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PIERROT, DOG OF BELGIUM
[Illustration]
[Illustration: A BELGIAN CARBINEER CAME VERY HURRIEDLY ONE MORNING AND
LED PIERROT AWAY]
PIERROT
DOG OF BELGIUM
_By_ WALTER A. DYER
AUTHOR OF
“THE RICHER LIFE,” ETC.
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by Gordon Grant_
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1915
_Copyright, 1915, by_
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
_All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian_
TO THE
COMMISSION FOR RELIEF
IN BELGIUM
WAGING A BLOODLESS BATTLE AGAINST
FAMINE AND THE RAVAGES OF
WAR, THIS LITTLE TALE IS
SYMPATHETICALLY
DEDICATED
[Illustration]
_Belgium lies bleeding._
_Across her level, lush meadows the harsh-shod hosts of war have
marched. Beside her peaceful waters the sons of God have spilled each
other’s blood. Beneath her noble trees have raged the fires of human
hate._
_Her king and his brave warriors have fought to save that which was
their own and, driven back, have left their smiling land to suffer
the desolation which has ever been the conqueror’s boast. Her ancient
cities smoke. The inspired craftsmanship of an elder day has been
destroyed forever._
_Belgium lies moaning._
_Across the winter sea we have heard the wailing of men and women
among their ruined homes--honest townsfolk, simple Walloon and Flemish
peasants, who had borne no malice and had done no wrong. And amid the
cries of anguish and despair there have come to me the weeping of a
little girl named Lisa and the voice of a faithful dog whining for his
master._
W. A. D.
PIERROT, DOG OF BELGIUM
[Illustration]
PIERROT, DOG OF BELGIUM
I
The children called him Pierrot from the first. That is, of course, no
proper name for a Flemish dog, but you see Mère Marie had come from
Dinant, where almost everybody speaks French, and she had been taught
French in school. Besides, she had French friends in Brussels and was
very fond of everything French and warm and southern. So she had often
told the children stories about Harlequin and Columbine and Pierrot;
and when they saw what a comical, clumsy little fellow the puppy was,
and how much he looked as though he wore big, baggy breeches, Henri
called him “drôle Pierrot,” and wee Lisa clapped her fat little hands
and laughed shrilly.
Jean Van Huyk had brought Pierrot home in his arms one spring evening
and had tumbled him out upon the floor of the cottage to startle Henri
and Lisa. But they refused to be frightened, for Henri was learning the
rules of courage and Lisa thought at first that the puppy was a baby
lamb. Straightway she fell upon him and sought to hug him to her plump
little bosom, but Pierrot only bit her ear and made her squeal with
delight, and then wriggled out of her arms and hurriedly waddled over
to Henri, who rolled him over on his back and tickled his round little
stomach. Whereat Père Jean roared loudly and old Gran’père cackled from
his chair.
Then shaggy old Luppe, who had pulled Mère Marie’s milk-cart for seven
years, yawned tremendously, dragged himself laboriously to his feet,
stalked over from the doorway and sniffed at Pierrot, and then turned
back with a look of dignified boredom. By this ceremony Pierrot was
constituted an accepted member of the household.
[Illustration]
It was Luppe’s advancing years, in fact, that explained the coming
of Pierrot. It was sad to think of the day when the old fellow would
no longer be able to trot into town with the milk and cheese, but
Providence has set narrow boundaries to a dog’s life, and Mère Marie
would soon need a younger and stronger steed.
So one Sunday morning Père Jean had bade Henri dress himself in his
best clothes, for they were to drive into Brussels to the dog market,
and half the world would be there. The Belgians do not think it strange
to go to market on Sunday, for it is an entirely different kind of
market from those conducted on week days, and they put on their gay
clothes and make a holiday of it.
When Père Jean and Henri arrived, the city was already alive with
people and they made a pleasant sight in the bright sunshine. Père Jean
found a place to tie his horse and then they hastened directly to the
Grande Place. This was a great paved square with imposing buildings on
all sides such as the Hôtel de Ville and the Maison du Roi. There were
a great many people in the square and they were all very lively and
busy and jolly.
One side of the square looked like a great garden, for here was the
flower market, and the florists vied with each other in their displays
of plants and cut flowers. It was very beautiful, also it smelled
wonderfully sweet, so that Henri fell under a sort of enchantment and
Père Jean had to drag him away.
On another side of the square were parrots and cockatoos and canaries
and birds of all kinds in little wooden cages. Some of the parrots
were making comical efforts to talk like people, the song birds were
whistling and trilling, and all was gay and colourful, which delighted
Henri. But they had a bird of their own at home, and it was not birds
that Père Jean had come to see.
At length they came to the dog market. Four or five hundred dogs
of all ages and sizes and colours lay dozing or stood pulling at
their leashes. There were big, strong dogs like Luppe; alert black
Schipperkes; Brussels Griffons, with faces like those of little bearded
old men; Belgian sheep dogs with erect, pointed ears, short-haired
brown fellows and beautiful long-haired black ones; all sorts of
dogs from Great Danes to ridiculous little Dachshunds. There were
capable-looking work dogs; mournful-eyed mothers; swaggering young
bloods proclaiming loudly their desire for battle; awkward, blundering,
adorable four-month-olds, and fuzzy little babies that wabbled on their
sprawling legs as though made of jelly. Henri saw a dozen dogs that
would have suited him perfectly, but Père Jean was apparently more
difficult to please, for he went from group to group without making a
selection. At last he told Henri that he could not find the sort of dog
he wanted and that it was better to go home without any than take one
that would not turn out well.
Henri looked down the row of assuredly desirable dogs and his lip began
to tremble a little. So Père Jean, instead of taking Henri home at
once, bought some cakes for their dinner and told him he should remain
to hear the grand concert in the afternoon, which pleased Henri so much
that he forgot his disappointment.
At noon there was a great hubbub and bustle in the Grande Place, for
the market was over and all the vendors must be out of there at once.
In the afternoon the Regimental Band came in its wonderful uniforms and
played stirring music in the kiosk until the shadows began to lengthen
and Henri grew very weary.
It had been a wonderful day and Henri fell asleep that night with gay
pictures dancing before his eyes and music sounding in his ears. This
was happiness enough for little Henri, but Père Jean had not found the
dog he was after. He knew the value of the right kind of dog and he
would have nothing else.
So Père Jean made a journey one day to fat Auguste Naets, the butcher
of Vilvorde, who was famous for the dogs he bred. Auguste bragged much
about these dogs. Their blood, he said, ran away back into the Middle
Ages to the boarhounds of the Dukes of Brabant. Matins, he called
them; and it is true that for a hundred years, when other men had
grown careless of their breeding, Auguste’s father and grandfather and
great-grandfather had kept the breed pure, so that when the National
Federation for the Breeding of Draft Dogs was founded a dozen years ago
they deemed the Naets strain worthy of a certificate of merit with five
red seals attached, which Auguste proudly had framed and hung in his
shop.
Of the hundred thousand or more dogs that are used in Belgium as
_chiens de trait_, none were finer than those which Père Jean found in
the kennels of Auguste Naets. They were large dogs, with something of
the look of the St. Bernard about them, but with smaller heads and more
lithe and rangy bodies. In colour they were all sorts of combinations
of black, white, and tawny; Auguste held that colour meant nothing to a
cart-dog. Their ears were long and drooping and their tails were docked
when they were puppies to avoid interference with the harness. They
would have been handsomer with long tails, but Auguste was breeding for
utility rather than for beauty. There was a time when the dog-owners of
Belgium cropped their dogs’ ears to make them stand erect and pointed,
but it was found that during their steady work outdoors in winter
rain and snow beat into their ears and caused sores and deafness, so
that the practice of depriving them of their natural protection was
abandoned.
Auguste’s dogs, like others of their breed, were tireless and powerful.
They could easily draw a load of 400 pounds, though 200 pounds was
usually considered a one-dog load. Three dogs hitched to a 400-pound
load could run with it at a steady, rapid trot for miles without
apparent weariness.
Père Jean loved dogs, and he could have stayed all day with Auguste in
his kennels, but to Auguste business was business, and he at length
persuaded Père Jean to pay a good price for a likely looking beggar
from the latest litter. That was Pierrot.
“He has the big feet and the large bones,” said Auguste. “That means he
will grow large and strong and live for many years, like my Jacques,”
and he pointed to the superb sire that headed his kennels.
So Père Jean took the fuzzy, awkward little puppy back to the little
tile-roofed cottage he had built for his bride ten years before, and
where Henri and wee Lisa had been born.
They were sober, industrious, thrifty folk, the Van Huyks, and
prosperous among their neighbours. In Belgium a peasant is always a
peasant, and there is a wide gulf fixed between the rich and the poor,
but Père Jean owned his little dairy farm six miles out from Brussels
on the Waterloo Road, beyond the Forest of Soignies, and they were very
comfortable and happy.
It was a pleasant country, with green pastures and meadows, nodding
wheat and rye fields, and trim, orderly market gardens on every hand,
and with straight, smooth, hard roads all leading to town between tall
rows of poplar trees. Père Jean tilled the little farm and he and
Gran’père milked the cows and made the cheese, while Mère Marie took
the milk in to Brussels every morning in big brass and copper cans
which she kept very clean and shiny.
Farther back from the city, where the farms were poorer and the market
not so near, the peasants wore rough smocks and clumsy wooden shoes
and lived mostly on coarse rye bread and bacon and potatoes, with
milk and rice and dried herring on Fridays. But Père Jean and Mère
Marie always wore leather shoes when they went to town, and only the
children clumped around in yellow sabots to save their Sunday shoes,
and Gran’père because he preferred them.
Mère Marie was a plump, fresh-faced young woman with a beautiful, heavy
crown of golden brown hair which was always neatly dressed, no matter
how much of a hurry she was in. She went bareheaded, winter and summer,
except when it rained; then she drew her shawl over her head. She wore
a trim short skirt and a clean white apron.
[Illustration]
On Sundays the family went regularly to mass, dressed in their finest
clothes, and then feasted on hare and eggs and butter and cheese and
many kinds of vegetables. In the afternoon Père Jean took his cornet
and went to practise with the band, and sometimes he took Henri with
him. It was a wonderful band, for all Belgians love to make music, and
little Henri could hardly wait for the time when his father would teach
him to play, too. But when the band played the martial music, ah, then
little Henri’s bosom swelled almost to bursting, and he determined to
be a soldier when he grew up. That would be grand, indeed! But Père
Jean only smiled and told him that being a soldier wasn’t all bands and
fine uniforms.
Some of the peasants used dogs to harrow and cultivate their vegetable
gardens, but Père Jean owned a big black horse named Medard, so that
Luppe’s only duty was to draw the milk-cart and to bark at night if
strangers approached. When Pierrot grew old enough Luppe taught him to
wake up and bark at strange noises and to keep quiet at other times,
for a good watchdog does not waste his breath on the moon. When the
huntsmen rode by with their _chiens de chasse_ Pierrot would become
very much excited and wanted to follow them, but Luppe explained to
him that their vocation was a very foolish and frivolous one, and
beneath the dignity of a _chien de trait_, though Luppe himself would
often lose his head over the warm scent of a hare, or even of a rat or
mole.
Old Luppe was, as you see, a very wise and experienced dog. He knew all
the roads like a book and most of the streets of Brussels. He knew how
to bring his cart safely across crowded thoroughfares without guidance,
and to stop without instructions before the houses of Mère Marie’s
customers in the city. Also he knew how to pull his load with the least
possible expenditure of strength and wind, and to lie down and rest in
his harness whenever he stopped for a minute.
All these things he would one day teach to Pierrot, but meanwhile the
puppy’s education was chiefly in the fundamentals. When Luppe was
away on his business Pierrot would romp and play for hours with the
children, and as his first teeth dropped out and his second set came,
white and strong, he learned just how hard it is fitting to bite a soft
hand or plump ankle in play or in love. Sometimes he would follow Père
Jean and Gran’père about the farm or dairy, and they taught him to come
at a call and to lie down and wait until he was wanted. This was a very
hard lesson to master, you may believe. Also it was hard to learn that
Sunday shoes are not meant to be chewed like a broth bone.
So Pierrot lived happily through his baby days on the dairy farm on the
Waterloo Road. There was plenty of skim milk and other things for him
to eat, and after he had overcome a slight predisposition to colic he
began to grow very fast. His feet persisted in keeping ahead of him in
growth, and he was still awkward when he ran fast, but his bones were
getting big and strong and he was growing solid and heavy. As the cold
weather came on his bark grew deeper and less squeaky and the stiff
hairs began to show through the soft puppy coat. Pierrot was fast
growing into a fine big dog, black and white with spots of tan above
his eyes and on his muzzle and forelegs.
Pierrot could not yet carry wee Lisa on his back as old Luppe could
so easily, but to Henri he seemed large enough for anything, and the
boy was very impatient to see Pierrot’s serious training begun. So
Gran’père, in his leisure hours, built a little toy cart and harness
for Pierrot, and he and Henri began the lessons.
At first Pierrot was very unmanageable and seemed anxious to get into
the cart himself, but after a while Gran’père made him understand that
he was to go straight ahead when given the word and not stop until so
ordered. Finally they taught him to turn when he felt the tug of a rein
on his collar.
[Illustration]
When at last Gran’père felt sure that Pierrot had learned his lessons,
Henri was allowed to take him out upon the road with wee Lisa in the
cart, to the huge delight of that small, merry person.
One day, as they passed solemnly along the road, Henri marching
sturdily alongside and wee Lisa sitting like a proud lady in her
carriage, they met a Belgian soldier in a queer little bonnet and a
dark blue uniform with red stripes on his trousers. Henri saluted as
Gran’père had taught him to do, and the soldier came to a halt.
“Where are you going, monsieur and mademoiselle?” asked the soldier
pleasantly.
“Just for a drive,” replied Henri, a little bewildered at being thus
formally addressed.
The grenadier, who was not much of a talker, stood regarding them with
a quizzical smile. Then Henri plucked up courage:
“My father wears a blue coat with brass buttons, too,” said he.
“Is he a soldier?” asked the man.
“N-no,” replied Henri. “But he plays in the band.”
“Ah, so! And shall you play in the band and wear a blue coat with brass
buttons?”
“Perhaps. And perhaps I shall be a grenadier or a trooper.”
“And mademoiselle, what will then become of her?”
“Lisa? Oh, she will marry a burgomaster,” replied Henri; whereat the
soldier laughed heartily, for he had a simple wit, and passed on.
Père Jean also laughed, in his big, hearty way, when Henri told of the
encounter, but Gran’père shook his head and looked very thoughtful.
“It may all be,” said he. “Who knows?”
And so the winter passed with many small adventures, but on the whole
tranquilly. Pierrot--he was getting to be big Pierrot now--was very
much one of the family, more so than Luppe had ever been. Luppe was a
fine, wise, able dog, but very businesslike and unemotional. All the
family loved Luppe and hated to see him grow old, for he had been a
faithful and willing servant, but it was Pierrot who really found a
place deep in their hearts. There had been no children to play with
when Luppe was a puppy, and that makes a great difference. He had
early found his allotted place between the shafts, and his greatest
joy was in the day’s work. But Henri and wee Lisa had made a comrade
of Pierrot, and so he grew up very warm-hearted and with a broader,
deeper, more varied outlook on life than Luppe’s. Luppe served a kind
master and mistress and was content, but Pierrot needed love--given and
received.
The winter was cold and a hard one for old Luppe, and he became a
little rheumatic and stiff in his hind legs. He accepted more promptly
every opportunity to rest, and rose with less alacrity than of old.
Père Jean and Mère Marie both noticed this and began to turn their
thoughts toward the further training of Pierrot.
When warm June weather came again, Luppe improved, but it was evident
that Pierrot must soon take his place. The youngster was only fifteen
months old, and his body, which had grown with extraordinary rapidity,
still needed filling out, but already he seemed nearly as big and
strong as Luppe. He had a tremendous appetite, and it seemed to Père
Jean that he should be earning his board.
One day Père Jean had a heavy hogshead in the dairy which he wished to
move, and he and Gran’père could scarcely budge it. Medard, the horse,
had been loaned to Joseph Verbeeck, the market gardener, to help plough
a field for late cabbages. So Père Jean pried up the hogshead with a
bar while Gran’père slipped rollers beneath it, and when Luppe returned
from town with Mère Marie they hitched him to a chain fastened around
the hogshead. Père Jean and small Henri pushed from behind, Gran’père
stood ready with more rollers, and Mère Marie urged Luppe to pull. With
great effort they moved the heavy load a few inches, and Luppe began
to pant painfully.
“It is too hard for him,” said Mère Marie. “He is no longer young. He
will hurt himself.”
Then Gran’père thought of young Pierrot and sent Henri and Lisa to find
him. They hitched him to the chain beside Luppe and Mère Marie gave the
word to start.
Pierrot hurled himself forward mightily and fell back upon his
haunches. Old Luppe looked at him disgustedly. That was no way to start
a load.
Pierrot got up again and settled forward into his collar, his nails
scratching the dairy floor in an effort to get a foothold, and before
the rest were ready the big hogshead started to move. Then Luppe threw
his weight forward, and Père Jean and Henri put their shoulders to it,
and the hogshead began to gather momentum.
At first Pierrot pulled jerkily, with his forefeet scratching and his
tongue hanging out; he wanted to run with it. But Luppe growled at
him and soon he settled down to the steady pull that counts. Gran’père
began thrusting the rollers beneath the hogshead, Mère Marie spoke
shrill words of encouragement, and foot by foot the two big dogs
dragged the ponderous load to the other side of the dairy.
Pierrot was panting and his tongue was dripping when the work was done,
but he looked up very proudly at Mère Marie, as Gran’père unharnessed
him, and wagged his stump tail violently as she spoke the expected word
of praise. Old Luppe said nothing, but stalked off stolidly to his
piece of carpet and lay down with a thump.
Then Père Jean went over to Pierrot and felt up and down his legs and
pinched his back and shoulders.
“He’ll do,” said Père Jean. “I think you might take him to town
to-morrow with Luppe.”
Pierrot had grown up.
II
Pierrot’s first trip to Brussels was filled with wonderful experiences.
Mère Marie, very brisk and fresh-looking, routed him out before
daybreak. The polished copper cans, filled with last night’s creamy
milk, she took from the cool water in which they stood and wiped
them carefully. Then she brought up the low cart, with its two stout
wheels and the framework slanting out from the sides, and set the cans
in neatly with a round cheese and a firkin of butter. Luppe came up
quietly, and Mère Marie fastened on his girth and collar, to which the
reins were attached, and placing him between the shafts snapped on the
traces.
[Illustration]
All this, of course, Pierrot had observed many times before, but he was
somewhat astonished when Mère Marie took down his own harness from
its peg and buckled it on him. Then she led him over beside Luppe and
hitched him outside the left-hand shaft, snapping the traces into a
ring Gran’père had bolted to the front of the cart. It suddenly dawned
upon Pierrot that he was to be taken out into the world, and he began
to prance and wriggle in his excitement. Luppe turned about and nipped
his ear and told him not to be silly. Then Mère Marie felt of all the
cans to see if they were securely placed, pinned her little shawl
across her breast, and gathered up the reins.
“Eui, Luppe! Eui, Pierrot!” she cried, and the dogs trotted out into
the cool morning, Mère Marie walking rapidly beside the cart.
After a little while they met another woman with a milk-cart like Mère
Marie’s coming out of a lane, and they all went along together, Mère
Marie and the woman talking and laughing. Pierrot tried to pick an
acquaintance with the other dog, but he appeared to be a surly fellow,
and Pierrot was forced to give it up.
As dawn broke there appeared on the road other people with dogs and
carts--women with milk and both men and women with fresh vegetables and
fruit. Some of the market gardeners had larger carts with two or even
three dogs, and a few of the lazy ones rode and nodded on their carts.
The Waterloo Road runs straight into the centre of Brussels, but Mère
Marie and the other milkwomen did not take that route. They turned off
into a cross-road to the right after a while and at length came to the
broad, paved thoroughfare known as the Avenue Louise. The houses began
to appear closer together and there was much stir and bustle on the
road. Pierrot had never seen so many people before, and he found it all
so interesting and exciting that it required the combined efforts of
Luppe and Mère Marie to keep him going straight ahead.
It was nearly four o’clock when they started. A little more than an
hour and a half later Pierrot found himself in the city itself, with
houses stretching continuously down each side of the street. He might
have been frightened but for the comforting proximity of Luppe and Mère
Marie, who seemed not at all disturbed. It was growing noisy, too, and
Pierrot was content to trot along very peacefully with his right side
touching Luppe’s shaft.
Arriving at the corner of a street that crossed the avenue, they were
halted by an officious Garde de Ville with fierce-looking moustaches.
He wore a blue uniform with a silver band on his cap, and a terrifying
sabre hung by his side. Behind him stood a very dejected woman with
her dog and cart, waiting until he should find time to take her to the
station. Perhaps he had found that her milk was not fresh or had been
watered.
“Ho! Sta stil!” commanded Mère Marie, and the dogs stopped.
Then the officer proceeded to inspect Mère Marie’s cans and to test
her milk. He examined the dogs for sores and the harness to see if
it chafed, and required Mère Marie to show him Luppe’s drinking-bowl
and the pieces of carpet for the dogs to lie on when resting. Finding
everything as it should be--for Mère Marie was a careful milkwoman--he
bade them pass on, and by six o’clock they were ready for business.
Mère Marie gave Luppe and Pierrot each a drink of water and a piece of
hard dog cake, and after a little rest they started on their rounds.
Most of Mère Marie’s customers were in the Quartier Louise, where
many of the English people live, and she seemed to be very welcome
here. As the sun rose higher Pierrot found it very pleasant standing
in the shade of the big lime trees and chestnuts of the Avenue Louise
while Mère Marie took her bright cans to the houses. Carriages and
automobiles rolled by constantly, and pleasant people passed along the
sidewalk, forming a fascinating pageant for Pierrot’s entertainment.
When he became restless and felt an impulse to go on without Mère
Marie, Luppe, who lost no opportunity to lie down and rest, firmly
restrained him. On the whole, Pierrot behaved very well for his first
lesson.
And then there were many, many other dogs to be seen. It had never
occurred to Pierrot that there were so many dogs in the world, and
he was surprised not to find them all more excited about it. Luppe
apparently paid no attention to them.
Most noticeable were the large carts of the poultrymen from Malines and
other outlying villages who gathered at the covered market in the Rue
Duquesnoy. To most of these carts five large dogs were harnessed, one
between the shafts and two on each side; sometimes a sixth was used
beneath the cart with his tugs fastened to the axle. These poultrymen
travel in the night (Malines is fifteen miles from Brussels) in order
to be early at market, and frequently they fall asleep on their carts,
leaving the dogs to trot along unguided. The intelligent animals not
only keep up their steady pace without urging, but learn to avoid all
difficulties of the road by their own initiative.
Then there were milkwomen and laundresses with carts much like Mère
Marie’s, drawn by one dog or two. There were bakers and peddlers of
fruit and vegetables, who mostly used high carts with their dogs
hitched beneath. And there were noisy, shouting mussel vendors pushing
their carts before them, with a dog hitched ahead to help.
Sometimes a poor man would pass with a nondescript cart laden with
kindling-wood, garbage, or what-not, drawn by an undersized, underfed
mongrel who was often hard put to it to drag his load, but for the most
part the dogs were fine, big, strapping fellows used to their work, and
apparently enjoying it.
[Illustration]
The dog, as a matter of fact, is not only man’s closest four-footed
friend, but when set to work is his most willing slave and helper.
He is often intractable, but when he works at all he works with a
will. Other animals that have been harnessed and trained to do man’s
work--horse, elephant, camel, mule, burro, ox, or reindeer--labour for
the most part with a sort of stolid indifference and resignation. With
the exception of the most intelligent elephants and horses, the dog is
the only quadruped who displays a genuine interest and joy in his work.
Whether hauling a canal boat in France or a sled in Alaska, he puts his
heart and brain into his task and works like a man.
[Illustration]
It did not occur to either Pierrot or Luppe to question the justice of
their position. Luppe, in fact, was happiest when between the shafts.
And the whole discussion as to whether or not the _chiens de trait_ are
cruelly treated is more or less profitless, as it all depends on the
master. Some of the owners are undoubtedly cruel, and very few of them
have any real feeling for their dogs, but for the most part common
sense demands good treatment; the owner is a fool who destroys the
value of his own property by overwork or underfeeding, and for the most
part the dogs are well fed and are kept in fine fettle for their work.
Belgium has been slow to enact prohibitory laws in these matters, but
of late years a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has
been active, and in some of the cities one may occasionally observe
placards reading, “_Traitez les animaux avec douceur_.” And for some
years past there has been, in Brussels at least, police inspection of
harness to see that it does not chafe the dogs, and drivers of sore,
sick, or lame dogs are at least warned.
Before noon Mère Marie had visited all her customers and sold all her
milk, and Luppe knew when the route was completed and exhibited a
growing interest in the prospect of home and dinner.
As they clattered across the Grande Place they found many of the
poultrymen also making ready for departure. Across the square a cry
would be heard, “Eui, Vos! Eui, Sus!” And off would rattle another team
on the road to Malines.
Pierrot was very weary when they reached home again, due to the
excitement of new experiences as much as to the work done. He was very
glad to curl up on his bed and dream of carts and dogs and people and
rows of houses, and Mère Marie bade the children not to disturb him.
The next day Pierrot remained at home, but the day following he
travelled again to Brussels with Mère Marie and Luppe, and thereafter
for many days. Little by little Mère Marie and Luppe taught him the
things a cart-dog should know, and gradually he ceased to be astonished
and excited by the sights and noises and smells of the city, and when
he reached home he was not so weary.
There came a day when old Luppe was evidently ailing, and Père Jean
thought it would be a good time to try Pierrot alone with the cart.
So the next morning Mère Marie awoke Henri very early and they hitched
Pierrot in Luppe’s place between the shafts. Henri was to go along with
Mère Marie to see that Pierrot did not run away while she was visiting
her customers.
Old Luppe arose stiffly and shakily and came over to be harnessed as
usual. Mère Marie pushed him gently aside, and Luppe stood for a moment
looking surprised and hurt. Then his resentment against the usurper
suddenly arose and he leaped at Pierrot’s throat.
Pierrot had never been in a fight before, but he was strong and active,
and instinct told him how to defend himself. He shook Luppe off and
then the two dogs grappled. Pierrot was hampered by shafts and harness,
but he held his own and did not attempt the aggressive. Mère Marie sent
Henri running for his father, and seizing a milk-yoke tried to separate
the two dogs.
Both were bleeding about the mouth but were not seriously injured when
Père Jean arrived on the scene. Mère Marie held Pierrot by his harness
while Père Jean managed to drag Luppe off and tie him, snarling and
scolding, in the dairy.
Then Mère Marie made haste to load her cart, and soon they started out
upon the road. At the sound of the departing wheels Luppe set up a
long, despairing howl. Pierrot trotted proudly along, affecting not to
hear, but a great sadness welled up in Henri’s breast, and there were
tears in the bright eyes of Mère Marie.
The journey to Brussels seemed very long and tiresome to Henri, but he
trudged along manfully beside his mother, who sought to keep up his
spirits with cheery talk about the city and the people there.
Henri had driven to Brussels several times with his father, but he had
never before spent so much time in the streets, and he soon forgot
his weariness in the interesting sights about him. For one thing, he
noticed that many of the other dogs wore muzzles, and he asked his
mother about it.
“That is because they are ugly,” said Mère Marie. “They snap at people
who disturb them and they try to fight other dogs.”
“But Pierrot wears no muzzle,” said Henri.
“That is because he is gentle,” said Mère Marie. “If you make a friend
of your dog, and never beat him except when he is very bad, and talk to
him a great deal, he becomes very like a person and does not want to
bite any one.”
The Belgian cart-dogs are naturally good-natured, but their life has
made them generally combative. When their masters take the trouble to
treat them as comrades from puppyhood, they become exceedingly devoted
and affectionate. Such a dog was Pierrot. He did not know what it
was to have an enemy, and his love for Père Jean and Mère Marie and
Gran’père and Henri and wee Lisa had grown as naturally as his big
muscles and rough coat.
Toward the middle of the forenoon Henri grew weary again and began
sitting on the curb beside Pierrot whenever his mother left him. So
Mère Marie decided that he needed a little diversion.
“See,” said she, “here are _mes amies, les petites marchandes de
journaux_. You will make friends with them while Pierrot and I visit
Madame Courtois. It is a quiet street and Pierrot will not run away. We
will soon return.”
In a little round stall at the corner sat two pretty young girls sewing
and chatting together behind their piles of magazines and newspapers.
They looked up with smiles and greeted Mère Marie gayly as she
approached. They, too, were from the South and spoke French rather than
Flemish. Henri liked them at once.
[Illustration]
“This is my little Henri,” said Mère Marie to the newsgirls, “and his
legs have become fatigued. May he sit with you while I visit Madame
Courtois?”
Both girls laughed merrily at nothing at all and made a place for Henri
on the narrow bench between them, while Mère Marie and Pierrot started
up a side street. One of the girls had dimples in her cheeks and the
other had curly hair which blew about her ears.
“Where is the old dog to-day?” asked one of the girls.
“He is ill,” replied Henri.
“And the young dog has learned to take his place?”
Henri nodded very solemnly. “Oh, yes,” said he, “we have taught him.”
Whereat both girls laughed again.
Soon they were all very good friends and Henri was telling them all
about Luppe and Pierrot and Medard and Lisa and Gran’père and the
yellow bird in its wooden cage. When Mère Marie and Pierrot returned,
Henri was feeling much rested but rather hungry, and one of the girls
gave him a pear from her basket.
Henri turned and waved his hand to them as Mère Marie led him away, and
the girls laughed and shouted after them: “_Au revoir_, Mère Marie! _Au
revoir_, Henri! _Au revoir, Monsieur le Chien!_” And Henri laughed,
too, for that was a very droll way to address Pierrot.
The cart was lighter going home, so Mère Marie allowed Henri to ride
part of the way, and Pierrot trotted or walked steadily along like the
willing worker he was getting to be.
That day Luppe was better, but Père Jean thought he had best have a
good rest; so he was given a comfortable bed of straw in an unused
stall in the little thatched stable, and Mère Marie and Henri and
Pierrot went again to the city without him. And again Luppe howled at
their departure and was very despondent all day.
One cannot say whether Luppe died of a broken heart or whether it was
his advancing years and the rheumatism. Père Jean did not realize what
it meant to Luppe to be deprived of his work in life; and, anyway, what
else could he have done? The poor old dog failed rapidly. He would not
eat, and he scarcely responded to the attentions which the whole family
showered upon him. Only on the last day his eyes followed Gran’père
about with dumb pleading in them; and when Gran’père at last knelt
beside him, Luppe painfully dragged himself up into the old man’s arms,
and, with a great sigh, died.
Mère Marie and Henri and Lisa all wept, Lisa the loudest, and Gran’père
and Père Jean were both very quiet and sober. It is not fitting that
a man should mourn a dog as he mourns a brother or even a cross old
uncle, but sometimes a dying dog leaves just as deep a feeling of loss.
Luppe, with all his little faults, had been one of the family for so
long that home would never seem quite the same again without him.
They buried him under the grapevine, in a sheltered spot, and many a
human grave has been watered by less genuine tears. Then Lisa brought
blue cornflowers and red poppies and laid them on the little mound, and
they all went silently back to the house.
Thus was old Luppe gathered to his fathers and young Pierrot reigned in
his stead.
[Illustration]
III
It was not long after old Luppe’s death that a terrible thing happened.
Père Jean came in one afternoon with a piece of yellow paper which he
and Mère Marie and Gran’père studied very gravely for a long time.
The children were sent to bed early but they could hear their elders
talking until very late. They could not imagine what it meant, but when
Henri woke up once in the night he heard Mère Marie weeping, which was
strange, for she was usually so cheerful. Perhaps she was thinking
about Luppe.
[Illustration]
In Brussels there seemed to be more excitement than usual, and nearly
every one bought papers of the pretty newsgirls at the corner. All were
serious looking and many appeared to be frightened. Also there were
soldiers marching through the streets, which was a grand sight to Henri.
It was from the newsgirls that Henri at last learned what it was all
about. It was war, which of course explained the soldiers. Henri’s
heart leaped as he watched them in the hope that he might see some
fighting, but he was a little frightened, too. On the way home he plied
his mother with questions, but she was very quiet and he did not learn
much from her.
At last he found out that Père Jean, who had once served a term in
the army, had been called to the colours and attached to a company
of reserves. Every day he had to leave the farm and the dairy in
Gran’père’s hands and go away to drill. On these occasions he wore a
uniform which, while not quite so gay as the one he wore in the band,
was more martial looking. This made Henri very proud, but Mère Marie
had not much to say about it.
[Illustration]
Once, when Henri stayed at home to help Gran’père, they heard a great
sound of tramping and went out to see what it was. Up the road a
cloud of dust appeared and through it the legs of many men all moving
together and the glint of sun on steel. Presently the soldiers came,
hundreds and hundreds of them, marching past the little dairy farm
toward Brussels. Henri wanted to cheer, but Gran’père seemed so stern
that he refrained. Together they stood beside the road, old man and
little boy, very straight and rigid, saluting solemnly as the officers
rode past. It was all most impressive.
Henri continued to go to the city frequently with Mère Marie, not
because Pierrot was likely to misbehave, for he had learned his lessons
well, but because Mère Marie more and more wanted him with her.
Everywhere he heard talk of the great war and learned to keep his ears
open. The Germans had come and there was fighting at Liège--though
Henri did not in the least know where Liège might be. Every one was
proud of the brave men who were holding the forts, and Henri could
understand something of that. He was proud, too, especially as his
father was a soldier, though he did not understand why Père Jean had
not been fighting and winning battles. Wounded men were occasionally
brought in to Brussels, and Mère Marie seemed much troubled by the
sight of them. Henri wanted very much to question them about fighting
but was given no opportunity.
Then came the day when the terrible news that Liège had fallen sent
Brussels into a fever of excitement. Some of Mère Marie’s customers
packed up and moved away to Antwerp or Ostend or England, so that
Pierrot’s route grew shorter. There seemed to be fear that the Germans
might appear at any moment.
“The French!” cried the people in despair. “Where are they?”
When Mère Marie and Henri reached home that day Père Jean was waiting
nervously in his uniform, with his rifle and accoutrements ready.
“We have been called to the front,” said he. “The Germans must be kept
from Brussels.”
Not much more was said; it was not a time for talking. Père Jean kissed
them all, even old Gran’père, and said good-bye, and hurried off down
the road. Mère Marie was very brave and did not weep till he had gone.
Then she pressed Henri and wee Lisa close to her and sobbed bitterly,
which made the children cry, too, and Pierrot, who had not been
unharnessed, came dragging his cart and thrust his moist nose among
them in sympathy. But Gran’père stood alone by the road, looking toward
Brussels, his shoulders squared and his lips closed in a thin line.
Then terrible events took place very rapidly: The Belgians could not
hold back the Germans and Père Jean and the rest were forced to fall
back to Antwerp. The Gardes de Ville in Brussels advised Mère Marie
not to come to town any more, so they said good-bye to the pretty
newsgirls and their other friends and tried to explain the matter to
Pierrot who complained the next morning because he was not harnessed to
his cart.
That is why they were not in town when the news came that Louvain had
been destroyed and many peaceful people who were not soldiers at all
had been shot. But the news was not long in reaching the dairy farm,
and Mère Marie turned very white. Some of their neighbours packed up
their belongings and drove away, but Gran’père and Mère Marie did not
know where to go, so they stayed at home.
Three Belgian soldiers came and drove off Medard and all the cows
except one spotted heifer, and gave Mère Marie a receipt, saying that
she would be paid some time. They all knew the Germans would soon be
there, so it didn’t matter much; and with only one cow to milk and no
trip to make to town there was less work to do. Gran’père, with the
help of Mère Marie and Henri and Pierrot, began to harvest such of
their small crops as he could.
On August 18th a frightened neighbour brought word that the King had
left for Antwerp and that Brussels was in the hands of the Germans.
“Why cannot we go to Antwerp, _lieve moeder_,” asked Henri, “and be
with the King and Père Jean and the soldiers?”
But Mère Marie only shook her head; she could not speak.
Of all this Pierrot understood but little. He only knew that he missed
the pleasant clatter of the milk-cart at his heels, and the shade of
the lime trees on the Avenue Louise, and all the interesting sounds and
smells of the city, and the sweet laughter of _les petites marchandes
de journaux_. Also he missed the strong, kind hands and deep voice of
Père Jean. But he, too, was soon to learn something of the meaning of
war.
A few years before a regiment of _carabiniers_ had started to use
dogs to haul small supply carts and _mitrailleuses_ or machine-guns.
They are the soldiers who wear dark green uniforms with narrow yellow
braid and yellow badges, wide-collared overcoats in winter, and queer,
high-crowned hats with chin straps and plumes of glossy, green-black
cock feathers sprouting from green and yellow rosettes. That is, of
course, the parade hat. In action they wear little round caps or take
the feathers out of their hats and cover them with black oilcloth. The
experiment with dogs proved successful, and now that there seemed a
prospect of much fighting and marching in the rough country the army
decided to extend this branch of the service and began to commandeer
hundreds of strong, well-trained _chiens de trait_.
Just before the first Uhlan appeared at the Van Huyk farm a Belgian
carbineer came very hurriedly one morning and led Pierrot away. The dog
resisted at first but soon found he had got to go and trotted off up
the road by the soldier’s side. The children clung to his rough neck
and wept until Mère Marie dragged them into the house, but Gran’père
stood very straight and still and put his hand to his forehead when
the soldier and Pierrot marched away. The last thing Pierrot saw as
he turned back at the bend in the road was the stiff, brave figure of
the old man standing before the little farmhouse, and the last thing
he heard was the wild wailing of wee Lisa who could not understand and
would not be comforted.
Pierrot and the carbineer were soon joined by other soldiers with other
dogs, and they all hurried along the strange roads together. It was
a long journey, more than twenty miles, for they made a wide detour
around Brussels, passing north through Anderlecht.
[Illustration]
When they arrived at last at Malines Pierrot was placed in an enclosure
with many other dogs. They were not used to being together in this way,
and two men had to go about among them with whips to keep them from
fighting. But Pierrot, who was always friendly, found this contact with
his kind rather pleasant, though he was greatly perplexed by it all and
wanted to go home.
At night the dogs were fed and given straw to lie upon, but none of
them slept well in the new surroundings, and their guards were tired
and irritable before morning.
After daybreak soldiers came and took out the dogs two by two. Finally
a big, bearded carbineer named Conrad Orts approached Pierrot. He
patted Pierrot’s head, opened his mouth to look at his teeth, and ran
his hand down the hairy back and legs, as Père Jean used to do, and
Pierrot liked him. Also he seemed to like Pierrot, for he smiled, and
said, “_Un bon garçon_.” Then he selected a big, strong, surly looking
dog named Jef, so Pierrot afterward learned, and led the two dogs on
leashes out into an open field where there were tents and carts and
piles of boxes and bundles and much bustling about.
They came to a strange little cart the like of which Pierrot had never
seen before. It was a rapid-fire machine-gun mounted on two bicycle
wheels. In place of shafts there was a single tongue with two collars
fastened at the end, one on each side. One of these Conrad snapped
about Pierrot’s neck and the other about Jef’s, and then fastened
the traces. Then he trotted them about for a few moments till he
seemed satisfied. The gun and carriage weighed less than 200 pounds
altogether, which was a very easy load for two strong dogs on level
ground. Other dogs were being harnessed to similar vehicles, only some
of them had ammunition boxes in place of the little cannon. Then Conrad
tied the dogs and went in search of the two soldiers who had brought
them, in order that he might learn their names, which was a wise thing
for him to do.
For a day or two Conrad Orts spent much time training Jef and Pierrot,
taking them through water and over all kinds of rough country that
they might be ready for anything. Commands in the Belgian army are
given mostly in French, which was strange to Pierrot, for Gran’père and
Père Jean had taught him Flemish words. So he had to learn the meaning
of such commands as “Halte-là!” “Marche!” and “Va vite!” But he and
Jef soon learned to obey Conrad even when he did not hold the reins,
pulling the little cannon with a will across creeks and up and down
steep banks, and dashing with it through thickets where neither horses
nor automobiles could have gone. The dogs soon discovered each other’s
ways and learned to save their strength for the hard places and to pull
well together. And in spite of Jef’s taciturnity, Pierrot found him to
be an honest fellow, always ready to do his share of the work, and he
came to like him. Conrad seemed much pleased with them both.
Then came a morning when there was great excitement in the camp of the
carbineers. Men were running all about and officers were shouting
commands. Conrad came and hurriedly harnessed Pierrot and Jef to their
carriage and they started off on a run down the road toward Brussels
with some of the other dogs and guns. When they had gone about a mile
the dogs were unharnessed and tied to trees, and the guns were placed
in the road. Presently the galloping of horses was heard and shots were
fired, which frightened the dogs and made them try to break loose. But
they were much more frightened when their own guns began to speak.
A horrible din arose, and some of the dogs lay down and cowered and
others pranced and howled. Men came and kicked them and told them to
be still; all of the soldiers seemed hurried and excited. Pierrot was
trembling Violently and wished he were at home with Gran’père and wee
Lisa, but stolid Jef took it all very calmly and that put courage into
Pierrot.
[Illustration]