THE SLOOP-RIGGED PALFREY.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2488, 5 July 1909, Page 2

THE SLOOP-RIGGED PALFREY.

(By Ellis Parker Butler.)

Having obtained the address of the person to whom the house in the Alices cle Median belonged, Edmond- Dantes next proceeded thither, and, under the name of Lord Wilmore, purchased the small' dwelling for 10,000 francs more than it was worth. But that which raised public astonishment to a climax and set all speculations at defiance was that this mysterious stranger was observed, that same evening, to enter a poor fisherman’s hut in the village of the Catalans, and to pass more than an hour in inquiring after persons who had either been dead or gone away' for more than fifteen or sixteen years. But on the following day the family from whom all these particulars had been asked received a handsome present, consisting of an entirely new fishing boat, with a full supply of excellent nets. The delighted recipients of these munificent gifts would gladly have poured out their thanks to their generous benefactor; but they had seen him, upon quitting the hut, merely give some orders to a sailor, and then, springing lightly on horseback, quit Marseilles by the Porte d’Aix. “Then thousand thunders!” cried the fisherman at the sight, but his wife, being less excitable, merely exclaimed: “Gracious heavens!” Such of my readers as have made a pedestrian excursion to the south of France may perchance have noticed, midway between the town of Beaucaire and the village of Bellegarde, a small roadside inn, the Auberge of Pont du Garde. For nearly eight years this auberge had been kept by a hum and his wife, Gaspard Caderousso and La. Careonte, and it was to reach this man, fifty miles as the crow flies from Marseilles, that Edmond Dantes, now Count of Monte Cristo, sprang lightly on horseback. Through the treason of this man and others Edmond Dantes had been, for the last long fourteen years, confined in tlie dungeons of the Chateau d’lf, starving on bread and water, and he had been thrown there a few days after his return from a long voyage, for he was by occupation a sailor. Now the riches of Monte Cristo were his and he had undertaken h»a revenge. “Penelon,” he had said to his faithful servitor and fellow sailor, “when I shall have finished my work at Marseilles I go to the Auberge of Pont du Garde. ready with a steed.” The slightest wish of Monte Cristo was a command; his commands were edicts more powerful than those of the Czar - 5 Russia. Penelon touched his cap, aim when Edmond Dantes stepped from tin fisher hut he was not compelled to wait; Penelon was already there with a prancing Hungarian palfrey. “Fair to _ middling,” he said carelessly, and this, vj Penelon, coming from the lips of his taciturn master, was tremendous praise. And indeed the faithful fellow had done * well in the hour allowed him. Even among those who were supposed to have the most exact knowledge of horses the Hungarian palfrey was supposed to he extinct, unless in the wilds of Hungary, inaccessible to man, and yet here Penelon stood holding by the bridle Hie most beautiful Hungarian palfrey the world had yet seen. Nor had he overlooked the accessories. The saddle was made of the finest Algerian kid studded with rose diamonds, while the bridle was of tested wal--1 rus skin, gold mounted and decorated with ‘ emeralds and rubies. The four feet of the matchless steed were shod with golden 1 shoes, each nail being of finest platinum, and the head of each nail being set with a perfect topaz. But the thoughtfulness 1 of Penelon was shown still more by an- - other touch, for upon the sides of the steed he had had branded, in letters sixty centimeters (about two .feet) tall, the monogram "E. D.” on one side and “C. of Al. C.” on the other. * Having spent his youth and young man--1 hood on a ship, and the next fourteen years in a subterranean dungeon, Edmond Dantes was a splendid judge of horses, and it was not necessary for him to ask Penelon which end was the bow of the ’ horse, if, indeed, the good fellow could J have told him. Therefore, upon leaving the hut, he merely felt in the tail podket 1 of his coat to see that the bag containing the six or seven hundred diamonds lie usually carried as small change was there, and then sjKiko to Penelon. ' "Well,” lie said sharply, “the oars, my ■ good fellow !” For one instant Penelon hesitate'!, while the frown on Edmond Dantes’ brow 1 deepened. "Monsieur lo Comte,” said Penelon meekly, I think the horse is not a row- ’ horse. Oars are not needed.” 1 “Good !” said Dantes, “hoist the sail, 1 then, and 1 will be ofi’.’’ “Pardon, excellency,” said the good 1 Penelon, "but neither do 1 think this is a sail-horse. I inquired particularly be- - fore I made the purchase, and was told that it was a self-propeller, needing neither sail nor oars, but acting rather 5 on the principle of the steamboat. All that is necessary, M. le Comte, is to get 1 aboard and steer.” J “Good !” said Dantes again. “I see that ‘ great improvements have been made in 1 horses since—since I last took a voyage on one, so now —” He stopped suddenly 1 and looked at the palfrey with perplexity. * “Penelon,’ he said severely, "do you mean 1 to tell me you call this a properly outfitted horse?” * “Oh, excellency!” cried poor Penelon * “1 have used three pints of diamonds ” 1 “Silence!” cried Dantes, “You speak - to me of diamonds, and yet dare bring me a horse without a steering wheel. Yet 1 even that I could forgive had the animal 5 been supplied with a. good rudder and c tiller, although a steering wheel would be > far more up to date. Explain yourself, r Penelon!” L • “Oh, my good master!” cried Penelon casting himself at the Count’s feet, “think * not that I neglected it! Indeed, I spoke to the dealer about that very thing, nor L would I be satisfied until he himself had got aboard the horse and showed me the * method of steering, which is by the use of these walrus-skin tiller ropes.” 1 As he said this the faithful fellow arose and! touched the bridle, which the Count ■ thereupon examined with great interest. L "I see!” said the Count thoughtfully, ' walking around the horse, “I sec! This,” touching the tail of, the horse, ‘is doubtless the rudder, and these tiller ropes are connected with it in some inexplicable manner. Penelon, grasp the tiller ropes and throw the rudder two points to starhoard.”, Penelon did as he was told, talking the ■ bridle firmly in his hand and giving it a J strong pull, while the Count watched the ; Hungarian palfrey’s 1 tail closely. The tail ’ did not move, but the head of the palfrey did. 5 “Ah 1” said the Count. “Now, two , points to larboard, Penelon!” Penelon pulled the other rein. Again the head of the horse moved, but the tail , remained motionless. “Ah!” repeated the Count, with his sad smile. “It is plain that you know nothing of horses, Penelon. This,” touching 1 the tail of the horse, “is not the rudder I at all, for the tiller ropes have no connection with it. On the other hand, this,” touching the head of the horse, “does move when the tiller ropes are pulled. This, then, is the rudder, and this end of the horse must bo the bow, for the rudder is never on the bow of a craft. Penelon, had I not made this discovery I should have been trying to sail this craft stern-end , to!" Penelon was covered with confusion. He [ knew not what to say. “Cheer up, however, my good fellow,” i said the Count graciously, “for no great , harm has yet been done. Just manoeuvre i the craft 'so that the bow shall point i toward the Porte d’Aix, and in a moment I shall be off.’

Penelon took the Hungarian palfrey by the tiller ropes and turned its tail toward i the Porte d’Aix with great care. Putting his foot in the stirrup, with his face 1 sailors always carry bound around their waists. The loose end of this rope he was about to attach to the head of the ( horse when the Count called him sharply to desist. “My good fellow,” he said, “avast ■ there! Have you, then, been so long a sailor and failed to notice that anchors are never attached to the stern of the ship ? Attach it to the bow!” Blushing, even so that the red- blood showed under his tan, Penelon passed to the bow of the craft and spliced the rope firmly into the hair of the Hungarian pab toward the same Portae, the_ Count seized the tiller ropes in his hands, and springing lightly into the saddle, cried, “I’m off !” He was. Almost before he said it. Luckily, the Porte d’Aix was but a few paces distant, and the Count accomplished his first intention, which was to quit the city of Marseilles by the Porte d’Aix. ' Penelon, having less knowledge ol horses, took more time to steer the Hungarian palfrey, bow end foremost, through the Porte d’Aix after his master, who, by the time he reached him, was standing to receive him. “I call that,” said the Count, with his usual modesty, “a mighty good jump, Penelon. “Master, it was a marvellous jump,” said the good fellow, overcome by admiration. “Is your excellency ready to—to get aboard again?” The Count looked down the road that led to Beaucairc. It seemed a hard, paved road. “Yes,’’ he said haughtily,_ and then, pointing with his hand, he said, “but you, good Penelon, might stand down the road there, some twenty feet, ready to catch me in case —in case I—l decide to jump again.” “Perhaps,” ventured the faithful fellow, "if your excellency did not attempt to spring lightly to the deck, but, as one might say, shinned slowly up the side rigging, or climbed a tree and dropped cautiously down amidship, you would not—would not decide to jump again.” “The thought was in my mind,” said the Count. “Not that I would have you think 1 do not like a little jumping exercise now and then, but because a horse may be in its nature like a canoe, and easily capsized if boarded too strenuously. I shall climb this wall, first bringing the palfrey alongside, and get aboard from there.” While ho worked the horse out of the main channel of the road to the quiet grassy eddy, Penelon walked up the road and took his position, first moistening his hands by a mild expectoration, and then bending down and resting his hands on his knees. “Are you ready?” asked the Count. “Play ball!” answered Penelon, and the Count dropped into the saddle.^ *A good catch; a very good catch !” said the Count warmly, as soon as Penelon had set him on the ground after catching him. “We are making excellent progress. We have come forty feet in but two jumps, and it is but seventy miles to the Auberge of Pont du Garde. I can make it m 9260 jumps, Penelon!” “Exactly 9260 jumps,” said Penelon, who was quick at figures. .‘But, after all, that is a good many jumps,” said the Count. “1 was about to say it,” said Penelon, “and, if your excellency will permit me to say so, that can hardly be called a voyage-a-la-hor.se which is made through the air. Your excellency said you were going to the Auberge of Pont du Garde on horseback.” The Count looked carefully on all sides. “Penelon,” he said in a low voice, "have you ever voyaged on a horse?” “I am but a poor sailor man,” said Penelon, “and if you mean to suggest that I board that Hungarian palfrey, I beg to give your worship two weeks notice, dated back two weeks. Jumping may be good exercise for the aristocracy, but it is against the rules of the merchant marine. I always get seasick on horseback.” “Coward!” hissed the Count. “Yes, your royal highness,” said Penemeekly, “but that is neither here nor there. But I have'been thinking, and the thought has come to me that perhaps I made a mistake in having the under side of the saddle studded with forty-carat diamonds. Perhaps the impact of your weight falling on the saddle may have driven the jioints of the diamonds into the back of the palfrey, which seems a high-spirited craft, thus causing it to—l should say, suggesting to you— Anyway, monsieur, maybe that is why you jumped ” No sooner had Penelon said this than the Count stripped the saddle from tin back of the horse and threw it carelessly over the wall, regardless of the 900,000 francs in diamonds. In a few minutes more the back of the palfrey felt the : weight of the Count, and the good Penelon threw his cap in the air with a hearty cheer, for the Count remained on the horse. What pride filled the good fellow’s breast as he saw his beloved master astride the animal, and neither bouncing l off nor falling off! A smile of indulgence i crossed the Count’s features at this evidence of his servant’s emotion, but he said nothing. Gathering the tiller ropes i in his hands he stared steadfastly out over the tail of the Hungarian palfrey and made a slight sound like sweethearts kissing under the light of the August moon. 1 Slowly and majestically the horse moved : away from its moorings, but to the con- ; sternation of the Count and the good Penelon it moved rudder-end foremost, 1 and in a circle. The brave heart of the 1 Count was filled with tumultuous agony, i and he glanced over his shoulder at the , rudder. Instantly his intuitive sense told him what was the matter. The starboard tiller rope was drawn taut, while the lar- ; board rope hung loose. He paid out on ; the starboard and drew in on the lar- ■ board, bringing the rudder straight. Immediately the course of the craft straighti ened, but still it moved backward, and i in a few moments more the Count would have been once more inside the Porte i d’Aix, had he not hastily dismounted and , turned the craft. "Penelon,” he said, as he remounted with his face, as before, toward the tail, “this is a cranky craft, and inclined to travel stern-end forward, which leads me i to believe that the machinery has been i put in reversed. But that we are travel- . ling toward the Auberge of Pont du Garde is the main thing after all, and by looking over my shoulder occasionally I shall be able to direct our course. I could, doubtless, ride more easily were I to turn about, with my face toward the rudder, on which the ears are, but it is not for the Count of Monte Cristo to make a spectacle of himself. If I ” “Ship ahoy!” cried Penelon suddenly, “Breakers ahead!” The Hungarian palfrey was, indeed, headed straight for a large pile of paving stones. Instinctively the Count pulled hard on the two tiller ropes, and a surprising thing happened. The craft stopped short and began moving in the opposite direction. Slowly, it is true, but none the less tail-end foremost. A proud smile lighted the face of Monte Cristo, while Penelon shouted with joy. Drawing taut both tiller ropes, but one more taut than the other, Monte Cristo felt the Hungarian craft turn slowly in the road and, urged by tha taut tiller ropes, move with careful tread tail-end foremost in the direction of the Auberge of Pont du Garde. “We are getting on famously,” said the Count, as he leaned forward and patted the haunches of his faithful steed. “The secret is to keep a taut tiller, and saw a little when the craft seeks to slow up. The speed is not so brisk as walking afoot, but the motion is soothing, and if one’s arms hold out one is pretty sure to get somewhere sometime. Penelon !”

At this cry of “Penelon!” the faithful fellow ran to the side of the craft. “Master?” he queried anxiously, although there seemed to be nothing wrong with either the craft, its gear, or its crew. “Penelon,” said the Count, “ another such error and you leave my employ! Suppose this craft should get beyond my control—the tiller break, winds drive it out of our course, or danger loom suddenly ahead—what could I do? Penelon, where is the anchor?” “Excellency, forgive,” cried the poor fellow, falling on his knees. “Enough!” said Monte Cristo, as he saw the tears roll down the face of this faithful servitor. “Once more I forgive you. But rig an anchor quickly, lest you would trust your master to, perhaps, awful horsewreck!” With trembling hands Penelon bound three great paving stones together and attached them to a length of rope such as frey’s tail, as only sailors know how to spice. The Count then put the three paving stones in his lap and felt more at ease, knowing that, in case of danger, it would be only necessary to cast the anchor overboard. All that day the good Hungarian craft proceeded calmly, with Penelon at the side, the weather being fair, with light westerly winds, giving hope of a good passage, but the Count was a little uneasy, knowing it was the time of the mistral, that hurricane-like tempest. That night they put up at a little auberge near the town of Salon. As they entered the inn yard the aubergist ran forward to meet them, but stopped short. “Pardon, messieurs, he said, “but are you going or coming?” “I am coming,” said Monte Cristo, calmly, sawing on the tiller ropes, as the Hun garian palfrey backed into the yard, and then, with a sigh of relief, he cast the anchor overboard and disembarked. “Penelon,” he said next morning, as he prepared to embark, “I do* not like the smell of the air. I fear we shall have heavy weather to-day. Look well to all the rigging, test the tiller ropes, examine the anchor splice, and make sure that the engine is in running order. And, above all, see that the furnace has been well stoked.” “Hay, oats, and corn have been put in in plenty, monsieur,” said the aubergist. “And everything else is shipshape,” said Penelon. “Then I will go aboard at once,” said Monte Crjsto, and amidst cries of “Bon voyage” and “Pour boire, s’il vous plait," he boarded the craft, just as the first breath of the mistral swept the straw of i the inn yard rustling into one corner. At the Auberge of Pont du Garde the i villain Caderousse was standing in his inn > door, hoping some poor traveller might i pass that way whom he might fleece, when i the mistral broke in all its fury, and he stepped inside, that he might be out of the thick of the storm, but still hear any I approaching traveller. At the auberge near Salon Monte Cristo 1 had just mounted his Hungarian palfrey 1 when the mistral broke upon him, but • amidst all its noise the aubergist managed ■- to make himself heard. i “None of my business,” he shouted, ; “but it is customary to ride other end to. i Nothing to me, but if I were going anywhere in a storm like this I would drive , the horse head-end forward, and not try to back it all the way. Just as you like, 7 but I would not sit facing the rear of the horse.” A flush, as of quick anger, Spread over 3 the face of Monte. Cristo, but he hid it 1 with a careless cough. 1 “Excuse me,” he said lightly, “I’m so - absent minded! You should have called 2 my attention to it, Penelon.” “I was about to do so, master,” said • the good fellow. & Without another word Monte Cristo righted himself, and all might have yet 1 been well, had not several old copies of t the Temps rustled down the inn yard like I the first white-capped waves of a storm at - sea. The Hungarian palfrey craft seemed f to go upon her beam ends, and then, as t one of the white-cap Temps struck her t full astern, she dashed madly forward. Monte Cristo grasped the flying mane with one hand, while with the other he held the anchor in an involuntary clasp. The - tiller ropes flew wild, nor did he seek to r gain them, for he knew there was no use to J attempt it in such a storm as now broke f upon him. Lightning flashed, the rain 3 poured down, and the Hungarian palfrey, - driven full before the wind, rose and fell t mountain high. And each time Monte i Cristo rose a little higher than the palf frey. The three paving stones in his Jap 1 helped him to come down again. , '"And this,” he muttered, “is the horse , Penelon got when I told him to get a tame old nag that any old woman could i ride! Why, the horse is a demon! i In truth, at each fall of Monte Cristo, j the horse sprang forward more swiftly, as ) if spurred on, and at each fall Monte ■ Cristo groaned, for the terrific wind, full 3 astern, blew his coat tails forward and i he fell sitting on the six or seven hundred t diamonds. Spurs could have done no 3 more. Never, after that fearful ride, did . Monte Cristo carry diamonds in his coatP tail pockets. r From side to side Monte Cristo looked, I seeking some soft spot where he might . alight, but the road was well paved. The 3 paving stones were hard. He saw nothing s ahead but certain shipwreck, and he hoped t the craft might spring a leak and sink ] peacefully ere it dashed itself to pieces on some rocky coast. He hoped the engine would break, or the furnace run out of j fuel. He hoped his coat-tail pocket would - split open and spill out the diamonds. i Never, in all his voyages, had he had such a tumultuous trip. Never, in the e dungeon of the Chateau d’lf had he felt , nearer death. He cursed the impulse that a had made him get aboard of a craft that f had neither life preservers nor life boats. 1 Suddenly he saw ahead of him what, in . Languedoc, is called a garden, in which i was set a wayside inn, and, creaking in the hurricane, he saw the inn sign—a - sheet of tin covered with a caricature re- - semblance of the Pont du Garde. In » 1 few . more bounces he would be there 1 1 But would the Hungarian palfrey stop? 3 Instinct told him that the Hungarian J palfrey would not! ' At that moment Caderousse heard the 1 tumult of the approaching craft and the , wild yells of Monte Cristo, and rushed j from his inn door to persuade, if possible^ 2 the traveller to stop the night with him. i One glance told Monte Cristo this was his - old time enemy, and that this was the j end of his journey, if his palfrey only - thought so. 1 “Ha!” cried Monte Cristo. He had , suddenly remembered his anchor. With i one swift turn of his wrist he cast the , heavy paving stones into the road. : The effect was instantaneous. The pav j ing stones stopped. The Hungarian palfrey craft stopped. But Monte ''Cristo , did not stop. True and straight as an arrow from the bow he shot over the head , of the Hungarian palfrey; true and ; straight to where Caderousse stood, and 1 as he flew, diamond-loaded coat tails first, • at the astonished aubergist, Caderousse had barely time to gasp: "Edmond Dantes r s Then, with a dull grunt, Caderousse. s struck square in the chest by Monte ! Oristo’s full weight, fell back dead. - “One!” said the Count mysteriously, his eyes fixed on the corpse, disfigured by so awful a death.

In London a man or a woman need possess nothing more material than charm, wit, and good manners to spring to the top of the ladder. What society justly dislikes are affectation, snobbishness, and pomposity. This may be said to be the age of concrete. That concrete is the cheapest form of building material that we have there is no denying, and, in addition, it is absolutely fireproof.