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GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT.
[Illustration: A MAGNIFICENT RACE. _Page 18._]
GUNPOWDER TREASON
AND PLOT
And Other Stories for Boys
BY
HAROLD AVERY, FRED WHISHAW,
AND
R. B. TOWNSHEND
_WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS_
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1901
CONTENTS.
WHEN FRIENDS FALL OUT, 9
TWO HEROES, 42
LOST IN THE SOUDAN, 76
THE WOLFMAN, 106
IN HONOUR BOUND, 130
"GUNPOWDER, TREASON, AND PLOT," 145
THE COCK-HOUSE CUP, 169
GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT.
WHEN FRIENDS FALL OUT.
Old Dan Mudge, fisherman, of Brixham, Devon, saw a curious sight one
afternoon as he walked along the shore between his own village and
another of the name of Churston, in order to see whether the gale of the
preceding night had disturbed his lobster-pots, laid in a symmetrical
line just clear of the rocks that lie to the north of Broad Sands, one
of the many lovely coves in Tor Bay.
A curiously-shaped object floated and bobbed in the still lively sea,
fifty yards from shore, and from the midst of the object there seemed to
rise--yes, he was sure of it--a child's cry.
"I must wade in and see to that matter," thought old Dan. "It isn't deep
where she's floating now."
"She" consisted, as he plainly saw when he had approached a little
nearer, of a most elaborately-made floating nest. Two lifebuoys, held
apart by thick wire zigzags, floated one above the other; and slung upon
the uppermost, hanging between it and the other, was a basket, lined
within and without with thickest oilskin. In the basket, lying securely
fastened among cushions and blankets, were two splendid little boys, one
of whom slept soundly; the other yelled loudly. From their likeness to
each other, it was plain that they were brothers.
Old Dan Mudge was astonished beyond words--so astonished that he omitted
to save the lifebuoys with their ingenious appendage, but simply took
the two children out and carried them ashore, leaving their peculiar
raft to itself and to the mercy of the waves.
"Good Lord, deliver us all!" he exclaimed. "What a splendid pair of
babies! And what in the name of good gracious am I going to do with
them?"
As a preliminary to finding an answer to this question, Dan took the
children to Brixham, and showed them to his wife and to a select company
of neighbours, who had come in to hear the news, having seen Dan walk
through the streets with two babies on his two arms.
"You'll have to advertise 'em," suggested some one. But Dan demurred.
"Can't afford that kind of thing," he said.
"Oh, but we must! Hat round for subscriptions," exclaimed some one, "to
find the owner of these babes!"
The hat went round, and sufficient was soon collected to pay for several
insertions of an advertisement in a London paper of the day; but nothing
was ever heard of any claimant to the privilege of proprietorship of the
two little waifs, and it was concluded that they were sole survivors of
a fine passenger sailing-ship bound for Plymouth, which was known to
have gone down, with all hands, during a gale in the Channel, about the
time of their discovery.
Meanwhile old Dan Mudge was at his wits' end to know what to do with the
bairns. His wife was too old and sickly to care to have the charge of
small children, though she adored the pair of babes as much as any of
the good folk who came to weep over and kiss and admire them during
their stay of a few days under her roof.
[Illustration: "_Dan Mudge was at his wits' end to know what to do with
the bairns._" Page 13.]
The children were of gentle birth, too; that was evident from the
quality of their clothes, which were of the finest and best, and
carefully marked, those of one child bearing the name "Noel," and the
other "Granby." It would not be right, the good old couple thought,
even though they were able to do so, to bring up these little ones in
the station occupied by themselves, as poor Brixham trawling folk, they
being, as any one might plainly see, of gentle birth.
"Why shouldn't you see the captain and his wife, up to Weston by
Totnes?" suggested some one; and Dan thought this a good idea.
Captain Brocklehurst and his wife were childless, and supposed to be
well off. They had lost two children as infants; and now, though still
comparatively young, lived their lives without the constant consolation
which the presence of children affords in a household.
When old Dan walked across to Weston and interviewed the captain,
Brocklehurst summoned his wife to the conference, and though she said
but little more than that it would be impossible to say one thing or the
other without first seeing the children, it was plain, from her flushed
face and agitated manner after Dan had departed, that the idea of
adopting these little ones was more than interesting to her. Her husband
had been more inclined to reject the old trawler's proposal with a laugh
and a jest, but his wife's more serious attitude sobered him, and he
quickly agreed that the children might at least be brought for
inspection.
But when Dan brought them, the little things laughed deliciously up in
Mrs. Brocklehurst's face, and played with her gold chain when she bent
to kiss them. Her husband saw that there were tears of joy in his wife's
eyes, and that the matter of their adoption was as good as settled
already.
Not that he ever regretted afterwards that this had come about. On the
contrary, the boys grew up fine little fellows, likely to do their
adopted parents credit in the world. And many a time, when Mrs.
Brocklehurst reminded him that God had been very good to them in this
matter, he cordially and sincerely agreed.
Brocklehurst had retired from the Royal Navy as commander, receiving a
step in rank upon his retirement, and he was never in two minds as to
the profession that the boys should enter when they were old enough to
do so.
"They shall serve the Queen, as I did," he would say, "and one day there
shall be two ships in the navy list commanded each by a Brocklehurst."
"Good lads," he would say when pleased with them for any reason; "you
shall die admirals, both of you."
Though the boys were alike in many ways, they were dissimilar in this,
that Granby early betrayed an obstinacy of disposition which was most
marked, and which punishment only seemed to intensify. Noel did not
share this peculiarity. Both were kindly and affectionate, and
accustomed to stand by one another through thick and thin.
At the age of thirteen, just before their admission to the _Britannia_,
the twins had a misunderstanding. It was as foolish and ridiculous a
matter as could well be imagined to found a standing quarrel upon; yet a
breach was made, and Granby's constitutional obstinacy stood in the way
of its healing.
It happened at school--a naval preparatory school of long standing at
Cubberly-on-Sea, to which the captain sent his boys because he had been
there himself, and would have considered no naval education complete
unless founded and continued at this establishment.
Granby was an excellent sprinter, and had been considered at school a
"certain card" for the hundred yards race, as well as for the hurdle
race and the long jump. Now, the winning of these three events would
make Granby "champion" for the year, a position greatly desired by these
athletes of thirteen and fourteen years; and when Granby sallied forth
on the afternoon of the great day, equipped in his racing garments, he
carried an ambitious and an intensely-agitated heart within his
buttoned-up greatcoat, being resolved to win that championship or
perish in the attempt.
Noel was not great at athletic sports, though an excellent cricketer,
and more than pretty good at football. He therefore officiated as
referee or judge on this occasion, not having entered for the races.
Noel was quite as anxious as Granby that his brother should win the
championship medal; and when Granby easily won the long jump, and just
contrived to shake off his most dangerous rival, Evans, in the hurdle
race, Noel felt certain, with the rest of the school, that the medal was
as good as in Granby's pocket.
"He's all right, even if he halves the hundred yards with Bradbury,"
whispered an excited partisan in Noel's ear. "If Bradbury runs him a
dead heat, his half marks for the hundred will still clear him. Bradbury
is next up, though. The mile and second in the quarter only leave him
twenty-five marks behind Granby, so it's an important race for both.
Granby's 375 up to now--200 for the hurdles and 175 for the long jump;
and Bradbury's 350--200 for the mile and 100 for second in the quarter.
It's a near thing, isn't it?"
"Run and ask Mr. Headon to be judge for this race, will you?" said Noel.
"I hardly like officiating when it means so much for my brother."
The boy ran off to request the master named to undertake the duty which
Noel, under the circumstances, dreaded; but he was too late. Mr. Headon
was at the starting-place, and the race was begun before the messenger
reached him.
It was a magnificent race.
Granby got off badly, his foot slipping at the mark and losing him
nearly two yards.
Bradbury, seeing that he had an advantage at the start, made stupendous
efforts to retain the lead, and did well for the first half of the race.
But inch by inch Granby crept up behind him, and when but ten yards were
left to run there was scarcely half a yard between them.
Bradbury made his effort, and for an instant it seemed as though those
last eighteen inches would not be recovered by his opponent; but Granby
made his own effort, and a frantic one, in the last three strides,
ending with a leap forward which appeared to a few to land him in front
of Bradbury. To the majority they seemed to breast the tape at the same
instant; to a second minority it appeared that Bradbury had just won.
Beyond the tape Granby had shot well ahead. Had the race been five yards
farther he would certainly have won it. As it was, all eyes were turned
upon Noel, in whose hands the decision lay. Partisan shouts arose and
rent the air. Some shouted "Brocklehurst!"--a majority, perhaps; others
shrieked "Bradbury!"
Noel's face was very pale, but he had a set, determined look about the
mouth. He was going to decide as he believed to be right and just--that
was clear.
The head-master bustled up, panting, having "scorched" up from the
starting-mark.
"Well, Brocklehurst?" he said; "well?"
"Bradbury, sir, by two inches," said poor Noel; and, having dashed the
cup of happiness from Granby's and his own lips, he turned and marched
away to his study and shut himself up, quite tragically miserable.
Perhaps he even shed a tear of mortification. He was only thirteen, be
it remembered, and the decision against his brother had been a very hard
and somewhat heroic thing.
Granby arrived presently, and entered the study, taking no notice of
Noel. He was evidently very angry, for he banged the books about, and
scattered a packet of chocolate--Noel's--all over the floor.
Noel was nervous as to how Granby would take his decision. Perhaps he
would not understand how _more_ than ordinarily important it had been
that he should be absolutely impartial, or even inclined, if anything,
to favour the opponent.
"Granby, I'm awfully sorry, old man," he began, "that you didn't win.
I'd give a good deal--"
"You're a liar! I _did_ win! Everybody says so but you," said Granby,
interrupting him furiously.
"Well, I watched both posts, and I did my best to give a fair decision,"
said Noel, shocked at his brother's violence.
"You have swindled me in Bradbury's favour," Granby began.
Noel laughed. He was growing angry also.
"What rot you talk!" he said; "as if I wouldn't rather you had won!"
"Then why not tell the truth and say I did, like a man?" cried angry,
disappointed Granby.
Noel saw that argument was useless, and left the study; but afterwards,
later in the evening, he returned to the charge.
"Come, Granby; we'd better shake hands and make it up," he began, but
Granby interrupted him.
"Will you admit you cheated me?" he said.
"Certainly not!" said Noel. "I tell you I--"
"Very well; you have ruined my happiness. I was set upon getting that
medal, and you have lost it to me by your unfairness. I shall never
shake hands with you again so long as I possess a right hand, and it's
no use your speaking to me in future, for I shan't answer!"
"Oh, very well," said Noel, hurt and offended, leaving the room; "I
daresay you'll be less idiotic about all this when you've slept over
it."
Noel certainly never supposed that Granby's wrath would last, or that he
would carry out his avowed intention of "remaining enemies," and of
silence. Had he known what he was to learn with deep regret during the
next few years of their lives--namely, that Granby would remain
obstinately determined to ignore his brother when in his presence--he
would somehow have contrived to soften the bitterness of his offence on
that first night, or have made almost any sacrifice in order to appease
the floodtide of fury and mortification which his unfortunate
decision--a wrong one, as many assured him--had called forth. But from
this time forward not a word would Granby vouchsafe his brother, even
though affectionately addressed or treated with marked kindness. During
their sojourn on board the _Britannia_, officers, instructors, and
cadets were alike amused first, and afterwards incensed, by the
obstinate refusals of Granby to speak to his brother. The older men,
officers and instructors, devised many ways of bringing them together,
for both were noteworthy among the cadets of their year, whether at work
or play; but no ingenuity of theirs was successful in compelling Granby
to address even an accidental word to his brother, for his own
cleverness was at least equal to theirs, and he invariably contrived to
escape the necessity of direct communication with Noel by employing a
third party to convey the required message or whatever he might have
been asked to do or say.
As for the cadets, Granby soon showed these interfering persons that two
things in connection with his quarrel with Noel must be laid to heart by
them. The first was, that the said quarrel was no affair of theirs, and
that interference or attempted peace-making, by trickery or otherwise,
was _dangerous_. Granby was a doughty person among the cadets of his
term, or any term, and not one to be lightly provoked.
The other truth they were obliged to learn was this, that though Granby
might not wish, for private reasons, to maintain friendly intercourse
with his brother, no one else in this world was at liberty to offend or
injure Noel in his presence, whether Noel himself were by or not. Once
or twice some misguided cadet attempted to curry favour with Granby by
abusing Noel, imagining that he would thereby placate the brother who,
to all appearances, was upon the worst possible terms with his twin.
Such cadets learned very quickly that their last state was worse than
the first.
As for Noel, the state of affairs with Granby gave him much sorrow as
well as shame. He was as fond of his brother as ever, in spite of his
foolish, long-continued obstinacy, and this although he was at times
very angry with him, and ashamed of the foolishness which Granby was
apparently not himself ashamed to display before others. Was Granby
waiting for an apology for the old offence at Cubberly? Well, Noel was
not without a spice of stubborn will, though his obstinacy was not to be
compared with that of his brother, and he for his part was firmly
determined that he would never offer any kind of apology for his
decision on that historical occasion, unless Granby should first own up
to his great foolishness, and ask for pardon.
Nevertheless, though Granby never replied, and though Noel knew that he
would never reply, Noel invariably spoke to his brother just as though
he might be expected to carry on the conversation; or, if others were
present, he would refer to Granby by name just as frequently, during the
course of conversation, as to any other person. And on such occasions
Granby would reply as though one of the others had spoken, and not
Noel.
It was a queer state of things, and sometimes ludicrously exasperating,
as, for instance, one day when, during a cricket match on the beautiful
Dartmouth Hill, the brothers being at the wickets together, Granby ran
Noel out simply because he would not so much as cry "No!" when Noel
called a run and started from his wicket. Granby had been somewhat
ashamed of this, and had said in Noel's presence afterwards that he was
"beastly sorry he had run some fellow out"--he forgot who it was--but
"he ought to have seen there was no run."
Things had not improved a couple of years later, when the twins, both
serving now as midshipmen in H.M.S. _Argus_, landed upon the west coast
of Africa as members of a small party sent to chastise some umbrellaed
potentate of the Gold Coast, who, unwilling to be chastised without a
struggle, had the effrontery to oppose a thousand or two of his black
legions against the _Argus_ contingent, in the hope of preventing the
representatives of Her Majesty from reaching the native village, lying
in the pestiferous forests which abound in those parts, which formed his
metropolis.
In this attempt he succeeded so well that, long before the British
marines and blue-jackets had advanced half-way to his village, they
found themselves attacked by so strong a force of natives that the only
course open to them was to retire at once towards the sea, in the hope
of regaining their boats before King Kom-Kom's hosts should have cut
them all to pieces.
That retreat through the jungle was a nightmare experience for all, and
when at length the British troops reached their boats and opened fire
upon their pursuers with a small piece of ordnance which they had
brought with them but could not land (this was long before these days of
quick-firing guns and Maxims and such military luxuries of our day),
they chased away the niggers, indeed, but became aware, having at length
time and leisure to count their losses, that about half the party had
fallen, and among those missing were both the Brocklehursts, the only
two officers lost, barring the first lieutenant, who had dropped at the
first attack, when the party of unsuspecting British had walked straight
into the ambush prepared for them.
[Illustration: "_They walked straight into the ambush._" Page 27.]
Several had seen Noel Brocklehurst fall. He had been pierced by a spear
in the neck, and had dropped dead apparently, for there were those
present who would have risked much to bring him along. No one had
actually seen Granby fall, but a sailor declared he had seen him
tearing through the jungle, apparently in a fury of passion, after a
"nigger--probably the Johnny as killed his brother, sir," said the
sailor; "and he looked that angry I wouldn't have given a tuppenny Bath
bun for the nigger's life."
"Well, but in that case we can't possibly return to the ship," said the
officer left in command. "He may turn up; and if not, I think I shall
have to ask for volunteers to form a search party."
Instantly every man present volunteered.
"Thanks, lads," said the officer; "I knew you would; but we'll give him
ten minutes."
Before that period had elapsed, Granby suddenly appeared out of the
cover, bleeding profusely from a slight wound in the leg and another cut
in the face, and carrying his brother Noel, who might be dead, by the
look of him, though Granby said, as he put him down,--
"He isn't dead, doctor. Have a look at him, quick, please!"
The doctor did not waste many seconds in acting as desired. He knelt
down by Noel's body and carefully inspected his wound. The spear had
passed almost through his neck, and Noel had lost much blood, which
accounted for his unconscious condition.
"He may pull through," said the doctor presently, "but he's middling
bad, Brocklehurst, and it'll take some nursing."
All through the days of suspense and peril Granby watched by his
brother's bedside. Noel lay and groaned--alive, indeed, but little more.
He knew no one, and did not speak, though he was semiconscious. But
presently his youth and his splendid constitution began to assert
themselves, and Noel grew better.
Then, finding that his brother was apparently out of danger, and would
begin to recognize faces, and to speak and be spoken to, Granby ceased
to haunt Noel's bedside.
When the latter was well enough to speak, the first question he asked
was whether Granby had survived the attack on the day of the ambush.
"Why, certainly," said the doctor. "He was slightly wounded, but nothing
to matter. He has been nursing you till yesterday, and nursing you very
well too!"
Noel shut his eyes and was silent. When he reopened them two hours
later, "Did you say Granby nursed me?" he asked, and the doctor replied
that he had said so.
"Dear old chap!" murmured Noel.
While his brother slept, Granby came in to see how he progressed, and
sat and watched the sick man. Once Noel opened his eyes and caught him
in the act of departing.
"Granby!" said Noel in his weak voice; but Granby either did not or
pretended that he did not hear.
After this he came no more to look after Noel.
But when Noel was able to come into the gunroom, a few days later, he
said to Granby in the presence of all the midshipmen,--
"Granby, old man, I want to tell you before every one present how
grateful I am for all you did for me when the niggers knocked me over
that day. I--"
"You were saying we were likely to renew the attack in a few days,
weren't you, Chambers?" said Granby. "It's about time we did something
to take down that Kom-Kom fellow's impertinence, besides peppering them
from the ship. I don't know why we've waited so long."
[Illustration: "_Peppering them from the ship._" Page 32.]
It was no use, and Noel, weak still from his illness, and more easily
upset than of old, went back to his cabin and shut himself in and--yes,
cried--shed tears of disappointment and bitterness; for he thought that
if Granby would not "make it up" now, he never would.
So matters went on for another year or two, or it may have been half a
dozen. The brothers served for a while apart from one another, in
different ships. Both were lieutenants now, Noel having been
appointed to the _Thunderer_, Granby to the _Mars_. But now they were
together once again, a circumstance which had caused both brothers much
secret delight, though the feud still continued--the foolish,
lamentable, incomprehensible breach that dated from the race day at
Cubberly-on-Sea, now nearly ten years ago.
As a matter of fact, Granby, hearing that Noel had been appointed to the
_Irreconcilable_, applied himself for the same ship, using all the
influence he could command in order to get the desired appointment. Old
Captain Brocklehurst assisted the application by seconding it with a
personal request at the Admiralty, where he possessed many old friends;
and his endeavours to have the brothers once more serving in the same
ship met with success.
Granby had always taken care to apply for leave whenever he knew that
Noel had either had his own or would not yet be taking it, for he was
unwilling that his parents should become aware of their quarrel. As a
matter of fact, so fond did the old captain know the boys to be of each
other that he would never have believed it if assured of the existence
of such a quarrel. Each brother invariably spoke of his twin most kindly
and affectionately while in the presence of the old folks. In Granby
this was a sign of grace, the saving clause in his foolish and
obstinate perversity.
One day, while cruising in the southern seas, some of the younger
officers were amusing themselves, first by feeding a number of sharks
which they had attracted to the ship's side by throwing offal and other
refuse into the sea, and afterwards by fishing for the brutes, of which
there were a dozen or more swimming around and about the vessel,
showing, from time to time, their great dorsal fins and their tails, as
they rose close to the surface in order to see what was to be had in the
way of delicacies of a floating description.
Noel was officer of the watch, while Granby happened to be among the
youngsters, enjoying the fun of watching and angling for the great
brutes beneath just as much as the younger officers. Noel, walking up
and down the deck, being on duty, took but little notice of the group of
laughing and chattering youngsters. He strolled up the deck and down
again, now taking a look at the sharks for a moment, now pausing to
issue some order to one or other of the crew lazily busy over the varied
duties that fall to Jack at sea in order to keep him employed and the
ship clean and smart.
Suddenly a terrible thing happened.
A youngster, nominally busy upon a yardarm, but actually too interested
in watching what went on below in the matter of the shark-feeding,
suddenly lost his hold, in the excitement of gazing down, and fell from
his perch.
It so happened that Granby was at that moment leaning dangerously over
the side of the ship endeavouring to entice a certain shark to take the
bait he dangled in front of it, and the youngster, in falling, struck
Granby so violently upon the neck that he too lost his hold and fell
with the lad into the sea.
A loud, inarticulate cry arose from all who saw the occurrence.
"Man overboard!" shrieked some, and "A boat!" cried others. "Cutter's
crew--quick, for Heaven's sake!"
Noel heard and ran to the side of the ship just in time to see Granby
and the lad fall together, with a great splash, in front of the huge
shark which Granby had angled for but a moment before.
Noel instantly seized the great knife which had been used by the anglers
for cutting their bait.
"Out of the way there!" he shouted, elbowing aside the horrified crowd
that looked down, shouting, each one, in more or less articulate
horror--"out of the way! Heave a rope out, some of you, and shy things
into the water to make a splash."
The concluding words of the sentence were spoken as Noel shot, head
downwards, through the air. He cleft the water in a beautiful header,
rising just in time to see Granby lift the lad towards the rope which
willing hands above quickly dangled ready for him.
The bellowing youth laid hold of the rope, and swarmed up with amazing
quickness. He was safe.
Granby was about to follow his example, when he suddenly caught sight of
Noel. Up to this moment he had not known that his brother had plunged to
his assistance.
Noel had dived very carefully. He had seen the huge shark disappear,
probably startled, as the two human bodies fell with a great splash
before its very nose; then he saw it slowly gliding forward once more,
and had dived so as to emerge, if possible, at its shoulder, in order to
plunge his knife into the brute's eye and blind him.
The shark had set its heart upon Granby, it appeared, for it turned
slightly towards him, with the result that Noel rose to the surface,
brushing against its very side, at which he viciously jabbed his knife,
under water, without much effect, excepting to attract the brute towards
himself. Then, getting his head out of the water, Noel placed his left
arm over the shark's head, and made several stabs at the brute's eye
with his right, which held the knife. But the position was awkward, and
his blows missed their mark, though they seemed to rouse the fighting
instincts of the huge fish, which lashed the water with its tail, and
snapped viciously at its adversary, though clumsily, for it was in a bad
position for taking its prey.
[Illustration: "_Noel placed his left arm over the shark's head._"
Page 36.]
Meanwhile--for all this occupied but an instant of time--Granby had
slipped back into the water, and swam behind his brother.
"Dive, Noel! Dive and rip up the beast from underneath!" he cried. These
were the first words he had addressed to his brother for ten years.
"Keep out of his way then," said Noel, and dived.
But the shark would not be denied, for even as Noel dived and ripped a
long slit that let the savage life out of it, the great brute made a
last snap in Granby's direction, and with a cry Granby grew suddenly
pale, and sank.
But help was at hand now. The cutter's crew had floated their boat with
marvellous quickness, and were even now approaching, splashing with
their oars in order to frighten away other sharks, of which there were
many around.
Noel rose to the surface, having laid hold of Granby as he came; and as
the dead shark sank, the two plucky officers were assisted into the
boat. Granby was unconscious; and it was seen, to the horror of all
present, that his right hand had been bitten clean off at the wrist.
For some days the ship's doctor almost despaired of saving the gallant
fellow's life. The whole crew hung with dread and excitement upon his
hourly report. Noel was frantic with anxiety. But the wounded man, like
Noel, had been blessed with a good constitution; and, thanks to the
doctor's skill and attention, to Noel's devotion, and to his own
splendid strength, Granby gradually beat back oncoming death, and took a
new lease of life, maimed, indeed, for life, but healed and recovered.
He was very weak and quite unable to speak for many days and even weeks;
but when at last he was able and allowed to attempt it, he asked to see
Noel.
"All right," said the doctor; "you're right to thank him, my boy, for,
by all that's heroic, he did a fine thing in saving you. But don't
excite yourself; that's all I ask."
When Noel entered, Granby beckoned him nearer.
"I'm going to speak at last," he said, smiling. "It's time I did, isn't
it? But I'm afraid I can't shake hands, dear old man. I vowed I
wouldn't, so long as I had a right hand. Well, now I haven't one. I
suppose it's my punishment, and I'm sure I deserve it. Will you forgive
me, Noel?"
"I've nothing to forgive," said Noel with a sob. "And as for that
race--"
"Yes--I _did_ win that race, you know, Noel. Nearly every one thought
so."
"I really and honestly believe you did, dear old Granby," said Noel,
sobbing quite freely; "and I believe I was utterly wrong. But I was so
fond of you, old chap, that I was afraid of cheating the other fellow."
"Thanks! thanks!" said Granby. "Oh, I am so happy--and so sleepy!"
Then the doctor came and turned Noel out; but Noel was happier that
night than he had been for ten long years.
TWO HEROES.
The two young counts, Peter and Paul Selsky, were as sturdy a pair of
boys as you'd find in all Russia, and as fond of outdoor life and
outdoor sports as though they were very Britons. For this circumstance
they were largely indebted to their tutor, a young graduate of Oxford,
Frank Thirlstone, who had lived with them since the death of their
father, three years ago, and had taught them, besides the English
language and a smattering of classical lore, something more than the
elements of cricket and of golf and other games dear to the heart of
every British youth. Peter and Paul were now respectively seventeen and
sixteen years old, and the period of their tutelage by Thirlstone was
drawing to a close; for both must shortly enter the Lyceum at St.
Petersburg, in preparation for the usual career of young aristocrats in
their country, and Thirlstone would return to England.
It was winter, and most aristocratic land-owners had long since left
their country seats for their warmer mansions in town; but it was not
the custom of the Selskys to leave their beloved outdoor avocations for
the cooped-up amusements of the metropolis for any long period at a
time, and they would spend their Christmastide and the New Year at the
manor house as usual.
They were the more inclined to do so because their nearest neighbours,
old General Ootin and his daughter Vera, intended to do the same. Since
the death of his wife, the general had never cared to live in St.
Petersburg, preferring to pass his time in the seclusion of country life
with his adored and certainly most charming daughter. Old Ootin was a
fine sportsman, devoted to every form of hunting and shooting, and
nothing pleased the old man so much as to wander, gun in hand, among his
ancestral pine trees, accompanied by pretty Vera. He was an adept in all
matters of tracking, and had taught young Peter and Paul and their
English tutor many a "wrinkle" in the art of bear-hunting, wolf-ringing,
and even of calling the lynx and other animals from an ambush--one of
the most difficult and exciting of all forms of sport.
Scarcely a week passed even in winter time without some sporting
enterprise planned and undertaken by the four men (to dignify Paul and
Peter by that title, scarcely yet due them by the operation of time);
and when there was a battue or ambush-shooting, Vera nearly always
formed one of the party as a spectator. When the sport included long
runs upon the snowshoes in pursuit of lynx or elk, the girl, though no
mean performer on snowshoes, preferred to leave the hunt to the sterner
sex.
One evening the young counts, with Frank Thirlstone, drove over to the
general's to dinner, as they frequently did, in order to plan a campaign
for the following day. To their astonishment the old servant in the hall
informed them that "his excellence" was in bed ill, but that his young
mistress was up and ready to receive them.
Hurrying upstairs to learn what ailed their old friend, the three young
men found Vera greatly excited, and anxious to tell them the whole
story, which was sufficiently exciting, and may be told in her own
words.
"Father and I were wandering in the woods," she began. "He carried a gun
with small shot, for I had asked him to shoot a brace of tree partridges
or so for the house. We heard one whistle in the distance--you know how
sharp father's ears are for that kind of sound--and stood to listen. We
stood in the midst of a tangle of fallen pine trees--what the
peasants call a _lom_. Suddenly, within five yards of us, there was a
startling upheaval of snow and pine twigs, and with a deafening roar a
big she-bear rushed straight out at us. We had been standing
unconsciously within a few paces of her winter lair, where father says
she probably has a family of cubs, or she would have been asleep.
"Father cried out to me to run for my life, which I did, skating away on
my snowshoes at my very best speed. I heard my father fire a shot, but
did not turn round for fear of running into a tree stump and tripping
up.
"Then my father shouted again, and to my horror I found that the bear
was in full pursuit of me, apparently none the worse for the charge of
small shot.
[Illustration: "_I found that the bear was in full pursuit of me._"
Page 47.]
"I could scarcely think for horror. I was some thirty yards ahead; but,
since the snow was fairly hard, I knew the beast would soon catch me,
and if she did I had nothing but a small Circassian dagger with a silver
handle--the one that Mr. Thirlstone gave me," Vera added with a glance
at the Oxonian and a slight blush, "on my birthday. Then I thought I
would try to reach a patch of soft snow which I remembered to have
passed over a few minutes before, and in that direction I now turned my
shoes. I could hear poor father shouting frantically after me, but it
was impossible to distinguish what he said. I know now that he wished me
to lead the bear round in a curve, so that he might shoot her. But I
succeeded in reaching the soft snow, and there my pursuer floundered,
while I sped quickly on and gained some yards upon her. This also
enabled my father to come up closer to the bear, and as he was now
nearer to her than I was, and all the noise came from him, she turned
round and charged back at father.
"Father fired when she was close, but his charge flew like a bullet, and
he missed her. Apparently, however, the shot passed near enough to the
brute to frighten her into discretion; for, having knocked poor father
backwards, and run right over him, she took no further notice of him,
and retired to her _berloga_ [lair]. Father was much shaken, but not
seriously hurt; he will be quite well after a day or two of resting in
bed."
When Paul had an opportunity of speaking privately to Vera, he was very
eloquent in his expressions of gratitude for her deliverance from
danger. "Ah-rr!" he ended, "the brute; she shall die to-morrow, Vera, I
swear it, for frightening you."
"Still more for hurting poor father, I hope," she laughed; "but be
careful, Paul, for she is savage."
"I am sorry that the general was hurt," said Paul, "but she shall die
for the other fault."
Presently Peter took Vera aside, and said almost the same words.
"If that brute had hurt a hair of your head, Vera," he said, "I should
have spent the rest of my life exterminating bears; as it is, this one
shall die to-morrow for frightening you."
"It is very kind of you, dear Peter, to be my champion; but, please, be
careful, for this is a very savage bear, and I would not have you hurt."
"Bah!" said Peter; "I am not afraid of a bear."
Vera was an extremely pretty girl, and as she sat at the head of her
father's dinner table dispensing hospitality to her three guests, each
one of the young men evidently recognized this fact, for many admiring
glances were bestowed upon her. Both Paul and Peter afterwards made
private inquiries as to the exact locality of the day's adventure,
neither, however, mentioning his intention to his brother. Presently,
while Vera sat at the piano and sang for their delight, Thirlstone
standing by, she asked the Englishman with a laugh whether he did not
intend, like the boys, to avenge her upon the bear. Thirlstone laughed
also. He would leave the matter in the hands of her champions, he said;
they were quite safe with the beast, and would certainly resent any
interference. Thirlstone seemed very fond of music, and remained at the
piano with Vera for a long while.
When Peter went upon his snowshoes early next morning to the place
where, as described by Vera, the bear had unexpectedly made its
appearance, he was surprised, and somewhat disgusted, to find his
brother Paul already on the spot.
"I didn't know you were coming, Paul," he said. "I understood from Vera
that I was to have the privilege of punishing the brute that offended
her."
"I thought the same thing for myself," said Paul. "I suppose she
concluded we meant to come together. It doesn't much matter, though, so
long as the bear is chastised for her sin."
"If it is all the same to you, brother, I think I should like to be the
one to kill it," said Peter. "I am the elder, you see, and--and, well,
I've an idea she would like me to do it."
"Why?" asked Paul in genuine surprise.
"I'll tell you one day," said Peter; "but perhaps we'd better kill the
bear first. If you don't mind, I'll be first spear."
Good-natured Paul agreed, though sadly against his will, for he too was
very anxious to serve Vera.
The brothers had come forth armed with bear spears only--that is, each
carried a knife in his belt, but no firearms. They would have thought it
but a shabby enterprise to carry rifles. Bear-shooting from the
_berloga_ was too easy to be sportsmanlike.
But a fall of snow during the night had obliterated all the tracks of
the preceding day, and though they knew that they must certainly be
within a hundred yards, more or less, of the exact spot from out of
which the creature had charged only yesterday, they could not be sure
which of many clumps of fallen pine trees and forest _debris_ was the
one referred to by Vera in her description of the occurrence.
"One of us had better run home and fetch Milka," said Peter. He expected
that Paul would immediately volunteer to fetch Milka, and he was not
disappointed.
"If you are to have first spear," said Paul, "then I'd better go for the
dog, as the bear may come out while I'm away."
So away ran young Paul, skating beautifully upon his long snowshoes,
anxious to reach home, fetch the dog, and bring him back before his
brother should find the bear and finish operations without him.
Milka was a wonderful little dog, half terrier, half nondescript, whose
nose and instinct for localizing a sleeping bear were most surprising, a
talent as useful to her masters as remarkable in itself.
When Paul had disappeared, Peter, not with any mean desire to steal a
march upon his brother, but simply because he was tired of doing
nothing, strode hither and thither upon his snowshoes examining the
likely places, half hoping the bear would come rushing out upon him, yet
half sorry for Paul if it should. As for any feeling of fear or even
nervousness about having to withstand all by himself the rush of a
furious bear, the mother of a family, and therefore very dangerous, such
an idea never for an instant occurred to him.
For half an hour Peter strolled from thicket to thicket without starting
the fury of yesterday. He began to grow weary of waiting. Would Paul
never return with the dog? Poor old Paul, it was rather hard on him to
have claimed the elder brother's privilege; but then Paul didn't
know--well, something he (Peter) suspected as to Vera's feelings. For
Peter had not claimed the privilege of first spear, he assured himself
over and over again, with any mere selfish motive, but because he knew
Vera would rather he killed this bear than Paul; and it couldn't really
matter to Paul, because--
Peter's reflections had just reached this stage when, with a sudden and
most startling rush, and a roar such as is never heard from the mouth of
a sleepy and semi-comatose creature just awakened and sallying
unwillingly from its winter lair, the big bear set flying the snow and
ice which had formed a covering to the hole in which, with her cubs, she
lay snugly beneath the upturned root of a pine tree, and made straight
for the aggravating person whose presence close to her den had roused
her into the state of insensate fury so easily developed by her
quick-tempered tribe.
Peter barely had time to kick off his snowshoes and push them out of his
way, to plant his heels securely, and present his formidable spear at
the proper angle, when the great brute was upon him, or, to be more
accurate, upon his spear.
This was a weapon of tough, seasoned, most carefully tested wood,
provided with a murderous steel head and point, and a projecting notch
two feet from the sharp end, designed to prevent the shaft from passing
right through the animal attacked. Down upon the slightly-raised point
came the heavy bear, with an impetus which nearly carried Peter over
backwards. That is the first crisis of bear-spearing, and a dangerous
one it is, for should the hunter fall upon his back, the bear would fall
over him, to tear and maul at his discretion, or until his own terrible
wound put an end to his power to do mischief.
Peter withstood the shock with difficulty. He had never had to deal with
a bear, up to this time, either so large or so savage. The way it now
bit and tore at the hickory shaft, which had entered into its flesh to
the depth of at least nine inches, was truly terrible by reason of the
relentless savagery displayed in the onslaught. But the shaft was
strengthened with iron side-supports, and was, moreover, a magnificent
piece of wood, and Peter felt little fear that the wounded beast would
rip or break it; she might tear off a few splinters--she was busily
doing so already--but the good shaft would stand the strain. As for the
power she would presently exert in pushing back at her assailant, that
would be a different matter. She was hugely heavy, and Peter greatly
feared that he would have trouble.
Only for a few moments she bit and tore at the spear handle; then she
suddenly abandoned these tactics, and, looking full at her aggressor,
she roared loudly, and began to push forward in order to get at him.
Peter was prepared to exert his strength, and exerted it. For a
minute--two minutes--he checked the bear's advance. Then she seemed to
gather strength, and, pulling herself together, made a supreme effort.
It was as though the heavier forwards in a scrimmage at football forced
back the weaker side inch by inch and foot by foot. Peter felt himself
giving ground. He, too, made his effort, stemming the advance for five
seconds, no more. Then again the bear pushed him steadily back, and
Peter now began to realize that unless Paul came quickly to his
assistance this bear-hunt might end after a fashion which would be
unpleasant for himself as well as for the bear.
He shouted aloud, repeating Paul's name half a dozen times. The bear
replied with a couple of loud roars and many quaint moans and
complaining noises; but there was no reply from Paul. Peter's strength
was failing rapidly, but the bear was still strong. How long could her
strength hold out? Back went Peter step by step; he would continue to
grip the spear at any rate.
"You're booked anyway, my friend," he panted aloud. "You're punished
for frightening Vera; and if you kill me she'll cry till her eyes are
red, but no one will cry for you. As for your cubs, Paul will come along
and kill every one of them."
Back went Peter, a step or half a step at every word. Suddenly the butt
of his spear came full against a pine trunk.
"Thank God!" said Peter; "that will give me breathing time."
Strong as she was, and full of indomitable courage and of fight, the
furious bear could not now push her assailant an inch farther. This
enraged, maddened her, and with a curious moaning roar she pressed
herself forward an inch or two farther upon the shaft. Peter laughed
aloud, and mocked her. "I have you now," he said; "push as hard as you
please, you can't uproot a pine tree."
She did her best, however, and for several minutes she strove madly to
break down Peter's guard, but vainly. Then suddenly he heard the yelping
of Milka, and knew that help was at hand.
Peter was terribly tired, and his strength was nearly spent,
nevertheless he determined to make one great effort to finish the fight
unaided. Pulling himself together, he drew in his breath; then, with a
great backward push against the tree, he put all his remaining
strength into one great rush forward.
For a moment his success was complete and signal. Just as he had given
ground but a few moments before, the bear now yielded to his renewed
attack. For a second or two she slipped and scrambled backwards, and was
within an ace of toppling over, which toppling is the end and object of
the bear-spearer, for once down, he has the creature at his mercy; but
this bear was a grand specimen of endurance and of splendid savage
courage and fortitude. She made yet another effort.
Back a second time went Peter. He was far too young and weak to pit
himself against so doughty a champion as this. Back he went, step by
step. He shouted for Paul, and Paul replied. Would he never arrive?
"Come quickly; I am worsted," cried Peter. He looked half round for his
friendly tree trunk, and saw it. If he could walk backwards straight for
it, he might still do without his brother. The spear butt touched the
trunk. "Ah!" panted Peter, "now I may breathe!"
But, alas! the shaft met the tree trunk at an angle and slipped. Peter
had slightly slackened his hold, and as the expected support from behind
failed him, he slipped and fell backwards. In an instant his hands let
go the spear; the great brute, impaled upon it, fell forward upon him.
"Paul, Paul!" screamed poor Peter. "God help me!"
[Illustration: "_'Paul, Paul!' screamed poor Peter._" Page 60.]
Had Paul arrived one moment later, he might have remained at Selsky for
all the good he could have done his brother. The bear would have won the
victory, which, to speak the strict truth, she thoroughly deserved. But
Paul arrived just in time to snatch the victory from Madam Bruin's
grasp; the fates were dead against her.
Young Paul knew very well indeed where to plant his knife-blow, so that
even so large and powerful an animal as this would not require a second.
He was upon her, and had delivered his attack, striking hard and
straight from over her shoulder, in a moment of time. Down went the
brave, fearless beast--all her courage and all her strength had not
availed her--falling right over Peter, and in her last gasp of life
still consciously striving to involve her enemy in her own ruin. She
opened her mouth and actually took Peter's arm between her teeth, but
had no strength to use her jaw in order to rend it, dying with open
mouth, showing immense, formidable teeth, which were harmless to wound
the prey that lay at her mercy just one instant too late. Paul with
difficulty dragged her away, and allowed his brother to rise to his
feet.