A TERRIBLE WORD.
When I met my old friend Whiskerandos, it was usually at night, as
moving about by day was dangerous; for who ever showed mercy to a rat,
or even thought of inquiring whether he possessed qualities which might
render him deserving of it?
"How do you like your quarters?" said Whiskerandos to me one starry
night, when all was still upon deck, and, save one sailor on the watch,
all of humankind were sleeping.
"They please me well enough," I replied.
"For my part," said Whiskerandos, "I shall be heartily glad when our
voyage is over; and I am half vexed that I ever led you to make it."
"Why so? We do not fare ill; we have plenty to eat." As I have mentioned
before, this is ever the first consideration with a rat.
"The sailors don't starve," said Whiskerandos more slowly; "yet they
think of adding another dish to their mess."
"Glad to hear it," said I; "you know that I am curious about dishes,
and should like to have my whiskers in a new one."
"Oh! but they won't be contented with your whiskers!" cried my friend,
with a funny, forced laugh.
"What do you mean?" said I quickly.
"Well, I heard Jack and Tom, two of the sailors, talking together to-day
down in the hold; and there was one word of their conversation which,
I own, struck me like the paw of a cat. That word was--"
"What was it?" cried I nervously; for if a hero like Whiskerandos felt
anything approaching to fear, I might be expected to be half-dead with
fright.
He drooped his head for a moment, and uttered one word-- "_rat-pies!_"
I started as though I had seen a tabby pounce down from the rigging!
"'Tis impossible!" I faintly exclaimed; "human beings never, never eat
rats!"
"Oh! I beg your pardon!" replied Whiskerandos, regaining his usual brisk
manner; "don't you remember old Furry telling us that his reason for
quitting China was, that he was afraid of being dished up for the
dinner of some mighty mandarin, whose hair hung in a long tail behind
him? Amongst the lowest classes in France, and the gypsies in England,
we poor rats are known as an article of food; and I have heard that in
the islands of the South Seas we were held in so much esteem, that
'sweet as a rat' passed as a proverb."
"I don't like such compliments!" exclaimed I, beginning to tremble all
over.
"Come, Ratto, you must pluck up a little courage, and show yourself
worthy of the race of Mus! There is never any use in meeting misfortune
half way. To be caught, killed, and put into a pie, is, I grant it,
a serious evil; to be always afraid of being so is another. The first we
may or we may not escape; but the second-- which is perhaps the worse of
the two-- lies in some degree within the power of our own will. We need
not make ourselves wretched before the time, about some event which
never may happen."
Good philosophy this, I believe, but not a little difficult to act upon.
When I have seen the younger members of that race which proudly styles
itself "lords of creation," trembling, shrinking, nay-- I shame to say
it-- even _crying_, at fear of some possible evil, a little
disappointment perhaps, or a little pain, I have thought of Whiskerandos
and the pies, and fancied that reasoning mortals might learn something
even from a rat.
I was so terribly afraid of being caught by the sailors, that I confined
myself more than usual to the cabin, keeping close to the hole that I
had made, that I might always be ready for a start should the blue eyes
ever happen to rest upon me; but those books, those famous books,
happily gave them other occupation.
"Papa," said Neddy to his father one day, "I should rather have gone to
some other place than St. Petersburg, I feel such a dislike to the
Russians."
"Why should you dislike them," said the captain.
"Oh! because they were our enemies so long, and killed so many of our
fine fellows!"
"They were but obeying the orders of their czar-- doing what they
believed to be their duty."
"But they were horribly cruel, papa."
"It would both be ungenerous and unjust to charge upon a whole nation
the crimes of a few individuals. It is singular that one of the most
striking examples of mercy to a foe of which I have ever heard, was
shown by a Russian. The story is given as a fact, and I have pleasure in
relating it, not only from its own touching interest, but from the hope
that it may teach my son what our conduct should be towards those who,
though our foes, are our fellow-creatures still.
"In the time of the first Napoleon, the French invaded Russia, from
whence they were obliged to retreat, suffering the most fearful
hardships, not only from the usual privations of war, but those caused
by famine and the fearful cold of that northern clime. Thousands and
thousands of brave troops perished in this fatal retreat. The splendid
army which had marched into Russia so numerous and strong, melted away
like a snow-ball! The fierce Cossacks hovered around the lessening
bands, cutting off the weary stragglers who, unable to keep up with the
rest, sank down upon the snow to die!
"At this fearful time two poor French officers, separated from their
comrades, helpless and exhausted, sought refuge at the house of a lady,
beseeching her to preserve them from the terrible death with which they
were threatened, either from cold and hunger, or the swords of their
enemies. The lady was a Russian,-- the officers were her foes,-- she had
probably suffered from the devastating march of the French army,-- but
she had the heart of a woman. She dared not conceal the officers in her
own house for fear of her servants and the rage of her countrymen, who
would probably have not only slain the fugitives, but have wreaked their
vengeance also upon her for seeking to protect their enemies. The
Russian lady hid them in a wood, at some little distance from her
dwelling, and thither every night, braving both the danger of discovery
and the peril of being attacked by wolves, did this noble-hearted woman
go alone, to bear food and necessaries to the suffering Frenchmen."
"Oh! papa, just fancy hurrying along the snow, with the sharp winter's
wind cutting like a knife,-- and then perhaps to hear a distant howl,
showing that a wolf was on one's track! Oh! I should not have fancied
those night expeditions!"
"It would have been noble," resumed the captain, "to have ventured thus
for a friend,-- the Russian lady did so for her enemies."
"And were the French officers saved at last?"
"Yes; by freely giving her money as she had freely risked her safety,
after a while the lady contrived the escape of the fugitives beyond the
frontier. When a considerable time had elapsed, a present of a piece of
plate, which she received from France, showed that the officers were not
ungrateful to their preserver."
"She was a generous enemy, papa, and a noble woman. But are not the
common people in Russia very ignorant and bad?"
"Very ignorant I believe they are, but it would be harsh and wrong to
call them very bad. They are cheerful and good-tempered, and even when
intoxicated they do not show the ferocity which disgraces a drunkard in
England."
"But are they not dreadful thieves?"
"They are said to be very skilful in cheating, and singularly dexterous
in picking pockets. But here again it would be unjust to brand a whole
nation with a disgraceful stigma.* I have another true story for you,
Neddy, and this time it shall be of a poor Russian, a messenger, or as
they call him, an Isdavoi.
"An English lady living at St. Petersburg gave five hundred rubles** in
charge to an Isdavoi to deliver to her daughter, who dwelt at some
distance. On the following day the Russian returned, kissed the lady's
hand after the fashion of his country, and said, 'Pardon me, I am
guilty. I cannot tell how it has happened, but I have lost your money,
and cannot find it again. Deal with me as you please.'"
"The poor fellow," continued the captain, "probably expected a severe
flogging, or dismissal from his office, but the lady had no inclination
to punish him with such rigour. Unwilling to ruin the Isdavoi, she
made no mention of his offence, considered the money as gone for ever,
and after a while lost sight of the messenger entirely. After six years
had elapsed he came to her one day with a joyful face, laden with six
hundred rubles, which he brought in the place of those which had been
intrusted to his care. On inquiry it was found that this honest Russian
had for those six years been denying himself every little pleasure, and
by resolute economy had saved up his wages until he had collected about
half of the sum required. He had then married a wife whose feelings of
honour appeared to have been as delicate as his own, for not only her
dower of one hundred rubles was added to his hard-earned savings, but
her little valuables had been sold to make up the full amount of the
money that had been lost!"
"Oh, papa! what honest people! But did the English woman take all their
money!"
"No entreaties on her part could induce the poor Isdavoi to take back
the rubles to save up which had been for so long the object of his life.
The lady, however, generously placed the money in a public bank to
accumulate for the benefit of his children."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Neddy, clapping his hands; "that was just how a lady
should behave; and as for the poor Isda-- what do you call him?-- he was
a fine fellow, and quite worthy to have been an Englishman!"
[* The materials for my little sketch of Russian manners, &c.,
have been chiefly drawn from the translation of a work by the
German traveller Kohl.]
[** A Russian piece of money.]