"She found 'la mère Bricolin' sitting with Mrs. Wright.""She found 'la mère Bricolin' sitting with Mrs. Wright."
"The promise of a thousand songs.""The promise of a thousand songs."
H, touch them not, the loving toilOf wild birds fair; he surely wrongsBoth Heaven and earth who seeks to spoilThe promise of a thousand songs.Think! in these fragile caskets lieThe unborn singers who will giveDay-long their sweetest harmonyFrom dawn until the quiet eve—The choristers, whose morning praiseIs one glad psalm of hope and joy,Long, long before their heads upraiseEach sleeping, dreamy girl and boy.Grey larks, how often I have heardYou singing in the golden noon,Until my heart within me stirredTo thank you for your music's boon.Yet sweeter still than all the rest,The last clear hymn at eventide,When, dropping to each well-hid nest,You gaze to where the sun has died.Faced to the splendid purple West,You pour full-throated forth a lay,Giving to God and man your best,As come the shadows soft and grey.So touch it not, this present homeOf future singers: pass along—They'll soon, from out the sky's great dome,Repay your gentleness with song.
A natural history student was one afternoon, during a prolonged drought, hunting for ferns in a dense wood. Towards evening, it grew suddenly dark, and a few drops of rain gave warning that a storm was coming. At that moment, the student's eye fell upon a big, hollow tree-trunk on the ground.
Striking a match, the man peered within, and saw, as he thought, a convenient place of shelter. With feet foremost and arms pressed closely to his side, he wormed himself into the log.
Presently the rain came down in torrents, and the student congratulated himself on having found so snug a shelter.
Fatigued with his long tramp, he fell asleep. How long he slept he did not know, but by-and-by he was awakened by a sharp pain in his head, and a feeling of cramp in his whole body. The rain was still falling, the darkness was intense. The bodily discomfort was, of course, due to the man's cramped position; the pain in his head was caused by a continual drip of water from above on to his forehead.
He drew his head back out of the way of the drops, and, in spite of his uncomfortable position, actually fell asleep again! But the next time he awoke, the pain in his head was intolerable. It seemed impossible to get out of reach of those maddening drops, and 'wherever they fell,' says the student, 'they seemed like a sharp iron boring into the skull.'
But the worst was yet to come. When the poor fellow tried to crawl out of the log, he was unable to do so! The opening by which he had so foolishly entered had been only just large enough to admit his body, and the wood, shrunken by the long drought, had in the rain swelled to such an extent that he was now caught, as he says, 'like a rat in a trap.'
Throughout the night the wretched victim shrieked, struggled, pushed, kicked, and wriggled in vain. He could not raise his hands to tear at the wood.
Happily, he was discovered the next morning through the good services of a sagacious dog, which led a search-party to the spot.
Even then, however, his sufferings were not at an end. Before he could get out of his prison, it was found necessary to cut away a part of the log with an axe.
Count Ensenberg, who was formerly the Hessian Ambassador in Paris, was a collector of autographs, and there was one page of his autograph book of which he was specially proud.
This page contained the writing of three celebrated men—Guizot, Thiers, and Bismarck. Guizot had written: 'During a long life I have learned to forgive much and forget nothing.' Thiers, for many years Guizot's most bitter political opponent, wrote under this: 'A little forgetfullness is a great help to reconciliation.' Some years later Bismarck closed the page with the words: 'For my part, I have seen it best to forget much, and to let others forgive me.'
HE waters of the River Nile have been put into harness and made manageable for the benefit of Egypt. The mighty stream, swelling to a flood and overflowing once a year, was wont to bring fertility, in its own way, to the fields on either bank. But too soon these refreshing waters sank away, and too soon the short harvest was followed by a period of drought. It was a case of having more than enough water at one season and not enough at another, and it was plain to see that if the supply could only be regulated, the bare, parched plains of Egypt would have abundant crops more than once a year.
The best way to accomplish this would be to get control of the flood waters, and to keep some of them back in a huge reservoir, until the rain-regions, from which they came, began to stop supplies, and the river sank to its usual size. Then the gates of the reservoir could be opened, and the pent-up flood be allowed to gush forth again to refresh the thirsty fields.
In 1898 the performance of this task was undertaken by the engineering firm of John Aird & Co.,[1]at a cost of two million pounds, and in May of that year the scene of operations was chosen, four miles south of the town of Assuan. Here it was proposed to erect a dam, or barrier, right across the Nile. It would stand on the crest of a cataract and would be one mile and a quarter long. But as the river at flood-time carries down large quantities of rich deposit which is extremely beneficial to the soil on which it settles, it would never do to erect any obstruction to check this in its flow. Therefore this Nile dam must be a barrier capable of letting the river pass until its treasure was safely delivered in Egypt.Thenthe waters must be checked and the great reservoir filled. This could only be done by means of a number of sliding doors in the dam, which could be opened and closed at will.
The first examination of the cataract seemed to show that it flowed over sound, hard rock, and no difficulty was expected in finding a good, firm foundation. But when, to keep the water back while the work was in progress, sand-banks and temporary dams were built across the four channels through which the river flows to the cataract in the spring, it was found that the granite of the river-bed was 'rotten,' and in many places it was necessary to dig down thirty feet, before solid rock could be found. This was a sad surprise, for it seemed impossible to start building at such a depth, and carry the masonry to a sufficient height before the Nile in flood would come roaring down to Assuan. It was a race with time; and if the engineers failed to win, their temporary dams would be washed away, and would have to be built again next year before the great barrier could be gone on with. Already the Nile had more than once laughed at these temporary banks of sand and stone, and had broken through them and leapt upon its course as though jeering at human power. So persistent had been its attacks that the engineers almost despaired of finding anything heavy enough to hold its own in the opening which the water had made. At last two large railway waggons were filled with stones in wire cages, securely tied into the waggons with steel ropes. These, weighing altogether fifty tons, were pushed along a pair of rails on the top of the 'sudd' (or thick growth of weeds and flotsam) till they fell with a tremendous splash into the opening. Then the Nile was beaten. It could not move such a weight, and the masons worked on in peace—three hundred and fifty-three of them, night and day. Fortunately, too, the builders were encouraged by telegraphic reports received from stations farther up the river to the effect that the waters showed no signs of rising. The flood, in fact, proved unusually late that year, and by the time it came, the dam at Assuan was raised sufficiently high to be independent of the temporary 'sudds.' For three months workwas suspended while the water roared through and over the stonework, but at the end of that time work progressed more rapidly than ever.
So cleverly had matters been arranged that no delay was caused by having to wait for materials. The granite was quarried in the neighbourhood, but was no more prompt in arriving at the scene of action than the coal and cement that came all the way from England. During the time of construction no less than twenty-eight thousand tons of coal were burned in the engine fires; and seventy-five thousand tons of cement were mixed to bind the granite blocks together, or to be formed into smooth slabs for facing the sluice-ways. In the long wall thus erected, which is seventy feet high in places (the bed of the river being so uneven) there are one hundred and eighty gateways or sluices, each nearly seven feet wide and twenty-three feet deep—except a few which are just half that depth. These openings are arranged on different levels, the bottom row being sixty feet below the surface of the water when the reservoir is full. They are all contained in a length of four thousand six hundred feet, the rest (one thousand eight hundred feet) of the dam being solid masonry. The sluice-ways are closed by iron gates which work vertically in grooves of steel, and can be raised or lowered from the top of the dam—a roadway sixteen feet wide. That these huge iron curtains may be lifted more easily, one hundred and thirty of them are fitted with rollers, and whatever the pressure of water, they rise and fall with great smoothness.
Five years were allowed for the accomplishment of this great task, but by diligence and promptness, John Aird & Co. were ready to pack up their tools and come away a whole year sooner than was expected. His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught went to Assuan, in December, 1902, and declared the great dam fit to begin its important duties.
The Nile Dam at Assuan.The Nile Dam at Assuan.
And this is how those duties are performed. Early in July each year, every sluice is opened to its widest, the iron doors being lifted as high as they will go. The Nile at that time is seen to be rapidly rising, and nothing must obstruct its passage. For five whole months it is allowed to rush in growing volume on its course. By that time, the rich deposit, of which we have spoken, has all passed through the sluices, and the time has arrived for checking the clearer and less turbulent water by which it is followed. The first gates are lowered early in December, being of course those in the lowest part of the dam. These are followed by fifty more on a higher level; and so on until all the sluices are carefully closed, with the exception of some which are left open for surplus water to pass through. The reservoir is not full until the end of February, and thus takes three months to collect its waters. But so vast is its extent, that the stoppage is said to affect the river one hundred and forty miles farther south. The water thus held back is not allowed to escape until May, when it is most wanted in the fields below the dam; and it is, of course, all gone by the beginning of July, when the sluices are gaping wide again to let the new floods pass. It need hardly be said that the order just described varies a great dealaccording to the moods of the river. The dam must be regulated to those changing moods, or the benefits it gives could not be relied upon. Thus from the fickle stream a constant blessing is drawn, and year after year, with the shifting seasons, those stately gates will rise and fall; the river channel will always have its water, so long as the gates last, and there will be corn in Egypt.
"What a feast I had!""What a feast I had!"
But for an undue affection on my part for fruit of all kinds, you would probably never have heard my story; for I might possibly have been free, and the happiest lives, they say, are those which have no history.
What happy times we had in that far-away landover the seas—the gambols and the pranks we played! I was always fond of freedom, in fact I loved it beyond anything, and it was this that first led me into misfortune.
I disobeyed my good old mother, by going beyond the bounds appointed, and through this I was brought into captivity. An elephant-hunter caught me, almost before I knew where I was, and then, good-bye to freedom!
I was shipped on board a huge vessel. What a voyage it was to be sure! I trumpeted for hours in misery. Once I felt certain I was going to the bottom, but my fears were unfounded, for we reached England in perfect safety, none the worse for our stormy experiences. Shortly after landing, I was dispatched to my new home.
I should not have minded so much if I had been sent to the Zoo, for I hear some of the elephants there have fine times and are treated like royalty. But I was bought by a circus company. Fancy, takingmeto a common thing like a circus! At first I moped; who would not, under such trying circumstances? By degrees, however, I got used to my surroundings, and learned to do all sorts of clever things. I was young and teachable, so they said. I could stand on a tub, sit at a table and dine, ring the bell for the waiter to come and clear away, after which I would eat my dessert with the air of a gentleman.
In fact, I was 'The Children's Delight,' 'The Elephant Extraordinary,' and 'The Marvel of the World.' That is what they said on the circus-bills! I used to feel proud, at times, of all the praise which was bestowed upon me, and gave myself airs. You see, it is not everybody who is 'The Marvel of the World.'
However, praise alone did not satisfy me for very long. Freedom was what I wanted, and one day, to my delight, freedom was what I managed to get.
And didn't I enjoy myself!
Never mind how I accomplished it; let me say simply that I eluded my keeper and got into a sort of forest (I suppose it was a country wood), and there I stayed all night, laughing in my trunk to think what a panic the circus company would be in. If only I could have made my way to some seaport town, and have been shipped off home again, I would gladly have endured the roughest voyage to be once more in my own dear native land.
Towards morning I got weary of my loneliness, and hungry too, I must admit. Feeling a bit more courageous than when I first escaped, I decided to take a walk, and I found my way into an adjoining town. Here it was, alas! that I came to grief.
I met a baker's boy on the road with a basket of rolls. I gobbled up every one, and so partly satisfied my hunger.
The boy was dreadfully scared. Had I not been so busy with my breakfast, I should have been quite anxious about him. For a few seconds he stood open-mouthed with fear; then he flew like the wind. What for, I did not know, for I had no intention of doing him any harm. All I wanted was his rolls.
Of course, after having appeased my hunger, I ought to have made my way back to the woods again. I realise this now.
But I saw, not far off, a greengrocer's shop, and the things there displayed were enough to tempt any one's appetite, I simply could not resist them. I broke the window, and upset the fruit over the pavement. What a feast I had to be sure! The people in the shop were afraid to interrupt me, so I had it all to myself. Two basketsful I demolished, and was prepared to attack a third, when suddenly, to my horror, I was caught.
My keeper, with two or three other men, who were helping in the search, happened to see me in the middle of my feast, and then—well, here I am, again in captivity.
I said I liked fruit. Yes, but that is a thing of the past, now.
I have pretty well settled down again to my life as 'The Children's Delight,' and 'The Elephant Extraordinary,' although at times I still yearn for the freedom of the forest. But this one lesson I have learnt—that if you cannot get the things you want, the wisest plan is to make the very best of the things you have.
An Arabian proverb, which contains a lot of meaning very closely packed, runs as follows: 'Who knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is foolish; shun him. Who knows not, and knows that he knows not, is humble; teach him. Who knows, but knows not that he knows, is asleep; wake him. Who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise: follow him.'
(Continued from page215.)
La Mère Bricolin had a thin, brown, deeply lined face, but she herself was stout, and did credit to M. le Curé's table. Her coarse blue serge dress, white apron, and snowy, close-fitting cap, gave her a well-to-do appearance. Indeed, as housekeeper to M. le Curé, she was far better off than in the days when her husband earned a scanty livelihood as a fisherman in one of the smaller smacks of the cod-fishing fleet. Like so many other widows of the little village, she had lost him in one of the great storms off the coast of Iceland, and had to go out to service in order to support herself and her only son. The boy had grown up to follow his father's trade, and she lived in constant dread of hearing bad news of him. She was always one among the first to hasten to the cliff where all the women assembled to catch the first glimpse of the returning boats. Then there would be the rush to the tiny harbour, each woman's heart aching with anxiety to see if her dear ones had returned to her safe and sound. So Mère Bricolin's mind was never at peace, though she was not dependent now on another's earnings, and had no intention of being a drag on her son.
Her sunken black eyes had much humour and kindliness, despite the anxiety and shrewdness which was so apparent in them. She loved a gossip, too, with such a neighbour as Mrs. Wright; and as they both had similar anxieties when the boats were delayed by stress of weather, or when a flag was noticed at half-mast, it was no wonder that Mère Bricolin did not appear to mind the steep ascent to Mrs. Wright's dwelling. There was another reason for her activity. Was it not she who suggested that Mrs. Wright should live in that very place? She had not intended that the cave should be their permanent abode, and it was not her fault that Jack and his mother continued to live there; but she had suggested it on their arrival, and was flattered that they preferred it to any other place in the village.
Mère Bricolin gazed in amazement at Estelle. She had been disappointed, not to say a little hurt, in her secret heart when Mrs. Wright refused to allow her to help in the nursing of the little waif, nor even to see her, on the ground that the doctor had forbidden any visitors to the sick-room. By no word had Mrs. Wright let out her suspicions as to the rank of the little girl. Mère Bricolin expected, therefore, to see a child much like the other children in the village. Every one in Tout-Petit knew the story of the rescue. Every woman admired the tall, handsome English sailor, whose determination and good nursing had saved the little stranger's life at sea; but they would never have said so. Was he not a foreigner? Was there not some cause, hidden, but certain as the nose on the face, that a clever seaman like him must have something in the background which kept him from a far better position than that of a common sailor?
But Jack and his mother lived such simple lives, and Jack was such a first-class 'hand,' that any prejudices which might have cropped up died a natural death, and he never lacked employment.
'Look at our two old gossips!' he laughed, as he saw Mère Bricolin comfortably seated on the broad settle near the fire. He often wondered how they found so much to talk about, these two old dames.
Mère Bricolin's surprise as Estelle took off her wraps brought another smile to his face. He felt proud of his little flotsam from the sea when the Frenchwoman said, 'And this, M. le Marin, is the little Mademoiselle you picked up! The sea has its pearls, my friend.'
Estelle was touched. To her own surprise, as well as that of her friends, she understood and answered in French as well as any little Parisian. How she learnt it she was still unable to say, but she had not spoken French with her former nurses and governess from Paris in vain. It was a relief to all parties that she was not shut out from the conversation. The chief pleasure to good Mrs. Wright was, however, that the purity of the accent and diction proved she was of gentle training, at all events. She smiled and nodded approvingly.
'Will you tell me about the fair?' said the little girl, seating herself on the settle by Mère Bricolin's side.
The old dame nodded, her black eyes twinkling. Estelle's blue ones grew rounder and rounder as sheheard of the wonders of the sword-swallowers, the celebrated fleas which could drive a coach, of elephants that fired guns, of the great circus of horses; and—dearest of all to the peasant heart—the dancing at the Fontaine des Eaux; dancing which was to begin on the eve of thefête, and to be continued on the night itself till break of day.
'And will you dance, Mademoiselle?' asked Mère Bricolin, smiling. 'There will be plenty of people ready—— '
'Never!' exclaimed Jack, shortly. The very idea annoyed him.
'I hope to see itall,' said Estelle, eagerly. 'But I'm not strong enough to dance. I would rather look on.'
'You are right, Mademoiselle. You would not care to dance either. Our lads are good, but they are rough. But it is a pretty sight even to me, who am old, and must be ready to leave this world whenever it shall please Heaven. But M. le Curé says it is not wrong, M. Jack. All these things are for our ease and pleasure, and the next day we work again.'
'I dare say you are right, Madame,' returned Jack. 'There's no doubt that people enjoy themselves. My mother and I intend our little guest to do the same.'
'Have you taken her to see the Treasure Caves?'
'Not yet.'
'They call M. le Marin the Giant of the Treasure Caves because he discovered them,' smiled Mère Bricolin, rising to go.
Mrs. Wright pressed tea upon her, but she said she must be back before M. le Curé came home from visiting the sick. He, too, was old, and never remembered to eat when he was tired, unless she reminded him. Jack accompanied her down the slope, while Estelle hindered rather than helped Mrs. Wright to lay the tea. She was wild with delight at the prospect of seeing a realfête. Then, suddenly remembering some such event in a dim, uncertain way, she paused painfully, saying, 'Have I ever seen one before, Goody? Where am I? In France? Have I been here before? How is it I can speak French?'
'It doesn't matter whether you have been here before or not,' returned Mrs. Wright, glancing uneasily at the flushed face. 'One fair mayn't be like another, and all you have got to do is to enjoy it. It will not be Jack's fault or mine if you don't.'
The sailor's return made a diversion, and as they took their places at the table, he proposed, if little Missie were not too tired, to take her to see the caves. Child-like, Estelle was only too delighted. Tired! She had only been in the boat, and had been carried up the steep path on her return. No, she was not a bit tired.
Mrs. Wright was glad she should go. It was still early in the afternoon, and some hours of daylight remained. She thought the little expedition would amuse the child, and occupy her mind. Jack would see that she was none the worse for it. He was going out all night trawling, and might be busy for some days to come. It would be a pity not to let Estelle have this little pleasure while he was there to look after her.
(Continued on page230.)
"'Will you tell me about the fair?'""'Will you tell me about the fair?'"
"The thing exploded in the air.""The thing exploded in the air."
(Concluded from page206.)
Those Matabele fellows (said Vandeleur, continuing his yarn on the following evening) did not allow the grass to grow under their feet. That very evening as we all sat at supper, the children having gone to bed, an assegai suddenly flew just over Mrs. Gadsby's head, and struck quivering in the wall behind her.
Now we had only left a square foot or so of window unboarded, for purposes of light, so that some fellow must have come very close to the house before throwing his weapon. Yet a trustworthy Kaffir had been put upon sentry-go outside to report any sound of approaching Matabeles. Evidently the man cannot have heard this native approach; we supposed he must have been at the other side of the house, but we afterwards discovered that the poor fellow lay killed with another assegai through him.
At sight of the spear quivering in the wooden wall, Gadsby's face went suddenly white, either with anger, or with the shock of his wife's narrow escape.
'They have come already—every man to his place at once—out with the lamp, Morrison. Thompson, run up and light the flare on top of the house: ladies into their rooms, please!'
Away went men and women to their places, the light was put out, a shutter was placed over the unboarded portion of the window, and for a few minutes there was silence within and without.
I went upstairs to my pre-arranged station, and stood at my loop-hole. My rifle and cartridges were all placed ready to my hand. The night was very dark, and it was impossible to see more than a yard or two in front of one's nose. But Gadsby had manufactured a fine oil bath, full of bits of floating wick, and when Thomson set this alight on the roof, a brilliant glare was shed around the house to the distance of fully fifty yards.
The movement surprised a score or so of Matabeles, who had approached very softly in the darkness—a kind of advance-guard, I suppose, sent to reconnoitre and report to the main body. For the moment the sudden light revealed their presence; they started to run like hares, hoping to reach the safety of the darkness before our 'fire-sticks' should speak. I am afraid very few of that advance-guard lived to reach theimpiwhich was awaiting the information they were sent forward to gather and bring back; for a volley from half-a-dozen loop-holes made havoc of the runners, and doubtless those few who escaped had a terrible tale to tell of the destruction that awaited the unwary attackers of our hornets' nest.
This first surprise gained us several hours of respite. I suppose the enemy had not expected that we should be so well equipped for resistance. They had hoped to effect a surprise; to catch us unsuspecting and unprepared; to destroy us at discretion, and then loot and eat and drink and burn and demolish.
Gadsby was delighted with our success, 'I only wish they would come again,' he said, 'while the flare lasts; it may just hold out till dawn. Unfortunately there's no more oil for to-morrow night!'
'Then we must drive them away by daylight!' said Morrison, who was a sanguine youth, and as brave as a lion.
'Ah! if only they attack by daylight!' laughed Gadsby, 'but I doubt whether they will be such fools, now they have learnt that we can sting, and mean to sting!'
The flare-light did not last until daylight, however; it grew fainter and fainter, and at length burnt out between two and three o'clock.
This was a great disaster, as we were soon to find out, for it was but a few minutes after the last flicker had died away, and left the night looking all the blacker after the bright light to which our eyes had become accustomed, when we all distinctly heard the approaching of many feet. Apparently theimpiwas about to attack us in force.
Each man was at his position in a moment; Gadsby came round inspecting.
'I don't like this much, Vandeleur,' he said to me. 'How on earth are we going to stop their rushes in the dark? We can only shoot on the chance.'
'I fancy they will try and burn the house,' I replied. 'You will have to be ready with those dynamite cartridges, and drop one or two among them if they come too close.'
The cartridges referred to were used by Gadsby and his partner for blasting rocks upon the estate; there were signs of gold here and there on the land, and they were in the habit of making frequent investigations, believing that there was a fortune for them on the farm if only they could hit upon it.
'Yes,' replied Gadsby, 'I have them already. I think we had better not fire at them until they are within a few yards of the house; we may then catch a glimpse of them, and a volley may turn them.'
'They are the wrong colour for seeing in the dark,' I said, with a laugh.
There suddenly arose a fearful yell of hundreds of voices, seemingly quite close to the house, and Gadsby rushed quickly away to his station.
I looked out of my loop-hole, but it was still too dark to see anything further than ten yards or so from my eyes. I could hear the Matabeles running towards us, shouting and yelling furiously; the sound did not appear to be more than a very few yards away. Suddenly a black mass seemed to loom almost before my eyes. At the same moment, I suppose, the other defenders caught sight of the approaching natives, for as I pulled my own trigger, I heard the crack of several other rifles from different parts of the house, and with it the cry of frightened children awakened thus rudely from their slumbers.
It was an exciting moment. The yells redoubled at the sound of our fire, but seemed to die down a moment later, and the black mass came no closer. We could not see the result of our shooting, but we continued to pour into the scarcely visible masses of the enemy a fire which must surely have had deadly effect.
Suddenly the dark mass, which we had dimly seen, vanished. I heard a shout from Gadsby upstairs: 'We have beaten them off—good boys all!' he cried. 'But let no man leave his post—they may be back in a minute.'
They were back in a minute or two, but did not stay long within sight. Again we peppered them, and forced them back into the darkness which lay beyond our vision.
And a third time the plucky fellows charged, only to be stopped once more—half-a-dozen repeating rifles, fired as quickly as the trigger can be pulled, are capable of great things in an emergency. After this third attempt the Matabeles did not appear for half-an-hour. Had they finally retired? It seemed to be almost too good to be true!
Gadsby came round. 'Don't leave your station, Vandeleur,' he said. 'We have done wonders, but we must not be too confident or run any risks. We must watch the night out and see broad daylight in before we can consider ourselves at all safe.'
As though to belie any idea of safety, a voice suddenly came from Thomson upstairs: 'Gadsby,' he shouted, 'come up! I think I see a group of fellows coming along.'
Upstairs ran Gadsby like a streak of lightning. No one, however, could see anything, and it was decided that Thomson must have been mistaken.
But suddenly there was a tremendous scare. Morrison, at the back of the house, gave a shout and fired his rifle twice. At the same moment a glare of light shot up into the air. A Matabele fellow had crept right up to the house in the darkness and was endeavouring to set fire to the place with a bundle of dry grass. He was so close under the house that Morrison, from his loophole, could not get at him.
'Bring a dynamite cartridge,' shouted Morrison.
Gadsby brought a cartridge and lighted the fuse; then he dropped it out of the window, which he opened for a second in order to do so. It fell, presumably, close to the Matabele, who was busy over his fire; he would find it difficult, we know, to get the house to burn, for it had been well soaked with water. We ran more risk from the cartridge than from his efforts, for in exploding it might easily damage the wooden wall of the house. Then a startling and unexpected thing happened. I can only suppose that the Matabele fellow had seen dynamite cartridges in use at some mine in the district, and was acquainted with their properties, for the rascal suddenly seized our bomb and threw it up at the window. He was just in time, for the thing exploded in the air a few inches from the side of the house, making a large hole.
With wonderful speed and activity two Matabeles swarmed up to the breach, their assegais in their mouths, and their savage faces appeared almost as quickly as it was realised that a hole had been made. They were quickly shot, and the hole was instantly boarded over, but the incident was alarming, because it showed that the enemy were capable of effecting surprises upon us which might prove dangerous as time went on.
No more attacks were made before morning, and we were all at breakfast, well pleased with ourselvesfor having got through the night in safety, when some one came and told me that a 'funny-looking chap was asking for me outside.'
He was Umkopo, of course. Of course, too, his errand was striking and unusual.
'Tell Mr. Gadsby,' said he,'that the Matabeles are poisoning his water supply—with my eyes I saw it. You must leave the farm and go to Bulawayo—the farmhouse will be looted and burned, but you shall reach Bulawayo in safety; I say it.'
Well, Umkopo was first laughed at; then his story was partly believed; lastly he was fully believed, and the plan suggested by him was adopted, which was to march to Bulawayo, armed and ready, under his protection.
And under his protection the whole party actually walked and rode past the entireimpi.within one hundred yards of the grim, scowling fellows, and not an assegai was thrown, not a word uttered.
What was more, we all reached Bulawayo in perfect safety, passing through throngs of the enemy under Umkopo's guardianship: through thousands of terrible fellows who would have cut us to pieces, without doubt, but for the haughty announcement by the White Witch, that we were 'his friends!'
I shall have more to tell you about Umkopo one day, if you like to hear it, Vandeleur ended. 'Meanwhile, good-night all, for if you are half as sleepy as I am, you must be glad that I have done for to-day.'
It is told of Dr. Thorold that he was once asked to give away the prizes at a school belonging to the London School Board.
In the course of his opening address, he gravely asked the children, 'Which was the largest island in the world, before Australia was discovered?'
When the youngsters gave it up, he told them, in the same grave way, which made them laugh all the more, 'Why, Australia, of course; it was there all the time!'
"Stop Thief!""Stop Thief!"
UT yesterday he came, a smallAnd lively pup—his cheerful faceSo innocent, that one and allBelieved him best of all his race.He crept beneath a chair—'to sleep,'I thought; 'poor tired little love,'Quoth I, and quickly stooped to peep—And caught him chewing up my glove!Since then he's worried all our mats,Upset the milk and smashed a cup;He's chased for miles one neighbour's cats,And nearly killed another's pup.Three stockings and a pair of mitsHe dragged through all the muddy street;Besides a muff that lies in bits—Except the parts I saw him eat.And now the butcher has been downTo say our puppy is a thief,Who visited his shop in town,And ran off with a joint of beef.Yet here he sits and wags his tail,With goodness written on his face—A little dog that could not failTo be the best of all his race.
WONDER if it has ever occurred to any of the readers ofChatterboxthat the bagpipes of the Highland glen, and the mighty organ which peals through a Cathedral aisle, are one and the same instrument? When they are reduced to their simplest elements of wind-chest, pipes and reeds, there is practically no difference between the two.
The Bagpipe in its varying forms may be described as a portable organ, whether blown by the mouth of the performer or by a pair of bellows. The instrument is very ancient.
A curious old gem has been preserved, bearing the device of Apollo carrying a lyre in his arms and a bagpipe slung across his back, which takes that instrument right back to the days of ancient Greece.
Powerful bagpipes are used amongst the mountain tribes of Hindustan, and travellers meet with them both in China and Persia. The ancient Romans patronised this instrument largely, and the Emperor Nero was a skilled performer.
Old Ornamental Bagpipe.Old Ornamental Bagpipe.
A celebrated Italian story-teller of the thirteenth century mentions that in his time the bagpipe was quite a fashionable instrument. Chaucer and Spenser both allude to it, and the former says, inHenry IV., that Falstaff was 'as melancholy as a lover's lute, or drone of a bagpipe.'
It is usually supposed that the bagpipe was brought from the East by the Crusaders; it was reckoned as a court instrument in the time of Edward the Second. In France, it was popular in polite society, up to the end of the thirteenth century, when it was gradually banished to the lower classes, and chiefly played by blind beggars. Two curious old pictures exist of that date, representing bagpipe-players, one on stilts, the other playing for a girl who is dancing on his shoulders.
In the seventeenth century, Louis the Fourteenth of France, casting about for new amusements for his favourites, rescued the bagpipe, or, as the Frenchcalled it, the 'cornemeuse,' from its low surroundings, and introduced it into his Arcadian festivities. We may picture a dignified Marquis and Marquise, as Watteau has painted them, in the fantastic garb of shepherds and shepherdesses, frolicking to the music of the bagpipes, in the forest glades of Versailles or Fontainebleau.