Dracula's Guest

  The Burial of the Rats

  Leaving Paris by the Orleans road, cross the Enceinte, and, turning tothe right, you find yourself in a somewhat wild and not at all savourydistrict. Right and left, before and behind, on every side rise greatheaps of dust and waste accumulated by the process of time.

  Paris has its night as well as its day life, and the sojourner whoenters his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli or the Rue St. Honore late atnight or leaves it early in the morning, can guess, in coming nearMontrouge--if he has not done so already--the purpose of those greatwaggons that look like boilers on wheels which he finds haltingeverywhere as he passes.

  Every city has its peculiar institutions created out of its own needs;and one of the most notable institutions of Paris is its rag-pickingpopulation. In the early morning--and Parisian life commences at anearly hour--may be seen in most streets standing on the pathwayopposite every court and alley and between every few houses, as stillin some American cities, even in parts of New York, large wooden boxesinto which the domestics or tenement-holders empty the accumulateddust of the past day. Round these boxes gather and pass on, when thework is done, to fresh fields of labour and pastures new, squalidhungry-looking men and women, the implements of whose craft consistof a coarse bag or basket slung over the shoulder and a little rakewith which they turn over and probe and examine in the minutest mannerthe dustbins. They pick up and deposit in their baskets, by aid oftheir rakes, whatever they may find, with the same facility as aChinaman uses his chopsticks.

  Paris is a city of centralisation--and centralisation andclassification are closely allied. In the early times, whencentralisation is becoming a fact, its forerunner is classification.All things which are similar or analogous become grouped together, andfrom the grouping of groups rises one whole or central point. We seeradiating many long arms with innumerable tentaculae, and in thecentre rises a gigantic head with a comprehensive brain and keen eyesto look on every side and ears sensitive to hear--and a voraciousmouth to swallow.

  Other cities resemble all the birds and beasts and fishes whoseappetites and digestions are normal. Paris alone is the analogicalapotheosis of the octopus. Product of centralisation carried to an _adabsurdum_, it fairly represents the devil fish; and in no respects isthe resemblance more curious than in the similarity of the digestiveapparatus.

  Those intelligent tourists who, having surrendered their individualityinto the hands of Messrs. Cook or Gaze, 'do' Paris in three days, areoften puzzled to know how it is that the dinner which in London wouldcost about six shillings, can be had for three francs in a cafe in thePalais Royal. They need have no more wonder if they will but considerthe classification which is a theoretic speciality of Parisian life,and adopt all round the fact from which the chiffonier has hisgenesis.

  The Paris of 1850 was not like the Paris of to-day, and those who seethe Paris of Napoleon and Baron Hausseman can hardly realise theexistence of the state of things forty-five years ago.

  Amongst other things, however, which have not changed are thosedistricts where the waste is gathered. Dust is dust all the worldover, in every age, and the family likeness of dust-heaps is perfect.The traveller, therefore, who visits the environs of Montrouge can gogo back in fancy without difficulty to the year 1850.

  In this year I was making a prolonged stay in Paris. I was very muchin love with a young lady who, though she returned my passion, so faryielded to the wishes of her parents that she had promised not to seeme or to correspond with me for a year. I, too, had been compelled toaccede to these conditions under a vague hope of parental approval.During the term of probation I had promised to remain out of thecountry and not to write to my dear one until the expiration of theyear.

  Naturally the time went heavily with me. There was not one of my ownfamily or circle who could tell me of Alice, and none of her own folkhad, I am sorry to say, sufficient generosity to send me even anoccasional word of comfort regarding her health and well-being. Ispent six months wandering about Europe, but as I could find nosatisfactory distraction in travel, I determined to come to Paris,where, at least, I would be within easy hail of London in case anygood fortune should call me thither before the appointed time. That'hope deferred maketh the heart sick' was never better exemplifiedthan in my case, for in addition to the perpetual longing to see theface I loved there was always with me a harrowing anxiety lest someaccident should prevent me showing Alice in due time that I had,throughout the long period of probation, been faithful to her trustand my own love. Thus, every adventure which I undertook had a fiercepleasure of its own, for it was fraught with possible consequencesgreater than it would have ordinarily borne.

  Like all travellers I exhausted the places of most interest in thefirst month of my stay, and was driven in the second month to look foramusement whithersoever I might. Having made sundry journeys to thebetter-known suburbs, I began to see that there was a _terraincognita_, in so far as the guide book was concerned, in the socialwilderness lying between these attractive points. Accordingly I beganto systematise my researches, and each day took up the thread of myexploration at the place where I had on the previous day dropped it.

  In the process of time my wanderings led me near Montrouge, and I sawthat hereabouts lay the Ultima Thule of social exploration--a countryas little known as that round the source of the White Nile. And so Idetermined to investigate philosophically the chiffonier--his habitat,his life, and his means of life.

  The job was an unsavoury one, difficult of accomplishment, and withlittle hope of adequate reward. However, despite reason, obstinacyprevailed, and I entered into my new investigation with a keenerenergy than I could have summoned to aid me in any investigationleading to any end, valuable or worthy.

  One day, late in a fine afternoon, toward the end of September, Ientered the holy of holies of the city of dust. The place wasevidently the recognised abode of a number of chiffoniers, for somesort of arrangement was manifested in the formation of the dust heapsnear the road. I passed amongst these heaps, which stood like orderlysentries, determined to penetrate further and trace dust to itsultimate location.

  As I passed along I saw behind the dust heaps a few forms that flittedto and fro, evidently watching with interest the advent of anystranger to such a place. The district was like a small Switzerland,and as I went forward my tortuous course shut out the path behind me.

  Presently I got into what seemed a small city or community ofchiffoniers. There were a number of shanties or huts, such as may bemet with in the remote parts of the Bog of Allan--rude places withwattled walls, plastered with mud and roofs of rude thatch made fromstable refuse--such places as one would not like to enter for anyconsideration, and which even in water-colour could only lookpicturesque if judiciously treated. In the midst of these huts was oneof the strangest adaptations--I cannot say habitations--I had everseen. An immense old wardrobe, the colossal remnant of some boudoir ofCharles VII, or Henry II, had been converted into a dwelling-house.The double doors lay open, so that the entire menage was open topublic view. In the open half of the wardrobe was a commonsitting-room of some four feet by six, in which sat, smoking theirpipes round a charcoal brazier, no fewer than six old soldiers of theFirst Republic, with their uniforms torn and worn threadbare.Evidently they were of the _mauvais sujet_ class; their bleary eyesand limp jaws told plainly of a common love of absinthe; and theireyes had that haggard, worn look of slumbering ferocity which followshard in the wake of drink. The other side stood as of old, with itsshelves intact, save that they were cut to half their depth, and ineach shelf of which there were six, was a bed made with rags andstraw. The half-dozen of worthies who inhabited this structure lookedat me curiously as I passed; and when I looked back after going alittle way I saw their heads together in a whispered conference. I didnot like the look of this at all, for the place was very lonely, andthe men looked very, very villainous. However, I did not see any causefor fear, and went on my way, penetrating further and further into theSahara. The way was tortuous to a degree
, and from going round in aseries of semi-circles, as one goes in skating with the Dutch roll, Igot rather confused with regard to the points of the compass.

  When I had penetrated a little way I saw, as I turned the corner of ahalf-made heap, sitting on a heap of straw an old soldier withthreadbare coat.

  'Hallo!' said I to myself; 'the First Republic is well representedhere in its soldiery.'

  As I passed him the old man never even looked up at me, but gazed onthe ground with stolid persistency. Again I remarked to myself: 'Seewhat a life of rude warfare can do! This old man's curiosity is athing of the past.'

  When I had gone a few steps, however, I looked back suddenly, and sawthat curiosity was not dead, for the veteran had raised his head andwas regarding me with a very queer expression. He seemed to me to lookvery like one of the six worthies in the press. When he saw me lookinghe dropped his head; and without thinking further of him I went on myway, satisfied that there was a strange likeness between these oldwarriors.

  Presently I met another old soldier in a similar manner. He, too, didnot notice me whilst I was passing.

  By this time it was getting late in the afternoon, and I began tothink of retracing my steps. Accordingly I turned to go back, butcould see a number of tracks leading between different mounds andcould not ascertain which of them I should take. In my perplexity Iwanted to see someone of whom to ask the way, but could see no one. Idetermined to go on a few mounds further and so try to seesomeone--not a veteran.

  I gained my object, for after going a couple of hundred yards I sawbefore me a single shanty such as I had seen before--with, however,the difference that this was not one for living in, but merely a roofwith three walls open in front. From the evidences which theneighbourhood exhibited I took it to be a place for sorting. Within itwas an old woman wrinkled and bent with age; I approached her to askthe way.

  She rose as I came close and I asked her my way. She immediatelycommenced a conversation; and it occurred to me that here in the verycentre of the Kingdom of Dust was the place to gather details of thehistory of Parisian rag-picking--particularly as I could do so fromthe lips of one who looked like the oldest inhabitant.

  I began my inquiries, and the old woman gave me most interestinganswers--she had been one of the ceteuces who sat daily before theguillotine and had taken an active part among the women who signalisedthemselves by their violence in the revolution. While we were talkingshe said suddenly: 'But m'sieur must be tired standing,' and dusted arickety old stool for me to sit down. I hardly liked to do so for manyreasons; but the poor old woman was so civil that I did not like torun the risk of hurting her by refusing, and moreover the conversationof one who had been at the taking of the Bastille was so interestingthat I sat down and so our conversation went on.

  While we were talking an old man--older and more bent and wrinkledeven than the woman--appeared from behind the shanty. 'Here isPierre,' said she. 'M'sieur can hear stories now if he wishes, forPierre was in everything, from the Bastille to Waterloo.' The old mantook another stool at my request and we plunged into a sea ofrevolutionary reminiscences. This old man, albeit clothed like ascarecrow, was like any one of the six veterans.

  I was now sitting in the centre of the low hut with the woman on myleft hand and the man on my right, each of them being somewhat infront of me. The place was full of all sorts of curious objects oflumber, and of many things that I wished far away. In one corner was aheap of rags which seemed to move from the number of vermin itcontained, and in the other a heap of bones whose odour was somethingshocking. Every now and then, glancing at the heaps, I could see thegleaming eyes of some of the rats which infested the place. Theseloathsome objects were bad enough, but what looked even more dreadfulwas an old butcher's axe with an iron handle stained with clots ofblood leaning up against the wall on the right hand side. Still, thesethings did not give me much concern. The talk of the two old peoplewas so fascinating that I stayed on and on, till the evening came andthe dust heaps threw dark shadows over the vales between them.

  After a time I began to grow uneasy. I could not tell how or why, butsomehow I did not feel satisfied. Uneasiness is an instinct and meanswarning. The psychic faculties are often the sentries of theintellect, and when they sound alarm the reason begins to act,although perhaps not consciously.

  This was so with me. I began to bethink me where I was and by whatsurrounded, and to wonder how I should fare in case I should beattacked; and then the thought suddenly burst upon me, althoughwithout any overt cause, that I was in danger. Prudence whispered: 'Bestill and make no sign,' and so I was still and made no sign, for Iknew that four cunning eyes were on me. 'Four eyes--if not more.' MyGod, what a horrible thought! The whole shanty might be surrounded onthree sides with villains! I might be in the midst of a band of suchdesperadoes as only half a century of periodic revolution can produce.

  With a sense of danger my intellect and observation quickened, and Igrew more watchful than was my wont. I noticed that the old woman'seyes were constantly wandering towards my hands. I looked at them too,and saw the cause--my rings. On my left little finger I had a largesignet and on the right a good diamond.

  I thought that if there was any danger my first care was to avertsuspicion. Accordingly I began to work the conversation round torag-picking--to the drains--of the things found there; and so by easystages to jewels. Then, seizing a favourable opportunity, I asked theold woman if she knew anything of such things. She answered that shedid, a little. I held out my right hand, and, showing her the diamond,asked her what she thought of that. She answered that her eyes werebad, and stooped over my hand. I said as nonchalantly as I could:'Pardon me! You will see better thus!' and taking it off handed it toher. An unholy light came into her withered old face, as she touchedit. She stole one glance at me swift and keen as a flash of lightning.

  She bent over the ring for a moment, her face quite concealed asthough examining it. The old man looked straight out of the front ofthe shanty before him, at the same time fumbling in his pockets andproducing a screw of tobacco in a paper and a pipe, which he proceededto fill. I took advantage of the pause and the momentary rest from thesearching eyes on my face to look carefully round the place, now dimand shadowy in the gloaming. There still lay all the heaps of variedreeking foulness; there the terrible blood-stained axe leaning againstthe wall in the right hand corner, and everywhere, despite the gloom,the baleful glitter of the eyes of the rats. I could see them eventhrough some of the chinks of the boards at the back low down close tothe ground. But stay! these latter eyes seemed more than usually largeand bright and baleful!

  For an instant my heart stood still, and I felt in that whirlingcondition of mind in which one feels a sort of spiritual drunkenness,and as though the body is only maintained erect in that there is notime for it to fall before recovery. Then, in another second, I wascalm--coldly calm, with all my energies in full vigour, with aself-control which I felt to be perfect and with all my feeling andinstincts alert.

  Now I knew the full extent of my danger: I was watched and surroundedby desperate people! I could not even guess at how many of them werelying there on the ground behind the shanty, waiting for the moment tostrike. I knew that I was big and strong, and they knew it, too. Theyknew also, as I did, that I was an Englishman and would make a fightfor it; and so we waited. I had, I felt, gained an advantage in thelast few seconds, for I knew my danger and understood the situation.Now, I thought, is the test of my courage--the enduring test: thefighting test may come later!

  The old woman raised her head and said to me in a satisfied kind ofway:

  'A very fine ring, indeed--a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had suchrings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! for in thosefine days I led the town a dance! But they've forgotten me now!They've forgotten me! They? Why they never heard of me! Perhaps theirgrandfathers remember me, some of them!' and she laughed a harsh,croaking laugh. And then I am bound to say that she astonished me, forshe handed me back the ring with a
certain suggestion of old-fashionedgrace which was not without its pathos.

  The old man eyed her with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising fromhis stool, and said to me suddenly and hoarsely:

  'Let me see!'

  I was about to hand the ring when the old woman said:

  'No! no, do not give it to Pierre! Pierre is eccentric. He losesthings; and such a pretty ring!'

  'Cat!' said the old man, savagely. Suddenly the old woman said, rathermore loudly than was necessary:

  'Wait! I shall tell you something about a ring.' There was somethingin the sound of her voice that jarred upon me. Perhaps it was myhyper-sensitiveness, wrought up as I was to such a pitch of nervousexcitement, but I seemed to think that she was not addressing me. As Istole a glance round the place I saw the eyes of the rats in the boneheaps, but missed the eyes along the back. But even as I looked I sawthem again appear. The old woman's 'Wait!' had given me a respite fromattack, and the men had sunk back to their reclining posture.

  'I once lost a ring--a beautiful diamond hoop that had belonged to aqueen, and which was given to me by a farmer of the taxes, whoafterwards cut his throat because I sent him away. I thought it musthave been stolen, and taxed my people; but I could get no trace. Thepolice came and suggested that it had found its way to the drain. Wedescended--I in my fine clothes, for I would not trust them with mybeautiful ring! I know more of the drains since then, and of rats,too! but I shall never forget the horror of that place--alive withblazing eyes, a wall of them just outside the light of our torches.Well, we got beneath my house. We searched the outlet of the drain,and there in the filth found my ring, and we came out.

  'But we found something else also before we came! As we were comingtoward the opening a lot of sewer rats--human ones this time--cametowards us. They told the police that one of their number had goneinto the drain, but had not returned. He had gone in only shortlybefore we had, and, if lost, could hardly be far off. They asked helpto seek him, so we turned back. They tried to prevent me going, but Iinsisted. It was a new excitement, and had I not recovered my ring?Not far did we go till we came on something. There was but littlewater, and the bottom of the drain was raised with brick, rubbish, andmuch matter of the kind. He had made a fight for it, even when historch had gone out. But they were too many for him! They had not beenlong about it! The bones were still warm; but they were picked clean.They had even eaten their own dead ones and there were bones of ratsas well as of the man. They took it cool enough those other--the humanones--and joked of their comrade when they found him dead, though theywould have helped him living. Bah! what matters it--life or death?'

  'And had you no fear?' I asked her.

  'Fear!' she said with a laugh. 'Me have fear? Ask Pierre! But I wasyounger then, and, as I came through that horrible drain with its wallof greedy eyes, always moving with the circle of the light from thetorches, I did not feel easy. I kept on before the men, though! It isa way I have! I never let the men get it before me. All I want is achance and a means! And they ate him up--took every trace away exceptthe bones; and no one knew it, nor no sound of him was ever heard!'Here she broke into a chuckling fit of the ghastliest merriment whichit was ever my lot to hear and see. A great poetess describes herheroine singing: 'Oh! to see or hear her singing! Scarce I know whichis the divinest.'

  And I can apply the same idea to the old crone--in all save thedivinity, for I scarce could tell which was the most hellish--theharsh, malicious, satisfied, cruel laugh, or the leering grin, and thehorrible square opening of the mouth like a tragic mask, and theyellow gleam of the few discoloured teeth in the shapeless gums. Inthat laugh and with that grin and the chuckling satisfaction I knew aswell as if it had been spoken to me in words of thunder that my murderwas settled, and the murderers only bided the proper time for itsaccomplishment. I could read between the lines of her gruesome storythe commands to her accomplices. 'Wait,' she seemed to say, 'bide yourtime. I shall strike the first blow. Find the weapon for me, and Ishall make the opportunity! He shall not escape! Keep him quiet, andthen no one will be wiser. There will be no outcry, and the rats willdo their work!'

  It was growing darker and darker; the night was coming. I stole aglance round the shanty, still all the same! The bloody axe in thecorner, the heaps of filth, and the eyes on the bone heaps and in thecrannies of the floor.

  Pierre had been still ostensibly filling his pipe; he now struck alight and began to puff away at it. The old woman said:

  'Dear heart, how dark it is! Pierre, like a good lad, light the lamp!'

  Pierre got up and with the lighted match in his hand touched the wickof a lamp which hung at one side of the entrance to the shanty, andwhich had a reflector that threw the light all over the place. It wasevidently that which was used for their sorting at night.

  'Not that, stupid! Not that! the lantern!' she called out to him.

  He immediately blew it out, saying: 'All right, mother I'll find it,'and he hustled about the left corner of the room--the old woman sayingthrough the darkness:

  'The lantern! the lantern! Oh! That is the light that is most useful tous poor folks. The lantern was the friend of the revolution! It is thefriend of the chiffonier! It helps us when all else fails.'

  Hardly had she said the word when there was a kind of creaking of thewhole place, and something was steadily dragged over the roof.

  Again I seemed to read between the lines of her words. I knew thelesson of the lantern.

  'One of you get on the roof with a noose and strangle him as he passesout if we fail within.'

  As I looked out of the opening I saw the loop of a rope outlined blackagainst the lurid sky. I was now, indeed, beset!

  Pierre was not long in finding the lantern. I kept my eyes fixedthrough the darkness on the old woman. Pierre struck his light, and byits flash I saw the old woman raise from the ground beside her whereit had mysteriously appeared, and then hide in the folds of her gown,a long sharp knife or dagger. It seemed to be like a butcher'ssharpening iron fined to a keen point.

  The lantern was lit.

  'Bring it here, Pierre,' she said. 'Place it in the doorway where wecan see it. See how nice it is! It shuts out the darkness from us; itis just right!'

  Just right for her and her purposes! It threw all its light on myface, leaving in gloom the faces of both Pierre and the woman, who satoutside of me on each side.

  I felt that the time of action was approaching, but I knew now thatthe first signal and movement would come from the woman, and sowatched her.

  I was all unarmed, but I had made up my mind what to do. At the firstmovement I would seize the butcher's axe in the right-hand corner andfight my way out. At least, I would die hard. I stole a glance roundto fix its exact locality so that I could not fail to seize it at thefirst effort, for then, if ever, time and accuracy would be precious.

  Good God! It was gone! All the horror of the situation burst upon me;but the bitterest thought of all was that if the issue of the terribleposition should be against me Alice would infallibly suffer. Eithershe would believe me false--and any lover, or any one who has everbeen one, can imagine the bitterness of the thought--or else she wouldgo on loving long after I had been lost to her and to the world, sothat her life would be broken and embittered, shattered withdisappointment and despair. The very magnitude of the pain braced meup and nerved me to bear the dread scrutiny of the plotters.

  I think I did not betray myself. The old woman was watching me as acat does a mouse; she had her right hand hidden in the folds of hergown, clutching, I knew, that long, cruel-looking dagger. Had she seenany disappointment in my face she would, I felt, have known that themoment had come, and would have sprung on me like a tigress, certainof taking me unprepared.

  I looked out into the night, and there I saw new cause for danger.Before and around the hut were at a little distance some shadowyforms; they were quite still, but I knew that they were all alert andon guard. Small chance for me now in that direction.

  Again I sto
le a glance round the place. In moments of great excitementand of great danger, which is excitement, the mind works very quickly,and the keenness of the faculties which depend on the mind grows inproportion. I now felt this. In an instant I took in the wholesituation. I saw that the axe had been taken through a small hole madein one of the rotten boards. How rotten they must be to allow of sucha thing being done without a particle of noise.

  The hut was a regular murder-trap, and was guarded all around. Agarroter lay on the roof ready to entangle me with his noose if Ishould escape the dagger of the old hag. In front the way was guardedby I know not how many watchers. And at the back was a row ofdesperate men--I had seen their eyes still through the crack in theboards of the floor, when last I looked--as they lay prone waiting forthe signal to start erect. If it was to be ever, now for it!

  As nonchalantly as I could I turned slightly on my stool so as to getmy right leg well under me. Then with a sudden jump, turning my head,and guarding it with my hands, and with the fighting instinct of theknights of old, I breathed my lady's name, and hurled myself againstthe back wall of the hut.

  Watchful as they were, the suddenness of my movement surprised bothPierre and the old woman. As I crashed through the rotten timbers Isaw the old woman rise with a leap like a tiger and heard her low gaspof baffled rage. My feet lit on something that moved, and as I jumpedaway I knew that I had stepped on the back of one of the row of menlying on their faces outside the hut. I was torn with nails andsplinters, but otherwise unhurt. Breathless I rushed up the mound infront of me, hearing as I went the dull crash of the shanty as itcollapsed into a mass.

  It was a nightmare climb. The mound, though but low, was awfullysteep, and with each step I took the mass of dust and cinders toredown with me and gave way under my feet. The dust rose and choked me;it was sickening, foetid, awful; but my climb was, I felt, for life ordeath, and I struggled on. The seconds seemed hours; but the fewmoments I had in starting, combined with my youth and strength, gaveme a great advantage, and, though several forms struggled after me indeadly silence which was more dreadful than any sound, I easilyreached the top. Since then I have climbed the cone of Vesuvius, andas I struggled up that dreary steep amid the sulphurous fumes thememory of that awful night at Montrouge came back to me so vividlythat I almost grew faint.

  The mound was one of the tallest in the region of dust, and as Istruggled to the top, panting for breath and with my heart beatinglike a sledge-hammer, I saw away to my left the dull red gleam of thesky, and nearer still the flashing of lights. Thank God! I knew whereI was now and where lay the road to Paris!

  For two or three seconds I paused and looked back. My pursuers werestill well behind me, but struggling up resolutely, and in deadlysilence. Beyond, the shanty was a wreck--a mass of timber and movingforms. I could see it well, for flames were already bursting out; therags and straw had evidently caught fire from the lantern. Stillsilence there! Not a sound! These old wretches could die game, anyhow.

  I had no time for more than a passing glance, for as I cast an eyeround the mound preparatory to making my descent I saw several darkforms rushing round on either side to cut me off on my way. It was nowa race for life. They were trying to head me on my way to Paris, andwith the instinct of the moment I dashed down to the right-hand side.I was just in time, for, though I came as it seemed to me down thesteep in a few steps, the wary old men who were watching me turnedback, and one, as I rushed by into the opening between the two moundsin front, almost struck me a blow with that terrible butcher's axe.There could surely not be two such weapons about!

  Then began a really horrible chase. I easily ran ahead of the old men,and even when some younger ones and a few women joined in the hunt Ieasily distanced them. But I did not know the way, and I could noteven guide myself by the light in the sky, for I was running away fromit. I had heard that, unless of conscious purpose, hunted men turnalways to the left, and so I found it now; and so, I suppose, knewalso my pursuers, who were more animals than men, and with cunning orinstinct had found out such secrets for themselves: for on finishinga quick spurt, after which I intended to take a moment's breathingspace, I suddenly saw ahead of me two or three forms swiftly passingbehind a mound to the right.

  I was in the spider's web now indeed! But with the thought of this newdanger came the resource of the hunted, and so I darted down the nextturning to the right. I continued in this direction for some hundredyards, and then, making a turn to the left again, felt certain that Ihad, at any rate, avoided the danger of being surrounded.

  But not of pursuit, for on came the rabble after me, steady, dogged,relentless, and still in grim silence.

  In the greater darkness the mounds seemed now to be somewhat smallerthan before, although--for the night was closing--they looked biggerin proportion. I was now well ahead of my pursuers, so I made a dartup the mound in front.

  Oh joy of joys! I was close to the edge of this inferno of dustheaps.Away behind me the red light of Paris was in the sky, and towering upbehind rose the heights of Montmarte--a dim light, with here and therebrilliant points like stars.

  Restored to vigour in a moment, I ran over the few remaining mounds ofdecreasing size, and found myself on the level land beyond. Even then,however, the prospect was not inviting. All before me was dark anddismal, and I had evidently come on one of those dank, low-lying wasteplaces which are found here and there in the neighbourhood of greatcities. Places of waste and desolation, where the space is requiredfor the ultimate agglomeration of all that is noxious, and the groundis so poor as to create no desire of occupancy even in the lowestsquatter. With eyes accustomed to the gloom of the evening, and awaynow from the shadows of those dreadful dustheaps, I could see muchmore easily than I could a little while ago. It might have been, ofcourse, that the glare in the sky of the lights of Paris, though thecity was some miles away, was reflected here. Howsoever it was, I sawwell enough to take bearings for certainly some little distance aroundme.

  In front was a bleak, flat waste that seemed almost dead level, withhere and there the dark shimmering of stagnant pools. Seemingly faroff on the right, amid a small cluster of scattered lights, rose adark mass of Fort Montrouge, and away to the left in the dim distance,pointed with stray gleams from cottage windows, the lights in the skyshowed the locality of Bicetre. A moment's thought decided me to taketo the right and try to reach Montrouge. There at least would be somesort of safety, and I might possibly long before come on some of thecross roads which I knew. Somewhere, not far off, must lie thestrategic road made to connect the outlying chain of forts circlingthe city.

  Then I looked back. Coming over the mounds, and outlined black againstthe glare of the Parisian horizon, I saw several moving figures, andstill a way to the right several more deploying out between me and mydestination. They evidently meant to cut me off in this direction, andso my choice became constricted; it lay now between going straightahead or turning to the left. Stooping to the ground, so as to get theadvantage of the horizon as a line of sight, I looked carefully inthis direction, but could detect no sign of my enemies. I argued thatas they had not guarded or were not trying to guard that point, therewas evidently danger to me there already. So I made up my mind to gostraight on before me.

  It was not an inviting prospect, and as I went on the reality grewworse. The ground became soft and oozy, and now and again gave waybeneath me in a sickening kind of way. I seemed somehow to be goingdown, for I saw round me places seemingly more elevated than where Iwas, and this in a place which from a little way back seemed deadlevel. I looked around, but could see none of my pursuers. This wasstrange, for all along these birds of the night had followed methrough the darkness as well as though it was broad daylight. How Iblamed myself for coming out in my light-coloured tourist suit oftweed. The silence, and my not being able to see my enemies, whilst Ifelt that they were watching me, grew appalling, and in the hope ofsome one not of this ghastly crew hearing me I raised my voice andshouted several times. There was not the slighte
st response; not evenan echo rewarded my efforts. For a while I stood stock still and keptmy eyes in one direction. On one of the rising places around me I sawsomething dark move along, then another, and another. This was to myleft, and seemingly moving to head me off.

  I thought that again I might with my skill as a runner elude myenemies at this game, and so with all my speed darted forward.

  Splash!

  My feet had given way in a mass of slimy rubbish, and I had fallenheadlong into a reeking, stagnant pool. The water and the mud in whichmy arms sank up to the elbows was filthy and nauseous beyonddescription, and in the suddenness of my fall I had actually swallowedsome of the filthy stuff, which nearly choked me, and made me gaspfor breath. Never shall I forget the moments during which I stoodtrying to recover myself almost fainting from the foetid odour of thefilthy pool, whose white mist rose ghostlike around. Worst of all,with the acute despair of the hunted animal when he sees the pursuingpack closing on him, I saw before my eyes whilst I stood helpless thedark forms of my pursuers moving swiftly to surround me.

  It is curious how our minds work on odd matters even when the energiesof thought are seemingly concentrated on some terrible and pressingneed. I was in momentary peril of my life: my safety depended on myaction, and my choice of alternatives coming now with almost everystep I took, and yet I could not but think of the strange doggedpersistency of these old men. Their silent resolution, theirsteadfast, grim, persistency even in such a cause commanded, as wellas fear, even a measure of respect. What must they have been in thevigour of their youth. I could understand now that whirlwind rush onthe bridge of Arcola, that scornful exclamation of the Old Guard atWaterloo! Unconscious cerebration has its own pleasures, even at suchmoments; but fortunately it does not in any way clash with the thoughtfrom which action springs.

  I realised at a glance that so far I was defeated in my object, myenemies as yet had won. They had succeeded in surrounding me on threesides, and were bent on driving me off to the left-hand, where therewas already some danger for me, for they had left no guard. I acceptedthe alternative--it was a case of Hobson's choice and run. I had tokeep the lower ground, for my pursuers were on the higher places.However, though the ooze and broken ground impeded me my youth andtraining made me able to hold my ground, and by keeping a diagonalline I not only kept them from gaining on me but even began todistance them. This gave me new heart and strength, and by this timehabitual training was beginning to tell and my second wind had come.Before me the ground rose slightly. I rushed up the slope and foundbefore me a waste of watery slime, with a low dyke or bank lookingblack and grim beyond. I felt that if I could but reach that dyke insafety I could there, with solid ground under my feet and some kind ofpath to guide me, find with comparative ease a way out of my troubles.After a glance right and left and seeing no one near, I kept my eyesfor a few minutes to their rightful work of aiding my feet whilst Icrossed the swamp. It was rough, hard work, but there was littledanger, merely toil; and a short time took me to the dyke. I rushed upthe slope exulting; but here again I met a new shock. On either sideof me rose a number of crouching figures. From right and left theyrushed at me. Each body held a rope.

  The cordon was nearly complete. I could pass on neither side, and theend was near.

  There was only one chance, and I took it. I hurled myself across thedyke, and escaping out of the very clutches of my foes threw myselfinto the stream.

  At any other time I should have thought that water foul and filthy,but now it was as welcome as the most crystal stream to the parchedtraveller. It was a highway of safety!

  My pursuers rushed after me. Had only one of them held the rope itwould have been all up with me, for he could have entangled me beforeI had time to swim a stroke; but the many hands holding it embarrassedand delayed them, and when the rope struck the water I heard thesplash well behind me. A few minutes' hard swimming took me acrossthe stream. Refreshed with the immersion and encouraged by the escape,I climbed the dyke in comparative gaiety of spirits.

  From the top I looked back. Through the darkness I saw my assailantsscattering up and down along the dyke. The pursuit was evidently notended, and again I had to choose my course. Beyond the dyke where Istood was a wild, swampy space very similar to that which I hadcrossed. I determined to shun such a place, and thought for a momentwhether I would take up or down the dyke. I thought I heard asound--the muffled sound of oars, so I listened, and then shouted.

  No response; but the sound ceased. My enemies had evidently got a boatof some kind. As they were on the up side of me I took the down pathand began to run. As I passed to the left of where I had entered thewater I heard several splashes, soft and stealthy, like the sound arat makes as he plunges into the stream, but vastly greater; and as Ilooked I saw the dark sheen of the water broken by the ripples ofseveral advancing heads. Some of my enemies were swimming the streamalso.

  And now behind me, up the stream, the silence was broken by the quickrattle and creak of oars; my enemies were in hot pursuit. I put mybest leg foremost and ran on. After a break of a couple of minutes Ilooked back, and by a gleam of light through the ragged clouds I sawseveral dark forms climbing the bank behind me. The wind had now begunto rise, and the water beside me was ruffled and beginning to break intiny waves on the bank. I had to keep my eyes pretty well on theground before me, lest I should stumble, for I knew that to stumblewas death. After a few minutes I looked back behind me. On the dykewere only a few dark figures, but crossing the waste, swampy groundwere many more. What new danger this portended I did not know--couldonly guess. Then as I ran it seemed to me that my track kept eversloping away to the right. I looked up ahead and saw that the riverwas much wider than before, and that the dyke on which I stood fellquite away, and beyond it was another stream on whose near bank I sawsome of the dark forms now across the marsh. I was on an island ofsome kind.

  My situation was now indeed terrible, for my enemies had hemmed me inon every side. Behind came the quickening roll of the oars, as thoughmy pursuers knew that the end was close. Around me on every side wasdesolation; there was not a roof or light, as far as I could see. Faroff to the right rose some dark mass, but what it was I knew not. Fora moment I paused to think what I should do, not for more, for mypursuers were drawing closer. Then my mind was made up. I slipped downthe bank and took to the water. I struck out straight ahead so as togain the current by clearing the backwater of the island, for such Ipresume it was, when I had passed into the stream. I waited till acloud came driving across the moon and leaving all in darkness. Then Itook off my hat and laid it softly on the water floating with thestream, and a second after dived to the right and struck out underwater with all my might. I was, I suppose, half a minute under water,and when I rose came up as softly as I could, and turning, lookedback. There went my light brown hat floating merrily away. Closebehind it came a rickety old boat, driven furiously by a pair of oars.The moon was still partly obscured by the drifting clouds, but in thepartial light I could see a man in the bows holding aloft ready tostrike what appeared to me to be that same dreadful pole-axe which Ihad before escaped. As I looked the boat drew closer, closer, and theman struck savagely. The hat disappeared. The man fell forward, almostout of the boat. His comrades dragged him in but without the axe, andthen as I turned with all my energies bent on reaching the furtherbank, I heard the fierce whirr of the muttered 'Sacre!' which markedthe anger of my baffled pursuers.

  That was the first sound I had heard from human lips during all thisdreadful chase, and full as it was of menace and danger to me it was awelcome sound for it broke that awful silence which shrouded andappalled me. It was as though an overt sign that my opponents were menand not ghosts, and that with them I had, at least, the chance of aman, though but one against many.

  But now that the spell of silence was broken the sounds came thick andfast. From boat to shore and back from shore to boat came quickquestion and answer, all in the fiercest whispers. I looked back--afatal thing to do--for in the instant
someone caught sight of my face,which showed white on the dark water, and shouted. Hands pointed tome, and in a moment or two the boat was under weigh, and followinghard after me. I had but a little way to go, but quicker and quickercame the boat after me. A few more strokes and I would be on theshore, but I felt the oncoming of the boat, and expected each secondto feel the crash of an oar or other weapon on my head. Had I not seenthat dreadful axe disappear in the water I do not think that I couldhave won the shore. I heard the muttered curses of those not rowingand the laboured breath of the rowers. With one supreme effort forlife or liberty I touched the bank and sprang up it. There was not asingle second to spare, for hard behind me the boat grounded andseveral dark forms sprang after me. I gained the top of the dyke, andkeeping to the left ran on again. The boat put off and followed downthe stream. Seeing this I feared danger in this direction, and quicklyturning, ran down the dyke on the other side, and after passing ashort stretch of marshy ground gained a wild, open flat country andsped on.

  Still behind me came on my relentless pursuers. Far away, below me, Isaw the same dark mass as before, but now grown closer and greater. Myheart gave a great thrill of delight, for I knew that it must be thefortress of Bicetre, and with new courage I ran on. I had heard thatbetween each and all of the protecting forts of Paris there arestrategic ways, deep sunk roads where soldiers marching should besheltered from an enemy. I knew that if I could gain this road I wouldbe safe, but in the darkness I could not see any sign of it, so, inblind hope of striking it, I ran on.

  Presently I came to the edge of a deep cut, and found that down belowme ran a road guarded on each side by a ditch of water fenced oneither side by a straight, high wall.

  Getting fainter and dizzier, I ran on; the ground got morebroken--more and more still, till I staggered and fell, and roseagain, and ran on in the blind anguish of the hunted. Again thethought of Alice nerved me. I would not be lost and wreck her life: Iwould fight and struggle for life to the bitter end. With a greateffort I caught the top of the wall. As, scrambling like a catamount,I drew myself up, I actually felt a hand touch the sole of my foot. Iwas now on a sort of causeway, and before me I saw a dim light. Blindand dizzy, I ran on, staggered, and fell, rising, covered with dustand blood.

  'Halt la!'

  The words sounded like a voice from heaven. A blaze of light seemed toenwrap me, and I shouted with joy.

  'Qui va la?' The rattle of musketry, the flash of steel before myeyes. Instinctively I stopped, though close behind me came a rush ofmy pursuers.

  Another word or two, and out from a gateway poured, as it seemed tome, a tide of red and blue, as the guard turned out. All around seemedblazing with light, and the flash of steel, the clink and rattle ofarms, and the loud, harsh voices of command. As I fell forward,utterly exhausted, a soldier caught me. I looked back in dreadfulexpectation, and saw the mass of dark forms disappearing into thenight. Then I must have fainted. When I recovered my senses I was inthe guard room. They gave me brandy, and after a while I was able totell them something of what had passed. Then a commissary of policeappeared, apparently out of the empty air, as is the way of theParisian police officer. He listened attentively, and then had amoment's consultation with the officer in command. Apparently theywere agreed, for they asked me if I were ready now to come with them.

  'Where to?' I asked, rising to go.

  'Back to the dust heaps. We shall, perhaps, catch them yet!'

  'I shall try!' said I.

  He eyed me for a moment keenly, and said suddenly:

  'Would you like to wait a while or till tomorrow, young Englishman?'This touched me to the quick, as, perhaps, he intended, and I jumpedto my feet.

  'Come now!' I said; 'now! now! An Englishman is always ready for hisduty!'

  The commissary was a good fellow, as well as a shrewd one; he slappedmy shoulder kindly. 'Brave garcon!' he said. 'Forgive me, but I knewwhat would do you most good. The guard is ready. Come!'

  And so, passing right through the guard room, and through a longvaulted passage, we were out into the night. A few of the men in fronthad powerful lanterns. Through courtyards and down a sloping way wepassed out through a low archway to a sunken road, the same that I hadseen in my flight. The order was given to get at the double, and witha quick, springing stride, half run, half walk, the soldiers wentswiftly along. I felt my strength renewed again--such is thedifference between hunter and hunted. A very short distance took us toa low-lying pontoon bridge across the stream, and evidently verylittle higher up than I had struck it. Some effort had evidently beenmade to damage it, for the ropes had all been cut, and one of thechains had been broken. I heard the officer say to the commissary:

  'We are just in time! A few more minutes, and they would havedestroyed the bridge. Forward, quicker still!' and on we went. Againwe reached a pontoon on the winding stream; as we came up we heard thehollow boom of the metal drums as the efforts to destroy the bridgewas again renewed. A word of command was given, and several men raisedtheir rifles.

  'Fire!' A volley rang out. There was a muffled cry, and the dark formsdispersed. But the evil was done, and we saw the far end of thepontoon swing into the stream. This was a serious delay, and it wasnearly an hour before we had renewed ropes and restored the bridgesufficiently to allow us to cross.

  We renewed the chase. Quicker, quicker we went towards the dustheaps.

  After a time we came to a place that I knew. There were the remains ofa fire--a few smouldering wood ashes still cast a red glow, but thebulk of the ashes were cold. I knew the site of the hut and the hillbehind it up which I had rushed, and in the flickering glow the eyesof the rats still shone with a sort of phosphorescence. The commissaryspoke a word to the officer, and he cried:

  'Halt!'

  The soldiers were ordered to spread around and watch, and then wecommenced to examine the ruins. The commissary himself began to liftaway the charred boards and rubbish. These the soldiers took and piledtogether. Presently he started back, then bent down and risingbeckoned me.

  'See!' he said.

  It was a gruesome sight. There lay a skeleton face downwards, a womanby the lines--an old woman by the coarse fibre of the bone. Betweenthe ribs rose a long spike-like dagger made from a butcher'ssharpening knife, its keen point buried in the spine.

  'You will observe,' said the commissary to the officer and to me as hetook out his note book, 'that the woman must have fallen on herdagger. The rats are many here--see their eyes glistening among thatheap of bones--and you will also notice'--I shuddered as he placed hishand on the skeleton--'that but little time was lost by them, for thebones are scarcely cold!'

  There was no other sign of any one near, living or dead; and sodeploying again into line the soldiers passed on. Presently we came tothe hut made of the old wardrobe. We approached. In five of the sixcompartments was an old man sleeping--sleeping so soundly that eventhe glare of the lanterns did not wake them. Old and grim and grizzledthey looked, with their gaunt, wrinkled, bronzed faces and their whitemoustaches.

  The officer called out harshly and loudly a word of command, and in aninstant each one of them was on his feet before us and standing at'attention!'

  'What do you here?'

  'We sleep,' was the answer.

  'Where are the other chiffoniers?' asked the commissary.

  'Gone to work.'

  'And you?'

  'We are on guard!'

  'Peste!' laughed the officer grimly, as he looked at the old men oneafter the other in the face and added with cool deliberate cruelty:'Asleep on duty! Is this the manner of the Old Guard? No wonder, then,a Waterloo!'

  By the gleam of the lantern I saw the grim old faces grow deadly pale,and almost shuddered at the look in the eyes of the old men as thelaugh of the soldiers echoed the grim pleasantry of the officer.

  I felt in that moment that I was in some measure avenged.

  For a moment they looked as if they would throw themselves on thetaunter, but years of their life had schooled them
and they remainedstill.

  'You are but five,' said the commissary; 'where is the sixth?' Theanswer came with a grim chuckle.

  'He is there!' and the speaker pointed to the bottom of the wardrobe.'He died last night. You won't find much of him. The burial of therats is quick!'

  The commissary stooped and looked in. Then he turned to the officerand said calmly:

  'We may as well go back. No trace here now; nothing to prove that manwas the one wounded by your soldiers' bullets! Probably they murderedhim to cover up the trace. See!' again he stooped and placed his handson the skeleton. 'The rats work quickly and they are many. These bonesare warm!'

  I shuddered, and so did many more of those around me.

  'Form!' said the officer, and so in marching order, with the lanternsswinging in front and the manacled veterans in the midst, with steadytramp we took ourselves out of the dustheaps and turned backward tothe fortress of Bicetre.

  * * * * *

  My year of probation has long since ended, and Alice is my wife. Butwhen I look back upon that trying twelvemonth one of the most vividincidents that memory recalls is that associated with my visit to theCity of Dust.