cliff. After staying on the plateau together for a few days, it was
settled that Frederick should remain above to procure (S. 58, N. 8) a
stock of lard for the winter, Gustav returning to the hut and storing
it[6]. When a pig was killed, the hide, with the fat in it, was rolled
up, secured with thongs of skin, and thrown over the cliff, where Gustav
then ran the lard into a cask.
[1] +Landspitze+, f.
[2] +laufen lassen.+
[3] +verschonen.+
[4] = without having seen the Stoltenhoffs.
[5] = that their neighbours killed the goats and delayed, etc., ... in
order to force them, etc.
[6] +um es zuzubereiten.+
_Section 242._
A CURIOUS STORY.
X.
During the second winter, the privations of the brothers do not seem to
have been great. They were getting accustomed to their mode of life, and
had always sufficient food, such as it was[1]. They were remarkably well
educated. Both could speak and read English fluently, and the elder had
a good knowledge of French. Their library consisted of eight volumes:
Schoedler’s Natural History, a German Atlas, Charles O’Malley, Captain
Morrell’s Voyages, two old volumes of a monthly magazine[2], Hamlet and
Coriolanus with French notes, and Schiller’s poems. These books they
came to know almost by heart[3], but they had considerable resources in
themselves, in the intelligent interest they took in the ever-changing
appearances of nature.
When the “Challenger” arrived, they were preparing for another summer;
but the peculiar food, and the want of variety in it, were beginning
to tell upon them, for all their original stores were exhausted, with
the exception of the Epsom salts, which were untouched, neither of them
having had an hour’s illness during their sojourn; and they were heartily
glad of a passage to the Cape.
Frederick came to the ship before we left for the South in December. He
was then comfortably settled in a situation in a merchant’s office in
Cape Town, and Gustav was on his way home to see his people[4] before
resuming the thread of his roving sailor’s life.—W. J. J. SPRY, “THE
CRUISE OF THE CHALLENGER.”
[1] and — was = and the food at their disposal (+und die ihnen zu Gebote
stehende Nahrung+) was at least always sufficient (+ausreichend+).
[2] a monthly magazine, +eine Monatsschrift+.
[3] = they knew at last almost by heart.
[4] = friends or relations.
_Section 243._
HOW THE BANK OF ENGLAND WAS HUMBLED.
I.
Once, many years ago, a bill of exchange for a large amount was drawn[1]
by Anselm Rothschild, of Frankfort, on Nathan Rothschild, of London. When
the gentleman who held it arrived in London, Nathan was away, and he took
the bit of paper to the Bank of England and asked them to discount it.
The managers were very stiff. With haughty assurance they informed the
holder that they discounted only their own bills; they said they had
nothing to do with the bills of private persons. They did not stop to
reflect with whom they had to deal. Those shrewd old gentlemen in charge
of the bank of the realm should have known and remembered that that
bit of paper bore the signature of a man more powerful than they—more
powerful, because independent of a thousand-and-one hampers that rested
upon them. “Umph,” exclaimed Nathan Rothschild, when the answer of the
Bank was repeated to him. “Private persons! I will let these important
gentlemen know with what sort of private persons they have to deal.”
And then Nathan Rothschild went to work. He had an object in view[2]—to
humble the Bank of England—and he meant to do it[3]. He sent agents to
the Continent and through the United Kingdom, and three weeks were spent
in gathering up notes of the smaller denominations of the Bank’s own
issue[4].
One morning, bright and early, Nathan Rothschild presented himself at
the Bank, and drew forth from his pocket-book a five-pound note, which
he desired to have cashed. Five sovereigns were counted out to him, the
officers looking with astonishment upon seeing Baron Rothschild troubling
himself personally about so trivial a matter. The baron examined the
coins one by one, and, having satisfied himself of their good quality,
slipped them into a canvas bag, and then drew out and presented another
five-pound note. The same operation was repeated, save that the baron
took the trouble to take a small pair of scales from his pocket to weigh
one of the pieces, for the law gave him that right.
[1] to draw a bill of exchange, +einen Wechsel ziehen+.
[2] +Er hatte sich das Ziel gesteckt.+
[3] +und er wollte alles daran setzen, dies Ziel zu erreichen.+
[4] in gathering — issue, +die auf kleinere Summen lautenden, von der
englischen Bank in Umlauf gesetzten Banknoten aufzukaufen+.
_Section 244._
HOW THE BANK OF ENGLAND WAS HUMBLED.
II.
Two—three—ten—twenty—a hundred—five hundred five-pound notes were
presented and cashed. When one pocket-book was emptied, another was
brought forth; and when a canvas bag had been filled with gold, it was
passed to a servant who was in waiting. And so he went on until the
hour arrived for closing the Bank; at the same time he had nine of the
employés of his house engaged in the same work. So it resulted that ten
men of the house of Rothschild had kept every teller[1] of the Bank busy
for seven hours, and exchanged _somewhere_ about £22,000. Not another
customer had been able to get his wants attended to. The English like
oddity. Let a man do anything original, and they will generally applaud.
So the people of the Bank contrived to smile[2] at the eccentricity of
Baron Rothschild, and when the time came for closing the Bank, they were
not a tenth part so much annoyed as were[3] the customers from abroad[4]
whose business had not been attended to. The bank officials smiled that
evening, but—
On the following morning, when the bank opened[5], Nathan Rothschild
appeared again, accompanied by his nine faithful helpers, this time
bringing with him, as far as the street entrance, four heavy two-horse
drays, for the purpose of carting away the gold, for to-day the baron had
bills of a larger amount. Ah! the officers of the Bank smiled no more,
and a trembling seized them when the banker monarch said, with stern
simplicity and directness:
“Ah! these gentlemen refuse to take my bills! Be it so. I am resolved
that I will not keep one of theirs. It is the House of Rothschild against
the Bank of England[6].” The Bank of England opened its eyes very wide.
Within a week, the House of Rothschild could be demanding gold which it
did not possess. The gentlemen at the head of affairs saw very plainly
that in a determined tilt[7] the Bank must go to the wall[8]. There was
but one way out of the dilemma, and they took it. Notice was at once
publicly given[9] that thenceforth the Bank of England would cash the
bills of Rothschild _the same_ as its own.—TIT-BITS.
[1] = cashier, +Kassierer+.
[2] contrived to smile = smiled.
[3] they — were, +ärgerten sie sich nicht halb so sehr, wie+.
[4] ‘the customers from abroad’ seems to be used here in the sense of
‘the numerous customers’.
[5] = was opened.
[6] +Es handelt sich darum, ob das Haus Rothschild oder die englische
Bank den Sieg davon tragen wird!+
[7] = struggle, +Kampf+, m.
[8] to go to the wall, +den kürzeren ziehen+.
[9] +Es wurde öffentlich angezeigt.+
_Section 245._
MORGAN PRUSSIA[1].
I.
Morgan, the gay and handsome son of a low Irish farmer, tired of home,
went to take the chances of the world, and seek his fortune. By what
means he traversed England, or made his way to France, is not told. But
he at length crossed France, and, probably without much knowledge or
much care whether he was moving to the north or the south pole, found
himself in the Prussian territory. This was in the day of Frederick
William I. (1713-1740), famous for his tall regiment of guards. He
had but one ambition, that of inspecting twice a day a regiment of
a thousand grenadiers, not one of whom was less than six feet and a
half high. Morgan was an Irish giant, and was instantly seized by the
Prussian recruiting sergeants, who forced him to “volunteer” into the
tall battalion. This turn of fate was totally out of the Irishman’s
calculation; and the prospect of carrying a musket till his dying day on
the Potsdam parade[2], after having made up his mind to live by his wits
and rove the world, more than once tempted him to think of leaving his
musket and honour behind him, and fairly trying his chance for escape.
But the attempt was always found impracticable; the frontier was too
closely watched, and Morgan still marched up and down the Potsdam parade
with a disconsolate heart, when one evening a Turkish recruit was brought
in; for the king looked to nothing but the thews and sinews of a man, and
the Turk was full seven feet high.
“How much did his majesty give for catching that heathen?” said Morgan
to his corporal. “Four hundred dollars[3],” was the answer. Morgan burst
out into an exclamation of astonishment at this waste of royal treasure
upon a Turk. “Why, they cannot be got for less,” replied the corporal.
“What a pity my five brothers cannot hear of it!” said Morgan, “I am a
dwarf to any one of them, and the sound of half the money would bring
them all over immediately.” As the discovery of a tall recruit was
the well-known road to favoritism, five were worth at least a pair of
colours to the corporal[4]. The conversation was immediately carried to
the sergeant, and from him, through the gradation of officers, to the
colonel, who took the first opportunity of mentioning it to the king.
The colonel was instantly ordered to question Morgan; but he at once
lost all recollection of the subject. “He had no brothers; he had made
the regiment his father, and mother, and relations, and there he hoped
to live and die.” But he was urged still more strongly, and at length
confessed that he had brothers, even above the regimental standard, but
that nothing on earth could stir them from their spades.
[1] +Morgan der Preuße.+
[2] +auf dem Paradeplatz zu Potsdam.+
[3] +Thaler.+
[4] five — corporal, +so würden fünf derselben dem Korporal wenigstens
eine Fähnrichsstelle eintragen+.
_Section 246._
MORGAN PRUSSIA.
II.
After some time the king inquired for the five recruits, and was
indignant when he was told of the impossibility of enlisting them. “Send
the fellow himself,” he exclaimed, “and let him bring them back.” The
order was given; but Morgan was broken-hearted “at the idea of so long
an absence from the regiment.” He applied to the colonel to have the
order revoked, or at least given to some one else. But this was out of
the question, for the king’s word was always irrevocable; and Morgan,
with a disconsolate face, prepared to set out upon his mission. But a new
difficulty struck him. “How was he to make his brothers come, unless he
showed them the recruiting money?” This objection was at last obviated by
the advance of a sum equal to about three hundred pounds sterling, as a
first instalment for the purchase of his family. Like a loyal grenadier
the Irishman was now ready to attempt anything for his colonel or his
king, and Morgan began his journey. But, as he was stepping out of the
gates of Potsdam, another difficulty occurred; and he returned to tell
the colonel that of all people existing the Irish were the most apt to
doubt a traveller’s story, they being in the habit of a good deal of
exercise in that style themselves[1]; and that when he should go back
to his own country, and tell them of the capital treatment and sure
promotion that a soldier met with in the guards, the probability was,
that they would laugh in his face. As to the money, “there were some who
would not scruple to say that he stole it, or tricked some one out of
it. But, undoubtedly, when they saw him walking back only as a common
soldier, he was sure they would not believe a syllable, let him say what
he would about rising in the service.”
The objection was intelligible enough, and the colonel represented it to
the king, who, doubly outrageous at the delay, swore a grenadier’s oath,
ordered Morgan to be made a sub-lieutenant, and, with sword and epaulets,
sent him instantly across the Rhine to convince his five brothers of the
rapidity of Prussian promotion. Morgan flew to his home in the county
_of_ Carlow, delighted the firesides for many a mile round with his
having outwitted a king and a whole battalion of grenadiers, laid out his
recruiting money on land, and became a man of estate at the expense of
the Prussian treasury.
One ceremony remains to be recorded. Once a year, on the anniversary of
the day on which he left Potsdam and its giants behind, he climbed a hill
within a short distance of his house, turned himself in the direction
of Prussia, and, with the most contemptuous gesture which he could
contrive, bade good-bye to his majesty. The ruse was long a great source
of amusement, and its hero, like other heroes, bore through life the name
earned by his exploit—Morgan Prussia.—KING GEORGE THE FOURTH.
[1] they being — themselves, +da auch sie im Erzählen von dergleichen
Geschichten eine große Fertigkeit besäßen+.
_Section 247._
THE TERRIBLE WINTER OF 1784.
About the middle of the month of April, in the year 1784, three hundred
thousand miserable beings, dying from cold and hunger, groaned in Paris
alone—in that Paris where, in spite of the boast that scarcely another
city contained so many rich people, nothing had been prepared to prevent
the poor from perishing of cold and wretchedness.
For the last four months, the same leaden sky had driven the poor from
the villages into the town, as it sent the wolves from the woods into the
villages.
No more bread. No more wood.
No more bread for those who felt this cold—and no more wood to bake it.
All the provisions which had been collected, Paris had devoured in a
month. The Provost, short-sighted and incapable, did not know how to
procure for Paris, which was under his care, the wood which might have
been collected in the neighbourhood. When it froze, he said the frost
prevented the horses from bringing it; when it thawed, he pleaded want of
horses and conveyances. Louis XVI., ever good and humane, always ready to
attend to the physical wants of his people, although he overlooked their
social ones, began by contributing a sum of 200,000 francs for horses and
carts, and insisting on their immediate use. Still the demand continued
greater than the supply.
At first no one was allowed to carry away from the public timber-yard
more than a cart-load of wood; then that was limited to half the
quantity. Soon long strings of people might be seen waiting outside
the timber-yards, as they were afterwards seen at the bakers’ shops.
The king gave away the whole of his private income in charity. He
procured 3,000,000 francs by a grant and applied it to the relief of the
sufferers, declaring that every other need must give way before that of
cold and famine. The queen, on her part, gave 500 louis from her purse.
The convents, the hospitals, and the public buildings were thrown open
as places of asylum for the poor, who came in crowds for the sake of the
fires that were kept there.
They kept hoping for a thaw, but heaven seemed inflexible. Every evening
the same copper-coloured sky disappointed their hopes; and the stars
shone bright and clear as funeral torches through the long, cold nights,
which hardened again and again the snow that fell during the day. All day
long, thousands of workmen, with spades and shovels, cleared away the
snow from before the houses, so that on each side of the streets, already
too narrow for the traffic, rose a high, thick wall, blocking up the way.
Soon these masses of snow and ice became so large that the shops were
obscured by them, and they were obliged to allow it to remain where it
fell.
Paris could do no more. She gave in, and allowed the winter to do its
worst. December, January, February, and March passed thus, although now
and then a few days’ thaw changed the streets, whose sewers were blocked
up, into running streams. Horses were drowned, and carriages destroyed,
in the streets, some of which could only be traversed in boats. People
went to the markets to see the fisherwomen serving their customers with
immense leathern boots on, inside which their trousers were pushed,
and with their petticoats tucked round their waists, all laughing,
gesticulating, and splashing each other as they stood in the water.
These thaws, however, were but transitory; the frost returned, harder
and more obstinate than ever, and recourse was had to sledges, pushed
along by skaters, or drawn by roughshod horses along the causeways, which
were like polished mirrors. The Seine, frozen many feet deep, had become
the place of rendezvous for all idlers, who assembled there to skate or
slide, until, warmed by exercise, they ran to the nearest fire, lest the
perspiration should freeze upon them. All trembled for the time when, the
water communications being stopped, and the roads impassable, provisions
could no longer be sent in, and began to fear that Paris would perish
from want.
The king, in this extremity, called a council. They decided to implore
all bishops, abbés, and monks to leave Paris and retire to their dioceses
or convents; and all those magistrates and officials who, preferring the
opera to their duties, had crowded to Paris, to return to their homes;
for all these people used large quantities of wood in their hotels, and
consumed no small amount of food. There were still the country gentlemen,
who were also to be entreated to leave. But M. Lenoir, lieutenant
of police, observed to the king that, as none of these people were
criminals, and could not therefore be compelled to leave Paris in a day,
they would probably be so long thinking about it, that the thaw would
come before their departure, which would then be more hurtful than useful.
All this care and pity of the king and queen, however, excited the
ingenious gratitude of the people, who raised monuments to them, as
ephemeral as the feelings which prompted them. Obelisks and pillars of
snow and ice, engraved with their names, were to be seen all over Paris.
At the end of March the thaw began, but by fits and starts, constant
returns of frost prolonging the miseries of the people. Indeed, in the
beginning of April it appeared to set in harder than ever, and the
half-thawed streets, frozen again, became so slippery and dangerous, that
nothing was seen but broken limbs and accidents of all kinds. The snow
prevented the carriages from being heard, and the police had enough to
do, through the reckless driving of the aristocracy, to preserve from the
wheels those who were spared by cold and hunger.—AFTER ALEXANDER DUMAS,
“THE QUEEN’S NECKLACE.”
_Section 248._
A STORY WORTH READING.
I.
Soon after the promulgation of Methodism[1] in England it spread with
great rapidity over the counties of Devon and Cornwall, and especially
among the miners and lower orders. For a long period after its
introduction the clergy and higher classes of society in the west of
England manifested a dislike to the new doctrines which can scarcely be
imagined in these days of modern toleration. It was thought by many young
gentlemen good sport to break the windows and nail up the doors of a
Methodist chapel[2]. The robbery of a Wesleyan preacher[3], as a spree,
by two young gentlemen, became the subject of an investigation, and the
frolicsome young men had to pay very dearly for their practical joke.
Among the uninstructed local preachers was one known by the name of “The
Old Gardener.” This old man was no common character—indeed he was quite
original, and by far the most popular preacher among the disciples of
John Wesley in the vicinity.
He kept a small nursery garden about two miles from the town of St.
A——, working hard at his occupation of gardener by day, and praying and
preaching to his fellow-sinners, as he called them, in the evening. He
lived in the poorest manner, giving away all the surplus of his earnings
in charity, distributing Bibles, and promoting to the utmost of his
ability the extension of Methodism. His complexion was a sort of dirty,
dark, iron grey, and his whole appearance lean and grotesque. Although
extremely ignorant, he possessed no small degree of cunning; of this the
following incident affords ample evidence:—
“The Old Gardener” was once subjected to a burglary and attempt at
robbery. He lived with his wife in a small and somewhat dilapidated
cottage, not far from the high road. Three young “squires,” who all
despised and hated Methodism, having heard that the old man had been
recently making a collection to build a Methodist chapel, thought it
would be a good frolic to rob him temporarily of the proceeds of this
collection. The result of the frolic is best related in the words of one
of the actors:—
“We set out,” said he, “upon our expedition with blackened faces, upon a
dark night, a little before twelve o’clock. We had dined late, and all of
us had Dutch as well as Cornish courage; yet I confess, when it came to
the point[4], I felt myself a coward. I began to reflect that it was but
a dastardly frolic to frighten the poor old man and his wife in the dead
of night.”
“The clock struck twelve. ‘Now comes the watching time of the night,’
exclaimed Tom.”
“‘Don’t let us frighten the poor couple out of their wits,’ said I.”
“‘No,’ said Ryder, ‘we will be gentle robbers—gentle as Robin Hood and
Little John.’”
“I said that I would rather return than proceed. ‘Recollect,’ said I,
‘the old fellow is an old soldier, as well as a saint, and fears nothing
human.’”
“‘Nonsense,’ exclaimed Ryder, ‘here goes[5].’ He pressed the feeble door
of the cottage in which the old man resided; it immediately gave way and
flew open. We entered and found ourselves in a sort of kitchen. To our
great surprise there was a light shining from an inner room. This made us
all hesitate.”
[1] Nom. +die Lehre der Methodisten+.
[2] of a — chapel, +einer den Methodisten gehörenden Kapelle+.
[3] +eines wesleyischen Predigers.+
[4] +als es wirklich ernst wurde.+
[5] +komm nur!+
_Section 249._
A STORY WORTH READING.
II.
“‘Who is out there at this time of the night?’ exclaimed a hoarse
voice from within. I knew it to be the unmistakable voice of ‘The Old
Gardener.’”
“‘Give us your money, and no harm shall befal you,’ said Tom, ‘but we
must have your money.’”
“‘The Lord will be my defence,’ rejoined ‘The Old Gardener.’ ‘You shall
have no money from me; all in the house is the Lord’s—take it if you
dare.’”
“‘We must and will have it,’ said we, as we entered the inner room, after
taking the precaution of fastening the chamber-door as we entered.”
“We soon wished we had suffered it to remain open, as you will see.”
“Now, consider us face to face with ‘The Old Gardener,’ and a pretty
sight was presented. Three ruffians (ourselves) with white waggoners’
frocks and blackened faces; before us ‘The Old Gardener,’ sitting on the
side of his bed. He wore a red worsted nightcap, a checked shirt, and a
flannel jacket; his iron grey face, fringed with a grizzly beard, looking
as cool and undismayed as if he had been in the pulpit preaching.”
“A table was by the side of the bed, and immediately in front of him, on
a large deal table, was an open Bible, close to which we observed, to our
horror, a heap of gunpowder, large enough to blow up a castle. A candle
was burning on the table, and the old fellow had a steel in one hand
and a large flint in the other. We were all three paralysed. The wild,
iron-faced, determined look of ‘The Old Gardener,’ the candle, flint and
steel, and the great heap of powder, absolutely froze our blood, and made
cowards of us all. The gardener saw the impression he had made.”
“‘What! do you want to rob and murder?’ exclaimed he; ‘I think you had
better join with me in prayer, miserable sinners that you all are!
Repent, and you may be saved. You will soon be in another world.’”
“Ryder first recovered his speech.”
“‘Please to hear me, Mr. Gardener. I feel that we have been wrong, and if
we may depart we will make reparation, and give you all the money we have
in our pockets.’”
“We laid our purses on the table before him.”
“‘The Lord has delivered you into my hands. It was so revealed to me in a
dream. We shall all soon be in another world. Pray, let us pray.’”