TWO IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 546, 18 February 1870, Page 3

TWO IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING.

A x Adventure. (From Casselt's Magazine ) It was a quaint little town in which I found myself last autumn— one as well fitted for what I sought, rest and quiet, as could well be. I had got to it by a roundabout route on the coast, walking sometimes by night to avoid the great heats; passing so through little towns that lay sleeping on my road, towns of a single street, in the middle of one of which, as I recollect, lay a watchful dog 1 , which eyed me narrowly as I passed him and made my way to the fountain for a drink. He let me do that, but distinctly told me that he did not recognise my right to loiter about. So I left him to growl to himself, and went on again into the open, flat country, along sandy, hedgeless roads. I watched the wild driving of the clouds acrosa the moon, and listened to the cries of some seabird which had flown inland, and like myself was keeping the most disreputable hour 9. On and on, through more little hamlets, just waking vp — I declare that at four o'clock I found a butcher opening his shop — till the breaking day showed, far ahead, a towered and domed city, from the ramparts of which, when reached, I looked down on the broad glistening sea, and marked the first stir of the day's work. And so, after many such wanderings, I had at last found myßelf in the little town where I thought I would rest awhile. Had I had to live there, I might, with the landlord have called it "a hole;" but I found it pleasant enough to be for once where there were no sights to be seen, and where I had nothing to do but to watch the slow current of life in the deadest of little French towns. So I lounged about, smoking a cigarette, now and then in the studio of my landlord, who was a painter as well as an innkeeper, listening to his stories of the " Dunes," or sandhills, hard by, and looking at his clever sketches of the queer country that he described to me; or else, hot as it was, I sat in the chimney corner, while madame and her daughters bustled about. There were worse places, too, for lounging than the seat in the courtyard, where convolvuluses and creepers climbed up the walls. And -then the wonderful little market-place in front — market-place I suppose I may call it — where on set day3 some dozen or score of garrulous women from the neighbourhood exposed their scanty wares. I Bee it now as it blazed in the hot afternoon; the Town Hall, a little building of one storey high and four windows and a door wide, led up to by a scanty avenue of stunted trees; opposite to me a big house, on which are the arm of countries represented by consuls, whose functions, I can take my host's word for it, are purely honorary. How quiet it is ! I hear occasionally the clink of the bell which summons to her shop the old lady who enjoys the privilege, conferred on her by the Imperial Government, of selling the tobacco I smoke. That is almost the only sound, for I am too far off to hear the notary who, lower down the street, stands gesticulating to a client. Dull enough, but in a lazy way I suppose that passions are at work that at times break the level surface into a ripple. People are born here; get married at the absurd Town Hall (after due adjustment of material interests), and love, and quarrel, and die. Only yesterday I heard from my bedroom a monotonous chant in the street, and looking out, saw a procession with priests at the head, carrying to the cemetery the coffin of a little child. The bell was tolling yesterday as I walked round the church, quite a museum in its way. Departed generations of townsmen have left strange relics there. Models of ships hang from the vaults; an inscription on one of them of a very strange build, explains that it is the pious offering of " Lamans," who " prays Heaven to bring the P. Nicholas into a safe port." It is forty years and more since " Lamans " presented to the church this curious specimen of naval architecture — let us hope that in his old age he has sailed into a port as safe as that which was accorded to'his prayer. Leaving this little town, I made up my mind to walk coastwise along the "Dunes," of which I had heard so much. So one day, after breakfast, I packed my knapsack, and, after a hearty good-bye, started off. Once on the sands I had only to keep along, following the coast line for about twenty miles, when, without the possibility of a mistake in the road, I should come to the towu at which I meant to halt. Wandering along the top of the low cliffs, I passed at last through a little fishing village, and turned down on to the sands, from which I already saw, some fifteen miles off, the low cape which marked my evening's halting-place. And here began my experience of the Dunes. This is the name given to the sandhills forming the boundary of the sea on the flat coast on which I was, and stretching from Haarlem with intervals to a long way south of Boulogne. As I walked on I noticed that they formed an irregular line, which marked, no doubt, the limit of the highest tides. It was easy to see how they were formed. The high wind blowing off the sea, carries inland the fine particles of sand of which all the shore consists, and lets them drop when its force is spent, or when some obstacle occurs. The surface thus formed is continually changing. The lightest breath of air alters, to some extent, the form of these Band-hills, making them undulate almost like the sea. A little way inland I found they took the strangest forms. In some rare spots were little patches of wild vegetation, but generally all that could be seen was a long, thick, coarse grass breaking through the sand-bills, and binding them lightly together. Hills of beautifully white sand, often many feet high, took the forms of drifted snow. I could quite believe what I had heard— that there was danger to the traveller who found himself on this wild coast during a storm. Then the wind would lift into the air an entire sasd-heap, carrying it off bodily, to disperse

it at a distance with a loud noise. I had even heard stories of inland villages buried during a continuance of high winds. Still wandering along, I was struck by the frightful desolation of the coast. I had long left behind me the patches of poor firs, and there were now no traces of cultivation. For mile after mile I saw no trace of life on the land but the tracks of the wild rabbits ; had it not been for these, I might almost have fancied myself iv an African desert. As far as the eye could reach it saw the same dreary prospect inland, till it fell on the higher hills, forming a barrier be3 r ond which tillage again became possible. The heat beaten back from the glaring sand was intense, and it was with a feeling of relief that I turned once more from the desolate scene toward the sea. Undisturbed by human enemies, the gulls mustered by thousands on a line which marked the falling tide; the sun was getting low, and I was surprised to find how little of my day's walk I had done. Finding that I lost ground by going round the pools and streams which lay in my path, I pulled my boots off, and tying them to my knapsack, stepped out barefoot along the cool wet sand. For miles I trudged on thus, meeting once or twice with a passing salute from a stout fisherwoman, \rho, bare-legged, like myself, was making her way to the little village I had left behind. The sun was just going down when I came across a fisherman who, supper in hand, had strolled out of his hut, the only habitation I had seen for hour 3. " How far to Eauplet ?" I said, saluting him. He turned round. " You see that cape in the distance ? It's just beyond that; at the rate you're walking, you may get there- in two or three hours." " Three hours ! and I haven't dined. Can I stop anywhere on the road ?" " No, it|a all bare sand, without so much as a hut, till you come to Eauplet. Keep right along the line of the Dunes. Hold, you see those two men ? Follow them, they're going your road, and you'll overtake them in half an hour." Bidding him good-night, I walked on rapidly; the prospect of three hours more of that dreary coast, in the dark, and on an empty stomach, was not inviting, and I meant to shorten the time as much as I could. Before the predicted half hour had gone by I was nearing my two men. It was growing dusk, but I could see that they had caught sight of me, for every now and then they turned back to look. Still nearer, I noticed tkat they occasionally stopped and talked, looking towards me, and then went on again, evidently slackening their pace, however, so that I might overtake them. I came up with them at last, and they walked on by my side, asking where I was going, and so on. "He is still there," one of them said. And ! looking back, I saw the fisherman where I had left him. I was not well pleased with my companions, who, in truth j were not exactly the kind of people one would care to meet in a lonely place like the Dunes at nightfall. They were dressed in sheep-skins, with the wool turned outside, and their caps, of the same material, gave them a ferocious look. Each carried over his shoulder a thick, heavy stick, over which hung pieces of cloth, of all shapes, sizes, and colours. " What have you on your sticks ?" I asked. " They are things to cover ourselves up with; it's cold hereabouts at night." " Tramps," I thought, " You're going to Eauplet ?" " No, we have almost arrived at our destination," said one, and looked at his comrade, who smiled. " Still there," he said, looking over hi 3 shoulder towards the fisherman. I walked fast, but the tramps seemed determined to keep up with me, for they kept close at my side. Their appearance was anything but prepossessing; they had evidently discussed me, and waited for me. I was armed with a light stick only, and I confess that I did not feel quite comfortable in their company. " Well," I said abruptly." "I've got a good way to go, I must say good-night and push on." I offered my tobacco-pouch, and with a " Good-night, messieurs," went ahead. " Good-night," one of them answered. " Monsieur walks too fast for us." Whereat they laughed. I walked on quickly, and looking back after awhile found that I had left my tramps fairly behind me. I looked back several times in this way, till at last I missed them. It was getting dark, but had they been there I should have been able to make them out against the white sand; as I did not see them, I concluded they had quitted the sands on arriving at the destination of which they had spoken. I was not sorry to think so, for there was enough in their manner and appearance to give me disagreeable ideas. As I walked on I reflected that they must have known from my accent that I was a foreigner; my knapsack would show them that I was a tourist only, and therefore unknown in that part; the region was desolate, and as night was falling, it was not probable that a soul would be about. i Each of my ruffians was well armed with a heavy bludgeon, one blow from which would have settled me: a hollow in the Dunes would have done the rest. " Just as it was planned," I thought, as I quickened my pace again. There dwell in my mind many recollections of knapsack walks, of saunterings in spring-time along green English lanes, the hedges and trees just in their first vivid green, the banks skirting the road decked with primroses and violetß, or, later in the year, when fields wave with golden harvests. I still see the spires and domes that show for miles over the plains. Again, I toil on a hot summer's day up the steep hill; its top once gained, I shall have for horizon the sea, the breezes from which already fan my face.

Or it is evening, and I look down on the hamlet lying at my feet. I catch the cawing of the rooks in the great avenue of limes ; I hear the crash of the road as the wagon starts on its way from the inn where it has halted awhile, and the clinck of the blacksmith's hammer as he forges a horse-shoe; but for most the day's toil is over, and from the village street and green rise shouts and laughter; lovers wander in pairs along the green lanes, and all is so peaceful that I sigh '• When the heat of the battle is over, I will come here to rest." From among such remembrances, I would not lose the one of that September evening. There was no moon, but the star* shone brightly through the clear air; there was no sound but that of the dash of the tide, at ebb now, and far away, and that ot my footsteps, as they fell on the soft wet sand, striking from it a mild phosphorescent radiance. In the dim light I could make out the black timbers of a wreck sticking up from the sand. On some wild night a ship must have drifted on to this dismal and lonely coast, and there gone to- pieces, with none perhaps to save or help. I looked at my watch — it was eight o'clock. I could hardly get to Eauplet before ten — two hours more — and I was dreadfully hungry. I pushed on still faster, till I was brought to a stop by the fall of one of my | boots, which had swayed about from the knapsack till at last it broke away. Promising myself to be more careful in future, for I had only just noticed its fall, I stopped to refasten it, and having done so, lifted my head in the act of rising from the ground. Heavens ! what were those figures^ I saw moving down to the sands at right angles to niy path ? Th& parting word* of th& tramps, " You walk too fast for us," and their mocking laugh rang in my ears. I understood it now: they had left the sands to take a shorter road known to them, and there they were before me. I looked up at the stars — , they had got round to my right; my path had evidently been bending outwards towards the sen, so that a shorter cut over the sands no doubt existed. It was too light before for the tramps, and besides there was the fisherman in sight, and then I recollected how they had turned round to see whether he still watched us. It was dark now, and there was no fear of a witness. I paused for a moment j they were two, and well armed; I must get past them and run for it, that was my only chance. I let go one strap of my knapsack that I might drop it, boots and all, in a moment, and then, putting the best face I could on it, stepped out boldly. As I neared the two men, I saw that they had halted a little above the line I was following. I could see their Bheepskins, and the bludgeons too, not over their shoulders now, but in hand, with one end on the ground. Step by step I approached them; the knapsack hung loosely on my shoulder ready to be dropped in an instant, and on the least movement of the men I should have been off. To my astonishment they did not move an inch. When I was quite level with them, one called out to me — " Good-night, sir." " Good-night, gentlemen," I answered. II You're still going this road, then ?" No reply still, no movement; but I heard a few words muttered between them. They had thought, perhaps, that I should go up to them, and my not having done so had disconcerted them; I had got past them before they could resolve to attack me. A dozen steps further on, where I thought they would not detect the change in my pace, which might bring unanimity to their divided counsels, I walked at the top of my speed. No sound of footsteps when I stop to listen. Strange— twice they have let their chance go by; they shan't get another, for it is a straight line now, as I see by the lighthouses which are throwing their melancholy glare over the water between me and them. Another hour, and I hear the rumbling of a train on the railway which crosses the Dunes; a little longer, and the bark of a dog, and then the first sign of the town, the Calvary, all lit up with candle lamps, forming a strange object as the light falls on the rudely-carved figures. Ten minutes more and I am watching the preparations for my very late dinner. Very late, but I don't know at what hour I could have got so good a dinner at the White Hart or Red Lion of a little English town. Soup I could have had, but I didn't; but I had set before me veal, beef, a pate of hare (of which I still think with fondness), an artichoke, cheese, and biscuits. Dinner dispatched, I sat toying with a magnificent bunch of grapes, and told my host of the story of my walk by the Dunes. To my surprise he burst into a loud laugh .when I had finished. " Oh, pardon," he said, when he saw that I did not join in his merriment. " Monsieur does not, then, know what his two subjects were ?" " A pair of brigands, clear enough." " A pair of coastguards." " Bah ! I know them well enough. But these fellows in sheepskins ?" " They wear them at night. It's frightfully cold on that open coast without the shelter of so much as a stone." " And the bludgeons ?" " Their muskets, only hidden by the scraps of cloth on them." " But why did they follow me ?" " Not at all; they're stationed in pairs at distances. You must have passed others besides the two pairs you saw. They are always on the look-out, and saw you no doubt although you did not see them. They saw that you were simply a traveller, and did not disturb you; had they had doubts they might have arrested you." I thought of my determination to run. " Suppose I had run from them ?" " Why, they would have lodged a ball in you, perhaps." I began to be sorry that I had told my story, and soon retreated to bed, where, kept awake by the combined effects of the veal and the pate, I had leisure to reflect that

sheep's clothing does not always make a wolf.