The Maids of Paradise
Page 13We went into camp under the landward glacis of the cliffs, in a field
of clover which was to be ploughed under in a few days. We all were
there except Kelly Eyre, who had gone to telegraph the governor of
Lorient for permission to enter the port with the circus.
Another messenger also left camp on private business for me.
It was part of my duty to ration the hay for the elephant and the
thrice-accursed camel. The latter had just bitten Mr. Grigg, our
clown--not severely--and Speed and Horan the "Strong Man" were
hobbling the brute as I finished feeding my lions and came up to
assist the others.
"Watch that darn elephant, too, Mr. Grigg," said Byram, looking up
from a plate of fried ham that Miss Crystal, our "Trapeze Lady," had
just cooked for him over our gypsy fires of driftwood.
"Look at that elephant! Look at him!" continued Byram, with a trace
of animation lighting up his careworn face--"look at him now chuckin'
hay over his back. Scrape it up, Mr. Scarlett; hay's thirty a ton in
this war-starved country."
As I started to clean up the precious hay, the elephant gave a curious
grunt and swung his trunk toward me.
"There's somethin' paltry about that elephant," said Byram, in a
complaining voice, rising, with plate of ham in one hand, fork in the
other. "He's gittin' as mean as that crafty camuel. Make him move,
Mr. Speed, or he'll put his foot on the trombone."
"Hô Djebe! Mâil!" said Speed, sharply.
The elephant obediently shuffled forward; Byram sat down again, and
wearily cut himself a bit of fried ham; and presently we were all
sitting around the long camp-table in the glare of two smoky petroleum
torches, eating our bread and ham and potatoes and drinking Breton
cider, a jug of which Mr. Horan had purchased for a few coppers.
Some among us were too tired to eat, many too tired for conversation,
yet, from habit we fell into small talk concerning the circus, the
animals, the prospects of better days.
The ladies of the company, whatever quarrels they indulged in among
themselves, stood loyally by Byram in his anxiety and need. Miss
Crystal and Miss Delany displayed edifying optimism; Mrs. Horan
refrained from nagging; Mrs. Grigg, a pretty little creature, who was
one of the best equestriennes I ever saw, declared that we were living
too well and that a little dieting wouldn't hurt anybody.
McCadger, our band-master, came over from the other fire to say that
the men had finished grooming the horses, and would I inspect the
picket-line, as Kelly Eyre was still absent.
When I returned, the ladies had retired to their blankets under their
shelter-tent; poor little Grigg lay asleep at the table, his tired,
ugly head resting among the unwashed tin plates; Speed sprawled in his
chair, smoking a short pipe; Byram sat all hunched up, his head sunk,
eyes vacantly following the movements of two men who were washing
dishes in the flickering torch-light.
He looked up at me, saying: "I guess Mr. Speed is right. Them lions
o' yourn is fed too much horse-meat. Overeatin' is overheatin'; we've
got to give 'em beef or they'll be clawin' you. Yes, sir, they're all
het up. Hear 'em growl!"
"That's a fable, governor," I said, smiling and dropping into a
chair. "I've heard that theory before, but it isn't true."
"The trouble with your lions is that you play with them too much and
they're losing respect for you," said Speed, drowsily.
"The trouble with my lions," said I, "is that they were born in
captivity. Give me a wild lion, caught on his native heath, and I'll
know what to expect from him when I tame him. But no man on earth can
tell what a lion born in captivity will do."
The hard cider had cheered Byram a little; he drew a cherished cigar
from his vest-pocket, offered it to me, and when I considerately
refused, he carefully set it alight with a splinter from the fire. Its
odor was indescribable.
"Luck's a curious phenomena, ain't it, Mr. Scarlett?" he said.
I agreed with him.
"Luck," continued Byram, waving his cigar toward the four quarters of
the globe, "is the rich man's slave an' the poor man's tyrant. It's
also a see-saw. When the devil plays in luck the cherubim git
spanked--or words to that effec'--not meanin' no profanity."
"It's about like that, governor," admitted Speed, lazily.
Byram leaned back and sucked meditatively at his cigar. The new moon
was just rising over the elephant's hindquarters, and the poetry of
the incident appeared to move the manager profoundly. He turned and
surveyed the dim bivouac, the two silent tents, the monstrous,
shadowy bulk of the elephant, rocking monotonously against the sky.
"Kind of Silurian an' solemn, ain't it," he murmured, "the moon
shinin' onto the rump of that primeval pachyderm. It's like the dark
ages of the behemoth an' the cony. I tell you, gentlemen, when them
fearsome an' gigantic mamuels was aboundin' in the dawn of creation,
the public missed the greatest show on earth--by a few million
years!"
We nodded sleepily but gravely.
Byram appeared to have recovered something of his buoyancy and native
optimism.
"Gentlemen," he said, "let's kinder saunter over to the inn and have
a night-cap with Kelly Eyre."
This unusual and expensive suggestion startled us wide awake, but we
were only too glad to acquiesce in anything which tended to raise his
spirits or ours. Dog tired but smiling we rose; Byram, in his
shirt-sleeves and suspenders, wearing his silk hat on the back of his
head, led the way, fanning his perspiring face with a red-and-yellow
bandanna.
"Luck," said Byram, waving his cigar toward the new moon, "is bound
to turn one way or t'other--like my camuel. Sometimes, resemblin' the
camuel, luck will turn on you. Look out it don't bite you. I once made
up a piece about luck:
"'Don't buck
Bad luck
Or you'll get stuck--'
I disremember the rest, but it went on to say a few other words to
that effec'."
square; Byram entered and stood a moment in the doorway, stroking his
chin. "Bong joor the company!" he said, lifting his battered hat.
The few Bretons in the wine-room returned his civility; he glanced
about and his eye fell on Kelly Eyre, Speed's assistant balloonist,
seated by the window with Horan.
"Well, gents," said Byram, hopefully, "an' what aire the prospects
of smilin' fortune when rosy-fingered dawn has came again to kiss us
back to life?"
"Rotten," said Eyre, pushing a telegram across the oak table.
Byram's face fell; he picked up the telegram and fumbled in his coat
for his spectacles with unsteady hand.
"Let me read it, governor," said Speed, and took the blue paper from
Byram's unresisting, stubby fingers.
"O-ho!" he muttered, scanning the message; "well--well, it's not so
bad as all that--" He turned abruptly on Kelly Eyre--"What the devil
are you scaring the governor for?"
"Well, he's got to be told--I didn't mean to worry him," said Eyre,
stammering, ashamed of his thoughtlessness.
"Now see here, governor," said Speed, "let's all have a drink first.
Hé ma belle!"--to the big Breton girl knitting in the corner--"four
little swallows of eau-de-vie, if you please! Ah, thank you, I knew
you were from Bannalec, where all the girls are as clever as they are
pretty! Come, governor, touch glasses! There is no circus but the
circus, and Byram is it's prophet! Drink, gentlemen!"
But his forced gayety was ominous; we scarcely tasted the liqueur.
Byram wiped his brow and squared his bent shoulders. Speed, elbows on
the table, sat musing and twirling his half-empty glass.
"Well, sir?" said Byram, in a low voice.
"Well, governor? Oh--er--the telegram?" asked Speed, like a man
fighting for time.
"Yes, the telegram," said Byram, patiently.
"Well, you see they have just heard of the terrible smash-up in the
north, governor. Metz has surrendered with Bazaine's entire army. And
they're naturally frightened at Lorient.... And I rather fear that the
Germans are on their way toward the coast.... And ... well ... they
won't let us pass the Lorient fortifications."
"Won't let us in?" cried Byram, hoarsely.
"I'm afraid not, governor."
Byram stared at us. We had counted on Lorient to pull us through as
far as the frontier.
"Now don't take it so hard, governor," said Kelly Eyre; "I was
frightened myself, at first, but I'm ashamed of it now. We'll pull
through, anyhow."
"Certainly," said Speed, cheerily, "we'll just lay up here for a few
days and economize. Why can't we try one performance here, Scarlett?"
"We can," said I. "We'll drum up the whole district from Pontivy to
Auray and from Penmarch Point to Plouharnel! Why should the Breton
peasantry not come? Don't they walk miles to the Pardons?"
A gray pallor settled on Byram's sunken face; with it came a certain
dignity which sorrow sometimes brings even to men like him.
"Young gentlemen," he said, "I'm obliged to you. These here reverses
come to everybody, I guess. The Lord knows best; but if He'll just
lemme run my show a leetle longer, I'll pay my debts an' say, 'Thy
will be done, amen!'"
"We all must learn to say that, anyway," said Speed.
"Mebbe," muttered Byram, "but I must pay my debts."
After a painful silence he rose, steadying himself with his hand on
Eyre's broad shoulder, and shambled out across the square, muttering
something about his elephant and his camuel.
Speed paid the insignificant bill, emptied his glass, and nodded at
me.
"It's all up," he said, soberly.
"Let's come back to camp and talk it over," I said.
Together we traversed the square under the stars, and entered the
field of clover. In the dim, smoky camp all lights were out except one
oil-drenched torch stuck in the ground between the two tents. Byram
had gone to rest, so had Kelly Eyre. But my lions were awake, moving
noiselessly to and fro, eyes shining in the dusk; and the elephant, a
shapeless pile of shadow against the sky, stood watching us with
little, evil eyes.
Speed had some cigarettes, and he laid the pink package on the table.
I lighted one when he did.
"Do you really think there's a chance?" he asked, presently.
"I don't know," I said.
"Well, we can try."
"Oh yes."
Speed dropped his elbows on the table. "Poor old governor," he said.
Then he began to talk of our own prospects, which were certainly
obscure if not alarming; but he soon gave up speculation as futile,
and grew reminiscent, recalling our first acquaintance as discharged
soldiers from the African battalions, our hand-to-mouth existence as
gentlemen farmers in Algiers, our bankruptcy and desperate struggle in
Marseilles, first as dock-workmen, then as government horse-buyers for
the cavalry, then as employés of the Hippodrome in Paris, where I
finally settled down as bareback rider, lion-tamer, and instructor in
the haute-école; and he accepted a salary as aid to Monsieur Gaston
Tissandier, the scientist, who was experimenting with balloons at
Saint-Cloud.
He spoke, too, of our enlistment in the Imperial Police, and the hopes
we had of advancement, which not only brought no response from me, but
left us both brooding sullenly on our wrongs, crouched there over the
rough camp-table under the stars.
"Oh, hell!" muttered Speed, "I'm going to bed."
But he did not move. Presently he said, "How did you ever come to
handle wild animals?"
"I've always been fond of animals; I broke colts at home; I had bear
cubs and other things. Then, in Algiers, the regiment caught a couple
of lions and kept them in a cage, and--well, I found I could do what I
liked with them."
"They're afraid of your eyes, aren't they?"
could partly explain it by saying that I am not afraid of them. But I
never trust them."
"You drag them all around the cage! You shove them about like sacks
of meal!"
"Yes,... but I don't trust them."
"It seems to me," said Speed, "that your lions are getting rather
impudent these days. They're not very much afraid of you now."
"Nor I of them," I said, wearily; "I'm much more anxious about you
when you go sailing about in that patched balloon of yours. Are you
never nervous?"
"Nervous? When?"
"When you're up there?"
"Rubbish."
"Suppose the patches give way?"
"I never think of that," he said, leaning on the table with a yawn.
"Oh, Lord, how tired I am!... but I shall not be able to sleep. I'm
actually too tired to sleep. Have you got a pack of cards, Scarlett?
or a decent cigar, or a glass of anything, or anything to show me
more amusing than that nightmare of an elephant? Oh, I'm sick of the
whole business--sick! sick! The stench of the tan-bark never leaves my
nostrils except when the odor of fried ham or of that devilish camel
replaces it.
"I'm too old to enjoy a gypsy drama when it's acted by myself; I'm
tired of trudging through the world with my entire estate in my
pocket. I want a home, Scarlett. Lord, how I envy people with homes!"
He had been indulging in this outburst with his back partly turned
toward me. I did not say anything, and, after a moment, he looked at
me over his shoulder to see how I took it.
"I'd like to have a home, too," I said.
"I suppose homes are not meant for men like you and me," he said.
"Lord, how I would appreciate one, though--anything with a bit of
grass in the yard and a shovelful of dirt--enough to grow some damn
flower, you know.... Did you smell the posies in the square
to-night?... Something of that kind,... anything, Scarlett--anything
that can be called a home!... But you can't understand."
"Oh yes, I can," I said.
He went on muttering, half to himself: "We're of the same
breed--pariahs; fortunately, pariahs don't last long,... like the wild
creatures who never die natural deaths,... old age is one of the
curses they can safely discount,... and so can we, Scarlett, so can
we.... For you'll be mauled by a lion or kicked into glory by a horse
or an ox or an ass,... and I'll fall off a balloon,... or the camel
will give me tetanus, or the elephant will get me in one way or
another,... or something...."
Again he twisted around to look at me. "Funny, isn't it?"
"Rather funny," I said, listlessly.
He leaned over, pulled another cigarette from the pink packet, broke a
match from the card, and lighted it.
"I feel better," he observed.
I expressed sleepy gratification.
"Oh yes, I'm much better. This isn't a bad life, is it?"
"Oh no!" I said, sarcastically.
"No, it's all right, and we've got to pull the poor old governor
through and give a jolly good show here and start the whole country
toward the tent door! Eh?"
"Certainly. Don't let me detain you."
"I'll tell you what," he said, "if we only had that poor little
girl, Miss Claridge, we'd catch these Bretons. That's what took the
coast-folk all over Europe, so Grigg says."
Miss Claridge had performed in a large glass tank as the "Leaping
Mermaid." It took like wildfire according to our fellow-performers. We
had never seen her; she was killed by diving into her tank when the
circus was at Antwerp in April.
"Can't we get up something like that?" I suggested, hopelessly.
"Who would do it? Miss Claridge's fish-tights are in the prop-box;
who's to wear them?"
He began to say something else, but stopped suddenly, eyes fixed. We
were seated nearly opposite each other, and I turned around, following
the direction of his eyes.
Jacqueline stood behind me in the smoky light of the torch--Jacqueline,
bare of arm and knee, with her sea-blue eyes very wide and the witch-locks
clustering around the dim oval of her face. After a moment's absolute
silence she said: "I came from Paradise. Don't you remember?"
"From Paradise?" said Speed, smiling; "I thought it might be from
elf-land."
And I said: "Of course I remember you, Jacqueline. And I have an idea
you ought to be in bed."
There was another silence.
"Won't you sit down?" asked Speed.
"Thank you," said Jacqueline, gravely.
She seated herself on a sack of sawdust, clasping her slender hands
between her knees, and looked earnestly at the elephant.
"He won't harm you," I assured her.
"If you think I am afraid of that," she said, "you are mistaken,
Monsieur Scarlett."
"I don't think you are afraid of anything," observed Speed, smiling;
"but I know you are capable of astonishment."
"How do you know that?" demanded the girl.
"Because I saw you with your drum on the high-road when we came past
Paradise. Your eyes were similar to saucers, and your mouth was not
closed, Mademoiselle Jacqueline."
"Oh--pour ça--yes, I was astonished," she said. Then, with a quick,
upward glance: "Were you riding, in armor, on a horse?"
"No," said Speed; "I was on that elephant's head."
This appeared to make a certain impression on Jacqueline. She became
shyer of speech for a while, until he asked her, jestingly, why she
did not join the circus.
"It is what I wish," she said, under her breath.
"And ride white horses?"
"Will you take me?" she cried, passionately, springing to her feet.
out of the question. She listened anxiously at first, then her eyes
fell and she stood there in the torch-light, head hanging.
"Don't you know," said Speed, kindly, "that it takes years of
practice to do what circus people do? And the life is not gay,
Jacqueline; it is hard for all of us. We know what hunger means; we
know sickness and want and cold. Believe me, you are happier in
Paradise than we are in the circus."
"It may be," she said, quietly.
"Of course it is," he insisted.
"But," she flashed out, "I would rather be unhappy in the circus
than happy in Paradise!"
He protested, smiling, but she would have her way.
"I once saw a man, in spangles, turning, turning, and ever turning
upon a rod. He was very far away, and that was very long ago--at the
fair in Bannalec. But I have not forgotten! No, monsieur! In our
net-shed I also have fixed a bar of wood, and on it I turn, turn
continually. I am not ignorant of twisting. I can place my legs over
my neck and cross my feet under my chin. Also I can stand on both
hands, and I can throw scores of handsprings--which I do every morning
upon the beach--I, Jacqueline!"
She was excited; she stretched out both bare arms as though preparing
to demonstrate her ability then and there.
"I should like to see a circus," she said. "Then I should know what
to do. That I can swing higher than any girl in Paradise has been
demonstrated often," she went on, earnestly. "I can swim farther, I
can dive deeper, I can run faster, with bare feet or with sabots, than
anybody, man or woman, from the Beacon to Our Lady's Chapel! At bowls
the men will not allow me because I have beaten them all, monsieur,
even the mayor, which he never forgave. As for the farandole, I tire
last of all--and it is the biniou who cries out for mercy!"
She laughed and pushed back her hair, standing straight up in the
yellow radiance like a moor-sprite. There was something almost
unearthly in her lithe young body and fearless sea-blue eyes,
sparkling from the shock of curls.
"So you can dive and swim?" asked Speed, with a glance at me.
"Like the salmon in the Läita, monsieur."
"Under water?"
"Parbleu!"
After a pause I asked her age.
"Fifteen, M'sieu Scarlett."
"You don't look thirteen, Jacqueline."
"I think I should grow faster if we were not so poor," she said,
innocently.
"You mean that you don't get enough to eat?"
"Not always, m'sieu. But that is so with everybody except the
wealthy."
"Suppose we try her," said Speed, after a silence. "You and I can
scrape up a little money for her if worst comes to worst."
"How about her father?"
"You can see him. What is he?"
"A poacher, I understand."
"Oh, then it's easy enough. Give him a few francs. He'll take the
child's salary, anyway, if this thing turns out well."
"Jacqueline," I said, "we can't afford to pay you much money, you
know."
"Money?" repeated the child, vacantly. "Money! If I had my arms
full--so!--I would throw it into the world--so!"--she glanced at
Speed--"reserving enough for a new skirt, monsieur, of which I stand
in some necessity."
The quaint seriousness, the resolute fearlessness of this little maid
of Paradise touched us both, I think, as she stood there restlessly,
balancing on her slim bare feet, finger-tips poised on her hips.
"Won't you take me?" she asked, sweetly.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Jacqueline," said I. "Very early in the
morning I'll go down to your house and see your father. Then, if he
makes no objection, I'll get you to put on a pretty swimming-suit, all
made out of silver scales, and you can show me, there in the sea, how
you can dive and swim and play at mermaid. Does that please you?"
She looked earnestly at me, then at Speed.
"Is it a promise?" she asked, in a quivering voice.
"Yes, Jacqueline."
"Then I thank you, M'sieu Scarlett,... and you, m'sieur, who ride the
elephant so splendidly.... And I will be waiting for you when you
come.... We live in the house below the Saint-Julien Light.... My
father is pilot of the port.... Anybody will tell you." ...
"I will not forget," said I.
She bade us good-night very prettily, stepped back out of the circle
of torch-light, and vanished--there is no other word for it.
"Gracious," said Speed, "wasn't that rather sudden? Or is that the
child yonder? No, it's a bush. Well, Scarlett, there's an uncanny
young one for you--no, not uncanny, but a spirit in its most delicate
sense. I've an idea she's going to find poor Byram's lost luck for
him."
"Or break her neck," I observed.
Speed was quiet for a long while.
"By-the-way," he said, at last, "are you going to tell the Countess
about that fellow Buckhurst?"
"I sent a note to her before I fed my lions," I replied.
"Are you going to see her?"
"If she desires it."
"Who took the note, Scarlett?"
"Jacqueline's father,... that Lizard fellow."
"Well, don't let's stir up Buckhurst now," said Speed. "Let's do
what we can for the governor first."
"Of course," said I. "And I'm going to bed. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Speed, thoughtfully. "I'll join you in a
moment."
When I was ready for bed and stood at the tent door, peering out into
the darkness, I saw Speed curled up on a blanket between the
elephant's forefeet, sound asleep.