like
the links of a chain. One edge of each ring is flat, so that when one is
slipped over the other, the gemmal looks like a single ring. While
opened out, two persons can put a finger into the hoops, and this fact
gives the origin of the old name applied to them, though it has somehow
got a little altered. 'Geminal' was the proper spelling, coming from the
Latin _geminus_ (a twin), because such a ring is twin or double. Of
course, owing to its form, a gemmal ring was valued as a love token; and
at one period it was often used as an engagement ring, or even as a
marriage ring. It is supposed that some gemmals, which have one ring
gold and the other silver, were made for wedding rings, the gold being
for the wife and the silver for the husband. There are gemmals still
existing which are adorned with precious stones, and some have singular
devices on their sides. One found at Horsleydown, in Surrey, had on each
of the two parts of the ring a hand, draped, and holding half a heart;
when the ring was closed, the hands appeared joined, holding a whole
heart between them. Other rings had mottoes in French or English.
The word 'gemmal' was formerly applied to other objects besides rings.
Thus we have in Shakespeare a mention of the 'gemmal bit,' some sort of
double bit for a horse.
J. R. S. C.
WONDERFUL CAVERNS.
IX.--THE GROTTO OF LA BALME.
The worshippers of Buddha and Brahma have not been alone in taking
advantage of caverns to build temples and religious houses, for in
Dauphiné, in Eastern France, we find the magnificent grotto of La Balme
used for the same purpose. The builders of the West have not, however,
taken the same trouble over hewing out the solid rock as did their
Eastern brethren, but have contented themselves with building in an
ordinary way a handsome church in the mouth of the cave. The cave is of
great height, being more than a hundred feet to the roof, whilst the
breadth at the entrance is sixty-five feet.
In reality the building consists of two chapels placed side by side,
with rooms for the clergy and a belfry. The effect of the white building
against the dark arch of the cavern, surrounded by a frame of rich green
creepers, is very fine. Masonry has also been used to support the cliff
to the right of the church. A broad causeway with parapets leads into
the cave, and down each side rushes a stream, which comes from the
recesses beyond.
On entering the cavern the roof soon becomes lower, and we soon find
that the single cave divides into two long galleries. Taking the one to
the left, we come into what is called the Grotto of Diamonds, in which
the water oozing through the rocks has left a crystal sediment which
sparkles like diamonds when light is flashed over it. Small rock basins
form a ring, and, pouring water from one to the other in tiny cascades,
have also crystallised into beautiful forms which reflect and multiply
the gleams of light.
We follow a rocky ledge edged with a fringe of stalactite drops about
six inches long, and then creep along a dangerous path with dark depths
on either side. This leads downwards to a tranquil lake which reflects
our lamps and torches.
On our return we take the gallery to the right, and come across a
curious stalagmite (called the Capuchin Monk), wonderfully like a human
being about six feet high. All around are stalactites and stalagmites of
every possible form, and we long to do a great deal more exploration of
the endless rock passages branching on every side. But, alas! they are
too dangerous, owing to the endless crevasses of unknown depth which
cross and recross the rocky galleries, where a slip probably means a
horrible death.
[Illustration: Entrance to the Grotto of La Balme.]
As long ago as the time of Francis I. of France, who reigned in the
sixteenth century, two criminals condemned to death, were, by order of
the King, offered their lives if they explored the Grotto of La Balme to
its extreme limits. No record seems to have been kept whether they
accepted the offer. Possibly they preferred a certain and speedy form of
death to long sufferings in the darkness and terrors of the gloomy
cavern.
HELENA HEATH.
[Illustration: "Some Yamên runners rushed out and seized them."]
AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(_Continued from page 311._)
As soon as the travellers had landed, they set out on the road to
Kwang-ngan, eating the second duck as they went. They understood
perfectly that they were about to begin the most dangerous part of their
journey.
'Don't appear surprised at anything you see or hear,' was Ping Wang's
sensible advice, 'and remember that an exclamation from either of you
would probably lead to its being discovered that you are not Chinamen.'
Charlie and Fred promised not to forget what he had said.
When they had trudged about three-quarters of a mile they joined the
main road to the village for which they were bound, and from now onwards
at every few yards they met a Chinaman.
The Pages thoroughly enjoyed the novel scene. Chinamen of almost all
stations of life seemed to be using that road. One moment they would see
a pompous-looking man riding on a sturdy, shaggy pony; the next, a dandy
being carried in a palanquin. Coolies with a long pole across one
shoulder, and a basket or bundle hanging from each end, hurried past
them at a shuffling kind of run. Heavier loads were carried on poles,
which rested on the shoulders of two coolies. Occasionally some
pedestrian would make a friendly remark to the three travellers, and
when that happened Ping Wang replied in the most genial manner.
When they had been on the tramp for about an hour and a half, Ping Wang
looked round, and seeing that no Chinamen were near, said, as he pointed
to a square-looking object in the distance, 'That is Su-ching, our first
halting-place.'
After this the three friends were compelled to remain silent, so
constantly were they meeting people, and the nearer they drew to the
town the more numerous did the people become. The town was enclosed by a
brick wall, and from a distance looked able to withstand the attack of
any enemy; but a closer inspection showed that the defences were
practically worthless, and that the town could be quickly destroyed by
modern guns. In some places the walls had crumbled away. Some of the
guns were so old and rusty that to have fired them would have done more
harm to the gunners than to the enemy. But most of the guns were
dummies--wooden things, mounted to give a formidable look to the place.
'Will there be any difficulty about getting into the town?' Fred
whispered.
'Oh, no!' Ping Wang replied. 'We will enter by that gate facing us.
There will probably be some soldiers there, but they won't interfere
with us.'
Ten minutes later Ping Wang and the Pages arrived at the open gate, near
which were some half-dozen dirty rascals playing some Chinese game. They
were soldiers, but so interested were they in their game that they did
not even glance at the people passing in and out. Ping Wang told Fred
and Charlie, later, that these imitations of soldiers usually passed
their time in that fashion.
Once in the town Charlie and Fred felt that they were comparatively
safe, for it seemed that among the large population they would escape
notice. No one appeared to suspect that they were not Chinamen, and Ping
Wang, who had recently been regretting he had induced the Pages to take
part in such a dangerous enterprise, became convinced that they would
reach the house for which they were bound without any difficulty. The
reason for entering the town was to discover from a cousin of his, who
resided there, if Chin Choo were still alive. He knew that it was a
risky thing for him to do to bring the Pages into the town, but he was
convinced that to have left them by themselves outside would have been
far more dangerous.
'In a few minutes,' he said, quietly, 'we shall arrive at my cousin's
house. He is a Christian, and will not let any one know that you are
Englishmen. He will give us a meal, and then we can start off refreshed
to Kwang-ngan.'
But before they had gone another fifty yards, and just as they were
passing a big building, which Ping Wang whispered was the residence of
some high official, some twenty Yamên runners, or policemen, suddenly
rushed out of the courtyard and seized the three of them. The men were
armed with swords, and to have resisted would have been madness. Ping
Wang indignantly asked to be told why they were treated thus, but got no
reply. Charlie and Fred had the good sense not to utter a word, for,
although they believed that it had been discovered that they were
Europeans, they were determined not to convict themselves. With
unnecessary roughness they were hurried into the courtyard from which
their captors had sallied, and before long a mandarin came out of the
house to inspect them. He was not attired in his official clothes, and
did not come within twenty yards of the prisoners, but after a glance at
them made some remark to the leader of the men who had captured them,
and then returned indoors.
Ping Wang was still ignorant of the cause of their arrest, but, as no
cries of 'Foreigners!' had been raised, he knew that it had not yet been
discovered that Charlie and Fred were Europeans. Once again he demanded
to be told why they had been arrested, but, instead of replying, the
leader raised his bamboo cane menacingly. As Ping Wang had no desire to
be beaten, he made no further efforts to solve the mystery of their
arrest. His sole anxiety now was as to what would be done to them. That
they were supposed to have committed some crime he guessed, and that
they would be punished, although they had not been tried, he was also
sure.
Without any delay, Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were marched out of the
courtyard, and through the streets, until they came to a large building,
which Ping Wang recognised with dismay as a prison. But, with a thrill
of hope, he found that they were not taken into the prison, but marched
round the wall until they came to a spot where there were half-a-dozen
wooden collars lying on the ground. These wooden collars are very much
like the old English pillory, with the exception that the person who has
to wear the instrument is not placed on a platform, but stands or sits
on the ground.
Charlie and Fred did not recognise the instruments of punishment, and,
when they were suddenly flung to the ground, they imagined that they
were about to be executed. As they felt the collars tighten round their
necks, and had their hands pushed through two holes lower down on the
wooden board, they came to the conclusion that they were to be tortured
to death. But when they found that nothing more was done to them they
turned their heads--as far as their wooden collars would permit--to see
how their companion was faring. Then, seeing each other, they
understood the nature of their punishment.
The Chinamen, having chained the wooden collars to the prison wall,
departed, leaving the three prisoners to the tender mercies of any
passers-by.
'Now they are all gone I must speak,' Charlie exclaimed. 'How long will
they keep us in these things?'
'I haven't the faintest idea,' Ping Wang answered.
For fully half an hour they did not speak a word. Scores of people
passed them during that time, but very few took any notice of them, for
it was by no means an unusual sight to see prisoners there. Two or three
chaffed them, but no one molested them. Their first tormentors were two
boys, who walked up and down in front of them, pulling their noses as
they passed; but, fortunately, an official, whose duty it was to pay
periodical visits to men in their position, came in sight, and the young
rascals fled in alarm.
This official, who was aged, smiled with delight at having caused the
boys to go without much exertion on his part. He wore a hat which
reminded Charlie and Fred of a candle-extinguisher. In other respects
his costume did not differ from that of any ordinary Chinaman.
'Venerable uncle,' Ping Wang exclaimed as soon as the old man reached
them, 'why are your dogs of servants placed in the wooden collars?'
The old man smiled, for in his time he had heard hundreds of prisoners
ask that question. Nevertheless he replied, for he always treated
prisoners courteously, having seen many respectable men in the position
of his questioner.
'Did not my honourable brothers steal a horse that belonged to the
foreigners?' he asked.
'Your dogs of servants have not stolen anything.'
The old man laughed incredulously. 'The foreigners say that you did,' he
declared.
'They have not seen us.'
'But they have declared to the mandarin that three men stole their horse
at daybreak. Therefore you were arrested.'
Having given this very unsatisfactory piece of information, the old man
calmly walked away.
When he was out of hearing, Ping Wang said to his friends in misfortune:
'We are arrested for horse-stealing. Some foreigners--missionaries, I
imagine, as there are not likely to be any other Europeans in this
place--have complained that they have had their horse stolen by three
men. Evidently the mandarin, or one of his subordinates, promised to
inquire into the matter, and, in order to give the missionaries the
impression that they had caught the thieves, ordered the arrest of any
three men. Apparently we happened to be passing just as the Yamên
runners started out, and therefore they took us. Now the mandarin will
inform the missionaries that he has had the thieves caught and
punished.'
Nothing more was said by either of the unfortunate prisoners for nearly
an hour, so continuously were people passing to and fro. Their necks
were aching terribly, and, in spite of their determination not to lose
heart, they became very dispirited.
(_Continued on page 324._)
A COAT OF PAINT.
'I want the boat smartened up a bit, Jack. You will lend a hand this
afternoon, and help me to give her a fresh coat of paint.'
'What is the use of wasting paint over an old thing like that,
Grandfather? You only use her for taking out the lobster-pots. I wish we
had a good boat we could hire out to visitors.'
'"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,"' the old man said, 'or
perhaps, in the present case, they would sail. But I have not quite
enough money put by for a new boat yet.'
'And there is little chance of making any,' Jack grumbled.
'Well, we must just make the best of what we have got. And, you know,
Jack, I must have things ship-shape about me, and so, even if the _Mary
Jane_ has seen her best days, she can still be kept spick and span as
well as seaworthy.'
'There would be some sense in keeping a smart little craft which looked
nice,' Jack argued, 'but this old tub is only fit for firewood.'
'Now, look here, sonny, suppose I were to say, "It is no use for an old
fellow like me to try to look respectable. I will just have done with
brush and comb, soap and water, and go in rags, and will leave it for
the young folks to be smart and tidy?"'
'Oh, that wouldn't do at all!' Jack said, looking at the old man, with
his jolly ruddy face and white hair. 'Granny would never allow that.'
'And I am not going to allow my old _Mary Jane_ to be slovenly either.
But I will manage the job myself if old folks and old boats are not
worth your troubling about.'
Now this made Jack rather ashamed of his reluctance to help, so in the
afternoon he came and worked with a will, until the old boat in her new
dress looked as if she had grown young again.
Indeed, the fresh paint had such a smart appearance that a little girl
passing down to the beach stopped and gazed at it with admiration.
'Look, Daddy,' she called to her father. 'Isn't it a dear little
boat? Could we have it to go for a row?'
'It certainly looks broad and safe enough for a small girl who finds it
difficult to keep still,' was the answer, and the result was an
arrangement to hire the boat at intervals for the rest of the summer
season.
And when the _Mary Jane_ was laid up for the winter, Jack and his
grandfather counted their earnings, and found that enough had been
gained to make up the sum wanted for a new boat.
'That coat of paint was worth something after all,' the old man said.
'And remember, sonny, that "taut and trim" is a good motto to hold by
whether your work lies among boats or not.'
M. H.
[Illustration: "Jack worked with a will."]
[Illustration: GOOD NEWS OF THE BOY.]
[Illustration: October 21st, 1805.]
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
True Tales of the Year 1805.
VI.--THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR, OCT. 21, 1805.
'And since that day St. George's Cross
Has ruled the dark blue sea,
For Nelson led the windward line,
And Collingwood the lee.'
E. H. MITCHELL.
It was in the early dawn of October 21st, 1805, when Nelson, pacing the
quarter-deck of the _Victory_, could distinctly make out the enemy--the
combined fleets of France and Spain. Villeneuve, the French Admiral, a
skilful seaman, had placed his ships so as to leave the port of Cadiz
open for himself, whilst bringing the British ships close to the shoals
of Trafalgar.
Nelson, however, was confident of success, and asked Captain Blackwood
'what he should consider as a victory?'
Blackwood, knowing the enemy to be superior both in the number of ships
and weight of guns, said he thought it would be a glorious victory if
fourteen vessels were captured.
'I shall not, Blackwood, be satisfied with less than twenty,' was
Nelson's reply, and he ordered the fleet to anchor, and prepare for
battle.
Then he retired to his cabin, and calmly wrote a prayer, commending
himself to God and begging for 'a glorious victory, and may no
misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after victory be a
prominent feature in the British fleet.'
About 11 a.m. he was again on deck, and turning to Captain Blackwood he
asked him 'if there was not still a signal wanting?' Then, almost before
the captain could answer that 'he thought the whole fleet seemed
thoroughly to understand what was required of them,' Nelson had ordered
his lieutenant, Mr. Pascoe, to hoist the memorable signal:
'_England expects that every man will do his duty._'
This signal--Nelson's last signal--was received with hearty cheering
throughout the fleet.
'Now,' said Nelson, 'I can do no more. We must trust to the Great
Disposer of all events, and the justice of our cause. I thank God for
this great opportunity of doing my duty.'
There was one matter which was causing great anxiety to the officers on
board the _Victory_, and that was the conspicuousness of Nelson's dress.
He wore on the left breast of his Admiral's frock-coat, the four stars
of the different Orders with which he had been invested, and these
shining ornaments at once singled him out from his officers, and
rendered him an easy mark for the enemy's sharp-shooters.
No one, however, dared to remonstrate with Nelson on this subject--for
on a previous occasion, when begged to change his dress, or cover his
stars, he had answered somewhat shortly:
'In honour I gained them, and in honour I will die with them.'
At a few minutes before mid-day the battle began, Nelson and Collingwood
each leading his line of ships, Nelson steering a little more to the
north than Collingwood in order to cut off the enemy's retreat into
Cadiz, so that the lee line under Collingwood was first engaged.
'See!' cried Nelson, pointing to the _Royal Sovereign_, as she steered
straight for the enemy's line, 'See how that noble fellow Collingwood
carries his ship into action!' whilst Collingwood, delighted to be the
first in the heat of fire, exclaimed at the same time to his captain,
'What would Nelson give to be here!'
Nelson, however, had not cause for long to envy Collingwood, as very
soon the _Victory_ also was in the thick of the battle. The Admiral's
secretary was shot whilst standing by his side, and shortly afterwards a
shot struck the fore-brace bits on the quarter-deck and passed between
Nelson and Hardy (his captain), tearing off his buckle and bruising his
foot. Both men looked anxiously at each other, for each thought the
other wounded, then Nelson smiled and said, 'This is too warm work,
Hardy, to last long!'
The _Victory_ was along-side the French ship _Redoutable_, whose tops
were filled with riflemen. Suddenly a ball fired from her mizen-top, not
more than fifteen yards from where Nelson was standing, struck the
epaulette on his left shoulder, and he fell on his face on the deck.
Hardy, but a few steps away, turned round to see three men raising the
wounded Admiral.
'They have done for me at last, Hardy,' said Nelson.
'I hope not,' said Hardy.
'Yes,' he replied, 'my backbone is shot through.'
He still, however, kept his presence of mind, and taking out his
handkerchief covered his face and his stars, so that his crew might not
be discouraged by knowing that the wounded officer being carried past to
the cock-pit was their dearly loved commander.
'Had he but concealed those badges of honour from the enemy,' says
Southey, 'England perhaps would not have had cause to receive with
sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar.'
Nelson was well aware that his wound was mortal, and at once told the
surgeon to attend to the other wounded men, who lay all about the deck
and crowded cock-pit, 'for,' said he, 'you can do nothing for me.'
The life-blood was in fact fast ebbing away, and all that could be done
for the dying hero was to fan him with paper, and to give him lemonade
to alleviate the great thirst that always follows gun-shot wounds.
Meanwhile, the battle raged fiercely, and even in his dying agonies
Nelson's eyes would gleam with joy when he heard the cheers of his men
as often as an enemy's ship struck.
He now became very anxious to see Captain Hardy, but it was an hour or
more before Hardy was able to leave the quarter-deck, and hasten to
Nelson's side. He was so affected that he could only silently shake the
Admiral's hand.
'Hardy,' said Nelson, 'how goes the day?'
'Very well,' replied Hardy. 'Ten ships have struck, and I have no doubt
of giving them a drubbing.'
'I hope,' said Nelson, 'none of our ships have struck?'
'No fear of that,' answered Hardy. He had now to go again on deck, but
in an hour's time returned to the cock-pit, and congratulated the dying
commander on having gained a complete victory, fourteen or fifteen of
the enemy being taken, perhaps more, but in the confusion of the battle
it was impossible to be quite accurate.
'That's well!' said Nelson, 'but I bargained for twenty!'
Then a few minutes later he said in a low voice, 'Don't throw me
overboard,' and then feeling life to be all but gone, he said, 'Kiss me,
Hardy.'
Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek, and Nelson said, 'Now I am
satisfied! Thank God I have done my duty.' These words he kept faintly
repeating again and again until he died--just four hours and
three-quarters after he had received his wound.
The victory of Trafalgar was complete. The fleets of France and Spain
were not merely defeated, but completely shattered, and England had no
longer any cause to dread a foreign invasion.
But great as were the rejoicings over this victory, the death of Nelson
cast such gloom over the whole country that the rejoicings were said to
be 'without joy.'
A fitting monument to Britain's greatest Admiral was erected some years
later in Trafalgar Square, London. A statue of Nelson, in cocked hat and
with empty right sleeve, stands towering aloft at a height of one
hundred and forty-five feet; at the base crouch Landseer's four majestic
lions, watchful as he who for so many years maintained for Britain the
supremacy of the sea.
WELCOME TO THE FIRST FIRE.
The north wind is sighing,
The daylight is dying,
The sun has gone down, and the night shadows fall;
But see, lightly dancing,
And peeping, and glancing,
The firelight is climbing our nursery wall.
Then greet this new-comer
Who left us all summer,
To hide in old cinders while weather was warm;
Yet must have been near us,
For now, just to cheer us,
He comes back at once with the winter and storm.
Oh, ruddy flames leaping,
Say, where were you sleeping?
In some land of faery where fires never die,
And wind always freezes?
Or heard you the breezes
That fanned our sweet roses through June and July?
'Twas spring when we parted--
You smouldered down-hearted;
The lilacs were out, and we told you to go:
But knew, when November
Had come, you'd remember
To cheer us again with your warmth and your glow.
OLD CONDUITS.
Young readers are sometimes puzzled, in reading accounts of ancient
processions through city streets, at the frequent references to the
Conduits passed on the way. A conduit was a strong tower built of stone,
furnished with taps, through which water was supplied to the people.
London householders used to send their servants and apprentices, with
jugs and pails, to the conduits, to obtain water for daily use; and a
great deal of gossiping and quarrelling went on at these places. On
state occasions the conduits were decorated; and, at the coronation of
one of the queens, we read that over the conduit near Shoe Lane was
raised a turret, with figures of the four cardinal virtues; while the
taps, instead of sending out water, ran for that day with streams of
wine. Often, as a royal procession passed such places, a youth or child,
in some strange dress, would stand forth, and deliver a speech, prepared
beforehand, to the king or queen.
CLEVER BILLY.
A True Story.
'Well, Lucy, how have you been getting on since I saw you last?' said
Miss Fanny Cresswell to her niece, Lucy.
Lucy had come on a visit to her aunt's pretty cottage in the country,
and very pleased the little girl was to be there. Nevertheless, there
was a shadow on her usually bright face as she looked up.
'We have had a great trouble at home, Aunt Fanny,' she answered. 'Our
dear old dog, Carlo, is dead. He was so clever and so good that we shall
never get another like him. Why, he even carried my basket when I went
shopping, instead of being stupid, like other animals.'
Aunt Fanny could hardly help smiling. 'Carlo was indeed a good dog, and
I am very sorry that he is dead,' she said. 'But you must not think, my
dear, that all the other animals are stupid. My goat, Billy, is, in his
own way, as clever as Carlo, as you may see to-morrow morning--that is,
if you are up in time.'
Lucy thought to herself that Aunt Fanny's rough goat--of whom, in her
heart, she was a little afraid--could not possibly equal poor, faithful
Carlo. But she took care to be early next morning, and very soon she
found out her aunt's meaning.
Miss Cresswell was writing at her desk, and Mary, the maid, was busy
getting breakfast, when the postman came to the gate.
'There is the postman with a letter,' cried Lucy. 'Shall I run and take
it, auntie?'
'Oh, never mind!' said Aunt Fanny. 'Billy will do that.'
[Illustration: "Billy allowed the letter to be taken."]
Sure enough Billy trotted up to the smiling postman and received the
letter in his mouth. Once or twice he capered round Lucy, who had
followed to the gate, and then, standing quite still, he held up his
head as if proud of his achievement, and allowed the letter to be taken.
'Good Billy,' said Lucy, as, ashamed of her former fears, she patted his
shaggy side. 'You _are_ clever. It is just as wonderful for a goat to
bring the letters as for a dog to carry a basket.'
AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(_Continued from page 319._)