ground to the care of pet animals. The horses and mules that are kept
below are not regarded as pets, but as a part of the working force,
and are required to do their whole duty. They are cared for just as
well as animals of their kind in similar occupations above ground.
Their stables are comfortable, and from their location the beasts can
hardly be expected to suffer from cold, though they may sometimes
find the heat rather severe. In many localities horses and mules that
have been kept a long time under ground, in an unvarying temperature
of seventy degrees or more, lose their hair, or a large portion of
it. They never suffer from rain or snow, because there can be no
storms hundreds or thousands of feet under ground; and they need no
protection against cold where there is no cold. Sometimes they become
blinded from constant deprivation of the light of day. They very soon
learn to walk along certain ways and levels in complete darkness,
though they manifest a decided preference for light rather than for
its opposite.
The presence of rats in mines has been referred to elsewhere. In
some mines they are rarely or never seen, while in others they are
numerous. The facilities for good living for rats are not abundant,
and they certainly have small encouragement to stay in the levels and
tunnels, when they might do much better, and live much happier, above
ground. Generally they have no means of exit, as they cannot easily go
out of the shaft; and the shaft is the only means of egress.
[Sidenote: A MONKEY IN A MINE.]
I once heard an amusing story of the consternation created in a mine
by the introduction of a monkey. Somebody connected with the place
had in a mysterious way become proprietor of a monkey, and one day he
took the beast with him into the mine. The monkey made no objection to
going there; but after reaching the tunnel where the men were at work,
he became alarmed, and ran about very uncomfortably. He went from one
place to another, attracted by the light, and in hopes of finding a
friend. Many of the men had never seen a creature of his kind before;
some thought it was the devil, as they could not imagine what else it
could be, and some thought it an enormously overgrown rat.
One of the men was lying on his side, digging away at the base of a
vein of coal. The monkey thought he recognized in this man a friend,
or somebody who ought to be a friend, and went for him. The man knew
nothing about the presence of the beast until the latter scrambled
upon him and looked full in his face. The miner gave a scream, and
fainted. Such a face had never before been turned towards his own,
and his alarm was not at all surprising. The monkey left him, and
then sprang among a group of men who were loading a car of coal. They
stopped work, and shouted to their comrades that the devil was in the
mine. In fact, within fifteen minutes that single animal had created
an alarm among the men that was not quelled for two or three hours.
The beast finally ran to the shaft, made a leap into the darkness,
went down four hundred feet or more, and struck upon a pile of coal.
As a monkey, he was not of much consequence after that.
Digressions are permissible in a popular work of this kind, and I take
the liberty of giving a story of a monkey, which was told me quite
recently by an eye-witness of his pranks.
[Sidenote: PRANKS OF A MONKEY AT SEA.]
“I was sailing as an ordinary seaman at one time on an American
man-of-war. There were about five hundred men on board, and sometimes
there was very little for us to do. Out in the East Indies, at one
of the ports where we touched, we picked up a lot of monkeys. They
belonged to the officers, but somehow the monkeys preferred to
associate with the men. They had the free run of the whole ship, and
did pretty much as they liked. They used to steal everything they
could lay their hands on, and for a month or two the sailors had very
little to do except playing with them.
“When we got out to sea, nearly all of the brutes died. We sailed
up north in the Pacific Ocean, and it got rather cold. One monkey
had brains enough to hunt out a warm place, and went down into the
engine-room, where he used to sit and look at the stokers stirring up
the fires. He would sit there, and make faces at them; and one of the
officers said that the monkey, if he had any idea of a future state
of existence, must imagine that he was in a sort of purgatory, and
that the stokers stirring up the fire were keeping it hot for roasting
a lot of fellows who were expected to arrive. He managed to live
until we got back into the tropics again, and then he came out of his
hiding-place, and used to go round among us as sociable as ever.
[Sidenote: A LIVELY CHASE.]
“He wasn’t an aristocrat, that monkey, and didn’t seem to have any
high notions about society. One hour he would be in the cabin with
the captain, and the next thing you would hear of him, he would be in
the galley, making friends with the nigger cook. One day he took the
cook’s cap, carried it into the cabin, and put it on the captain’s
head. The captain did not like that sort of familiarity, and he
ousted the beast from his cabin. He was constantly kicking up a row
everywhere, but he was such an amusing duck that everybody liked him.
“When we were lying in the harbor of Nagasaki, we opened our
gun-ports, just as we always did when at anchor. One of the favorite
jumping-places of the monkey was to go from the end of a yard down to
the port on the starboard bow, and whenever they were chasing him, he
would be sure to make in that direction. One day we got up steam, and
prepared to leave; and of course our ports were then triced up. Just
as we were starting, the monkey was full of play, and made for his
favorite jump. He did not stop to see that the port was closed, and
that in the place where he jumped there was nothing for him to light
on; so down he went into the water. We threw a rope over the side of
the ship, and he caught hold, and climbed up. He was always mighty
careful after that about his jumping-place.
“Occasionally, when we were lying idle, and everybody was tired, the
officers would get up a purse of five dollars, and then pipe the men
to catch the monkey. The monkey would start up the rigging, and the
men would go for him; and the first man that got him would have the
money. You see, there would be over four hundred men in the rigging.
The monkey could jump and run much better than they could, but they
were so thick that almost everywhere he went he was in danger of
lighting on a man. He seemed to enjoy the fun just as much as anybody
else, and he would make a lively race all over the rigging. Sometimes
he would go clear up to the main truck, and sit on the top. It was
rather tough work to get him there, and it was no use climbing for
him, because before a man could get hold of him he would be sure to
jump somewhere else. So we had a rule, that when he got there, we
tried to shake or frighten him off in some way; and if he was caught
in that jump, the catch did not count.
“We had lots of fun that way. The officers would stay on the deck, and
see the fun; and the men would do their best to catch the beast, as
they knew that somebody would make five dollars out of the job. Every
few days we had a race of this kind, but there came a time when we had
the last one. The rule always had been that the monkey should not be
hurt, but should be caught uninjured, and brought down.
“One day the captain had his charts out, spread over the table in the
cabin—his very best charts, and things that were pretty important. He
was studying them, and marking off his ship’s course, and left them
a few minutes, to go into his state-room. That infernal monkey was
around, and as soon as the captain was gone, he jumped on the table,
dipped his paw into the inkstand, and began marking out a course on
the chart to suit himself. He daubed that chart all over with ink, and
when the captain came out of his state-room, and found what had been
done, he was about the maddest man you ever saw. He made a grab for
the monkey, but of course the monkey got away. He struck out for the
deck, and shinned up into the rigging.
“The captain came out without his cap, and was perfectly white with
rage. We saw that something had happened, but what it was we did not
know. We were steaming slowly along, and the men were scattered all
about the deck.
“‘Pipe all hands to catch the monkey!’ said the captain. ‘Ten dollars
for anybody that gets him, dead or alive!’
“We knew there was business then, and we went for the monkey; and the
monkey knew there was business too. He understood there was no time
for fooling. I fancied that that monkey knew it was a race for life
or death, and he never tried so hard before to keep out of our way.
Every man who could be spared from the management of the ship was sent
into the rigging. We chased him from mainmast to mizzenmast, and from
bowsprit back to the stern. He went into all parts of the rigging, and
had several narrow escapes.
[Sidenote: SITTING ON A STEAM-PIPE.]
“We were closing in on him, and had him in very tight quarters, when,
all of a sudden, he played a trick which he had never tried before. He
jumped to the top of the smoke-stack, and then to the steam-pipe, and
there he sat. The smoke-stack was too hot for him, but the steam-pipe
was cool and comfortable. Our ship, you know, was a low-pressure one,
and we only used the steam-pipe when we let off steam, or had an
excess of it.
“Of course nobody could shin up that steam-pipe, and there sat the
monkey for at least a minute. While we were all wondering what to
do, one of the boys went to the pipe, and pulled the string of the
fog-whistle.
“Well, sir, there was a jet of steam, and that unfortunate monkey
was blown up about twenty feet into the air, and came down on the
deck, stone dead, with every hair singed off him. He looked just as
if he had been through the barber’s hands, and was preparing to go to
church. The boy picked him up, carried him to the captain, and got his
ten dollars. We did not have any more monkeys on the ship after that.”
[Sidenote: UNHAPPINESS OF DOGS.]
Pet dogs are sometimes kept in mines, but they soon lose their
activity, and appear so unhappy that the miners, out of pity for them,
take them to the open air again. I once saw a dog that had been kept a
fortnight in a silver mine, without once seeing daylight. I happened
to be at the entrance when he was brought to the surface, and never
did I see a dog manifest more joy than did this one. As soon as he
was placed on the ground, saw daylight, and snuffed the clear, open
air, he ran about, jumping first upon one and then upon another of the
miners, and seemed to thank them for his release from prison. He kept
this up for a quarter of an hour, and then he darted about in wide
circles, running at the very top of his speed, and paying no heed to
anybody. He ran in this way until fairly exhausted, and then came up
to his master, and lay down at his feet. His master then endeavored to
coax him into the cage, to descend the shaft again, but the dog would
not move. As his master stepped into the cage, he tried to call him
down, but the dog turned, and ran away. He had had quite enough of
underground life.
I have seen dogs that had been kept a long time on shipboard act in
just the same way when going on land. Sailing once from San Francisco,
across the Pacific Ocean, we picked up, just before our departure, two
small dogs—one a Skye terrier, and the other a black and tan. For the
first few days they were not in love with sea life, but before we had
been a week on our voyage, they were accustomed to it, and wandered
around the ship at will. They made friends with everybody. The black
and tan had the run of the main cabin, but the Skye lived forward with
the men. The two dogs played together a great deal. The black and tan
would go forward, and apparently invite the Skye aft. He would come,
and they would play about the deck; but he never ventured into the
cabin. He appeared to know his place, and kept it very carefully.
Twenty-four hours before we sighted land, when it was more than a
hundred and fifty miles away, those dogs began to sniff the air
uneasily, and rather wistfully indicated that they knew we were
approaching shore, and that they wanted to get upon it. But when we
entered harbor, they did not manifest any particular wish for the
land; and though they looked around the deck, and off towards the
shore, they showed no desire to seek it.
It was morning when we came to anchor, and we immediately made our
official visits, and returned to the ship about noon. Opposite our
anchoring-place there was a partially wooded point, which, we thought,
would give us a pleasant promenade; and so, in the afternoon, four of
us went ashore, taking the dogs with us.
[Sidenote: TAKING THE DOGS ASHORE.]
They were reluctant to get into the boat, and the sailors were obliged
to carry them down the gangway stairs to the boat, and put them ashore
when we touched land. But as soon as they had touched it, and realized
that they were on solid earth, they began to caper and run about in
the most extravagant way. I think that before we had walked a mile
those dogs had run at least ten miles, and had examined, in their
canine way, every bush, and tree, and shrub in the region. Several
dogs of ten times their size were wandering about, but these little
brutes gave chase to them as readily as though the strangers had been
rats. When they came back to our landing-place, they did not want to
enter the boat, and we had to carry them in.
After that, whenever a boat went ashore, there was no occasion to
invite the dogs or urge them to go. The very first instant they saw
any preparations for leaving the ship, they would descend the gangway,
and enter the boat; and if driven back, they would look wistfully over
the side, and sometimes fairly howl with sorrow. On two or three
occasions, when we allowed them to descend to the foot of the gangway
stairs, and pushed off without them, they jumped into the water, and
followed us.
[Sidenote: A QUADRUPEDAL MARINER.]
I may still further digress, and say, that on one occasion we had
at sea with us a dog evidently born to a marine life. He was really
attached to that ship, and apparently never cared to go ashore. If
taken on shore by the captain or one of the officers, he would quite
likely get lost; but he always knew enough to make his way back to
the landing. If the ship was tied to the dock, he could select her
from dozens of others. He never made a mistake, and never went aboard
the wrong craft. At sea he would stand his watch as regularly as any
one of the officers. When the starboard watch was called, he roused
himself up, and went on deck. Sometimes, when he would be lying
asleep, a call would be made for all hands, and he would be the first
on deck. The rest of the crew, when called out, were generally obliged
to put on some article of dress—at any rate, a hat, and possibly a
coat; but Charley, as the dog was called, had no toilet to make, and
consequently he would be the first at his post.
If he saw a man pulling at a line, he would seize it, and pull also;
and sometimes, when there was no chance for him to pull at the line,
he would seize the rear man by the seat of his trousers, and pull away
for dear life. The men didn’t like this sort of thing, as sometimes
he included a little flesh in the folds of the trousers; and Charley
got a good many threshings in consequence. But he was so anxious to do
something, that within fifteen minutes after he was threshed, if he
saw a line of men hauling in a rope which he could not get hold of, in
would go his teeth into the trousers of the rear man,—and he had long
and strong teeth too.
Every dog has his day, and Charley had his. As before stated, he could
pick out his own craft among dozens of ships. If she was anchored from
the shore, he would come down to the water’s edge, give a look around,
and discover the ship. Then he would strike boldly into the water,
and swim towards her. Somebody would see him, and a rope would be
lowered, with a noose at the end. Charley would put his fore paws in
the noose, seize the rope with his teeth, and be drawn on deck.
[Sidenote: CHARLEY’S FATE.]
One day, when the ship was at anchor in the Bay of Panama, Charley
started to swim out, as usual. The bay was full of sharks, and just as
he had reached the side of the ship, and was putting his paws through
the noose lowered to receive him, there was a swirl of the water. The
head and belly of a large shark were visible for a moment, and with a
single yelp of pain and terror, Charley was dragged under the water,
and never seen again.
XLVIII.
OUT OF PRISON.
WONDERFUL ESCAPE FROM A FRENCH PRISON.—PLANS OF ESCAPE.—A LONG
LABOR.—TUNNELLING THROUGH A WALL.—INGENUITY OF A SAILOR.—LUCKY
ACCIDENTS.—DISCOURAGING EVENTS.—HOW SUCCESS WAS ATTAINED.—ELUDING
THE GUARDS.—REACHING A PLACE OF SAFETY.
Among the most remarkable efforts of prisoners to escape from their
confinement was that of some French Communists, who were sentenced
to incarceration upon their failure to establish their government in
France, after the downfall of Louis Napoleon in the disaster at Sedan.
The story, as told by one of them, is of the most thrilling character.
We were political prisoners—three hundred of us—in the fortress of
Port Louis, a part of that line of fortifications which was built by
Sully to defend the French coast from Brest to La Rochelle. At high
tide the fortress is entirely surrounded by the sea, and communicates
with the land only by a bridge. Round its circuit runs a rampart on
which the casemates abut. The entrance is opposite the bridge—that is
to say, facing the peninsula on which stands the little town of Port
Louis. On the left are the offices of the prison authorities and the
residence of the governor; on the right, the quarters of the soldiers.
In the centre of the fortress are barracks, forming a square, and
having an inner court; and it is here that the prisoners are confined.
The soldiers are strictly forbidden to speak to the prisoners. Their
duty consists in mounting guard on the terrace running along above the
casemates. A road, known as the Round Road, goes round the citadel,
and separates the casemates from the buildings in which the prisoners
are confined. The ground floor, occupied by the prisoners, is divided
into twenty dormitories, of unequal size, containing from seven to
thirty prisoners each.
[Sidenote: PULLING NAILS WITH FINGERS.]
The dormitories are lighted by windows looking out on one side on
the Round Road, and on the other side on the inner court; and these
windows are protected by strong iron bars. Having observed that the
floor boards were badly joined, the idea occurred to us of working
out with our finger-nails the nails by which they were fastened; and
having done this, we discovered under our room large excavations
without any outlet, which had doubtless been formed for ventilation.
On lifting two of the floor boards under my bed, we were able to
descend into this cellar; and then, after working holes in the walls
separating the different compartments, we reached the foundation
wall abutting on the Round Road. Immediately the working party had
descended into the cellar, the floor boards were replaced, and were
only lifted again when it was necessary for those below to remount.
The only tools we had were large nails or spikes, which had been used
in fixing the stand for the arms, these quarters having formerly been
occupied by soldiers. We had worked out these nails with our hands;
and to do so had cost us several days’ labor and no little laceration
of fingers. We then conceived the idea of excavating a tunnel to run
from the cellar to the sea. We found that we were just on a level with
the Round Road; but this road served as a thoroughfare for wagons
loaded with powder, and for all the vehicles bringing provisions and
other stores into the citadel. It was therefore necessary, before
excavating the tunnel, to sink a vertical shaft about thirteen feet in
depth, in order that the superincumbent weight of the wagons passing
might not cause the road to fall in.
[Sidenote: UNDER THE ROUND ROAD.]
Digging with the nails, we loosened the earth, which we then scooped
up in a tin plate which we had been able to conceal. When we had
in this manner filled a dinner napkin, we formed a sort of chain,
and passed from hand to hand the napkin full of earth, which was
deposited in the farthest of the underground compartments and well
trampled down, so that it might occupy as small a space as possible.
There were only six of us to carry on this work, for the numberless
difficulties which stood in the way of our escape had discouraged the
others. We followed to the last the same method of disposing of the
earth and the stones, which we worked out one by one after incredible
efforts. Having finished this shaft of thirteen feet in depth, we
commenced the horizontal tunnel. We had in the first place to pass
under the Round Road, which is twenty-two or twenty-three feet in
width. As the earth was much easier of excavation than stone, we
excavated our gallery with a downward slope, in order that we might
be able to pass underneath the foundation wall of the casement facing
our dormitory. Thanks to this slope, we succeeded so well that for a
space of about forty-six feet—that is to say, until we reached the
wall of the rampart—we had only to work through earth. This tunnel
was just large enough for one man to creep along in it. We therefore
took our turns at the excavations, lying flat on our faces. Unforeseen
accidents occurred to increase the difficulties, already great,
which we had to surmount. The part of the tunnel passing under the
Round Road, notwithstanding the depth below the surface at which it
was excavated, and notwithstanding the care we took to construct it
arch-shaped, so that it might be better able to support the heavy
weights passing above, threatened entirely to fall in. Heavy rains had
loosened the soil, and pretty large masses of earth fell every day. It
was necessary that this part of the tunnel should be propped up. How
could it be done? One of our number, who had been a sailor, and who
was a resolute and enterprising man, as sailors usually are, conceived
the idea of supporting the earth by packing against the sides of the
tunnel the stones which we had removed from the walls. This was done;
and the downfall from above being thereby effectually prevented, we
were able to continue our labors. A second accident, which seemed
at first much more serious, then occurred, threw us into a fever of
anxiety, and delayed the accomplishment of our project. When our
tunnel had attained a length of about thirty-three feet, we could not
get our light to burn. We thought this phenomenon was caused by want
of air, and this is what we did to remedy the defect. While one of our
number was kept constantly at work excavating, another, standing in
the shaft at the entrance of the tunnel, and making a sort of fan of
his jacket, forced a strong current of air into the tunnel. However,
after some few days, when the length of the passage had been increased
by a little more than a yard, there was no longer any need of our
improvised ventilator, as the light burned of itself. There doubtless
occurred in this part of the earth some gas which prevented our light
from burning; and this gas, having little by little become dispersed,
the phenomenon ceased.
[Sidenote: REACHING THE RAMPART.]