The Electric Telegraph 169
The Owl 202
The Sailor’s Grave 5
The Willow Tree 152
Preface.
[Illustration]
Holiday faces! Aye, they are bright, shining, and beautiful as dewdrops
glistening in the morning’s splendour—stars sparkling in a clear
midnight sky—flowers lit up by the summer’s sun. It makes the heart
of poor old PETER PARLEY glad when he sees them—whether they belong
to young or old, to rich or to poor, it is one of my chief delights.
I do assure you, my young friends, that a good deal of my _parleying_
has to do with HOLIDAY FACES. I see them again and again, year after
year, and they make me feel young again; and, like the old rustic of
the Suffolk poet, Bloomfield, I am often ready to jump with joy when I
see the cabs and coaches, post-chaises and omnibuses, crowded, inside
and outside, with school children, going home for the Holidays. Old as
I am growing, I still feel that I belong to the order of light hearts
and merry looks—to the heraldry of smiling faces—and my escutcheon is
charged with “nods and becks, and wreathed smiles.”
Hurrah, then, for the Holidays, say I! Be cheerful, my young
friends—not more for the sake of being merry, than for the sake of
being serious again at the proper time. Unbend the bow and loosen the
string, that both string and bow may have more force when again brought
into action! Make the air ring then, I say, with the Holiday Cheer
of Merry Christmas time! Sing, and skip, and dance, and play, like
“lambkins by the hill side,” and let love reign in all your hearts, a
perpetual sunshine, from year to year, and from youth to age, until you
are as old as your ever sincere
And Affectionate Friend,
_Peter Parley_.
Story of an Anchorite.
Among the many celebrated ruins of Abbeys in Ireland, is that of Foune,
or Fowne, in the county of Westmeath, Leinster. This Abbey is situated
on the north-side of the hill or rising ground, which interposes
between it and Lough Larne. It was a Priory of Canons, built by St.
Fechin, about the year 630. For although the oldest and most authentic
Irish records were written between the tenth and twelfth centuries, yet
some of them go back, with some consistency, as far as the Christian
era; but there is no evidence that the Irish had the use of letters
before the middle of the fifth century, when Christianity and Christian
literature were introduced by St. Patrick. The new faith did not
flourish till a century later, when St. Columba erected monasteries.
The Abbey presents a large pile of simple, unadorned masonry. The
chapel is still in a tolerable state of preservation, so is also the
chapel tower. The valley in which this Abbey is placed must, in the
time of its prosperity, have been a delightful retreat. The outline is
still good, and nothing is wanting but a little more wood to render it
an attractive spot in modern days.
The town is said to have been, anciently, a University of Literature,
and the name signifies in the Irish tongue, “the Town of Books:” and
the above-mentioned lake (Lough Larne) “the Lake of Learning.” This
town was not only the mart of learning, but of devotion—there being
in it the ruins of no less than three parish churches; and here lived
a famous anchorite, of whom Sir Henry Piers—who wrote an amusing
description of the county of Westmeath—gives the following account:—
[Illustration]
“This religious person, in his extremity, maketh a vow never to go
out of his doors all his life-time, and accordingly here he remains
pent up all his days; every day he sayeth mass in the chapel, which
also is part of, nay, almost all his dwelling-house—for there are no
more houses, but a very small castle, wherein a tall man can hardly
stretch himself at length if he be laid down on the floor, nor is there
any passage into the castle but through the chapel. He hath servants
that attend him at his call in an out-house, but none lieth within the
church but himself. He is said, by the natives—who hold him in great
veneration for his sanctity—every day to dig, or rather scrape—for
he useth no other tools but his nails—a portion of his grave, being
esteemed of so great holiness—as if purity and sanctity were entailed
on his cell; he is certainly visited by those of the Romish religion
who aim at being esteemed more devout than the ordinary amongst them.
“Every visitant, at his departure, leaveth his offering, or as they
phrase it, ‘devotion,’ on his altar; but he relieth not on this only
for a maintenance, but hath those to bring him in the devotions of
those whose piety is not so fervent as to invite them to do the office
in person; these are called his ‘proctors,’ who range all the counties
in Ireland to beg for him, whom they call the ‘holy man in the stone.’
Corn, geese, turkeys, hens, sheep, money, and whatnot, nothing comes
amiss, and nowhere do they fail altogether, but something is had,
insomuch, that if his ‘proctors’ deal truthfully, nay, if they return
him but a tenth part of what is given for him, he may doubtless fare as
well as any priest of them all. The only recreation this poor prisoner
is capable of, is, to walk on his terrace, built over the cell where he
lies, if he may be said to walk, who cannot in one time stretch forth
his legs four times.”
Such, my young friends, is the story of an Anchorite. It is well for us
that we live in times when such nonsense is not tolerated. An attempt
was made, some years ago, by a poor half-witted creature, called the
“Shottisham Angel,” to revive this kind of imposture among credulous
persons, but timely exposure frustrated the attempt.
[Illustration]
The Sailor’s Grave.
Dark flew the scud along the wave,
The booming thunders rolled on high;
“All hands aloft, the storm to brave”—
At midnight—was the boatswain’s cry.
On deck sprung every soul apace,
But one—bereft of human joy—
Within a hammock’s narrow space
Lay stretched a “sad, sick sailor boy.”
Once, when the boatswain’s pipe would hail,
The first was he of all the crew
On deck to spring—to trim the sail—
To steer—to reef—to furl—to clew.
Now “fever dire” had seized a form
Which nature cast in happiest mould;
The bell struck midnight through the storm,
The last—the death-knell tale is told.
“Alas!” he cried—and dropped a tear,
“Before my spirit mounts the skies—
Are there no friends or messmates near
To close, with looks of love, my eyes?”
All hands aloft—loud blows the wind,
Surrounding billows loudly roar;
He gave one sigh, and sank resigned
To hope, and think, and love no more.
The morning sun in glory rose,
The gale was hushed, and still’d the wave;
The sea boy found his last repose,
And in the ocean’s breast a grave.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Royal Sledges at Windsor_]
Sledging.
Sledging is a very pretty pastime in cold weather, and in Poland,
Russia, Holland, and other northern countries, it is the regular mode
of travelling during the long frosts that annually prevail in those
regions. A couple of rein-deer yoked to a sledge can travel more than a
hundred miles in a day, with a load of half-a-ton.
In fine weather, on a good snowy road, there is something delightfully
exhilirating in sledge travelling, snugly enveloped in furs, whilst
“The vault is blue,
Without a cloud, and white without a speck.”
The traveller glides swiftly over the level snow, enlivened by the
tinkling of a sonorous bell attached to an arch that rises off the head
of the centre horse; for sometimes three horses abreast are used in
sledges, and cheered or soothed, as his mood may be, by the wild yet
plaintive song of the driver.
The traveller is laid in the sledge like a child in his cradle. He
holds the rein or puller, which is fastened to the deer’s or horse’s
head, on his right thumb. When the driver is ready to start, he shakes
the rein, and the animal springs forward with great speed. He directs
his course by the rein and by the voice; he sings to him as he goes
along; speaks kindly to him—and cheers him on his way. He never strikes
or hurts him, for he loves the animal too much to be cruel to him.
The Laplanders, Russians, Poles, and other nations are thus enabled
to travel in winter, by night and by day, when the whole country far
and wide is entirely covered by snow, and scarcely a hut or tree is to
be seen, and they travel from one part of the country to another with
great speed. In the Royal Palace of Sweden is a portrait of a rein-deer
which is described as having travelled with despatches eight hundred
miles in forty-eight hours.
It was a very pretty thing to see our beloved Queen and family
“sledging,” because it shows that the Queen has courage, and a love of
amusement; and should this winter be a cold one, Peter Parley hopes to
see Her Majesty again in her sledge.
[Illustration]
Exploits in the Desert.
The deserts of Southern Africa are immense and formidable, rarely trod
by the foot of civilised man. They present features the most wild, and
at times, the most sublime that can be imagined; but man has a great
knack of destroying the grand, and blotting out the wonderful. South
Africa, in its central parts, abounds in features well calculated to
inspire grand ideas, and to call forth all the powers of the mind in
heroic exploits among the wild beasts of the desert. Here roam, in all
their native freedom, bisons, blesboks, and springboks in millions; and
among them prowls the lion, in all his fierce dignity of bearing, with
his attendant the jackall, who follows and precedes his footsteps. The
blesbok is one of the true antelopes, and is as large as a fallow deer,
and all its motions and paces are full of grace and elegance; these
have also a pecularity of manner (whence their name), of jumping up
into the air, like so many fleas, when they first dart off into rapid
motion; thus they scour the vast plains in myriads, and may be seen for
miles, as if the whole desert was endowed with motion.
[Illustration]
The springboks, which, in equal numbers, frequent the same immense
plains, make away in every direction over the wildest part of the
country, sometimes with flying bounds (beautifully exhibiting the
long, snowy white hair, with which their backs are adorned), and at
others, walking carelessly and slowly out of the hunter’s way, scarcely
deigning to look at him. Black bisons also cover the entire length and
breadth of this wild country, and may be seen in herds, averaging from
fifty to sixty, wheeling about in endless circles, and performing the
most extraordinary variety of intricate evolutions round the hunter
on every side. While he is riding round to take a shot at some of the
herd in front of him, other herds are charging down right and left;
and having described a number of circular movements, they take up
positions upon the very ground across which the hunter rode only a few
minutes before. Throughout the greater part of the plains frequented by
blesboks, numbers of sun-baked hills, or mounds of clay, formed by the
white ants, occur, the average height of which are from three to four
feet. These ant-hills are generally distant from each other from about
one to three hundred yards, and are of great service to the hunter, as
he can conceal himself from observation behind them, when he advances
to the attack.
[Illustration]
It was amid these scenes that, a few years ago, Gordon Cumming
luxuriated as a hunter, and noble and not a few, are the trophies of
this modern Nimrod—as may be seen at the Exhibition of his Game, in
the Museum, near Hyde Park. Overpowered with the sports of the gun
and the chase, he had laid down for a brief repose behind one of the
ant-hills already alluded to; but he had not slept long before he was
aroused by a strange, multitudinous pattering of feet. On raising his
head, he saw to his utmost horror, on every side, nothing but savage
wild dogs, chattering and growling. On his right and on his left, stood
two lines of these ferocious-looking animals, cocking their ears and
stretching their necks to have a look at him; while two large apes,
with which there were at the least forty more, kept dashing backwards
and forwards within a few yards of him, chattering and growling with
the most extraordinary volubility. He expected no other fate than to be
instantly torn to pieces and consumed; his blood seemed to run cold,
and his hair bristled on his head. However, he had presence of mind to
consider that the human voice and a determined bearing might overawe
them; and, accordingly, springing to his feet, he stepped on one of the
ant-hills, and drawing himself to his full height, he waved his coarse
blanket with both hands, at the same time addressing the assembly in
a loud and solemn manner. This had the desired effect: the wild dogs
removed to a more respectful distance, barking at him the while. Upon
this, he snatched up his rifle and began loading, but before this was
accomplished, the entire troops had pushed away, and did not return.
“The next night,” this enterprising traveller says, “was a memorable
one, as being the first on which he had the satisfaction of hearing the
majestic thunder of the lion’s roar.” There was no one near to tell him
that this was the roar of a lion; but he seemed to know by instinct
that it could be nothing else. This roar consists, at times, of a low,
deep moaning, repeated five or six times, ending in faintly audible
sighs; at other times, he startles the forest with loud, deep-toned,
solemn roars, repeated five or six times, in quick succession, each
increasing in loudness, to the third or fourth, when his voice dies
away in five or six low, muffled sounds, very much resembling distant
thunder. At times, a troop may be heard roaring in concert, one
assuming the lead, and two, three, or four more regularly taking up
their parts, like persons singing a catch; but on no occasion are their
voices heard to such perfection as when two or three strange troops
of lions approach a fountain to drink at the same time. When this
occurs every member of each troop sounds a bold roar of defiance at the
opposite parties; and when one roars all roar together, and each seems
to vie with his comrades in the intensity and power of his voice. As a
general rule, lions roar during the night; but in distant and secluded
situations, they may be heard roaring as late as nine o’clock in the
morning. It often happens that, when two male lions meet at a fountain,
a terrific combat ensues, which not unfrequently ends in the death of
one of them.
[Illustration]
The habits of the lion are strictly nocturnal. During the day, he lies
concealed beneath the shade of some low, bushy tree, or wide-spreading
bush, either in the level forest or on the mountain side. He is also
partial to lofty reeds, or fields of long, rank, yellow grass. From
these haunts he sallies forth when the sun goes down, and commences
his nightly prowl. When he is successful in his beat and has secured
his prey, he does not roar much that night, unless some rash intruders
approach him, when the case will be very different.
Lions are most active and daring during dark and stormy nights. Mr.
Cumming noticed a fact with regard to their hour of drinking, which
is worthy of record. They seem unwilling to visit the fountain during
good moonlight. Thus, when the moon rose early, lions deferred their
hour of watering until late in the morning; and when the moon rose
late, they drank at a very early hour in the night. When a thirsty lion
comes to the water, he stretches out his massive arms, lies down on his
breast to drink, and makes a loud, lapping noise in drinking, not to
be mistaken; he continues lapping up the water a long while, and four
or five times during the process he pauses for half a minute, as if to
take breath. One thing conspicuous about them is their eyes, which, in
a dark night, glow like two balls of fire.
Having determined upon a lion hunt, Captain Cumming, with a few
riders, dashed on to the immense plain. As he proceeded, thousands
upon thousands of blesboks darkened the ground. “After a ride of some
miles, the lion’s roar was heard, and we soon discovered a dead wild
bull, newly killed by a lion, and half eaten. His large and striking
foot-prints were deeply marked in the sand. We felt convinced the lion
was somewhere near us, but before we could track him out, the night
came on, and the most furious thunder-storm I ever knew. The most
vivid flashes of lightning followed one another in quick succession,
accompanied by terrific peals of thunder, and the sky was black as
pitch. The whole plain was soon a sheet of water. About midnight,
however, we heard the lion roar, about a mile off. We then rose, and
saddled our horses. We rode forward towards the lion’s feasting-place.
As the light broke upon us, we slackened our pace, and rode slowly up
the middle of the vast level plain towards the carcase of the wild
beast, with large herds of springbok, blesbok, and quaggas on every
side. Suddenly I observed a number of vultures seated on the plain,
about a quarter of a mile a-head of us, and close behind them stood a
huge lioness, eating a blesbok she had just killed. She was assisted in
her repast by about a dozen jackals, which were feasting along with her
in the most friendly and confidential manner. Directing my followers’
attention to the spot, I remarked, ‘I see the lion!’ to which they
replied, ‘Whar! whar! yah, Almagty, dat is he!’—and instantly wheeling
about their horses, they were about to fly. At the same moment the
lioness moved off at a rapid pace. I was determined to have a shot at
her. The first move was to bring her to bay, and not a second was to
be lost. Spurring my good and lively steed, and shouting to my men to
follow, I flew across the plain, and soon gained upon her. This was to
me,” says the bold hunter, “a joyful moment, and I at once made up my
mind that she or I should die.
[Illustration]
“The lioness was a full-grown beast, and the bare and level nature
of the plain added to her imposing appearance. Finding that I gained
upon her, she reduced her pace from a canter to a trot, carrying her
tail slackened behind her, and slewed a little to one side. I shouted
loud to her to halt, as I wished to speak with her; upon which she
suddenly pulled up, and got upon her haunches like a dog, with her back
towards me, not even deigning to look round. She then appeared to say
to herself, ‘Does that fellow know who he’s after?’ Having thus sat
for half a minute, as if involved in thought, she sprang to her feet,
and facing about, stood looking at me for a few seconds, moving her
tail slowly from side to side, showing her teeth and growling fiercely.
She next made a short run forward, making a loud rumbling noise like
thunder. This she did to intimidate me, and to show her ‘monkey’ was
up. My Hottentots now came on, and we all three dismounted, and drawing
our rifles from our holsters, we looked to see if the powder was up to
the nipples, and put on our caps. While this was doing, the lioness sat
up, and showed evident signs of uneasiness. She looked first at us,
and then behind her, as if to see if the coast was clear; after which
she made a short run towards us, uttering her deep-drawn, murderous
growl. Having secured the three horses to one another by the reins, we
led them on, as if we intended to pass her, in the hope of obtaining a
broadside. My men, as yet, had been steady, but they were in a precious
‘stew,’ their faces having assumed a ghastly paleness, and I had a
painful feeling that I could place no reliance on them.
“‘Now then for it—neck or nothing! she is within sixty yards of us,
and she keeps advancing.’ We turned the horses’ tails to her. I knelt
on one side, and taking a steady aim at her breast, let fly. The ball
cracked loudly on her tawny hide, and crippled her in the shoulder;
upon which she charged with an appalling roar, and, in the twinkling
of an eye, she was in the midst of us. She sprung upon Colesberg, one
of my men, and fearfully lacerated his ribs and haunches with her
horrid teeth and claws; the worst wound was on the haunch, and was
most hideous. I was very cool and steady, and did not feel in the
least degree nervous, having, fortunately, great confidence in my own
shooting; and when the lioness sprang upon my man, I stood out from the
horses, ready with my second barrel for the first chance she should
give me of a clear shot. This she quickly did, for seemingly, satisfied
with the revenge she had now taken, she quitted Colesberg, and slewing
her tail to one side, trotted sulkily past within a few paces of me.
Taking one step to the left, I pitched my rifle to my shoulder, and,
in another second, the lioness lay stretched upon the plain a lifeless
corpse.
“We now skinned the lioness, and cut off her head; and, having placed
our trophies on our horses, we made for the camp. Before we had
proceeded a hundred yards from the carcass, upwards of sixty vultures,
whom the lioness had often fed, were feasting on her remains. We
led poor Colesberg slowly home, where, having washed his wounds and
carefully stitched them together, I ordered the cold water cure to be
adopted. Under this treatment the wounds rapidly healed, and he soon
recovered. When the shades of evening set in, terror seemed to have
taken possession of the minds of my followers; and they swore that the
mate of the lioness, on finding her bones, would follow in our spoer,
and revenge her death. Under these circumstances, they refused to
remain about the waggons or in the tent after the sun went down; and
having cut down the rafters and cupboards of the house for fuel, they
kindled a large fire in the kitchen, where they took up their quarters
for the night.”
A Touch with the Brigands.
It is now several years ago since the author of this “little episode
in his life” was travelling in Spain. “I was,” says he, “on the road
between Madrid and Bayonne, where the road was rugged, the mountains
high, the rivers loose, and the people poor. There were a good many
passengers in the rumbling old coach—six within, and ten or twelve on
the outside, behind-side, and fore-side of the vehicle. My companions
were—a French opera-singer; an old clergyman, who had returned from
Rome through Spain, after having embraced the Catholic faith; a French
clown, named Moliere, who was, in Paris, said to be equal to one Joe
Grimaldi (of facetious memory); an old lady, with her lap-dog and a
monkey in a box, attended by her servant, companion, and myself; so
that the carriage was almost as infinite in variety as Noah’s Ark, only
on a smaller scale.
“The other passengers I could tell but little of. Some, however, were
Frenchmen, and others either Italian or Spanish; but there was one
who struck my attention by the rotundity of his person, who seemed
to have been formed much upon the principle of apple-dumplings or a
humming-top. This gentleman, broad, round, thick, and lumpy, was a
taciturn Dutchman.
“Now, in the part of Spain to which I have alluded, there is a set
of people (Knights of the Moor, as Falstaff calls them), who make
the mercurial art of robbery a profession—who pass for the most
_cavalleros_ (gentleman-like) men. They are the padrones of old
Castille. These brigands had, in the most polite manner imaginable,
attacked several pleasure and business parties, with great benefit to
themselves and discomfiture to their victims. The government, which
in these countries, do everything, but nothing well, had our coach
escorted by cavalry, as far as Baitroget; also certain stages between
Arendo and Burgos. But when we got into one of the most cut-throat
looking places, about three leagues from Orendo, at the cut-throat
time in September of about eight in the evening, when the gloaming was
fully set, and the moon had risen with a sickly, comsumptive aspect,
our ‘John,’ or rather the head postillion was suddenly stopped short;
a chain was immediately entangled in the wheel, the traces were cut,
and both the postillions were pulled off their horses and thrown on
the ground by a couple of surly, well-dressed brigands; while four
others, two on each side, came to the carriage, and called upon the
conductor and the people in the char-a-banc, as well as those in the
coach, and those above, to come down and be robbed in a quiet way. One
of the brigands had a hand-lantern, which he thrust into the ”interior“
of our vehicle. The old lady with her lap-dog gave a most piercing
shriek, as did her waiting-woman, while the dog barked so furiously,
that the brigand seemed excessively savage, and gave the yelping cur
such a blow with the lantern, that it knocked the light out, and we
were in a moderate degree of darkness. In a few moments, however, we
felt the rough hands of two of the brigands, who pulled us out of the
coach, and told us to lay down on our faces; the French opera-dancer
appealed to their feelings as gentlemen, not to injure female delicacy,
and to preserve the old lady, her waiting-woman, and herself from any
unnecessary violence. The clown made a sudden summersault over the
heads of the brigands, which astonished them to such a degree, that
they thought they had come in contact with the Prince of Evil himself;
while the Dutchman from the roof laid groaning and trembling all over
like a jelly, and imploring for mercy. The other travellers were put
_hors de combat_ without ceremony, and the whole group presented as
pretty a picture of still life as can well be imagined.
“The driver and postillions had their hands bound behind with strong
cords; these necessary precautions were soon exercised on us. The
clown’s hands were tied—and so were his legs; and in addition to
tying the hands of the old lady and her maid, a couple of gags were
obliged to be put into their mouths to prevent their ‘sweet voices’
from disturbing the harmony of the scene. The captain of the band,
a fine handsome fellow, with beard enough to stuff a sofa, called
upon us, in very bad Castillian, to declare what money we had, and
where it was—adding, that if we did not tell the truth, we should be
cut-throated or burned. He interrogated us with all the acuteness of
Mr. Pegler, (one of the best detectives, and also one of the best of
men), frequently changing his tone and accent. ‘Who are you?’ ‘Whence
do you come?’ ‘Where are you going?’ were questions put to us, and if
we had the misfortune to belong to any place near the haunts of the
brigands, or had happened to know the person of any of them, we should
have been inevitably assassinated. In fact, a poor postillion was so
served only three months before by these very identical brigands,
because he happened to be acquainted with one of them.
“They inquired of us whether we were Englishmen, or Americans, for
if we had been the former, we should have been completely stripped.
The Spanish lower order of people imagine that the clothes of the
English and Americans are stitched with gold thread. The lady with
the lap-dog, and her maid, unwittingly said they were English, and
I, scorning to tell a lie, even in such a case, said that I was from
Middlesex, which the chief brigand, whose geography was something like
that of the pope, seemed to think an outlandish place, somewhere in
the extreme corner of the earth. All these necessary preliminaries
being gone through, the picturesque gentlemen began plundering the
coach, throwing down and breaking, or ripping open with their long
knives, all the boxes, trunks, bags, and packages. Knowing that they
could not get at mine without a great deal of trouble, I looked up
and told them that I would open my trunk and give them all the money
it contained, if they would unbind my hands, for they had drawn the
cord so tight that I was in great pain. They consented, and brought
my trunk to me. The money they found in it did not satisfy them. They
left me in the hands of one of their band, a young man not more than
twenty years of age, who continued to search my trunk, while an older
and fiercer brigand watched my looks with his carbine levelled at me.
The young man, although he made use of the coarsest oaths and other
expressions, which beautifully illustrates the fact, that every variety
of human speech can be adapted to blaspheme the ”good God who made
us,“ was not so savage as the rest, and this was evidently his first
expedition. He carried neither carbine nor sword, and the only weapon
he had was a Catalonian knife stuck in his belt. Everything he saw in
my trunk caused him surprise and wonder. He asked me to tell him the
age of each. On finding some rosaries, he exclaimed—‘Ah, you are a
priest!’ I told him no, but had bought the rosaries at a fair at Madrid
as curiosities. He, however, with great devotion kissed the crosses
suspended to them with other emblems, but finding they were of silver,
he broke the stones, letting them all fall to the ground. He carefully
picked them up, and again kissed each bead and emblem, but at the
same time renewed his oaths at his awkwardness. He secured these, and
everything else he thought valuable, between his shirt and his skin,
but my clothes and linen he put into a large sack, which appeared to
be the common receptacle. I had also some small knives and daggers.
He asked what I did with them. I told him they had been sold to me as
having been worn by the Manolas of Spain under their garters. At this
he laughed, and throwing two of them to the ground to me, he put the
rest into his private magazine.
“I hoped to make something of my grand brigand, but while I was talking
to him the captain came up suddenly, and struck me with violence on
the back of the neck with the butt-end of his carbine, saying, in a
furious tone, ‘You are looking in his face that you might be able to
recognise him!’ He then seized me by the right arm, while another took
my left, and they again bound them behind my back. In my bad Spanish,
I assured them I was a foreigner from the remote county of Middlesex;
but they would not have cared had I been Joseph Hume himself, and
threw me down like a sheep tied fast together ready for the slaughter,
upon the body of the Hollander, who roared out loudly, and shook most
convulsively all over, imploring the brigands not to kill him, for
that he had several bills to take up on the 10th proximo at Amsterdam;
beside which he had a wife, six children, and two sisters-in-law
dependent upon him for support, and an aged mother and two children of
a deceased brother. One of the brigands laughed at hearing all this,
although he could not understand it in High-Dutch; but I, who knew a
little of the language, ventured to translate it for him, which made
the chief brigand laugh ten times more. Taking one of the crucifixes
found on me he held it before his eyes, and told him to be at once a
Catholic, and he would spare his life. ‘Kiss the cross,’ he said ‘or
I will cut your throat!’ This was a plain and simple proposition, and
the method of its solution freely given. However, much to the honour
and glory of the Dutchman, he resolutely refused to do any such thing,
and told the brigand that ‘he might kill him if he liked, and that God
would take care of all those dependent upon him;’ and when the cross
was again presented to his lips, the burly Dutchman turned himself
right over on his side, and the ground on which he lay being upon a
slight declivity, he began to roll, and his descent being accelerated
as he moved downwards, he in a few seconds obtained such a velocity,
as to roll down the incline with a rapidity most wonderful—the brigands
pausing in their work at so strange a sight, and laughing immoderately.
“The next work of our friends was upon the French opera-dancer,
and the old lady and her female companion, who had all been passed
at the first movement, and who lay groaning, weeping, sobbing, and
rolling about in the utmost trepidation. The dancing lady had fainted
two or three times, and finding no one to attend upon her, had come
to again of her own accord, till at last, upon one of the brigands
approaching her, she went off in apparently a dead swoon. But these
kind of things were nothing in the eyes of the bravos, who proceeded
to strip her of her outward silk, and to rifle her of all her secret
treasures, which had been stowed away in various parts of her inner
dress. These consisted of various sums of money, stitched amid wadding
and padding, trinkets, love-tokens, charms, bank-notes, &c.; but the
brigands were particularly amazed when, upon turning madam over,
they found a long, hard roll behind the lady, which was, ostensibly,
a padding-machine made to keep the dress from falling down, and for
making it to display itself with grace and dignity rearwards; this
was manufactured entirely of Napoleons and French bank-notes, the
former making up the more substantial part of the article alluded to,
and the latter lining the outstanding portion. The fun and frolic of
the brigands at this discovery were immense; they joked, they leaped,
they danced, they swore, and committed many wild pranks in the joy of
their discovery, and falling upon the old maid and her waiting-woman
in the same way, they proceeded to unroll them both, as carefully
as Professor Owen would an Egyptian mummy, but not finding the same
treasures, they cursed and swore in the most vociferous manner, giving
the old lady many a good cuff, and behaving to her companion with the
same rough ceremony. At this time others of the brigands were knocking
the carriage to pieces, and having fallen upon the box containing the
monkey, with a blow demolished its upper postern, and in a moment—in
less than the twinkling of an eve—out popped the imprisoned monkey,
who, immediately leaping on to the shoulder of the nearest brigand,
took hold of him by the ear, which it bit in two, and flying from
his shoulder to the next, made a laceration of the second brigand’s
nose, who, finding himself thus suddenly attacked by what was not very
discernable in the moon-light, threw himself down, roaring out his
‘Aves,’ thinking that an imp of the Prince of Darkness was suddenly
upon him. In vain did the other brigands make slashes and stabs at the
monkey, who ran upon the shoulders of the next one, between the legs
of another, up the back of a third, down the breast of a fourth, and
kept the whole in perpetual alarm, till at last the poor wretch, having
had one or two unlucky knocks, made his escape to some distance, where
he sat chattering defiance, and picking up some stones, threatened to
throw them at his pursuers.
“The trunks, boxes, bales, and packages, having by this time been
thoroughly ransacked, the next object of the brigands was to burn the
carriage, in the hope of obtaining, by this means, all the concealed
treasures it contained in its various hiding places which are so
difficult to find out. Accordingly, straw, stubble, and dried boughs
were procured, and a quantity being placed underneath the old vehicle,
it was very soon under the horrifying process, and the flames rose
up bravely, throwing a broad red light on the surrounding scenery,
and the ungagged ladies uttered many loud screams and interjections.
The brigands set themselves quietly down by the fire, and watched
the progress of the flames upon each part of the burning carriage,
having the satisfaction to see several pieces of gold, in the shape of
Napoleons, fly out as the parts separated, which they snatched eagerly
from the fire with their daggers, and often burnt their fingers to
secure. Just as the blaze was at its proudest height, and the brigands
were at the full point of triumph, a tremendous discharge of musketry
was heard close behind, and three of the robbers fell wounded. The
others sprang up, levelled their carbines, and fired in the direction
of the noise. Another rapid but irregular discharge, then an immediate
onslaught, for, by the light of the moon which then broke out rather
brightly, was seen coming onwards some twenty armed cavaliers, who
rushed upon the brigands, sword in one hand and pistol in the other,
and immediately a most furious combat between the two parties took
place. The brigands fought desperately, and their assailants bravely.
The three women screamed lustily. I looked on quietly, as did the
Dutchman who had rolled to the bottom of the slope. In less than
half-an-hour, five of the brigands had been shot down, the rest had
dispersed; in the meantime, the carriage had been carefully consumed,
and the cavaliers stood victors over five dead brigands, eight bound
men, and three bound women. Of course the bound were soon unbound, and
then we discovered to whom we had been indebted for our delivery.
[Illustration]
“And this was to no less a person than our clown. He had been bound
hand and foot at the first, but having, by virtue of his profession,
been enabled to walk on his back without any aid from his legs, he had
shuffled or wriggled himself off, in the confusion, to a considerable
distance without being observed, and when sufficiently away from the
daggers of his enemies, managed to get clear of his bandages, and
running off in the direction we had left, had the good luck to come
up with our escort, which had halted at a kind of halfway-house below
us and the nearest town, for the purpose of watering their horses
and _come_-ing themselves; and being somewhat overtaken with the
delectable comforts of the hostlery, had stayed much longer than their
commission gave them licence to do. Here our clown found them, and they
immediately gave chase and came up in the ‘nick of time’ described.
“As soon as the whole of our party could be collected together, we were
put one behind each of the cavaliers, and picking up our scattered
matters, and robbing the dead bodies of the fallen brigands of that
which belonged to us, we all proceeded back to the small village of
Orguillas, about half a league from where we had been stopped, and here
we were all shown into the ‘venta’ of the village, which consisted of
little more than a kitchen with four bare walls, where we laid down,
like so many pigs, among the straw till the morning, when we were taken
before the Alcade, who gravely heard our depositions, took them down,
examined our cavaliers, and told us for our especial benefit that we
must find our way back to Madrid as we could. So getting away from the
village, and plenty of straw in, then we set off as quickly as bad
horses, bad drivers, and bad roads would allow us, and reached the
chief city of Spain in the most deplorable plight imaginable. So ended
my acquaintance with Spanish Brigands.”
[Illustration]
Gustavus Vasa.
There is nothing which delights me more, my young friends, than to
tell you tales of the Great and Good; and among many, who are truly
great and good in the pages of history, few stand more pleasingly
prominent than Gustavus I., King of Sweden. He was one of those great
men whom nature so seldom produces, and who appears to have been
endowed by her with every quality becoming a sovereign. His handsome
countenance and noble bearing prepossessed all persons in his favour;
his artless eloquence was irresistible; his conceptions were bold, and
his indomitable spirit brought them to a happy issue. He was intrepid
and yet prudent, full of courtesy in a rude age, and as virtuous as the
leader of a party can be.
[Illustration]
When the tyrant, Christian II. of Denmark, sought to make himself
master of the throne of Sweden, Gustavus resolved to save his country
from the oppressor; but the execution of his plans was interrupted, as
Christian seized his person and kept him prisoner at Copenhagen, as a
hostage, with five other heroic Swedes. When at last, in 1519, he heard
of the success of Christian, who had nearly completed the subjugation
of Sweden, he resolved, although still immured in a loathsome dungeon,
to deliver his country. Gustavus escaped to Lubeck, but soon found that
the Danes were after him, which obliged him to assume the habit and
manners of a peasant. In this disguise he travelled on foot among the
plains and mountains as a fugitive, and frequently walked fifty miles
in a day, from place to place, to elude his pursuers. When he became
familiar with his disguise, and the rude language of the peasantry,
he became very bold. He passed several times through the Danish army;
when that army was looking out for him, by its scouts, in every
direction, he passed through the midst of it in a waggon of hay, and
proceeded to an old family castle at Sudermania. He dispatched letters
to his friends in the hope of arousing them to the recovery of their
liberties; but, meeting with little success among the great, he next
tried the peasantry. He visited their villages by night, harangued them
at their festive assemblies, but without effect—as they uniformly told
him it was in vain for them to attempt to better their condition, for
peasants they were and peasants they must remain.
Gustavus next determined to try the miners of Delacarlia. He penetrated
the mountains of that remote province, and was obliged, for a scanty
subsistence, to enter himself as a common labourer at a mine. Here he
worked within the dark caverns of the earth; but the fineness of his
linen soon led some of his fellow labourers to suspect that he was more
than what he seemed.
By the advice of a friend, at whose house he concealed himself,
Gustavus repaired to Mira, where an annual feast of the peasantry was
held. There, as his last resource, he displayed with so much mature
eloquence and energy the miseries of his country and the tyranny of
Christian, that the assembly instantly determined to take up arms and
adopt him as their leader. While their hearts were overflowing with an
ardent patriotism, Gustavus led them against the governor’s Castle,
which they stormed, and took or destroyed the whole garrison. Success
increased his forces; multitudes were eager to enlist under the banner
of the conquering hero, Gustavus. At the head of his little army, he
overran the neighbouring provinces—defeated the Archbishop of Upsala,
and advanced to Stockholm. Christian, who had in vain attempted to stop
the progress of Gustavus, by the threat of massacreing his mother
and sisters, at length put the dreadful menace into execution. This
cruel deed only animated Gustavus to a bloody revenge, and warmed more
fiercely the blood of his devoted followers.
Gustavus now went forward only to triumph, and, having overcome all
opposition, he assembled the states of Sweden at Wadstena, where
he received the title of Administrator of the Kingdom, and in 1523
they proclaimed him King. He then set himself zealously to work in
the reformation of the abuses both of Church and State. The Lutheran
religion began to gain ground; the Scriptures were preached; the lazy
drones of the church were shorn of their wealth, and compelled to do
their duty; and, while the Danes were completely expelled from Sweden,
Gustavus conquered all the internal treacherous enemies of Freedom.
Although Sweden was a “limited monarchy,” so great a faith had the
people in the justice and love of freedom which Gustavus possessed,
that they granted him almost unlimited powers, and this power he never
used in the least, but for the good of his country. He perfected the
legislation, softened manners, encouraged industry and learning, and
extended commerce. After a glorious reign of thirty-seven years, he
died in 1560, at the age of seventy, leaving behind him a character,
which the brave boys of England may love and venerate.
[Illustration]
The Town Pump.