The Burial of the Rats

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Leaving Paris by the Orleans road, cross the Enceinte, and, turning to

the right, you find yourself in a somewhat wild and not at all savory

district. Right and left, before and behind, on every side rise great

heaps of dust and waste accumulated by the process of time.

Paris has its night as well as its daily life, and the sojourner who

enters his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli or the Rue St. Honore late at

night or leaves it early in the morning can guess, in coming near

Montrouge--if he has not done so already--the purpose of those great

wagons that look like boilers on wheels which he finds halting

everywhere 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-picking

population. In the early morning--and Parisian life commences at an

early hour--may be seen in most streets standing on the pathway opposite

every court and alley and between every few houses, as still in some

American cities, even in parts of New York, large wooden boxes into

which the domestics or tenement-holders empty the accumulated dust of

the past day. Round these boxes gather and pass on, when the work is

done, to fresh fields of labour and pastures new, squalid hungry-looking

men and women, the implements of whose craft consist of a coarse bag or

basket slung over the shoulder and a little rake with which they turn

over and probe and examine in the minutest manner the dustbins. They

pick up and deposit in their baskets, by aid of their rakes, whatever

they may find, with the same facility as a Chinaman uses his chopsticks.

Paris is a city of centralisation--and centralisation and classification

are closely allied. In the early times, when centralisation is becoming

a fact, its forerunner is classification. All things which are similar

or analogous become grouped together, and from the grouping of groups

rises one whole or central point. We see radiating many long arms with

innumerable tentaculae, and in the centre rises a gigantic head with a

comprehensive brain and keen eyes to look on every side and ears

sensitive to hear--and a voracious mouth to swallow.

Other cities resemble all the birds and beasts and fishes whose

appetites and digestions are normal. Paris alone is the analogical

apotheosis of the octopus. Product of centralisation carried to an _ad

absurdum_, it fairly represents the devil fish; and in no respects is

the resemblance more curious than in the similarity of the digestive

apparatus.

Those intelligent tourists who, having surrendered their individuality

into the hands of Messrs. Cook or Gaze, 'do' Paris in three days, are

often puzzled to know how it is that the dinner which in London would

cost about six shillings, can be had for three francs in a café in the

Palais Royal. They need have no more wonder if they will but consider

the classification which is a theoretic speciality of Parisian life, and

adopt all round the fact from which the chiffonier has his genesis.

The Paris of 1850 was not like the Paris of to-day, and those who see

the Paris of Napoleon and Baron Hausseman can hardly realise the

existence of the state of things forty-five years ago.

Amongst other things, however, which have not changed are those

districts where the waste is gathered. Dust is dust all the world over,

in every age, and the family likeness of dustheaps is perfect. The

traveller, therefore, who visits the environs of Montrouge can go go

back in fancy without difficulty to the year 1850.

In this year I was making a prolonged stay in Paris. I was very much in

love with a young lady who, though she returned my passion, so far

yielded to the wishes of her parents that she had promised not to see me

or to correspond with me for a year. I, too, had been compelled to

accede to these conditions under a vague hope of parental approval.

During the term of probation I had promised to remain out of the country

and not to write to my dear one until the expiration of the year.

Naturally the time went heavily with me. There was not one of my own

family or circle who could tell me of Alice, and none of her own folk

had, I am sorry to say, sufficient generosity to send me even an

occasional word of comfort regarding her health and well-being. I spent

six months wandering about Europe, but as I could find no satisfactory

distraction in travel, I determined to come to Paris, where, at least, I

would be within easy hail of London in case any good fortune should call

me thither before the appointed time. That 'hope deferred maketh the

heart sick' was never better exemplified than in my case, for in

addition to the perpetual longing to see the face I loved there was

always with me a harrowing anxiety lest some accident should prevent me

showing Alice in due time that I had, throughout the long period of

probation, been faithful to her trust and my own love. Thus, every

adventure which I undertook had a fierce pleasure of its own, for it was

fraught with possible consequences greater than it would have ordinarily

borne.

Like all travellers I exhausted the places of most interest in the first

month of my stay, and was driven in the second month to look for

amusement whithersoever I might. Having made sundry journeys to the

better-known suburbs, I began to see that there was a _terra incognita_,

in so far as the guide book was concerned, in the social wilderness

lying between these attractive points. Accordingly I began to

systematise my researches, and each day took up the thread of my

exploration 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 saw

that hereabouts lay the Ultima Thule of social exploration--a country as

little known as that round the source of the White Nile. And so I

determined to investigate philosophically the chiffonier--his habitat,

his life, and his means of life.

The job was an unsavoury one, difficult of accomplishment, and with

little hope of adequate reward. However, despite reason, obstinacy

prevailed, and I entered into my new investigation with a keener energy

than I could have summoned to aid me in any investigation leading to any

end, valuable or worthy.

One day, late in a fine afternoon, toward the end of September, I

entered the holy of holies of the city of dust. The place was evidently

the recognised abode of a number of chiffoniers, for some sort of

arrangement was manifested in the formation of the dust heaps near the

road. I passed amongst these heaps, which stood like orderly sentries,

determined to penetrate further and trace dust to its ultimate location.

As I passed along I saw behind the dust heaps a few forms that flitted

to and fro, evidently watching with interest the advent of any stranger

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 of

chiffoniers. There were a number of shanties or huts, such as may be met

with in the remote parts of the Bog of Allan--rude places with wattled

walls, plastered with mud and roofs of rude thatch made from stable

refuse--such places as one would not like to enter for any

consideration, and which even in water-colour could only look

picturesque if judiciously treated. In the midst of these huts was one

of the strangest adaptations--I cannot say habitations--I had ever seen.

An immense old wardrobe, the colossal remnant of some boudoir of Charles

VII, or Henry II, had been converted into a dwelling-house. The double

doors lay open, so that the entire ménage was open to public view. In

the open half of the wardrobe was a common sitting-room of some four

feet by six, in which sat, smoking their pipes round a charcoal brazier,

no fewer than six old soldiers of the First Republic, with their

uniforms torn and worn threadbare. Evidently they were of the _mauvais

sujet_ class; their bleary eyes and limp jaws told plainly of a common

love of absinthe; and their eyes had that haggard, worn look of

slumbering ferocity which follows hard in the wake of drink. The other

side stood as of old, with its shelves intact, save that they were cut

to half their depth, and in each shelf of which there were six, was a

bed made with rags and straw. The half-dozen of worthies who inhabited

this structure looked at me curiously as I passed; and when I looked

back after going a little way I saw their heads together in a whispered

conference. I did not like the look of this at all, for the place was

very lonely, and the men looked very, very villainous. However, I did

not see any cause for fear, and went on my way, penetrating further and

further into the Sahara. The way was tortuous to a degree, and from

going round in a series of semi-circles, as one goes in skating with the

Dutch roll, I got 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 a

half-made heap, sitting on a heap of straw an old soldier with

threadbare coat.

'Hallo!' said I to myself; 'the First Republic is well represented here

in its soldiery.'

As I passed him the old man never even looked up at me, but gazed on the

ground with stolid persistency. Again I remarked to myself: 'See what a

life of rude warfare can do! This old man's curiosity is a thing of the

past.'

When I had gone a few steps, however, I looked back suddenly, and saw

that curiosity was not dead, for the veteran had raised his head and was

regarding me with a very queer expression. He seemed to me to look very

like one of the six worthies in the press. When he saw me looking he

dropped his head; and without thinking further of him I went on my way,

satisfied that there was a strange likeness between these old warriors.

Presently I met another old soldier in a similar manner. He, too, did

not notice me whilst I was passing.

By this time it was getting late in the afternoon, and I began to think

of retracing my steps. Accordingly I turned to go back, but could see a

number of tracks leading between different mounds and could not

ascertain which of them I should take. In my perplexity I wanted to see

someone of whom to ask the way, but could see no one. I determined to go

on a few mounds further and so try to see someone--not a veteran.

I gained my object, for after going a couple of hundred yards I saw

before 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 roof with

three walls open in front. From the evidences which the neighbourhood

exhibited I took it to be a place for sorting. Within it was an old

woman wrinkled and bent with age; I approached her to ask the way.

She rose as I came close and I asked her my way. She immediately

commenced a conversation; and it occurred to me that here in the very

centre of the Kingdom of Dust was the place to gather details of the

history of Parisian rag-picking--particularly as I could do so from the

lips of one who looked like the oldest inhabitant.

I began my inquiries, and the old woman gave me most interesting

answers--she had been one of the ceteuces who sat daily before the

guillotine and had taken an active part among the women who signalised

themselves by their violence in the revolution. While we were talking

she said suddenly: 'But m'sieur must be tired standing,' and dusted a

rickety old stool for me to sit down. I hardly liked to do so for many

reasons; but the poor old woman was so civil that I did not like to run

the risk of hurting her by refusing, and moreover the conversation of

one who had been at the taking of the Bastille was so interesting that I

sat down and so our conversation went on.

While we were talking an old man--older and more bent and wrinkled even

than the woman--appeared from behind the shanty. 'Here is Pierre,' said

she. 'M'sieur can hear stories now if he wishes, for Pierre was in

everything, from the Bastille to Waterloo.' The old man took another

stool at my request and we plunged into a sea of revolutionary

reminiscences. This old man, albeit clothed like a scarecrow, was like

any one of the six veterans.

I was now sitting in the centre of the low hut with the woman on my left

hand and the man on my right, each of them being somewhat in front of

me. The place was full of all sorts of curious objects of lumber, and of

many things that I wished far away. In one corner was a heap of rags

which seemed to move from the number of vermin it contained, and in the

other a heap of bones whose odour was something shocking. Every now and

then, glancing at the heaps, I could see the gleaming eyes of some of

the rats which infested the place. These loathsome objects were bad

enough, but what looked even more dreadful was an old butcher's axe with

an iron handle stained with clots of blood leaning up against the wall

on the right hand side. Still, these things did not give me much

concern. The talk of the two old people was so fascinating that I stayed

on and on, till the evening came and the 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, but

somehow I did not feel satisfied. Uneasiness is an instinct and means

warning. The psychic faculties are often the sentries of the intellect,

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 what

surrounded, and to wonder how I should fare in case I should be

attacked; and then the thought suddenly burst upon me, although without

any overt cause, that I was in danger. Prudence whispered: 'Be still and

make no sign,' and so I was still and made no sign, for I knew that four

cunning eyes were on me. 'Four eyes--if not more.' My God, what a

horrible thought! The whole shanty might be surrounded on three sides

with villains! I might be in the midst of a band of such desperadoes as

only half a century of periodic revolution can produce.

With a sense of danger my intellect and observation quickened, and I

grew more watchful than was my wont. I noticed that the old woman's eyes

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 large signet

and on the right a good diamond.

I thought that if there was any danger my first care was to avert

suspicion. Accordingly I began to work the conversation round to

rag-picking--to the drains--of the things found there; and so by easy

stages to jewels. Then, seizing a favourable opportunity, I asked the

old woman if she knew anything of such things. She answered that she

did, 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 were bad,

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 to her. An unholy

light came into her withered old face, as she touched it. 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 as though

examining it. The old man looked straight out of the front of the shanty

before him, at the same time fumbling in his pockets and producing a

screw of tobacco in a paper and a pipe, which he proceeded to fill. I

took advantage of the pause and the momentary rest from the searching

eyes on my face to look carefully round the place, now dim and shadowy

in the gloaming. There still lay all the heaps of varied reeking

foulness; there the terrible blood-stained axe leaning against the wall

in the right hand corner, and everywhere, despite the gloom, the baleful

glitter of the eyes of the rats. I could see them even through some of

the chinks of the boards at the back low down close to the ground. But

stay! these latter eyes seemed more than usually large and bright and

baleful!

For an instant my heart stood still, and I felt in that whirling

condition of mind in which one feels a sort of spiritual drunkenness,

and as though the body is only maintained erect hi that there is no time

for it to fall before recovery. Then, in another second, I was calm

--coldly calm, with all my energies in full vigour, with a self-control

which I felt to be perfect and with all my feeling and instincts alert.

Now I knew the full extent of my danger: I was watched and surrounded by

desperate people! I could not even guess at how many of them were lying

there on the ground behind the shanty, waiting for the moment to strike.

I knew that I was big and strong, and they knew it, too. They knew also,

as I did, that I was an Englishman and would make a fight for it; and so

we waited. I had, I felt, gained an advantage in the last few seconds,

for I knew my danger and understood the situation. Now, I thought, is

the test of my courage--the enduring test: the fighting test may come

later!

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

'A very fine ring, indeed--a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had such

rings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! for in those fine

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 their

grandfathers remember me, some of them!' and she laughed a harsh,

croaking laugh. And then I am bound to say that she astonished me, for

she handed me back the ring with a certain suggestion of old-fashioned

grace which was not without its pathos.

The old man eyed her with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising from

his 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 loses things;

and such a pretty ring!'

'Cat!' said the old man, savagely. Suddenly the old woman said, rather

more loudly than was necessary:

'Wait! I shall tell you something about a ring.' There was something in

the sound of her voice that jarred upon me. Perhaps it was my

hyper-sensitiveness, wrought up as I was to such a pitch of nervous

excitement, but I seemed to think that she was not addressing me. As I

stole a glance round the place I saw the eyes I of the rats in the bone

heaps, but missed the eyes along the back. But even as I looked I saw

them again appear. The old woman's 'Wait!' had given me a respite from

attack, and the men had sunk back to their reclining posture.

'I once lost a ring--a beautiful diamond hoop that belonged to a queen,

and which was given to me by a farmer of the taxes, who afterwards cut

his throat because I sent him away. I thought it must have been stolen,

and taxed my people; but I could get no trace. The police came and

suggested that it had found its way to the drain. We descended--I in my

fine clothes, for I would not trust them with my beautiful ring! I know

more of the drains since then, and of rats, too! but I shall never

forget the horror of that place--alive with blazing 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 coming

toward the opening a lot of sewer rats--human ones this time--came

towards us. They told the police that one of their number had gone into

the drain, but had not returned. He had gone in only shortly before we

had, and, if lost, could hardly be far off. They asked help to seek him,

so we turned back. They tried to prevent me going, but I insisted. 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 little water, and the bottom of

the drain was raised with brick, rubbish, and much matter of the kind.

He had made a fight for it, even when his torch had gone out. But they

were too many for him! They had not been long 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 rats as well as of the man. They took

it cool enough those other--the human ones--and joked of their comrade

when they found him dead, though they would 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 was

younger then, and, as I came through that horrible drain with its wall

of greedy eyes, always moving with the circle of the light from the

torches, I did not feel easy. I kept on before the men, though! It is a

way I have! I never let the men get it before me. All I want is a chance

and a means! And they ate him up--took every trace away except the

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 which it was ever

my lot to hear and see. A great poetess describes her heroine singing:

'Oh! to see or hear her singing! Scarce I know which is the divinest.'

And I can apply the same idea to the old crone--in all save the

divinity, for I scarce could tell which was the most hellish--the harsh,

malicious, satisfied, cruel laugh, or the leering grin, and the horrible

square opening of the mouth like a tragic mask, and the yellow gleam of

the few discoloured teeth in the shapeless gums. In that laugh and with

that grin and the chuckling satisfaction I knew as well as if it had

been spoken to me in words of thunder that my murder was settled, and

the murderers only bided the proper time for its accomplishment. I could

read between the lines of her gruesome story the commands to her

accomplices. 'Wait,' she seemed to say, 'bide your time. I shall strike

the first blow. Find the weapon for me, and I shall make the

opportunity! He shall not escape! Keep him quiet, and then no one will

be wiser. There will be no outcry, and the rats will do their work!'

It was growing darker and darker; the night was coming. I stole a glance

round the shanty, still all the same! The bloody axe in the corner, the

heaps of filth, and the eyes on the bone heaps and in the crannies of

the floor.

Pierre had been still ostensibly filling his pipe; he now struck a light

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 wick of

a lamp which hung at one side of the entrance to the shanty, and which

had a reflector that threw the light all over the place. It was

evidently 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 saying

through the darkness:

The lantern! the lantern! Oh! That is the light that is most useful to

us poor folks. The lantern was the friend of the revolution! It is the

friend of the chiffonier! It helps us when all else fails.'

Hardly had she said the word when there was a kind of creaking of the

whole place, and something was steadily dragged over the roof.

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

of the lantern.

'One of you get on the roof with a noose and strangle him as he passes

out if we fail within.'

As I looked out of the opening I saw the loop of a rope outlined black

against the lurid sky. I was now, indeed, beset!

Pierre was not long in finding the lantern. I kept my eyes fixed through

the darkness on the old woman. Pierre struck his light, and by its flash

I saw the old woman raise from the ground beside her where it 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's sharpening iron

fined to a keen point.

The lantern was lit.

'Bring it here, Pierre,' she said. 'Place it in the doorway where we can

see it. See how nice it is! It shuts out the darkness from us; it is

just right!'

Just right for her and her purposes! It threw all its light on my face,

leaving in gloom the faces of both Pierre and the woman, who sat outside

of me on each side.

I felt that the time of action was approaching, but I knew now that the

first signal and movement would come from the woman, and so watched her.

I was all unarmed, but I had made up my mind what to do. At the first

movement I would seize the butcher's axe in the right-hand corner and

fight my way out. At least, I would die hard. I stole a glance round to

fix its exact locality so that I could not fail to seize it at the first

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 terrible

position should be against me Alice would infallibly suffer. Either she

would believe me false--and any lover, or any one who has ever been one,

can imagine the bitterness of the thought--or else she would go on

loving long after I had been lost to her and to the world, so that her

life would be broken and embittered, shattered with disappointment and

despair. The very magnitude of the pain braced me up 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 a cat

does a mouse; she had her right hand hidden in the folds of her gown,

clutching, I knew, that long, cruel-looking dagger. Had she seen any

disappointment in my face she would, I felt, have known that the moment

had come, and would have sprung on me like a tigress, certain of 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 shadowy forms;

they were quite still, but I knew that they were all alert and on guard.

Small chance for me now in that direction.

Again I stole a glance round the place. In moments of great excitement

and of great danger, which is excitement, the mind works very quickly,

and the keenness of the faculties which depend on the mind grows in

proportion. I now felt this. In an instant I took in the whole

situation. I saw that the axe had been taken through a small hole made

in one of the rotten boards. How rotten they must be to allow of such a

thing being done without a particle of noise.

The hut was a regular murder-trap, and was guarded all around. A

garroter lay on the roof ready to entangle me with his noose if I should

escape the dagger of the old hag. In front the way was guarded by I know

not how many watchers. And at the back was a row of desperate men--I had

seen their eyes still through the crack in the boards of the floor, when

last I looked--as they lay prone waiting for the 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 get my

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 the knights

of old, I breathed my lady's name, and hurled myself against the back

wall of the hut.

Watchful as they were, the suddenness of my movement surprised both

Pierre and the old woman. As I crashed through the rotten timbers I saw

the old woman rise with a leap like a tiger and heard her low gasp of

baffled rage. My feet lit on something that moved, and as I jumped away

I knew that I had stepped on the back of one of the row of men lying on

their faces outside the hut. I was torn with nails and splinters, but

otherwise unhurt. Breathless I rushed up the mound in front of me,

hearing as I went the dull crash of the shanty as it collapsed into a

mass.

It was a nightmare climb. The mound, though but low, was awfully steep,

and with each step I took the mass of dust and cinders tore down 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 or death,

and I struggled on. The seconds seemed hours; but the few moments I had

in starting, combined with my youth and strength, gave me a great

advantage, and, though several forms struggled after me hi deadly

silence which was more dreadful than any sound, I easily reached the

top. Since then I have climbed the cone of Vesuvius, and as I struggled

up that dreary steep amid the sulphurous fumes the memory of that awful

night at Montrouge came back to me so vividly that I almost grew faint.

The mound was one of the tallest in the region of dust, and as I

struggled to the top, panting for breath and with my heart beating like

a sledge-hammer, I saw away to my left the dull red gleam of the sky,

and nearer still the flashing of lights. Thank God! I knew where I was

now and where lay the road to Paris!

For two or three seconds I paused and looked back. My pursuers were

still well behind me, but struggling up resolutely, and in deadly

silence. Beyond, the shanty was a wreck--a mass of timber and moving

forms. I could see it well, for flames were already bursting out; the

rags and straw had evidently caught fire from the lantern. Still silence

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 eye round

the mound preparatory to making my descent I saw several dark forms

rushing round on either side to cut me off on my way. It was now a race

for life. They were trying to head me on my way to Paris, and with 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 the steep in a few

steps, the wary old men who were watching me turned back, and one, as I

rushed by into the opening between the two mounds in 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 I

easily distanced them. But I did not know the way, and I could not even

guide myself by the light in the sky, for I was running away from it. I

had heard that, unless of conscious purpose, hunted men turn always to

the left, and so I found it now; and so, I suppose, knew also my

pursuers, who were more animals than men, and with cunning or instinct

had found out such secrets for themselves: for on finishing a quick

spurt, after which I intended to take a moment's breathing space, I

suddenly saw ahead of me two or three forms swiftly passing behind a

mound to the right.

I was in the spider's web now indeed! But with the thought of this new

danger came the resource of the hunted, and so I darted down the next

turning to the right. I continued in this direction for some hundred

yards, and then, making a turn to the left again, felt certain that I

had, 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 smaller

than before, although--for the night was closing--they looked bigger in

proportion. I was now well ahead of my pursuers, so I made a dart up 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 up

behind rose the heights of Montmarte--a dim light, with here and there

brilliant points like stars.

Restored to vigour in a moment, I ran over the few remaining mounds of

decreasing size, and found myself on the level land beyond. Even then,

however, the prospect was not inviting. All before me was dark and

dismal, and I had evidently come on one of those dank, low-lying waste

places which are found here and there in the neighbourhood of great

cities. Places of waste and desolation, where the space is required for

the ultimate agglomeration of all that is noxious, and the ground is so

poor as to create no desire of occupancy even in the lowest squatter.

With eyes accustomed to the gloom of the evening, and away now from the

shadows of those dreadful dustheaps, I could see much more easily than I

could a little while ago. It might have been, of course, that the glare

in the sky of the lights of Paris, though the city was some miles away,

was reflected here. Howsoever it was, I saw well enough to take bearings

for certainly some little distance around me.

In front was a bleak, flat waste that seemed almost dead level, with

here and there the dark shimmering of stagnant pools. Seemingly far off

on the right, amid a small cluster of scattered lights, rose a dark mass

of Fort Montrouge, and away to the left in the dim distance, pointed

with stray gleams from cottage windows, the lights in the sky showed the

locality of Bicêtre. A moment's thought decided me to take to the right

and try to reach Montrouge. There at least would be some sort of safety,

and I might possibly long before come on some of the cross roads which I

knew. Somewhere, not far off, must lie the strategic road made to

connect the outlying chain of forts circling the city.

Then I looked back. Coming over the mounds, and outlined black against

the glare of the Parisian horizon, I saw several moving figures, and

still a way to the right several more deploying out between me and my

destination. They evidently meant to cut me off in this direction, and

so my choice became constricted; it lay now between going straight ahead

or turning to the left. Stooping to the ground, so as to get the

advantage of the horizon as a line of sight, I looked carefully in this

direction, but could detect no sign of my enemies. I argued that as they

had not guarded or were not trying to guard that point, there was

evidently danger to me there already. So I made up my mind to go

straight on before me.

It was not an inviting prospect, and as I went on the reality grew

worse. The ground became soft and oozy, and now and again gave way

beneath me in a sickening kind of way. I seemed somehow to be going

down, for I saw round me places seemingly more elevated than where I

was, and this in a place which from a little way back seemed dead level.

I looked around, but could see none of my pursuers. This was strange,

for all along these birds of the night had followed me through the

darkness as well as though it was broad daylight. How I blamed myself

for coming out in my light-coloured tourist suit of tweed. The silence,

and my not being able to see my enemies, whilst I felt that they were

watching me, grew appalling, and in the hope of some one not of this

ghastly crew hearing me I raised my voice and shouted several times.

There was not the slightest response; not even an echo rewarded my

efforts. For a while I stood stock still and kept my eyes in one

direction. On one of the rising places around me I saw something dark

move along, then another, and another. This was to my left, and

seemingly moving to head me off.

I thought that again I might with my skill as a runner elude my enemies

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 fallen

headlong into a reeking, stagnant pool. The water and the mud in which

my arms sank up to the elbows was filthy and nauseous beyond

description, and in the suddenness of my fall I had actually swallowed

some of the filthy stuff, which nearly choked me, and made me gasp for

breath. Never shall I forget the moments during which I stood trying to

recover myself almost fainting from the foetid odour of the filthy pool,

whose white mist rose ghostlike around. Worst of all, with the acute

despair of the hunted animal when be sees the pursuing pack closing on

him, I saw before my eyes whilst I stood helpless the dark forms of my

pursuers moving swiftly to surround me.

It is curious how our minds work on odd matters even when the energies

of thought are seemingly concentrated on some terrible and pressing

need. I was in momentary peril of my life: my safety depended on my

action, and my choice of alternatives coming now with almost every step

I took, and yet I could not but think of the strange dogged persistency

of these old men. Their silent resolution, their steadfast, grim,

persistency even in such a cause commanded, as well as fear, even a

measure of respect. What must they have been in the vigour of their

youth. I could understand now that whirlwind rush on the bridge of

Arcola, that scornful exclamation of the Old Guard at Waterloo!

Unconscious cerebration has its own pleasures, even at such moments; but

fortunately it does not in any way clash with the thought from which

action springs.

I realised at a glance that so far I was defeated in my object, my

enemies as yet had won. They had succeeded in surrounding me on three

sides, and were bent on driving me off to the left-hand, where there was

already some danger for me, for they had left no guard. I accepted the

alternative--it was a case of Hobson's choice and run. I had to keep the

lower ground, for my pursuers were on the higher places. However, though

the ooze and broken ground impeded me my youth and training made me able

to hold my ground, and by keeping a diagonal line I not only kept them

from gaining on me but even began to distance them. This gave me new

heart and strength, and by this time habitual training was beginning to

tell and my second wind had come. Before me the ground rose slightly. I

rushed up the slope and found before me a waste of watery slime, with a

low dyke or bank looking black and grim beyond. I felt that if I could

but reach that dyke in safety I could there, with solid ground under my

feet and some kind of path 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 eyes for a few minutes to their rightful work of aiding

my feet whilst I crossed the swamp. It was rough, hard work, but there

was little danger, merely toil; and a short time took me to the dyke. I

rushed up the slope exulting; but here again I met a new shock. On

either side of me rose a number of crouching figures. From right and

left they rushed at me. Each body held a rope.

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

end was near.

There was only one chance, and I took it. I hurled myself across the

dyke, and escaping out of the very clutches of my foes threw myself into

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 parched

traveller. It was a highway of safety!

My pursuers rushed after me. Had only one of them held the rope it would

have been all up with me, for he could have entangled me before I had

time to swim a stroke; but the many hands holding it embarrassed and

delayed them, and when the rope struck the water I heard the splash well

behind me. A few minutes' hard swimming took me across the 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 assailants

scattering up and down along the dyke. The pursuit was evidently not

ended, and again I had to choose my course. Beyond the dyke where I

stood was a wild, swampy space very similar to that which I had crossed.

I determined to shun such a place, and thought for a moment whether I

would take up or down the dyke. I thought I heard a sound--the muffled

sound of oars, so I listened, and then shouted.

No response; but the sound ceased. My enemies had evidently got a boat

of some kind. As they were on the up side of me I took the down path and

began to run. As I passed to the left of where I had entered the water I

heard several splashes, soft and stealthy, like the sound a rat makes as

he plunges into the stream, but vastly greater; and as I looked I saw

the dark sheen of the water broken by the ripples of several advancing

heads. Some of my enemies were swimming the stream also.

And now behind me, up the stream, the silence was broken by the quick

rattle and creak of oars; my enemies were in hot pursuit. I put my best

leg foremost and ran on. After a break of a couple of minutes I looked

back, and by a gleam of light through the ragged clouds I saw several

dark forms climbing the bank behind me. The wind had now begun to rise,

and the water beside me was ruffled and beginning to break in tiny waves

on the bank. I had to keep my eyes pretty well on the ground before me,

lest I should stumble, for I knew that to stumble was death. After a few

minutes I looked back behind me. On the dyke were only a few dark

figures, but crossing the waste, swampy ground were many more. What new

danger this portended I did not know--could only guess. Then as I ran it

seemed to me that my track kept ever sloping away to the right. I looked

up ahead and saw that the river was much wider than before, and that the

dyke on which I stood fell quite away, and beyond it was another stream

on whose near bank I saw some of the dark forms now across the marsh. I

was on an island of some kind.

My situation was now indeed terrible, for my enemies had hemmed me in on

every side. Behind came the quickening roll of the oars, as though my

pursuers knew that the end was close. Around me on every side was

desolation; there was not a roof or light, as far as I could see. Far

off to the right rose some dark mass, but what it was I knew not. For a

moment I paused to think what I should do, not for more, for my pursuers

were drawing closer. Then my mind was made up. I slipped down the bank

and took to the water. I struck out straight ahead so as to gain the

current by clearing the backwater of the island, for such I presume it

was, when I had passed into the stream. I waited till a cloud came

driving across the moon and leaving all in darkness. Then I took off my

hat and laid it softly on the water floating with the stream, and a

second after dived to the right and struck out under water 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, looked back. There went my light

brown hat floating merrily away. Close behind 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 the partial light I could see a

man in the bows holding aloft ready to strike what appeared to me to be

that same dreadful pole-axe which I had before escaped. As I looked the

boat drew closer, closer, and the man struck savagely. The hat

disappeared. The man fell forward, almost out of the boat. His comrades

dragged him in but without the axe, and then as I turned with all my

energies bent on reaching the further bank, I heard the fierce whirr of

the muttered 'Sacre!' which marked the anger of my baffled pursuers.

That was the first sound I had heard from human lips during all this

dreadful chase, and full as it was of menace and danger to me it was a

welcome sound for it broke that awful silence which shrouded and

appalled me. It was as though an overt sign that my opponents were men

and not ghosts, and that with them I had, at least; the chance of a man,

though but one against many.

But now that the spell of silence was broken the sounds came thick and

fast. From boat to shore and back from shore to boat came quick question

and answer, all in the fiercest whispers. I looked back--a fatal thing

to do--for in the instant someone caught sight of my face, which showed

white on the dark water, and shouted. Hands pointed to me, and in a

moment or two the boat was under weigh, and following hard after me. I

had but a little way to go, but quicker and quicker came the boat after

me. A few more strokes and I would be on the shore, but I felt the

oncoming of the boat, and expected each second to feel the crash of an

oar or other weapon on my head. Had I not seen that dreadful axe

disappear in the water I do not think that I could have won the shore. I

heard the muttered curses of those not rowing and the laboured breath of

the rowers. With one supreme effort for life or liberty I touched the

bank and sprang up it. There was not a single second to spare, for hard

behind me the boat grounded and several dark forms sprang after me. I

gained the top of the dyke, and keeping to the left ran on again. The

boat put off and followed down the stream. Seeing this I feared danger

in this direction, and quickly turning, ran down the dyke on the other

side, and after passing a short stretch of marshy ground gained a wild,

open flat country and sped on.

Still behind me came on my relentless pursuers. Far away, below me, I

saw the same dark mass as before, but now grown closer and greater. My

heart gave a great thrill of delight, for I knew that it must be the

fortress of Bicêtre, and with new courage I ran on. I had heard that

between each and all of the protecting forts of Paris there are

strategic ways, deep sunk roads where soldiers marching should be

sheltered from an enemy. I knew that if I could gain this road I would

be safe, but in the darkness I could not see any sign of it, so, in

blind hope of striking it, I ran on.

Presently I came to the edge of a deep cut, and found that down below me

ran a road guarded on each side by a ditch of water fenced on either

side by a straight, high wall.

Getting fainter and dizzier, I ran on; the ground got more broken--more

and more still, till I staggered and fell, and rose again, and ran on in

the blind anguish of the hunted. Again the thought of Alice nerved me. I

would not be lost and wreck her life: I would fight and struggle for

life to the bitter end. With a great effort 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. I was now on a sort of causeway, and

before me I saw a dim light. Blind and dizzy, I ran on, staggered, and

fell, rising, covered with dust and blood.

'Halt la!

The words sounded like a voice from heaven. A blaze of light seemed to

enwrap me, and I shouted with joy.

'Qui va la?' The rattle of musketry, the flash of steel before my eyes.

Instinctively I stopped, though close behind me came a rush of my

pursuers.

Another word or two, and out from a gateway poured, as it seemed to me,

a tide of red and blue, as the guard turned out. All around seemed

blazing with light, and the flash of steel, the clink and rattle of

arms, and the loud, harsh voices of command. As I fell forward, utterly

exhausted, a soldier caught me. I looked back in dreadful expectation,

and saw the mass of dark forms disappearing into the night. Then I must

have fainted. When I recovered my senses I was in the guard room. They

gave me brandy, and after a while I was able to tell them something of

what had passed. Then a commissary of police appeared, apparently out of

the empty air, as is the way of the Parisian police officer. He listened

attentively, and then had a moment's consultation with the officer in

command. Apparently they were 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 jumped to

my feet, touched the bank and sprang up it. There was not a single

second to spare, for hard behind me the boat grounded and several dark

forms sprang after me. I gained the top of the dyke, and keeping to the

left ran on again. The boat put off and followed down the stream. Seeing

this I feared danger in this direction, and quickly turning, ran down

the dyke on the other side, and after passing a short stretch of marshy

ground gained a wild, open flat country and sped on.

Still behind me came on my relentless pursuers. Far away, below me, I

saw the same dark mass as before, but now grown closer and greater. My

heart gave a great thrill of delight, for I knew that it must be the

fortress of Bicêtre, and with new courage I ran on. I had heard that

between each and all of the protecting forts of Paris there are

strategic ways, deep sunk roads, where soldiers marching should be

sheltered from an enemy. I knew that if I could gain this road I would

be safe, but in the darkness I could not see any sign of it so, in blind

hope of striking it, I ran on.