Nearly a week passed before Garibaldi’s skin was properly padded and prepared for the reception of its new occupant; but then it fitted to perfection, and was as soft and flexible as an overcoat. Truls put it on with perfect ease, and breathed as freely through Garibaldi’s nose as if it had been his own. Fortunately the bear had been of the shaggy, long-haired kind, and when the opening was laced together with fine silk cords the joining was completely hidden by the fur. The children had repeated rehearsals in Uncle Giacomo’s room; and theyall agreed that Truls made a very respectable bear. He could walk on his hind-legs beautifully, he could salute with his right fore-paw, and he could even nod with his head in a very intelligent fashion. In fact, there was a danger that he might be too intelligent.
“Now, do remember,” Alf would cry out to him, “a bear cannot blow his nose. He may be allowed to sneeze, and even to cough; but he must not be too frisky and intelligent. And remember, that if you laugh or make any sound whatever, the game is up and we are ruined. Uncle Giacomo only keeps us to make money with us, but he is not unkind, and as long as we don’t starve, we ought to be thankful. It all depends upon you, whether we shall have a home or be thrown into the streets.”
It was with a great flutter of excitement that the Savoyard and his Norse friends started out early one Monday morning in the middle of May. Alf was carrying the hand-organ, Karen the tambourine, and Annibale was leading the make-believe bear by the same iron chain which had regulated the movements of Garibaldi. They were about to open their first performance on the sidewalk at the corner of Broadway and Canal Street, but two policemen were immediately on hand and sternly commanded them to “trot.” Trot they accordingly did; but the sidewalks were everywhere so crowded that they seemed in danger of being knocked down, in case they should offer to obstruct the hurrying stream of humanity.
It was not until they reached the broad steps of theSub-Treasury in Wall Street that they summoned courage to make a second stop; and Truls was by that time so tired of the unnatural four-footed gait that he rose, without invitation, and began to promenade in a very unbearlike fashion. Presently Alf’s hand-organ began to wail a very sad air from “Il Trovatore,” and Karen struck the tambourine with a vigor which threatened to ruin both her knuckles and the drum-skin. A number of newsboys and bootblacks instantly scampered up to witness this attractive entertainment, and half a dozen brokers and bank-messengers also paused to view the antics of the little bear. Annibale shouted and swung his whip, and the animal saluted and danced slowly and clumsily (as he had been commanded), and at the end of five minutes quite a shower of pennies dropped into the Savoyard’s hat. The crowd increased; the newsboys screamed with delight, and scrambled up the steps, pell-mell, whenever the bear approached them. Truls began to enjoy the fun, and chuckled to himself at the thought that he could chase a whole flock of big boys who, if they had known what sort of a creature he was, would in all likelihood have chased him. This reflection made him every moment bolder, and he would have been in danger of overstepping his part altogether if Alf had not screamed to him in Norwegian:
“Now, take care, smarticat, don’t be too intelligent!”
Nevertheless, just as he was resolving to heed this advice, a little ragged bootblack, while trying to back away from him, fell, turned a dexterous somersault, and came down on his feet on the sidewalk at the foot of the stairs.The sight was so comical that Truls lost control of himself and burst out laughing; but in the same instant his brother and sister were at his side, and made so terrific a noise with their respective instruments that his laughter was completely drowned in the din. Someone, however, must have noticed his mirth; for there was a shriek of merriment among the boys, and one of them cried out:
“Did you hear that? The bear is a-laughin’! He is a jolly old coon, that bear is.”
“No, he was only a-yawnin’!” shouted another boy. “He is a queer old party, and he knows lots of tricks.”
“Them b’ars is a mighty funny lot,” the first boy rejoined. “I once seedone at the circus; he could ride bare-back and drink beer.”
“I once knowedone as could smoke cigars and kiss his boss,” shouted number two, determined not to be outdone.
All these comments escaped the bear’s brother, but Annibale caught a suspicion that something was wrong. He hastily gathered in the second shower of pennies, and made a sign to his friends to stop the entertainment. They made their way as quickly as they could down to the water-front, and thence to the Battery Park, where there was plenty of room for another exhibition. The newsboys and bootblacks followed them for a couple of blocks, but seeing that they had no intention of stopping, gradually dropped behind and returned to their accustomed haunts. Alf and Truls heaved a sigh of reliefwhen the last of their importunate followers had disappeared; and it was with a lighter heart that they took their station under the trees of the park and commenced the same programme which had been so successful in Wall Street.
Their audience was here even larger than it had been at their first performance, but it was not nearly so profitable; for the foreign emigrants and corner-loafers who abound in this locality had probably no money to spare, or they preferred to have their entertainment gratis. Hardly half a dozen pennies dropped into Annibale’s hat, in spite of his repeated invitations to contribute. It was obvious that they had hit upon a bad locality, where art was not properly appreciated.
As Karen’s knuckles were by this time quite numb, it was agreed that Annibale should take his turn at the hand-organ and give Alf a chance to distinguish himself at the tambourine. They had just completed this arrangement, and were strolling rather aimlessly past Castle Garden toward the Coney Island Pier, when they saw a dense crowd gathered at the entrance of the great immigration depot. Curiosity prompted them to discover the cause of the demonstration, and as everyone fell aside to make room for the bear, they had no difficulty in reaching the open space in the centre of the throng.
What was their horror when they suddenly found themselves confronted with a real bear—a huge black beast which was dancing slowly upon his hind-legs, and every now and then, with an angry yawn, showing an array of terrible teeth! They wished themselves wellout of sight again, and strove with all their might to avoid attracting attention. But instead of that, they found themselves pushed right into the middle of the ring. And the moment the huge bear spied a comrade, down he dropped on all-fours and insisted upon making his acquaintance. With a wild scream which was anything but bearlike, Truls rose up and rushed toward his brother Alf, flinging his paws about his neck. The keeper of the big bear gave him a cut with his whip, but he still strained at his chain and gave forth angry growls. The people fled in all directions, and Alf grabbed his disguised brother in his arms and ran as fast as he could carry him. The others followed; but before they had overtaken him he was stopped by a policeman, who inquired whether he had a license. The boy stared in abject terror at the officer of the law.
“Pl-please, sir,” he stammered, imploringly, in his native tongue, “don’t hurt my brother! He isn’t a bear at all, if you please, sir; and—and—I am a harmless lad who—who—arrived from Norway the other day, and—and—never did mortal thing any harm as long as I lived, sir!”
“Don’t jabber yer Dutch at me, ye young scalawag!” the policeman replied, seizing the boy by the arm and shaking him. “Ef it is an honest loivelihood ye’re afther, why don’t ye drap that poor dumb cr’atur’ and foind some dacent imployment, begorra?”
Alf was altogether too frightened to make any answer to this suggestion, of which, moreover, he understood not a word. He only gazed with his large blue eyes atthe policeman, and moved his lips nervously, without being able to utter a sound.
“Pl—please, sir,” he faltered, after several vain attempts to speak, “please let me go.” And Truls, completely forgetting his disguise, raised two hairy paws imploringly toward the officer and begged tearfully.
“Please, sir, do let my brother go!”
The policeman’s face underwent a sudden and startling change. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, his jaw dropped down on his chest, and the veins on his forehead swelled. “I’ll be blowed,” he cried in breathless amazement, “ef the dumb cratur’ ain’t a-talkin’ Dutch!”
He stooped for a minute, with his hands resting upon his knees, and stared with a perplexed expression at the supposed bear; then the situation began to dawn upon him, and he burst out into a tremendous laugh.
“Oh, it is a foine bear ye be, sonny!” he exclaimed, lifting the boy-bear unceremoniously on his arm, and grabbing hold of Alf’s collar with his disengaged hand. “A smart young un ye be, be jabers! It is an alderman ye will be before ye doi—if ye only vote the roight ticket. ’Tis a shame, it is, ye don’t talk a Christian language, sech as a gintleman can understand.”
He was moving up Greenwich Street, talking in this humorous strain, half to himself and half to his prisoners, whom he was dragging reluctantly along, when his progress was suddenly arrested by a little girl who became unaccountably entangled in his legs.
IN BATTERY PARK.
IN BATTERY PARK.
“Mr. Policeman,” the child cried, in the same unintelligible tongue, gazing up with a pale and excited face atthe tall officer, “please don’t hurt my brothers. And won’t you please take me along, too? I have been bad, too, Mr. Policeman—much badder than Truls.”
“Why, how-de-do, sis!” the officer asked, with a broad grin. “Is it the bear ye be, did ye say, as lent yer skin to this little chap? Ah, be jabers! now I begin to take in yer capers. It is a moighty mixed-up lot ye be, and up to no end of thricks. But jest ye wait till his honor gits hold on ye, and he will know how to git each one of ye back into his roight skin.”
This sinister allusion was lost, however, on the three culprits, and even if they had understood it, it would probably not have impressed them greatly. Their life had been so exciting since they left their quiet Norse valley, that they had almost ceased to be surprised at anything that might happen to them. Alf and Karen plodded on wearily at the policeman’s side, holding on to the tails of his coat, and showing no desire to part company with him; and Truls, who was wellnigh exhausted by the labors and excitement of the day, was only too glad to be able to rest his shaggy head on the officer’s shoulders, and to embrace his neck with his two hairy paws. The officer, somehow, seemed to enjoy the situation; for he laughed and chuckled incessantly to himself, as if he were contemplating some delightful plan which promised a great deal of amusement. He shook his club good-naturedly at the crowd which followed him, and pushed his way onward, until he reached a large brick building, over the door of which was carved, in bigRoman letters, “Police Precinct, No. ——.” Here he entered with his prisoners, and after having made an entry in a book, consigned them to a large, bare, and dreary-looking room, where a few miserable people were reposing in various attitudes upon the floor.
The two Norse boys, who vaguely understood that this was some kind of a prison, looked with horror upon the ragged and untidy occupants of the room, and withdrew with their sister into the remotest corner they could find, so as to escape observation. Here they held a consultation, glancing all the while fearfully about them, and lowering their voices to a whisper.
“Truls,” said Alf, raising his guileless eyes to those of his younger but braver-hearted brother, “what do you think will become of us? do you think we shall have to stay long in this dreadful place?”
“Oh, no, you sillibub!” replied the ursine Truls, with well-feigned cheerfulness; “we will be let out before night; and anyhow, I know what I am going to do. You remember that handsome American gentleman on board the steamboat, whom I wanted to fight because I thought he was making fun of father?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Alf.
“Well, he gave me his card, which I gave you to keep in your pocket-book; and he made me promise that if ever I needed a friend, I should send for him. There is an address on the card, and I shouldn’t wonder if he is a great man; and then everybody will be sure to know him.”
“Oh, Truls!” his brother exclaimed, admiringly; “you are always so bright and so clever; and I have thecard here; and I’ll not lose it. But don’t you think you had better take off your bear-skin, so that the judge may see you aren’t a bear, but a little boy?”
“I have thought of that,” Truls rejoined, earnestly; “but the trouble is I haven’t anything else to put on. So I shall have to go to the judge as I am, and I guess he won’t be so very mad, when I tell him I haven’t got nothing else under.”
A dreary hour passed—dreary beyond expression. The two boys tried each to persuade the other that he was, on the whole, not at all afraid, but really quite cheerful. The only one whose argument was really convincing, however, was Karen; for she went peacefully to sleep on Truls’ shoulder, and did not wake until the policeman came and summoned them all into court. They made quite a sensation when they entered; and people rose and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the curious group. It was probably the first time that a bear had marched on its hind-legs into a police-court and taken its place behind the bar as a prisoner. The judge smiled a little when he saw it, and leaned himself half over to the policeman who was apparently giving an account of the case.
“The officer charges you with roaming about with an unlicensed bear,” he said severely, fixing a stern glance upon Alf. “What have you to say to the charge?”
Alf gazed up helplessly, and shook his head.
“Why don’t you answer?” repeated the judge, impatiently. “Why didn’t you take out a license for your bear?”
The policeman again leaned over and explained that the prisoners were Dutch, or some other kind of foreigners, and that they did not understand a word of English.
“Hm,” growled his Honor, “why didn’t you tell me that before? Is there anyone in this court-room,” he went on, raising his voice, “who understands foreign languages and would be willing to help the court out of a difficulty?”
He looked expectantly about the large room, but no one volunteered to act as interpreter of anything so comprehensive as “foreign languages.”
“The gintleman over there,” the policeman remarked, pointing out a well-dressed man in the audience, “looks as if he understood furrin languages.”
The gentleman in question disclaimed all knowledge of the languages referred to, and the Court visited him with a look of serious displeasure. It was very annoying, and there seemed positively no way of disposing of the case, except to recommit the prisoners until an interpreter could be found. The judge was about to resort to that expedient, when a new prisoner was led into the court, and the boys gave a simultaneous exclamation of surprise at beholding Jens Skoug, the emigration agent. Mr. Skoug had evidently come into collision with a policeman’s club, or some other unyielding substance, for his left eye was much blackened, and he had a great bump on his forehead. He had been arrested the previous night for disturbing the peace.
“That man, it appears, is acquainted with these Dutchboys,” the Court remarked, nodding to the policeman who had charge of Mr. Skoug; “bring him up.”
“Do you understand foreign languages?” the justice went on, addressing the emigration agent in his severest judicial tones.
“Yes, lots of them,” replied Jens, drowsily.
“Do you know these boys?”
Jens contemplated the boys with a puzzled frown; then he shook his head boozily and replied:
“No, yer Honor, I never saw them in all my life. They are not my style, yer Honor; don’t look as if they had moved in the best society.”
“Well, never mind that,” interrupted the Court; “but can’t you find out anything about them? why they did not license their bear? Who provides for them? Where do they live?”
Jens, in turning his back to the Court, gave Alf and Karen and the bear a fierce glance, as if to say that he would make them smart, if they dared in any way to compromise him. Then, to their surprise, he stooped down and talked with them earnestly for several minutes.
“Your Honor,” he resumed, rising and facing the judge; “these boys are, as you supposed, Dutch. They are utterly destitute, and have no money wherewith to buy a license for their bear. In other words, they are vagrants; and if I may be permitted to make a suggestion, I think the Reform School or the workhouse would be the right place for them. They are a hardened lot, I am afraid, judging by their talk——”
“You may spare your suggestions,” the judge interrupted curtly; “though they happen to fit in exactly with what I had determined to do with them. Their bear will have to be killed or sold, and they are hereby recommitted, and will be sent to the Island for thirty days.”
Mr. Skoug again stooped down and explained to the two culprits; but he had no sooner mentioned the word “kill” than Alf gave a shout, half of anger, half of dread, pulled his Norse tolle-knife[12]from its sheath, and with one swift motion slit the bear’s skin from the neck downward. The policeman rushed forward, the audience jumped up on the benches, the judge himself started at the flash of the knife, and was on the point of leaping over his desk. What was his amazement when, instead of a bear, he saw a little shivering boy in very scanty attire! A roar of laughter and a deafening salvo of applause burst forth from all parts of the room, and it was in vain that the judge hammered with all his might on his desk, and in thunderous tones demanded order. The Irish policeman, to whose taste for practical jokes the whole scene was due, laughed as if he were going to split his sides. He would not have ventured to confess that he had planned some such dramatic incident, although, as he admitted to himself, it had turned out even more startling than he had dared to hope.
When order was finally restored, the Court commandedthat the prisoners be removed; but Truls, who now comprehended the situation, and was determined not to submit to further imposition, marched boldly up to the judge, and put Mr. Tenney’s card before him on the desk.
“This gentleman,” he said, confidently, “made me promise to send for him if I should ever need a friend. Now I need him, and if you would kindly send someone to fetch him, I should be much obliged.”
The judge understood the purport of this speech, even though the words were unintelligible to him. Mr. Tenney’s name was well known to him, as that of a citizen of great wealth and influence, and his prisoners immediately rose in his estimation when he heard that they enjoyed the protection of so prominent a man. He therefore beckoned to a policeman, wrote a hasty note, and told him to have it instantly despatched. The boys and their sister, in the meanwhile, were permitted to sit down in the court-room, awaiting Mr. Tenney’s arrival. Mr. Skoug, who betrayed a great anxiety to be off, pleading a variety of business engagements, was then examined and fined ten dollars. He had just managed to disappear through a side-room when Mr. Tenney’s tall and portly figure was seen entering. He gave the boys a friendly nod, as he walked rapidly up to the judge, with whom he conversed amicably for several minutes. There was something brisk, energetic, and business-like in all his movements. He laughed very heartily when the recent incident with the bear was related to him, and the judge joined in the laugh, and asserted that it was the mostamusing thing that ever had occurred in all his long experience on the bench. Then Mr. Tenney apologized for having taken up so much of the Court’s valuable time, and the Court expressed itself delighted to have made Mr. Tenney’s acquaintance and to have been in any way able to serve him; whereupon Mr. Tenney had the three children conveyed to his carriage, and they drove away through the glorious May sunshine, up one street and down another, until they reached a large and stately house on Madison Avenue. Here they stepped out of the carriage, and a liveried servant flung the doors open before them, as they entered the house.
Such magnificence the boys had never beheld before: long, wonderful mirrors which looked like strips of lake standing on end, carpets which felt soft under the feet like fine moss, and gilt and carved furniture, which seemed to have stepped right out of a fairy story. It was certainly very extraordinary; but still more extraordinary was the kindness and consideration with which they were treated by Mr. Tenney and his wife. Two pretty rooms were assigned to them on the fourth floor of the house; little Karen was dressed in beautiful clothes, and the boys themselves got each a new suit, the like of which they had never had on their backs before. They felt like young princes, and if they could only have talked with the kind people who took so much trouble on their account, they would have expressed to them their gratitude, and perhaps, too, solicited their aid in ascertaining the whereabouts of their lost father.
Mr. Tenney, however, guessed their thoughts, and didnot need to be told that their minds were torn with anxiety. He first procured a Norwegian interpreter from one of the steamship companies, and made the boys describe to him accurately the time and circumstances of Fiddle-John’s disappearance. He wrote letters to the emigration commissioners, inserted advertisements in the newspapers, and set the whole official machinery in motion to get a clew by which to unravel the mystery.
Investigations were set on foot, detectives were employed, the Castle Garden officials were questioned and cross-examined, but there was no one who had the slightest recollection of having seen Fiddle-John. Thus three days passed. Mr. Tenney’s determination to accomplish his purpose increased, the greater the obstacles were that he encountered. There was a streak of obstinacy in his temperament, and there seemed to be an impression abroad that Mr. Tenney was not to be trifled with, when once he was aroused, and that may have been the reason why Fiddle-John grew in the course of a week to be a kind of public character, and people asked each other jocosely when they met in street cars or in hotel vestibules:
“How do you do? Seen Fiddle-John?”
Someone, it appears, had seen Fiddle-John, and that was the purser of the steamboat Ruckert, whose encounter with the lamented Garibaldi was yet fresh in the boys’ memories. He came late one evening to Mr. Tenney’s residence, and explained to him that a man called Fiddle-John had just been put aboard the ship, as a lunatic, to be taken back to Norway free of charge.The ship was to sail the next day at noon; and if Mr. Tenney would hold himself responsible for the consequences, the purser said he would undertake to restore Fiddle-John to his family within—well, within five minutes.
Mr. Tenney was quite ready to assume all the responsibility in the matter, and accordingly the purser raised the window, and beckoned to a carriage which had stopped on the other side of the street. The carriage drove up before the door, and out stepped Fiddle-John. But oh, how miserable he looked! The light from the gas-lamp fell upon his pale face, his disordered hair, and his tall, stooping figure. He was led carefully up the steps, and the children flew into his arms, hugging him, kissing him, and weeping over him. He sat down on a low stool, and stared about him in a bewildered fashion. But gradually, as his eyes rested upon the dear familiar faces, his expression softened, the wild look of fright departed from his face, and the tears began slowly to course down his cheeks.
“O, children!” he said in a hoarse, broken voice; “I thought I should never see you again!”
He covered his face with his hands, and wept long and silently.
“They wanted to make a madman of me,” he sobbed; “and they almost succeeded. Whatever I did or said—it made no difference—it only proved that I was mad. I came to believe it, children, and the thought was terrible to me; if I had staid another day, I should never have recovered my reason.”
Five years have passed since Fiddle-John and his sons were rescued from misery by Mr. Tenney. They now live in the porter’s lodge of Mr. Tenney’s beautiful Berkshire country-seat; and Fiddle-John, with all his eccentricities, makes a very acceptable porter. The little stone cottage at the gate of the larger villa looks very picturesque with the green vines trailing over it, and it is very comfortably and prettily furnished. Little Karen is now a matronly little body, with a strict sense of order, and many housewifely accomplishments. She goes to the public school in the morning, but studies at home in the afternoon, and keeps her father company. The boys are both big fellows now, and they are as good Americans as any to the manner born. Truls brags of American enterprise, and the blessings of democratic institutions, as if every drop of his Norse blood had become naturalized. He is an engineer, and earns good wages, and is full of hopefulness for the future. It need scarcely be said that his sister adores him, and regards him as one of the most remarkable men of the century.
Alf, who has inherited his father’s handsome face, and incapacity for practical concerns, is at present preparing to enter college. Mr. Tenney is much interested in him, as a lad of unusual ability and a singular sweetness of character; and it is owing to his generosity that Alf has been able to follow the career for which he is by natureand inclination adapted. He has his father’s beautiful voice, too, and makes a sensation in the church choir every Sunday when he sustains the lovely tenor solo in the anthems “As Pants the Hart,” and “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth.”
He is a rather serious fellow, with thoughtful eyes, and a frank and open countenance. Some think he would have a fine career as a clergyman, but it is difficult to tell whether his inclination, in later years, will turn in that direction. His father, however, does all in his power to encourage this ambition, and it is not unlikely that his hopes may some day be fulfilled. In fact, it is Fiddle-John’s favorite occupation to hope and dream about the future of his sons.
During the long summer afternoons he sits in the shadow of the vines, outside of his cottage, while his daughter reads aloud to him from the old Norse ballad books which he yet loves so dearly. And it happens very frequently, then, that the young ladies and gentlemen who are visiting at the neighboring villas come, in a company, and beg him to sing to them. They throw themselves down in easy attitudes upon the soft, close-trimmed lawn; and their bright garments, their crimson sunshades, and their fresh, youthful faces make a fine picture against the green background of elms and chestnut trees.
To the gentle and guileless minstrel it is a great pleasure to see these gay and happy creatures; and when the young girls hang upon his arms and urge him to sing, his eyes beam with delight.
“Now, do sing, Fiddle-John,” they coaxingly say. “You know we have walked miles and miles to hear your voice. And here is a young lady from New York, who never heard a Norse song in all her life, and is disappointed, because you look so nice and gentle, and not wild and savage as a son of the Vikings should.”
Fiddle-John likes this kind of banter very well; and when, finally, he yields to their coaxing and lifts up his clear, strong voice, singing the sad, wild ballads of his native land, there falls a hush upon the noisy company, as if they were in the presence of a renowned artist. These are Fiddle-John’s happiest moments. And it was just on such an occasion when, on a beautiful afternoon in July, he had been entertaining the young people with his songs, that a swarthy-looking Savoyard walked up before his door, and began to whip up a bear which danced to a tune from “Il Trovatore,” played upon a wheezy hand-organ.
“Stop, you sacrilegious brute!” said one of the young men, addressing, not the bear, but his master; “we have a better kind of music here than your asthmatic organ can produce.”
The Savoyard, being apparently well accustomed to this manner of address, swung his organ across his back and was about to take his departure, when Karen, prompted by some idle impulse, stepped up to the bear and patted it. Then a sudden change came over the young man’s countenance. He stared for a moment fixedly at the little girl.
“Take care,Carina mia,” he said, with a smile; “that bear is a real one!”
“Annibale!” she cried in surprise; and, to be sure, it was Annibale!
He had grown five years older, but in other respects he had changed but little. He knew but very little more English than he had done on the day of his arrival, and his ambition still did not extend beyond hand-organs and bears. He reaped a plentiful harvest of coins that night; but that was owing to little Karen, and not to the doleful hand-organ. She ran into the cottage and spread out upon the lawn a rug, made out of a small bear-skin. “Do you know that, Annibale?” she cried.
“Garibaldi, my poor Garibaldi!” exclaimed the Savoyard, while the tears glittered in his eyes; and he stooped down and caressed the furry head.
Now the curiosity of the young ladies was excited, and the whole company clamored for the story of Annibale and the bear-skin. They all seated themselves in a ring about Fiddle-John, and he told the story, as I have told it to you. For I had the good luck to be one of the listeners.