Chapter XXI
THE DISADVANTAGES OF NOT BEING ABLE TO SPEAK FRENCH
In the meantime Bertie slept, perhaps still continuing to dream of hismother. When he woke he thought the captain was still taking his rest.He remained for a time motionless in bed. But it began to dawn uponhim that the room was very quiet, that there was no sound even ofgentle breathing. If the captain slept, he slept with uncommonsoundness.
So he sat up to see if the captain really was asleep, and saw that theopposite bed was empty. Still the truth did not at once occur to him.It was quite possible that the captain had not chosen to wait till hiscompanion awoke before he himself got up.
For the better part of an hour Bertie lay and wondered. By degrees hecould not but perceive that the captain's absence was peculiar.Considering the close watch and ward which he had kept upon the lad,it was surprising that he should leave him so long to the enjoyment ofhis own society.
An idea occurred to Bertie. Supposing the captain was guarding himeven in his absence? Then the door would be locked. He got up to see.No; he had only to turn the handle, and the door was open. What couldit mean? Bertie returned to his bed to ponder.
Another half-hour passed, and still no signs of the captain. Bertiewould have liked to get up, but did not dare. Supposing when thecaptain returned he chose to be indignant because the lad had takenupon himself to move without his advice?
There came a tapping at the door. Was it the captain? He wouldscarcely knock at the door to ask if he might be allowed to enter. Thetapping again.
"Come in," cried Bertie.
Still the tapping continued. Then some one spoke in French. It was theold crone's voice.
"M'sieu veut se lever? C'est midi!"
Not in the least understanding what was said, Bertie cried again,"Come in!"
The door was opened a few inches, and the old crone looked in. Shestared at Bertie sitting up in bed, and Bertie stared at her.
"M'sieu, vot' oncle! Il dort?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Bertie.
They were in the agreeable position of not having either of them thefaintest conception of what the other said. She came further into theroom and looked about her. Then she saw that the captain's bed wasempty.
"Vot' oncle! Ou est-il donc?"
Bertie stared, as though by dint of staring he could get at what shemeant. The Mecklemburg House curriculum had included French, but notthe sort of French which the old lady talked. "Mon pere" and "mamere," that was about the extent of Bertie's knowledge of foreigntongues; and even those simple words he would not have recognisedcoming from the peculiarly voluble lips of this ancient dame.
While he was still endeavouring to understand, from the expression ofher face, what it was she said, all at once she began to scold him. Ofcourse he had still not the slightest knowledge as to what were theactual words she used; but her voice, her gestures, and the expressionof her countenance needed no interpreter. Never very much to look at,she suddenly became as though possessed with an evil spirit, seemingto rain down anathemas on his non-understanding head with all thevirulence of the legendary witch of old.
What was the matter Bertie had not the least conception, but thatsomething was the matter was plain enough. Her shrill voice rose to apiercing screech. She seemed half choked with the velocity of herspeech. Her wrinkled face assumed a dozen different hideous shapes.She shook her yellow claws as though she would have liked to haveattacked him then and there.
Suddenly she went to the door and called to some one down below. A manin sabots came stamping up the stairs. He was a great hulking fellowin a blouse and a great wide-brimmed felt hat. He listened to what thewoman said, or rather screamed, looking at Bertie all the time fromunder his overhanging brows. Then he took up the lad's clothes whichlay upon the bed, and very coolly turned out all the pockets. Findingnothing in the shape of money to reward his search, he put them downagain and glowered at Bertie.
Some perception of the truth began to dawn upon the lad. Could thecaptain have gone--absconded, in fact--and forgotten to pay his bill?From the proceedings of the man and woman in front of him it wouldseem he had. The man had apparently searched the youngster's pocketsin quest of money to pay what the captain owed, and searched in vain.
All at once he caught Bertie by the shoulders and lifted him bodily onto the floor. Then he pointed to his clothing, saying something at thesame time. Bertie did not understand what he said, but the meaning ofhis gesture was plain enough.
Bertie was to put on his clothes and dress. So Bertie dressed. All thetime the woman kept up a series of exclamations. More than once it wasall that the man could do to prevent her laying hands upon the boy. Hehimself stood looking grimly on, every now and then seeming to gruntout a recommendation to the woman to restrain her indignation.
When the boy was dressed he unceremoniously took him by the collar ofthe coat and marched him from the room. The old crone brought up therear, shrieking out reproaches as they went.
In this way they climbed down the rickety stairs, Bertie first--a mostuncomfortable first; the man next, holding his coat collar, giving himlittle monitory jerks, in the way the policeman had done downPiccadilly; the woman last, raining abuse upon the unfortunateyoungster's head. This was another stage on the journey to the Land ofGolden Dreams.
Across the room below to the front door. There was a temporary pause.The old crone gave the boy two sounding smacks, one on each side ofthe head, given with surprising vigour considering her apparent age.Then the man raised his foot, sabot and all, and kicked the younggentleman into the street!
Then Bertie felt sure that the captain had forgotten to pay his bill.
He stood for a moment in the narrow street, not unnaturally surprisedat this peremptory method of bidding a guest farewell. But it wouldhave been quite as well if he had stood a little less upon the orderof his going; for the crone, taking advantage of his momentary pause,caught off her slipper and flung it at his head. This, too, wasdelivered with vigour worthy of a younger arm, and as it struck Bertiefairly on the cheek he received the full benefit of the lady'sstrength. The other slipper followed, but that Bertie just dodged intime. Still, he thought that under the circumstances, perhaps, he hadbetter go. So he went.
But not unaccompanied.
A couple of urchins had witnessed his unceremonious exit, and they hadalso seen the slippers aimed. The whole proceeding seemed to strikethem in a much more humorous light than it did Bertie, and to marktheir enjoyment of the fun they danced about and shrieked withlaughter.
As Bertie began to slink away the man said to them something whichseemed to make them prick up their ears. They followed Bertie,pointing with their fingers.
"V'la un Anglais! C'est un larron! au voleur! au voleur!"
What it was they shrieked in their shrill voices Bertie had not theleast idea, but he knew it was unpleasant to be pointed and shoutedat, for their words were caught up by other urchins of their class,and soon he had a force of ragamuffins shrieking close at his heels.
"V'la un Anglais! un Anglais! C'est un lar--r--ron!"
The stress which they laid upon the _larron_ was ear-splitting.
As he went, his following gathered force. They were a ragged regiment.Some hatless, some shoeless, all stockingless; for even those who woresabots showed an inch or two of naked flesh between the ends of theirbreeches and the tops of their wooden shoes.
As Bertie found his way into the better portions of the town theprocession created a sensation. Shopkeepers came to their doorsto stare, the loungers in the cafes stood to look. Some of thefoot-passengers joined the rapidly-swelling crowd.
The boy with his sullen face passed on, his lips compressed, his eyeswith their dogged look. What the hubbub was about, why they followedhim, what it was they kept on shouting, he did not understand. He knewthat the captain had left him, and left him penniless. What he washimself to do, or where he was going, he had not the least idea. Heonly knew
that the crowd was hunting him on.
There was not one friendly face among those around him--not one whocould understand. The boys seemed like demons, shrieking, dancing,giving him occasional shoves. Separately he would have tackled any oneof them, for they could not despise him for being English moreheartily than he despised them for being French. But what could he doagainst that lot?--a host, too, which was being reinforced by men. Forthe cry "Un Anglais!" seemed to be infectious, and citizens of thegrimier and more popular type began to swell the throng and shriek "UnAnglais!" with the boys.
One man, a very dirty and evil-looking gentleman, laying his two handson Bertie's shoulders, started running, and began pushing him on infront of him. This added to the sport. The cavalcade broke into atrot. The shrieks became more vigorous. Suddenly Bertie, being pushedtoo vigorously from behind, and perhaps a little bewildered by thedin, lost his footing and fell forward on his face. The man, takenunawares, fell down on top of him. The crowd shrieked with laughter.
A functionary interfered, in the shape of a _sergent de ville_. Hewanted to know what the disturbance was about. Two or three dozenpeople, who knew absolutely nothing at all about it, began explainingall at once. They did not render the matter clearer. Nor did the manwho had pushed Bertie over. He was indignant; not because he hadpushed Bertie over, but because he had fallen on him afterwards. Heevidently considered himself outraged because Bertie had not managedto enjoy a monopoly of tumbling down.
The policeman, not much enlightened by the explanations which werepoured upon him, marched Bertie off to the _bureau de police_. Theymanage things differently in France, and the difference is about asmuch marked in a police station as anywhere else. Bertie found himselfconfronted by an official who pelted him with questions he did notunderstand, and who was equally at a loss to understand theobservations he made in reply. Then he found himself locked up. It isprobable that while he was held in durance vile an attempt was made todiscover an interpreter; it would appear from what followed that ifsuch an attempt were made, it was made in vain.
The afternoon passed away. Still the boy was left to enjoy his ownsociety. He had plenty of leisure to think; to wonder what was goingto happen to him--what was the next page which was to be unfolded inthe history of his adventures. He had leisure to learn that he wasgetting hungry. But no one brought him anything to eat.
At last, just as he was beginning to think that he surely wasforgotten, an official appeared, who, without a word, took him by thecollar of his coat--he had been taken a good many times by the collarof his coat of late--led him straight out of the station-house,through some by-streets to the outskirts of the town.
Then, when he had taken him some little distance outside the walls,and a long country road stretched away in front, he released the lad'scollar, and with a very expressive gesture, which even Bertie was notat a loss to understand, he bade him take himself away.
And Bertie took himself away, walking smartly off in the direction inwhich the sergeant pointed--away from the town. The policeman watchedhim for some time, standing with his hands in his pockets; and then,when a curve in the road took the lad out of sight, he returned withinthe walls.
It was already evening. The uncertain weather which had prevailedduring the last few days still proved its uncertainty. The day hadbeen fine, the evening was clouded. The wind was high, and, blowingfrom the north-west, blew the clouds tumultuously in scurrying massesacross the sky.
The country was bare, nearly treeless. It was very flat. The scantfields of Finistere offered no protection from the weather, and butlittle pleasure to the eye. It was a bleak, almost barren country,with but little natural vegetation--harsh, stony, and inhospitable.
Along the wind-swept road he steadily trudged. He knew not whither hewas going, not even whence he came. He was a stranger in a strangeland. The captain had asked him whether he spoke French; he supposed,therefore, that this land was France. But the captain had confusedhim--bidden him ask for tickets for Constantinople. Even Bertie'sscanty geographical knowledge told him that Constantinople was notFrance. On the other hand, the same scant store suggested that itneeded a longer flight than they had taken to bring him into Turkey.
A very slight knowledge of French would have enabled him to solve thequestion. If he had only been able to ask, Where am I? The personasked might have taken him to be an English lunatic in a juvenilestage of his existence, but would probably have replied. Unfortunatelythis knowledge was wanting. If sometimes a little knowledge is adangerous thing, it is also, and not seldom, very much the other way.
Nearly all that night Bertie went wandering on. The darkness gathered.The wind seemed to whistle more loudly when the darkness came, butthere was no escape from it for him. Seen in the light of clusteringshadows the country seemed but scantily peopled. He scarcely met asoul. A few peasants, a cart or two--these were the only moving thingshe saw. And when the darkness deepened he seemed to be alone in allthe world.
A house or two he passed, even some villages, in which there were nosigns of life except an occasional light gleaming through a waysidewindow. He made no attempt to ask for food, or drink, or shelter. Howcould he have asked? As he went further and further from the town hebegan to come among the Breton aborigines; and in Brittany, as inWales, you find whole hamlets in which scarcely one of the inhabitantshas a comprehensible knowledge of the language of the country whichclaims them as her children. Even French would have been ofproblematic service in the parts into which he had found, or ratherlost his way, and he was not even aware that there was a place calledBrittany, and a tongue called Breton. He was a stranger in a strangeland indeed!
It was a horrible night, that first one he spent wandering among thewilds of Finistere. After he had gone on and on and on, and neverseemed to come to anything, and the winds shrieked louder, and he washungry and thirsty and weary and worn, and there was nothing butblackness all around and the terror-stricken clouds whirling above hishead, somewhere about midnight he thought it was time he should findsome shelter and rest.
So he clambered over a stone wall which bound the road on either side,and on the other side of this stone wall he ventured to lie down. Itwas not comfortable lying; there was no grass, there were thistles,nettles, weeds, and stones--plenty of stones. On this bed he tried totake some rest, trusting to the wall to shelter him.
In vain. It requires education to become accustomed to a bed ofstones. All things come by custom, but those who are used to sheetsfind stony soil disagreeable ground. Bertie gave it up. The windseemed to come through the chinks in the wall with even greaterbitterness than if there had been no wall at all. The stones weretorture. There was nothing on which he could lay his head. So he gotup and struck across the field, seeking for a sheltered place in whichto lie. For another hour or so he wandered on, now sitting down for amoment or two, now kneeling, and feeling about with his hand forcomfortable ground. In an open country, on a dark and windy night, itis weary searching for one's bed, especially in a country where stonesare more plentiful than grass.
In his fruitless wanderings, confused by the darkness and thestrangeness of the place, Bertie went over the same ground more thanonce. Without knowing it, meaning to go forwards, he went back. Whenhe suspected that this was the case, his helplessness came home to himmore forcibly than it had done before. What was he to do if he couldnot tell the way he had come from the way he was going?
At last he blundered on some trees. He welcomed them as though theyhad been friends. He sat down at the foot of one, and found that theground was coated by what was either moss or grass. Compared to hisbed of stones it was like a bed of eider-down. It was quite a bigtree, and he found that he could so lean against it that it wouldserve as a very tolerable barrier against the wind at his back.
At the foot of this tree he sat down, and pillowing his head againstthe trunk he sought for sleep. But sleep was coy, and would not comeon being wooed. The utter solitude of his position kept him wakeful.Robinson Crusoe's desolation was scarcely
more complete; hishelplessness was not so great. It came upon Bertie, as it came uponCrusoe in his lonely island, that he was wholly in the hands of God.The teachings which he had been taught at his mother's knee, and whichseemed to go into one ear and out of the other, proved to be the breadwhich is cast upon the waters, returning after many days. Heremembered with startling vividness how his mother had told him thatGod holds us all in the hollow of His hand: he understood the meaningof that saying now.
He was so sleepy, so tired out and out, that from very wearinesshe forgot that he was hungry and athirst. Yet, in some strangefantastic way, the thought, despite his weariness, prevented him fromsleeping--that the winds which whistled through the night were thewinds of God. The winds of God! And it seemed to him that all thingswere of God, the darkness and the solitude, and the mysterious place.Who shall judge him? Who shall say that it was only because he was introuble that he had such thoughts? It is something even if in times oftrouble we think of God. "God is a very present help in times oftrouble," has been written on some page of some old book.
Bertie was so curiously impressed by a sense of the presence of theAlmighty God that he did what he had not done for a very long time--hegot up, and kneeling at the foot of the friendly tree, he prayed. Andit is not altogether beyond the range of possibility that, when heagain sought rest, it was because of his prayer that God sent sleepunto his eyes.