Read Ebook: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art fifth series no. 134 vol. III July 24 1886 by Various

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In India, the sportsman when out in camp during the hot-weather months, often finds himself far away from towns and villages, in some wild spot in the depths of the jungle. Here, the stillness of the night is constantly broken by the calls of various creatures inhabiting the neighbouring forest--the deep solemn hoot of the horned owl, the sharp call of the spotted deer, or the louder bell of the sambur. But these familiar sounds attract no notice from the domestic animals included in the camp circle. But should a panther on the opposite hill call his mate, or a prowling tiger passing along the river-bank mutter his complaining night-moan, they one and all immediately show by their demeanour that they recognise the cry of a beast of prey. The old elephant chained up beneath the tamarind tree stays for a moment swaying his great body backwards and forwards, and listens attentively. His neighbour, a gray Arab horse, with pricked-up ears, gazes uneasily in the direction the sound appeared to come from; while the dogs, just before lying panting and motionless in the moonlight, spring to their feet with bristling back and lowered tail, and with growls of fear disappear under the tent fly.

Plassey and his brother-cub were taken to Lucknow and reared in the lancer messhouse, where they became great favourites. But time passed; the small harmless cubs grew into large powerful animals--and, as is usually the case, on attaining to a full size they speedily became troublesome and dangerous, so were first chained up, and later on confined in cages. Eventually, Plassey was brought home and presented to the Regent's Park Gardens, where he died somewhat suddenly in the prime of life. Many valuable and rare animals brought from foreign countries, at great expense and trouble, to our shores, though at first, to all appearance, in the best of health, yet before even reaching middle age, gradually pine away and die. Nor is this to be wondered at when we remember how unnatural it is for them to be cooped up in cages, in place of a wild, unrestrained life, with liberty to wander where they will.

J. H. B.

WHERE THE TRACKS LED TO.

IN FOUR CHAPTERS.--CONCLUSION.

It was indeed as Winny had said. I was as stunned by her words as though a heavy blow had actually fallen upon me, and for a few seconds could scarcely think, much less speak; but recovering a little from this confusion, I asked her for some explanation. I called it 'explanation,' when I spoke to her, but I felt her statement was true; their manner, their looks at parting, were sufficient to tell me all.

Godfrey Harleston had seen Winny going to and from business, and had contrived an introduction to her--this preliminary acquaintance was but slightly glanced at in her story--then, to show that his views were honourable, he had early proposed marriage, but had explained that he wished it kept a secret until some unpleasant matters which were troubling him were settled. This referred at first to the quarrels between his mother and himself, with Mr Thurles, and afterwards, to the affair of the forged bills, respecting which, to my surprise, he had spoken freely to Winny and given a tolerably correct account. Of the burglary he had said nothing, and until my speech, Winny knew nothing of it. She was startled at finding I was sent for by Mr Thurles; but when she learned it was not for the forgery--the messenger saying nothing about that--she was reassured. On that very evening Godfrey had told her that his difficulty was now settled, and, as naturally following upon this, he proposed now making their marriage known. They were talking on this subject when they met me.

All this Winny told--every word going to my heart--in a rapid, excited manner, which increased in force as she went on, until she finished with a wild declaration that she would go to Godfrey and warn him of the traps which were being set for him, of the danger which awaited him on the morrow. He was her husband--her honourable, guiltless, noble husband! she almost shrieked. It was her duty to warn him, and, if needful, to be with him.

I had a dreadful job to pacify her; and I was obliged to hold out hopes which I knew to be false, and to explain away all that I had said. That all I told her now would be proved false the very next day, I well knew, and perhaps it was cruel to deceive her; but what was I to do? I was nearly mad. I did not show it so much as Winny, but I believe I was as bad.

Never was man in a more painful position on this earth. It was impossible for me to draw back; I could not and would not do so; yet the consequences of going on were frightful. Ruin to my daughter--a blight on her life which could never be removed--this I should bring about; and to do it would kill me.

I never closed my eyes all night; and by the haggard looks of Winny in the morning, I was sure it had been the same with her. I tried to talk as though I was not thinking of the horrible position we were in; but of course it was a dead failure. I said that as she did not seem very well, she had perhaps better not go to business that morning. If I had known what her answer would be, I should probably have held my tongue.

'Do you think, father,' she exclaimed, 'that I can attend to business or to any duty to-day? I shall wait your return here. Remember, it was by your advice that I did not, as I know I ought to have done, go to my husband last night and warn him. You said it would be all for the best if I did not do so. I shall wait here until you bring me the news which proves I was right in taking, and you in giving such advice.'

I went out to keep my appointment, as miserable and wretched a man as any who that day crawled through the streets of London. How I blamed myself for meddling in painful and disagreeable business which I ought to have been done with for ever, and how I vowed to keep clear of everything of the kind, if I could only get out of this scrape. I met Sam's wife; a pale, care-worn, thinly clad little woman; without a trace, I was sure, of the habitual criminal in her spare features, although I daresay she knew more of Sam's doings than the law would have looked favourably on.

'O Mr Holdrey!' she said--she knew me, it seemed, better than I knew her--'I am so glad you have come.--But, lor! how bad you look, sir!'

I did not answer her; I could not.

'He's going to make a bolt of it,' she went on; 'he means sailing for America in a day or two. He got the money from the old lady last night; and I have seen him since I have been here this morning.'

'Why, that precious Mr Godfrey,' she answered. 'We are only just in time. A pal--a friend, I mean, of poor Sam's knows him, and has kept an eye on him, to oblige Sam; so he learnt enough to tell me this.'

'Where did you see him?' Goodness knows why I asked it, but it did as well as anything else I could think of.

'He went into a house in that street,' said Mrs Sam, pointing down a turning at the corner of which we stood. We had met in Gracechurch Street, as being half-way, she living over the water, and because I thought it just possible I might have to see Mr Thurles, after hearing what she had to say.

It was a shipping office, it appeared, into which he had gone. This might easily have been on business for Thurles & Company; yet it agreed so far with what the woman had said, although the place was not an American agency. I dreaded my visit to the Mansion House. I felt that anything would be welcome which might, even for a short time, postpone the awful business I had before me, so I proposed that we should watch until he came out, stationing ourselves in a court where we were not likely to be seen.

She readily agreed, and indeed had said much which I cannot stay to put down, which showed the bitterest animosity against the young man, whom she had seen several times, and who had evidently offended her. This, although of no great consequence, was to me a little strange, as, although I had only seen Godfrey Harleston twice, yet I should have said he was the last man in the world to deserve such hatred. Whatever his faults may have been, there was something open and pleasant in his manner at anyrate. However, Mrs Sam was very decided in her opinion, and while we waited at our post, gave utterance to a good many unflattering speeches regarding Mr Godfrey.

'No; I do not!' I exclaimed, with equal sharpness. 'Mr Harleston is not in sight, I am certain.'

'Why, what do you mean?' she cried, and again pointed across the road. 'Don't you see him just passing the public-house? He carries a small black bag.'

'Of course it is,' she retorted. 'I know him as well as I do you.'

Then she started back in alarm, and no wonder, for I burst out laughing, and ended by wringing the little woman's hand with a force which brought tears to her eyes.

'It's all right!' I exclaimed. 'If that is your Godfrey Harleston, I can understand everything.--Hi!'--this was to a passing cab--'Mansion House, my good fellow!--Now, jump in, Mrs Sam, and we will settle the business in no time.'

We rattled away. What a load was off my mind! How deep and cunning the trick, and yet how easy to understand, when once the clue was supplied! The man she identified as Godfrey Harleston was no other than Mr George Picknell, my friendly clerk, who had taken so much interest in me, and who had so constantly, although without any seeming intention, directed suspicion to the step-son of Mr Thurles; and if Sam had not been 'shopped,' or if Picknell had had the honesty to behave fairly to Sam's wife, his scheme might have been successful--so far as he was concerned.

We told our story at the Mansion House; and the case being one of importance, Mr Picknell was arrested that very afternoon, as he sat at his desk in the office. If he had not been taken then, we should not have had him at all, for he had a ticket in his pocket for his passage to the Cape, by a vessel sailing the next day.

But before all these things had been done and found out, you may be sure I had hurried off home in a cab. I dashed up the steps, opened the door with my key, and then into the parlour, where Winny was sitting, half distracted with suspense and anxiety. But there must have been something in my face which told a tale, for before I had spoken a word, she rose, and with a laugh, which was a sob before it was finished, threw her arms round my neck and exclaimed: 'My dear father! Thank heaven!' She could say no more just then for sobbing and tears; but she knew somehow that all was well. We should have made a pretty picture, if any one could have seen us, for I was as bad as Winny; but we were both brimming over with happiness.

Yet there was a great deal to be accounted for, which at another time would have checked anything like pleasure; but I had got over the worst; the most fatal difficulty had been mastered, and I did not care about anything else.

Mr Godfrey--the real Godfrey--called upon me that afternoon, and much was explained then; while the examination in Picknell's case supplied most of the rest. What was still obscure was cleared by Godfrey's mother and by the confession of the unlucky young fellow who had forged the bills and was apprehended about this time. The poor creature was at death's door, and never lived to take his trial.

I daresay, however, that every one can see pretty nearly what had happened, so I will be very brief. Godfrey Harleston had really taken a fancy for betting on horseraces. Picknell had told the truth in saying this. Most of what he said was true, but so mixed up and coloured that it was worse than a lie. This, of course, is common enough; all mischief-makers resort to this trick.

Well, young Godfrey had bad luck from the first; and Smithers--I forget whether I mentioned his name before, but this was the party who absconded--being his chief adviser, Harleston applied to him to obtain the money to meet some heavy losses. Smithers was as bad off as himself, and had no one to look to for help; while Godfrey, if he chose to make any emergency known, could always get assistance. He trusted to his luck to bring him round, however, without applying to his mother--most novices would have felt the same--so was ready to agree, when Smithers suggested bills at two months, which he could get discounted on his own signature--so Godfrey understood.

Harleston drew up the bills; and Smithers, being unable to get a shilling on his own name, put in a fictitious firm, depending on Godfrey getting the money to meet the bills in time. But, by an awful stroke of luck, the bills were rediscounted, and afterwards paid to Thurles & Company, where some accidental circumstance caused the recognition of Godfrey's writing, and then inquiry soon proved that the accepting firm was a sham.

Old Thurles was delighted at this, and spoke too freely as to what he would do. Picknell was either in the room at the time when the merchant uttered his threats, or--as I should say was more likely--he listened and skulked till he found out enough to give him his cue. He saw at once how, if the young man had committed forgery, the documents proving his guilt would be a valuable property, and he determined to get them into his possession. But it was not easy to do this and keep suspicion from himself. If stolen from the safe in any ordinary manner and during the day, a clerk must have been suspected. Some little time before, Mr Godfrey had a more serious quarrel than usual with his step-father, and had left the office. It was not until after this that he knew forgery had been committed, but he was aware that the bills had come into the possession of Thurles & Company. His absence suggested a brilliant idea to Picknell, who had a rather large circle of acquaintance of the shadiest character, and was himself, indeed, under a very demure aspect, about as bad a fellow as the Newgate calendar could show. He found out Sam, who was quite willing to undertake so profitable and easy a piece of work as Picknell represented the breaking into the office to be.

The clerk had secured impressions in wax of the keys of the outer safe--he could not get at those which opened the interior one--and Sam had no difficulty in finding an artisan who would make duplicate keys from those patterns. While dealing with his 'professional' friend, a splendid piece of strategy suggested itself to the clerk. He saw how to screen himself and throw suspicion on the quarter where it was already only too likely to fall, so he assumed the name of Godfrey Harleston. A tolerably correct account of what had occurred as regarded the forgery, fully satisfied Sam of the expediency of his new friend's proceedings, and convinced him that he 'had got hold of a good thing.'

The burglary came off successfully, but with much less immediate profit than Sam had hoped for; however, he anticipated a harvest from the bills. Of course Picknell had to tell his confederate much of his plan in regard to these documents, because they were in the burglar's possession, and he was not likely to give them up without some inducement.

Without loss of time--for he knew how dangerous a path he was treading--the clerk waited on Mrs Thurles, and claiming to represent those who had discounted bills forged by her son--the lady knew nothing of the burglary--so wrought upon her fears, that she paid him a handsome sum on account, and promised a great deal more when the bills should be given to her. Had the poor lady had the courage to speak openly to her son, she would have found how little he had to do with the forgery. He was uneasy about it, and had been trying to raise money elsewhere to pay the firm who had originally discounted the bills. This he had succeeded in doing, which led him to tell Winny he had at last got over the difficulty he had spoken of. The young dog had more to think about than even the bills at the time, for he had just been married to my Winny; at anyrate, his mother could see he was in trouble, and naturally feared the worst.

So the way was clear for Picknell; but he was so covetous and so thoroughly dishonourable, that he could not act fairly to anybody. He gave Sam the paltry two pounds, which aggravated the burglar more than if he had received nothing. This first sum from Mrs Thurles was obtained on the night when I tracked Picknell to the public-house in the mews, so you may guess how my appearance startled Sam. Picknell had meant to abscond the moment he got the money, and till then, he thought he could put Sam off with excuses, especially as the latter supposed he was dealing with Godfrey Harleston, and the name of Picknell had never been mentioned.

Sam found out that his accomplice was cheating him; then, being arrested, and fearing that his wife and child would be left destitute, he sent for me. Mrs Thurles got nearly all her money back; while Sam and Picknell were each tried at the same sessions of the Central Criminal Court, and were each sentenced to penal servitude; Sam's time being much the longer.

Mr Thurles paid the reward, and I shared it with Mrs Sam, who went away, soon after, to some relatives in the north of England. I never heard any more of her. But before she went, she brought me a queer, old-fashioned silver jug, as a present to Winny--at the wish of Sam, she said. I did not want to take this; but the little woman declared, most earnestly, that it was her grandmother's or great-grandmother's, and honestly come by. She said, too, that Sam had talked so much about his gratitude to me for speaking up for him at the trial, that he would be disappointed if his gift was refused. I recollected Sam's promise then, and accepted the present, which Winny has on her sideboard; and a gentleman who knows about such things has told her that the jug is very curious and valuable.

Poor Mrs Thurles was so delighted to find her son free, that she would have welcomed his wife if she had been an Eskimo. She took kindly to Winny; and I am proud to say that there is not a happier wife in London than my daughter.

AN OLD LAMMAS REVEL.

Dr James Ferguson--to whom we are indebted for the facts concerning the Lothian Lammas tower builders--states that in order to give the alarm on these and other occasions, every person was armed with a 'tooting-horn,' that is, a horn perforated in the small end, through which wind can be forcibly blown from the mouth so as to occasion a loud noise. As every one wished to acquire dexterity in the use of this instrument, the herdsmen practised upon it during the summer while tending their flocks or herds. Towards Lammas, they were incessantly employed answering to and vieing with each other, so that the whole country rang continually with the sounds.

Before the day of the ceremony came round, each community elected a captain; and a stand of colours was prepared for the great event. This consisted of a fine table-cloth of the largest size, decorated with ribbons. All things being ready, the band of herdsmen sallied forth on the morning of the first of August, attired in their best apparel, and armed with stout cudgels. Repairing to the neighbouring tower, the colours were displayed in triumph; then the assembly indulged in horn-blowing and in making merry until about nine o'clock, when they partook of breakfast as they sat upon the green-sward. Scouts were despatched to every quarter to watch the approach of any hostile party.

It frequently happened that on Lammas Day the herdsmen of one district proceeded to attack those of another locality, to bring them under subjection by force. On the approach of a hostile party the horns sounded to arms; the band immediately arranged itself in the best order that could be devised--the boldest and strongest in front, and those of inferior prowess behind. They seldom remained on the defensive, but generally rushed forward bravely to meet the enemy. The captains carried the colours and led the van. When both parties met, they mutually desired each other to lower their colours, in sign of subjection. When there appeared a great disproportion in the strength of the bands, the weakest usually submitted to this ceremony without difficulty, believing their honour was saved by the evident disproportion of the match. If the bands were nearly equal in strength, neither of them yielded; blows ensued, and sometimes bloodshed. It is said that on one occasion four herdsmen were killed and many disabled. If no opponents appeared, or if they themselves had no intention of making an attack, the bands took down their colours about mid-day from their towers, and marched, blowing their horns, to the largest village in the neighbourhood. Here they were met by the lasses and the people generally, who participated in the diversions of the day. Boundaries were marked out, and proclamation made that all who intended to compete in the foot-races should appear. Prizes were offered. The first prize, usually a bonnet ornamented with ribbons, was displayed upon a pole. Sometimes half-a-dozen competitors started, and ran with as great eagerness as if the prize had been a kingdom. A pair of garters was awarded to the victor of the second race; and the winner of the third gained a knife. After the races were over, the people amused themselves in such rural sports as suited their taste, and before sunset dispersed quietly to their respective homes.

In the case where two parties met and one of them yielded to the other, they marched together for some time in two separate bodies, the subjected body behind the other, and then they parted good friends, each holding their games at their own appointed place. Next day, the ribbons and tablecloth that formed the colours were returned to their respective owners; the tower was no longer a matter of consequence, and the country returned to its usual state of tranquillity.

THE LOTTERY OF DEATH.

AN EPISODE IN GUERRILLA WARFARE.

You know, in the late war between the North and South, nearly all our able-bodied men on both sides of the line were more or less soldiers of some sort. I was myself a Captain and 'Commissary of Subsistence' in the United States Volunteers, and was attached to a cavalry brigade in the army of the Potomac. In the Fall of 1864, my brigade was located in camp for the winter about four or five miles to the south of Winchester, Virginia. As a 'commissary,' I had constantly to pass with my train of wagons from the town to camp; but so confident was I that no danger could possibly befall me on that short jaunt, actually all within our own lines, that I carried neither sword nor pistol. Well, one pleasant afternoon in the latter part of November, as I was riding with my orderly, a good soldier, by the name of Leonard, at the head of the wagon-train, wearying of the slow progress made by the mule-teams, I placed the train in charge of the commissary sergeant, and rode on ahead, followed by my orderly only. I had gone little more than half-way to camp--the road we followed became wooded by young timber and underbrush--when, as I turned a bend in the road, I saw four or five mounted men about a quarter of a mile in advance of us. Calling my orderly to my side, I asked him what he thought of them.

'I guess they are some of our boys, sir. They have our uniform on, and are too far inside of our lines to be "Johnnies"' .

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