Chatterbox, 1905.

V >> Various >> Chatterbox, 1905.

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'You shall go,' said the captain, 'if I lose every passenger for the
trip.'

By this time the whole crowd of passengers were grouped around the
gangway, with their baggage piled on the pier, waiting for the decision
of the captain, before engaging their passage.

A moment more, and that decision was made known, for they saw him coming
from the cars with the sick man cradled in his strong arms. Pushing
directly through the crowd with his burden, he ordered a mattress to be
put in the cabin, where he laid the invalid with all the care of a
parent.

Then, scarcely deigning to cast a look at the astonished crowd, he
called loudly to his men: 'Let go!'

But a new feeling seemed to possess the passengers, that of shame and
contrition at their own inhumanity. With a common impulse each seized
his own baggage, and went in a shamefaced way on board the boat.

In a short time a message was sent to the captain, asking his presence
in the cabin. He went, and one of the passengers, speaking for the rest,
with faltering voice told the rough captain that he had taught them a
lesson--that they felt humble before him, and they asked his
forgiveness.

W. Y.

BOUQUETS.

Buttercups and daisies,
Violets and May,
Pimpernels and cowslips,
Make a sweet bouquet.
Not a rose among them;
Nought the garden yields.
Yet a lot of beauty
Taken from the fields,
Gathered in the sunshine,
Through the happy hours--
What a sweet bouquet, dears,
Made of simple flowers!

Patience and forgiveness,
Kindness to the weak;
Willing in our labour
All the happy week;
No exalted actions
Striving after praise,
Yet a lot of beauty
From life's lowly ways,
Gathered through the day, dear,
By the heart that heeds--
What a sweet bouquet, dear!
Made of simple deeds.

J. L.

McLEOD OF CLERE.

Founded on Fact.

I.

The moonlight lay in soft brilliance over the land of Burmah. Its rays
pierced the small slit windows in the cell of the fanatic An-we-lota,
and lighted up the fierce faces of the dacoits and desperate men, who
from time to time stealthily entered, until a close-packed band had
collected. Near and far a message had reached these malcontents that an
attack would be made on some of the British outposts scattered here and
there over the newly conquered territory, and held by English officers
and a brave force of Sikhs and Pathans.

'We are as nothing,' said An-we-lota; 'these Ingalay' (Englishmen) 'have
taken our country, and are now setting up their camps everywhere among
us, for these men to spy on us. They say the glorious King Theebaw is
dead. Know we not well that he will come again and reign over us? I am
myself possessed of magic power. I have swallowed the all-powerful
mercury, which makes me proof against bullet and steel, which turn to
water as they touch me. Have I not also the coins of invulnerability
bound in the flesh and blood of my arm?' and the fanatic stripped up the
sleeve of his yellow robe and showed his bare, skinny upper arm, where
the edges of buried coins were visible in deep cuts. 'I am king as well
as priest; I am the Prince Setkia Muntna, who was drowned in the
Irrawaddy seventy years ago. I have come to life again--behold, I am
he.'

Dusky hands were raised in salutation, and one evil-looking warrior
stepped forward: 'I am also proof against bullets. Was I not Theebaw's
chief "Boh"?' (head warrior). 'I am ready to lead any expedition against
these robbing English. See, we are all armed.'

The moonlight flashed on the murderous-looking 'dah' knives raised for
an instant from the folds of the garments of the assembled men.

'Our first attack,' said An-we-lota, 'shall be on the Sardu Station. Our
scout, Al Met, has brought word that much of their force has been called
away to quell the Wahs. Our attack shall be swift and sure, and with our
band here we shall outnumber them, and exterminate the whole while they
are sleeping. When shall we start?'

'No time like the present,' was the cry, and the dahs flew out again and
were uplifted.

In a few minutes the cell was emptied, and the stealthy march began, by
rock and jungle and secret paths, to the doomed outpost station.

The hours passed, and the early morning light showed pale on the blazing
huts of Sardu Fort, and on dead and dying scattered about. Where the
dead were thickest lay a young English officer gasping, 'Inez, my
darling, we shall meet again soon, and our little son----'

Close at hand lay the fanatic, An-we-lota, dead, his magic coins and
mercury-fed body no proof against British steel.

From the distance there came the tread of a returning force--too
late!--and in the deepest shades of the jungle a native woman, with
horror-stricken face, pressed forward through tangle and thorn, with a
living, wailing bundle clasped close to her breast.

How many days she spent in weary wandering over well-nigh a hundred
miles of jungle and plain, helped by log-boat up strange waters, ever
heading for the homes of her people, the Karens--a bourne she was never
to reach--who can say?

* * * * *

It was early morning. The first faint streaks of dawn were chasing the
night shadows from hill and valley. Early risers in a little jungle
village far distant from Fort Sardu shivered as they rose from their
sleeping-places, and pushing aside the curiously woven mats, hung from
the eaves of the sloping roofs, descended to the waking world outside.
The native dogs howled hideously as they were unceremoniously driven
from the still smouldering embers of last night's fires.

Maung Yet, one of the first astir, twisted the folds of his waist-cloth
closer round him, and looked forth upon the morning. The rising sun was
turning into gold and bronze the ripening paddy fields close at hand,
glorifying the reed roofs of the native huts under the feathery palms,
and gilding the distant belt of jungle, stretching away to the horizon.

The huts of the Tounghi tribe were raised breast-high on stout posts, as
protection against wild beasts and snakes. Many dark-skinned natives
moving around in busy preparation showed that the labours of the day
would be beginning early.

It was the time of the Burmese harvest, and the first of the ripe paddy
fields would be gathered in that day. Already might be heard the hoarse
voice of crows, and the screams of hundreds of bright-hued parrakeets,
descending for their feast on the precious grain. At the sound, many of
the village youths ran up quickly, and with cries and rude bird-clappers
scared the birds away, only to set to work again at some more distant
spot.

Many and various were the sounds echoing around Maung Yet, and ever and
anon he seemed to distinguish from among them a sound like a human cry.
Once more it came, and Maung stood keenly listening. Yes, a cry for
help, certainly, and a dog's strange, shrill bark, too--and both from
the far-off jungle. Maung Yet trembled. Was it the cry, perchance, of
some robber luring him to destruction, or was it really a
fellow-creature's cry for help?

The Burman, like all his race, was very superstitious, and avoided the
jungle as being haunted; but his heart was kind. Arming himself with his
primitive sickle, he beckoned to Lan Wee, his young brother, who was
squatting on the ground eating a huge mass of rice, and set off at full
speed towards the spot whence the cries proceeded, attracted onward
against his will by the voice of misery. The youth followed him closely,
his eyes wide open with fear, as they neared the dreaded jungle. In its
dark shadows who could say what dangers lurked? They pressed on,
however, through trails of prickly foliage, clinging undergrowth, and
fallen timber, which lay like so many traps for unwary feet. The cry had
sunk to a moan, but the dog's whine was shriller and more urgent as they
neared the end of their quest.

Both Burmen were tattooed over breast and shoulders with a glorious
blazonry of red--a decoration performed with religious rites as a
protection against 'evil spirits.' Few Burmen would face the jungle
unless thus fortified. Maung felt a few qualms even in spite of his
tattoo, but invoking the 'aing-sohn' (the good spirits), he and his
young companion, breathless and panting, struggled on, and came to what
they sought at last.

Half resting against a fallen tree-trunk lay an apparently dead native
woman, reduced to almost a skeleton. Her bare feet told of long, rough
journeying, and from wrist to elbow of the left arm was a half-healed
wound, such as Maung Yet knew well the keen 'dah' could leave. From her
neck was slung a baby, and standing fiercely on guard, a lean, whitish
dog.

With the curious canine instinct, divining rightly friend or foe, the
dog allowed the approach of the two Burmen. Maung knelt and raised the
prostrate woman; the weak head fell heavily on his shoulder, then
stirred uneasily, the eyes opened, and the dying lips tried again and
again to find utterance. Broken words at last whispered faintly over and
over again, 'Bebe Ingalay--Mah Kloo! Thakin Missee Bebe!' Then the
wasted hands tried to remove the baby. Maung understood, and signed to
the youth to lift it from her neck. The movement woke the child, and it
uttered a thin cry. The sound roused the flickering life of the dying
woman for an instant; with a last movement she lightly touched the wee
dark head, smiled faintly, and died.

[Illustration: "Maung and his young companion came to what they sought
at last."]

A shallow grave was hastily dug. A pouch in the tattered garments
contained a few coins of money and a curious small gold cross. Maung Yet
touched his tattoo anxiously as he took the latter: it must be, he
thought, some strange charm. Then he placed the coins in the mouth of
the dead woman, in the belief that this provided ferry-hire over the
death river, and he and Lan Wee lifted the woman into the grave. Then,
with all speed, the two Burmen left the hated jungle, carrying the tiny
infant, the lean dog following closely.

(_Continued on page 78._)

[Illustration: "She looked a little suspiciously at my muddy legs."]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 61._)

The cyclist was a good-looking, short, but well-built man, clad in a
light, home-spun suit, with knickerbockers and a Panama hat. On the
frame of his bicycle was an ordinary mackintosh haversack, and, strapped
behind the saddle, a paint-box, a folding sketching-stool, and a
good-sized sketching-block. Fixing the pump, he knelt down to inflate
the tyre; but the pump was rather small, the sun was hot (as I felt,
having no hat), and the man seemed soon to weary of his job. He had
glanced once or twice in my direction, and now he rose, blew out his
cheeks, and cried: "Hi, boy! do you want to earn a copper?"

'Rather!' I answered, thinking of breakfast.

'Just pump up this tyre for me, then,' he said; and, going down on my
knees by the roadside, I began to pump with a will, while he took out a
pipe and began to fill it. 'Think that's all right?' he asked, as I rose
to my feet.

'It feels pretty hard,' I answered.

'Well, here's twopence for you,' he cried.

'Thanks, awfully,' I said, putting out my hand.

Holding his machine, on the point of wheeling it into the middle of the
road, he paused, staring into my face.

'Where are you bound for?' he inquired.

'London,' I replied. 'Can you tell me which is the road?'

He stared again for what seemed a long time, and it was evident that I
caused him a little perplexity.

'Of course,' he muttered, half to himself; 'it must be the holidays just
now.'

'They began last month,' I answered.

'Yet I am sure you are running away,' he cried.

Somewhat alarmed, in consequence of my recent experiences, I thought it
time to get on my way.

'Don't be in a hurry,' he said. 'I think you and I ought to have a
little talk.'

'I want to get along,' I retorted.

'Where to?'

'To get some breakfast,' I replied.

'Hungry, eh?' he asked.

'A little.'

With that he looked at his watch; then, saying that it was nearly
twelve, he took from a side pocket of his jacket a tin case, packed with
tempting-looking sandwiches.

'Just put yourself outside those,' he said, handing me the tin.

'But--but,' I suggested with an effort, 'won't you want them?'

'I am all right,' he said, with a laugh; 'you needn't bother about me.
Sit down and start.'

Needing no further persuasion, I sat down on the grass by the way-side,
and steadily emptied the sandwich tin. Before this was accomplished,
however, he produced a flask, pouring some of its contents into a small
cup which fitted on to one end. It seemed to put fresh life into me.

'Feel better?' he inquired, as he replaced the flask in his pocket.

'Ever so much,' I answered.

'Well, then, suppose you tell me all about yourself.'

'I would much rather not,' I insisted.

'Why?'

'Because you--you might try to take me back!'

'Think for a moment, and don't be stupid,' he said. 'How can I take you
back if you don't tell me where you have come from? Besides, you would
be as much as I could carry with my bike, you know. So fire away,' he
added, and I sat on the grass and once more told my story from the
beginning, except that this time I omitted to mention Mr. Turton's name
or address.

'When you reach London,' he asked after I had become silent, 'what are
you going to do?'

'Other fellows have been able to do things,' I answered.

'But, you know,' he said, with a kind sort of smile, 'you have not even
got a cat.'

'I believe I shall be all right if only I get there,' I persisted. 'If
you would not mind telling me the way to the main road.'

'Well,' he said, 'all roads lead to London.'

'Any one will do for me,' I answered, and upon that he wheeled his
machine into the middle of the road.

'Ever ridden on a step?' he asked.

'Rather!'

'Then get up behind me, only don't upset my baggage.'

He mounted as he spoke, and in a second I was standing on the step
behind him. In spite of the circumstances, I thoroughly enjoyed that
eight miles ride, and felt sincerely sorry when it ended. Now we coasted
down a hill, now we both dismounted to walk up one, and, after one such
walk, my companion stopped, unfastened his haversack, and took out a
cloth cap.

'Think you could wear that?' he asked, and, trying it on, I found it was
only slightly too big.

'Thank you most awfully,' I said as we rode on again, and then we did
not stop until we reached four cross-roads. Seeing the word
'Polehampton' on a finger-post, I perceived that I had returned to the
road from Castlemore to London, which I had left to cross the fields in
my futile endeavour to avoid the tramp. It was true that I had made a
fairly wide circuit, for my new friend told me I should still have five
miles to walk to Polehampton.

'I am immensely obliged to you for the lift and--and everything,' I
said, as he seemed to be on the point of starting. I felt extremely
reluctant to part from him.

'That is all right,' he answered, thrusting his hand in his
knickerbocker pocket. 'This may help you on your way.' He put something
into my hand as he pressed it, then, without another word, mounted his
bicycle and rode away. Opening my hand, I found five two-shilling
pieces. For the next few yards I did not see things very clearly, for I
felt too thankful.

After looking back once or twice until he was out of sight, I set out in
a business-like manner to walk the five miles to Polehampton. The events
of the morning had filled me with fresh courage, and now that my face
was once set towards London, earlier hopes began to reawaken. I should
have liked to know my companion's name, to keep in my memory with that
of Mr. Baker and Eliza, but I never saw or heard of him again. Still, I
have not forgotten him or the good turn he did me, and I wish that this
story might come into his hands to show that I am not ungrateful.

Having passed through so much in a short time, I was inclined to expect
every mile to bring forth its own peculiar adventure, but Polehampton
came into sight without any remarkable occurrence. I scarcely enjoyed
the walk, as my legs ached more than ever, and I rested many times by
the roadside.

To-day being Friday, I determined, on the strength of my ten shillings,
to look for a cheap temperance hotel, or some place of the kind, and
make a bargain with the proprietor to stay over Saturday and Sunday.
This would give me time to rest and make myself a little more
presentable, because, in my present muddy condition, I knew that it
would be impossible to obtain any kind of work.

For that was what I intended to do. Instead of hoping to reach London in
six days, as at first, I would try to earn a little money by the way,
because I perceived that it would be no use entering in such a condition
as I was at present.

Polehampton appeared to be even a smaller place than Broughton, and by
no stretch of imagination could it be described as a town. Still, it
felt pleasant to see a few people about; and noticing a clean-looking
whitewashed cottage, with a few bottles of sweets and ginger-beer in the
window, I entered, sitting down on an empty box while a white-haired,
round-backed old woman opened a bottle of ginger-beer, and a spaniel
came from a back room and began to lick my hands. Having paid my penny,
I sat sipping the ginger-beer, when it occurred to me that it would be a
capital place to lodge, if only the old woman would take me.

'I say,' I exclaimed, 'do you know where I could get a lodging?'

She looked a little suspiciously at my muddy legs.

'For yourself?' she inquired.

'Yes.'

'How long for?'

'Till Monday morning,' I answered. 'You see, I want to know how much it
would cost for a bed and food until then.'

'That is three nights,' she said, thoughtfully. 'There is a small room I
might make up a bed in, on the floor, if that would suit you, and there
will be a joint of pork for Sunday.'

'To-day's only Friday,' I hinted.

'There is a bit of cheese and a bit of bacon,' she explained. 'Till
Monday morning, you say? I should not think five shillings would hurt
you.'

So I gave her five shillings, thus leaving only five and a penny in my
pocket; but so sorely at that moment did I feel the need of rest that I
did not hesitate. The old woman--Mrs. Riddles--lived alone with her old
brown spaniel. There was a room behind the shop, which served the
purpose of a kitchen, a sitting-room, and a wash-house. In one corner
stood a step-ladder, leading to one bedroom and a kind of cupboard,
without either window or fireplace, or any furniture but one bottomless
chair. This I discovered was intended for my own use, and, indeed, so
long as I might lie down in it, I cared about little else.

After an early supper, consisting of bread, some very fat cold streaky
bacon, and cheese, Mrs. Riddles put a sofa-cushion, a pillow, two thin
blankets, and a sheet on the cupboard floor, and advising me to leave
the door open for the sake of air, retired to her own room. It was a
vastly different kind of bed from that which had been given to me by
Eliza at Mr. Baker's farmhouse, but at least it did not prevent me from
sleeping the moment my head touched the pillow. I did not reopen my eyes
until Mrs. Riddles brought me a can of cold water and a basin, with soap
and a towel, on Saturday morning.

'It is seven o'clock,' she said, 'and breakfast is ready when you are.'
For Mrs. Riddles' credit I must confess that I have seldom enjoyed a
breakfast more. It consisted of dry bread, oatmeal porridge, and coffee.
Oddly enough, the coffee was delicious, and the porridge was equally
good, so that, thoroughly refreshed by a long night's sleep and an ample
breakfast, I brushed my knickerbockers, cleaned my boots, and went forth
into the main street of Polehampton feeling fit for anything that might
happen.

(_Continued on page 74._)

THE GENEROUS BAKERS!

A deputation of a guild of bakers once presented themselves before the
chief magistrate, asking for permission to raise the price of bread,
which in those days was regulated by the corporation. When the time came
for leaving, one of the deputies dexterously left upon the table a bag
containing six hundred pounds in money. Some days afterwards they came
again, fully believing that the purse had pleaded very powerfully for
them. But the magistrate said to them, 'Gentlemen, I have weighed your
reasons in the scales of justice, and have not found them of sufficient
weight. It has not seemed just to me to make an entire town suffer by an
advance so ill-understood. Besides, I have had distributed between the
two hospitals in the town the money which you left me, not doubting that
you would wish it to be put to such a use. I also believe that, being
rich enough to make similar alms, you cannot be losing in your trade as
you say.'

W. YARWOOD.

AFFECTIONATE EAGLES.

A True Anecdote.

A man working on a farm one day saw an eagle fluttering over the
barn-yard, no doubt meaning sooner or later to swoop down in search of
prey. He determined to save his chickens, and fetching a gun, fired at
the would-be robber. But he only succeeded in hurting its wing. Instead
of falling to the ground it flapped about in the air in a helpless sort
of way, uttering loud cries of pain.

The man was just going to fire again when he noticed another eagle
coming up in the distance. It was evidently the mate of the one he had
wounded, for it came straight to its rescue. Seeing that the first eagle
could not fly away itself, the new-comer seized its wounded mate with
its beak and claws, and, half carrying it, helped it to fly slowly away
to the mountain-side, where it put it down, as it thought, in a safe
place. For a whole week the men on the farm saw it, day after day,
carrying food to the disabled bird. It would have been quite easy for
them to have killed both the eagles during this time; but the farmer
forbade his men to molest them in any way, because he was so pleased at
the affection and courage the one had shown on behalf of the other.
After a time the wounded eagle got well, and they both flew away.

[Illustration: "The eagle seized its wounded mate with its beak and
claws."]

[Illustration: "Wootton stood quite upright on the pinnacle of the
steeple."]

STEEPLE-CLIMBERS.

Cleverness or skill in doing some particular thing has been noticed to
recur in families, and steeple-climbing is one example, we are told. At
Nottingham there was a family named Wootton, members of which had for
centuries the reputation of being daring steeple-climbers, not for
adventure, but in the way of business. Such persons were also called
steeplejacks, and they were paid liberally for their exploits, as they
deserved to be.

Robert Wootton, who lived in the time of King George III., was famous
for repairing steeples and spires without using a scaffold; he did his
work by the help of ladders, hooks, and ropes. When he repaired St.
Peter's spire, Nottingham, in 1789, having finished his work, he beat a
drum at its top, thousands of people looking on. Another of the Woottons
undertook the perilous task of ascending the spire of St. Mary's,
Manchester, which was very lofty. By a tremendous wind the ball and
cross had been bent down, and looked dangerous. This steeple-climber
raised ladders one after the other, assisted by blocks and ropes, and
secured each in succession to the stonework with clamps. When he got
near the top of the spire the work became more difficult, and the
spectators anxiously watched him as he fixed the last ladder. Having
accomplished this feat, Wootton stepped from the ladder on to the crown
or pinnacle of the steeple, and stood quite upright, with his hands
free. Then he raised a cheer, which was responded to by the crowds
below. More extraordinary still, one of these steeple-climbers is said
to have performed the feat of standing upon his head on a steeple's top;
but there is some doubt about the story.

J. R. S. C.

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 71._)

CHAPTER IX.

It was agreeable to think that I had nothing to do, and with my hands in
my pockets I turned to the right, strolling towards the railway station,
a few yards from which was a level crossing. The station yard and
booking office stood on the left, and before the entrance were one or
two old-fashioned-looking cabs; one in particular I noticed, having a
body like a small stage-coach and yellow wheels.

As I hung about the doorway it was alarming to realise that in spite of
my two days' journeying, and of all the accompanying dangers, I might
take a ticket and reach Castlemore in little over half an hour, and that
consequently any one else could travel from Castlemore to Polehampton in
the same short time. But it was easy to persuade myself that nobody
would feel the least desire to travel a yard on my account, although I
denied myself the pleasure of going on to the platform. Leaving the
station yard, I turned towards Mrs. Riddles' cottage again, and passing
this came to a standstill in front of a few shops on the opposite side
of the way. One was a butcher's; next to the butcher's was a grocer's,
and in its window I saw a card: