GOING AWAY.
And now, having introduced my little hero to you, I will lose no more
time, but commence the story I have to tell of one particular year of
his life.
Squib was by this time “rising nine,” as he generally liked to call it.
His next and ninth birthday would be in August, and this was May, and at
Michaelmas he was to go to school, to his own mingled pride and regret.
He enjoyed the thought of being a schoolboy, of gaining the independence
and importance that always seemed to attach to his elder brothers from
the fact that they only spent the holiday months at home, and were so
much away at school; but he did not like to think of having to leave
Czar and Charger and all his numerous and peculiar pets. He was not sure
that any other person would understand how to manage them or to make
them happy, and it weighed on him sometimes to think that they would
miss him when he was gone. Still the thing would have to be done whether
he liked it or not, and Squib was resolving to take matters
philosophically, and look at things on the bright side as far as
possible.
A little excitement had lately come into his life from the advent of a
new uncle from India, whom Squib did not remember ever to have seen
before. Uncle Ronald was their father’s youngest brother, and he had had
a bad attack of jungle fever, and was to spend two years in Europe. He
came straight to Rutland Chase, and Squib gave up much of his time to
the entertainment of this new uncle, who spent a good part of every day
in a long bamboo chair in the big hall, and seemed amused by the chatter
of his small nephew. Squib felt it the more incumbent upon him to look
after his uncle because his father was very busy, and his mother had
been ailing all the spring-time, so that there was often nobody else to
act as companion to this other invalid—who did not, however, seem to be
suffering from anything worse than a little lassitude and languor. Still
the doctor came regularly to see both him and Lady Mary Rutland, and one
day as the little boy was perched up in the window seat of the big hall,
getting up a lesson for Mademoiselle and keeping an eye upon Uncle
Ronald at the same time, something very interesting happened.
It was a beautiful warm day early in May, and father had been driving
mother out in the pony-carriage for the first time. As Squib was sitting
there, the carriage returned, and when Colonel Rutland led his wife into
the house the pair seemed to be discussing something very earnestly
together. Catching sight of his brother in his favourite chair, the
Colonel exclaimed,—
“I say, Ronald, what do you think of a three months’ run to Switzerland.
We’ve just met Dr. Dawes in the village, and he says that’s what both
you and Mary want, to set you up again. I’ve not had a holiday myself
since I don’t know when. I’m half-bitten by the notion, and Mary is
quite on fire to be off!”
“Oh, Bruce! I did not say that. I confess it has attractions for me; but
there is so much to think of. There are the children—”
“Oh, the children will be all right! Mademoiselle will keep guard over
the girls, and as for the twins, why, they are as safe with nurse as
with us, and the boys are safe at school till the end of July, when we
shall be back. There’s only Squib, who might get into mischief if left
altogether to petticoat government, but I’ve half a mind to take the
child with us. His observations of foreign life would amuse us, and
can’t he speak German as well as French? I’m sure that Swiss nursemaid
of his taught him some barbarous patois of her own.”
“Ah yes—Lisa; I’m afraid she did teach him some very outlandish
German-Swiss patois, if he hasn’t forgotten it by this time. I wonder if
he would like to go with us. I should enjoy having one child with me, as
you and Ronald are sure to go off mountaineering when he is stronger.
Only it would be a great interruption to his lessons.”
“Oh, bother the lessons!” cried Uncle Ronald. “Squib knows as much as he
needs to make a good start at school—more than I did when I went, I
know. He’s a sharp little chap, and will soon pick up any lost time.
Let’s take him along by all means. I shall want an interpreter; I expect
Asiatic languages are more in my line than European. Squib shall come as
my interpreter. He speaks French first-rate, I know, and he’ll do all
the talking for me. Hallo! there he is! Come here, Squib, and tell us
how you’d like to go to Switzerland.”
Squib came forward with eyes shining with excitement. Ever since he
could remember anything it had been his dream to go to Switzerland, and
he could hardly believe his ears now that he heard the thing spoken of
as an immediate prospect. Switzerland was as a dream to him—a dream of
wonder and enchantment. From his earliest infancy he had heard
entrancing stories of great, lonely snow-peaks, whispering pine woods,
little chalets perched high up in green alps, brawling torrents, great,
awful glaciers with dark mysterious crevasses, and spirits of the
mountains who revealed themselves only to those upon whom the spell of
the mountains had fallen. Crowds of images rose up in the child’s mind
as he slowly came forward, and the stress of his imaginative flights was
so great that it held him mute for a longer time than usual; but when he
did give expression to his opinion, it was with such enthusiasm and
emphasis that his father and uncle both laughed aloud, and it became a
settled thing from that time forward that Squib was to accompany the
party to Switzerland, whenever the start should be made.
Squib, who was told that he might consider himself free of lessons from
this very day until he went to school in September, closed the book he
was still holding as though in a dream, and wandered out into the sunny
garden with a heart swelling with wonder and delight.
Switzerland! He was really going to Switzerland! He should see with his
own eyes the dazzling snow peaks, hear the roar of the avalanches
breaking the eternal silence of those lonely valleys. He would see (as
he thought at least) the chamois springing from peak to peak, and hear
the yodeling of the peasants as they took their cattle up into the green
pastures. He would see it all—hear it all—all those things of which Lisa
had told him, of which he had dreamed until he seemed to be able to see
them at will when he shut his eyes. Perhaps he would even see Lisa again
herself; for had she not returned to Switzerland? And Switzerland was
such a little country on the map!
Lisa had been Squib’s own peculiar attendant, and he had given to her a
very large slice of his childish affections. As has been said in the
preceding chapter, Squib had had a little baby brother when he was not
much more than a baby himself, and this little brother had been so
ailing that nurse had had to give up almost all her time to him, and so
Lisa—a young Swiss maid who was leaving a friend’s nursery just at that
juncture—was engaged to take entire charge of the elder little boy.
Having once come in that capacity, she stayed on for many years—until,
in fact, Squib had no longer any need of a nurse; the delicate little
brother who died, and the little twin sisters who were still in the
nursery, had always occupied all nurse’s attention, and Lisa had been
retained year after year to attend to Master Squib, and to help with her
needle in the care of the little girls’ clothes. Lisa had loved Squib
from the first with a singular devotion, which he repaid by a warm
affection. He had learned to speak her curious patois as naturally as he
had learned the English of his parents and sisters, and it seemed as if
the power of using her native tongue again unsealed the silent Lisa’s
lips, for to Squib she would talk by the hour together of her country,
her home, her people, and all the glories and the wonders of that land
of mountains and wood and water whence she had come. She had much of the
imaginative temperament which is so often found amongst a mountain race,
and to her nursling she talked with the utmost freedom and unreserve.
Not only did she speak of the things she had heard and seen, but she
also told him long stories of fairies and water-spirits, genii of the
mountain, and the little brown men who dwelt in the caves and rocks,
till the child’s head was as full of enthusiasm as her own for her
native land, as crowded with fanciful imaginings as if he had been a son
of the soil himself.
Lisa had now been gone for nearly a year, and some of these imaginings
had been growing a little faint and hazy; but they were all there, lying
dormant, and ready to wake into active life on the smallest provocation,
and as Squib wandered down the garden and into the yard, and found Czar
all ready to share his ramble and his talk, he poured a whole volley of
excited information into the dog’s ears, lapsing almost unconsciously
into Lisa’s German patois as he did so, which, however, seemed to make
no difference to Czar’s power of comprehension.
The next days seemed to go by like magic. Squib found himself raised to
a position of some importance in the nursery, on the strength of his
approaching departure. The tailor from the next town called to measure
him for two new suits of clothes; his sisters made much of him because
they were so soon to lose him; and all the servants talked to him about
his journey, and called him a lucky little boy to be taken.
It was rather hard to think of leaving Charger, who was such a very
great friend and companion; but coachman said that it would do Charger a
“world of good” to get a run out for two months, now that he was growing
elderly, and that pleased Squib a good deal, for he did not want his
favourite to miss him too much.
“Maybe it’ll be a good thing though, sir,” said coachman, “since you are
going to school by-and-by. It will break him in to having you gone for a
spell, and he’ll kind of know that you’ll be coming back before so very
long. I’ll see he is well looked after, and he’ll be in first-rate
fettle for you by the time you get back.”
The other trouble, about leaving Czar, was got over in a very unexpected
and most satisfactory way; for Squib was told one day that Czar was to
be taken with them to Switzerland.
“The master said so himself,” the groom told Squib, when he came down to
loose him for his morning’s run. Czar was by this time a dog of mature
years, and he had tamed down wonderfully. Indeed, he was often left
loose during the day, and was allowed to lie on the terrace or patrol
the gardens. But he lived in his house at night, and several of the men
still stood in some awe of him: yet he was thoroughly under control now,
and a very valuable watch-dog and guard. He was still devoted to Squib,
and would obey him at a word or a look; but by this time he was attached
to all the family; and whenever the master of the house was away, he
slept indoors at the foot of the great staircase; and Lady Mary always
said that she never felt nervous when she knew that Czar was on guard.
“You see, sir,” the groom added in explanation, “them furrain parts is
none too safe, what with all these bombs and one thing and another; and
the master says as hell feel more happy like to have the dog with him.
If so be as he were to go off hunting wolves or boars, or whatever they
may have over yonder, or leastways climbing mountains, where her
ladyship couldn’t go, he’d like to leave the dog behind to look after
the house; and so it’s all fixed now that Czar is to go.”
This was great news for Squib, who quickly found his way indoors to make
sure of it. Uncle Ronald was in the hall looking at his guns, and he
gave Squib a friendly smile.
“Oh yes, that’s all right enough,” he answered in response to the eager
inquiry. “You see we’ve heard of a chalet that will just suit your
mother, right up in one of those _thals_ as they call them, out of the
way of regular tourists, where the air is almost enough to keep you
going without the superfluities of meat and drink. It’s furnished
comfortably, too, which is a consideration; and there’s an old servant
you once had who will come and act maid to your mother, and help her
with the foreign ways of housekeeping—”
“What! Lisa?” asked Squib breathlessly.
“I think that was the name—anyway she was the girl who was your nurse so
many years. She’s going to come to be with you, and Mr. and Mrs. Lorimer
are going to come out with us and share the chalet. You know who the
Lorimers are, I suppose?”
“Yes—they come every year to stay here. They are very nice. Mrs. Lorimer
is mother’s very great friend, I think. We all like her very much.”
“That’s all right. I’ve heard as much myself. Well, Mr. Lorimer is a
great Alpine Club man, and no end of a mountaineer, and knows all the
passes and the peaks and the guides, and the ways of things; and we
shall go off from time to time with him and do some climbing, and then
your mother and Mrs. Lorimer will be left at the chalet with you for
their protector, and we thought that a dog like Czar would be a good
addition to the party; so it’s settled that he’s to go. That’s just
about how it is, you see.”
“I see,” answered Squib, looking very thoughtful and contemplative, and
after a long pause he asked tentatively, “I suppose we couldn’t take
Charger with us too?”
“I’m afraid not, old chap. Charger would be rather a large order; and I
don’t think we’d get him up to the chalet without a steam crane or some
trifle of that sort. Swiss Alps aren’t just cut out for English horses.
I’m afraid Charger must stay at home.”
However, to have Czar was much, and Squib was very well content. Czar,
he had felt sure, would miss him more than Charger, for he was more with
him; and Charger had friends amongst all the stable hands, whilst Czar
was regarded with more fear than love in many quarters. It also pleased
Squib greatly to be told that on the journey Czar was to be his special
care. The party would travel leisurely and easily on account of Lady
Mary, and there would be a good many stoppages at various places before
they reached their destination. As they would have a carriage to
themselves almost invariably, it was probable the dog would be able to
share it with them; but at the stations and all such places Squib was
instructed to look after the creature, and have him upon his mind, as
there would be other things for the gentlemen of the party to think of.
Squib felt a great pride and satisfaction in this charge, and confided
all the arrangements to Czar, who heard them with great gravity.
Time flew by so quickly that Squib was almost surprised to awake one
morning and find that it was really the day of departure. The start was
to be made in the morning. They were to go to London first, and lunch
there, and then take the train to Folkestone, where they would sleep and
be ready for the boat the next day.
Squib had never been to London even, and his sisters, who had once spent
a week there, thought it a pity he would not be able to see the
Zoological Gardens, and the Tower, and Madame Tussaud’s. But Squib had
no room for regret on this score, he was in such a fever to see
Switzerland and Lisa again, and the mountains and glaciers and all the
wonders of his dreams. He felt very grand, dressed in his new travelling
suit of tan-coloured homespun—jacket, knickerbockers, cap, and waistcoat
all to match—and strong new stockings of the same shade, with new boots
strong enough for mountain scrambling. His sisters had joined together
in the purchase of a whistle on a chain, which they thought would be
very useful for calling Czar, if he should wander away in a new place;
and Squib wore it for the first time this morning, and felt wonderfully
grown up in doing so, for the steel chain looked like a watch chain, and
he almost felt as if he were wearing a watch all the time.
The good-byes were rather hard to make, for the little girls all cried,
and Squib’s own eyes got very moist, and there was a great lump in his
throat which half-choked him, whilst everything looked misty and blurred
as he went about from one to another, promising to bring all sorts of
treasures back with him, and leaving last messages with almost
everybody. It made it all the harder because mother was almost crying
too as she kissed her little daughters, and left all sorts of last
charges with kind Mademoiselle; but Uncle Ronald went about laughing and
making jokes, telling his little nieces that they ought to be sent off
to India for an indefinite number of years to know what saying good-bye
was like; and as for getting up the waterworks because mother was going
for a few weeks to Switzerland, why, they were just little geese—he
couldn’t call them any better name than that!
Uncle Ronald always made people laugh, and so the good-byes were got
over at last between smiles and tears, and then the party found
themselves skimming along the road to the station, with Czar running
silently along behind, more excited than usual, because he knew quite
well that something unwonted was afoot, although perhaps he had not
realized quite as clearly as Squib believed that he was on his way to
Switzerland.
Squib’s first sight of the sea was at Folkestone, and very wonderful he
thought it. There was just enough breeze blowing to make the waves turn
over in great green breakers, and come crashing down on the shingle with
that strange sound which is like nothing else in the world. Colonel
Rutland indulged his little son with a ramble along the beach after tea,
and Squib enjoyed it greatly, especially sending Czar into the water
after his father’s stick, and his indignant barking at the crested wave,
which would not stop for all his barking, nor give back for a second
when he flew savagely at it. Other people besides Squib were entertained
by the conduct of the great handsome dog, and Squib was very well
satisfied with his first day’s travel.
But the next one was far more exciting.
They were actually to cross the water in the steamboat which was lying
moored alongside the great stone pier. Uncle Ronald took Squib down to
look at it some short time before they were allowed on board, and Squib
thought it a very wonderful vessel indeed, although Uncle Ronald laughed
and called it a “poor little tub,” which seemed a very disrespectful way
of speaking about it, Squib thought.
When he was once safely on board, he made friends with the sailors, and
asked them a number of questions, and then went and looked down at the
great throbbing engines, and talked to a smutty man who seemed to know a
great deal about them, and who explained a great deal to him very
good-naturedly—only, unfortunately, Squib did not understand much better
at the end than he had done at the beginning. However, the man admired
Czar very much, and said it wasn’t often they saw such a fine dog as
that in foreign parts, he was sure; and that pleased Squib very much. So
he told his new friends all about his home and his sisters and Charger,
and how he was going to Switzerland for two months to take care of his
mother when his father went up mountains; and altogether the time passed
so quickly and pleasantly that he was quite surprised when the train
came puffing up, and everybody got busy, and he was taken away by his
uncle to watch the new people coming on board.
Mr. and Mrs. Lorimer were amongst these, and Squib soon picked them out.
He did not, however, quit his post of vantage till he had seen all the
luggage swung on board by the great crane, which he thought very
interesting; and then he went to the very back of the boat where he had
seen a nice coil of rope lying, and scrambling up on this he found that
he was able to make a fine perch for himself, where he could see the
water and have a fine view of the boat, and watch the shore as it seemed
to slip away astern.
There was rather a stiff breeze blowing when they got into mid-channel,
and the vessel rocked and rolled as the big green waves lifted her up
and let her down. Squib thought it better than any rocking-chair or
rocking-horse he had ever been on, but he noticed that some of the
people began to look very queer. A sort of green hue overspread their
faces, and then they generally retired from the scene, and he wondered
where they all went. Poor Czar, too, grew rather restless and unhappy,
and got up from beside Squib, and took a turn or two and then came and
lay down again, and looked up pitifully at his little master, as if
asking for sympathy. He did not seem able to get comfortable, and Squib
wondered what was the matter.
“Oh, Lor’ bless you, little master, he’s only a bit sea-sick, just the
same as Christian folks!” said the kindly sailor whose acquaintance
Squib had made previously, and who chanced to pass along at that time.
“Like enough he’ll just be a bit sick, like the other folks, and then be
right again. It’s a queer thing when you come to think of it,
sea-sickness. But Lor’ bless you, nine-tenths of the folks as comes
aboard in bad weather can’t stand up against it. You don’t seem no worse
yourself though, little master.”
“Oh no; I like it. I didn’t know what made them all look so queer. I
heard mother saying she was afraid it would be rough crossing, and that
she would be ill. I hope she isn’t.”
Poor Czar, however, did not escape, and was very unhappy for a time, and
then quite ill; but the passage was quickly made, and once on firm
ground again he thought no more of his troubles.
It amused Squib very much suddenly to hear everybody talking French, and
to see the men in their blue blouses, and the fisherwomen in their white
caps.
“I wish they wore pretty things like that in England,” he thought as he
looked curiously about him, “and what a noise they do make; and how they
jabber, and laugh, and move their hands about—just like Mademoiselle
when she wants to make us understand. Oh, Uncle Ronald, are we going off
already? It is such fun watching the people! I think France is a very
pretty, funny country. Are we going to the Douane now? Mademoiselle told
me all about that. And shall I have to ‘declare’ Czar? Is he
contraband?”
“I don’t think so, but you can ask if you like,” answered Uncle Ronald,
laughing. “Come along this way if you want to see the business. Your
father is going to the train with the ladies, and Mr. Lorimer will see
to the luggage.”
“I should like to go too,” said Squib, keenly interested in the
proceedings; and accordingly his uncle led him into a great bare room
where luggage was being brought in on the shoulders of blue-bloused men,
and where officials were gravely asking questions over the counter on
which it was placed, and marking off with white chalk the piles of
luggage passed. Squib was greatly amused, especially when one man was
detected smuggling tobacco under a lot of books. They could not stay to
the end of the altercation, but the gestures of the French official
amused the child exceedingly, as well as the laborious efforts of the
Englishman to follow, and hold his own in conversation.
Then there was a rush for the train, a confabulation with the
authorities about Czar, who was finally permitted to go in the carriage
with the party, Uncle Ronald feeling sure that the balance in his favour
was turned by Squib’s pretty childish pleading in French, and his
confidence that everybody must see the many perfections of his
four-footed friend. Perhaps the guard did not particularly desire the
companionship of the great hound; perhaps Colonel Rutland’s air of
_milord Anglais_ had due effect. Anyway, Czar travelled peacefully to
Paris with his owners, and was accorded a like privilege almost the
whole way through.
Paris was very gay as the travellers drove through the streets to the
hotel in the Rue Rivoli, where Colonel Rutland always stayed. Lady Mary
was by this time very tired, and went at once to her room; but Squib was
immensely excited by everything, and very anxious to see at least one or
two of those sights of Paris over the description of which Mademoiselle
had so often grown excited; so Uncle Ronald good-naturedly volunteered
to pilot him, provided he would do the talking, to which Squib readily
agreed.
First they had some lunch in the Champs Elysées under the trees, which
seemed to Squib such a superior arrangement, that he wondered why people
ever went indoors to eat. Then they visited the Louvre and spent an hour
there, after which a fiacre was chartered to take them to Notre Dame and
one or two other places of interest, which Squib felt much elevated by
having seen. But the real excitement of the day was when, in returning,
Uncle Ronald took him into a shop such as only Paris seems able to
produce, and after a great deal of laughing and chaffering with a
bright-faced French saleswoman, who was equally amused at Uncle Ronald’s
bad and Squib’s good French, a small silver hunting-watch was purchased,
together with a silver chain, and presented to the astonished Squib by
his young uncle.
“Something to remember your first visit to Paris by, old chap,” he said,
as he led him back to the hotel, “and to tell you the time when you get
out amongst the mountains, and have nobody to remind you of it, and no
big gong carrying a mile to ring you in.”
As for Squib, he hardly knew what to make of his good fortune, and his
thanks were so long in coming that it seemed as if Uncle Ronald would
have to go without them altogether; but, when they did come, it was with
a “chiff and a rush,” as he described it afterwards, which was in itself
enough to justify the sobriquet by which his small nephew went. Early
upon the following morning, the party started for their long journey
across France to Switzerland.