Chapter I: WOULD have loved it so (3)

But from that moment we might all have been in the very antechamber of hell. I could hear the violent kicks against the heavy door of our prison, and our brave rescuers seemed suddenly to be transformed into a cageful of wild beasts. Their shouts and yells were as horrible as any that came to us from the outside, and I must say that the gentle, firm voice which I had learnt to love was as execrable as any I could hear.

Apparently the door would not yield, as the blows against it became more and more violent, and presently, from somewhere above my head--the window presumably--there came a rough call and a raucous laugh:

"Why! what in the name of ---- is happening here?"

And the voice near me answered back equally roughly:

"A quarry of six--but we are caught in this trap--get the door open for us, citizen--we want to be rid of this booty and go in search for more."

A horrible laugh was the reply from above, and the next instant I heard a terrific crash; the door had at last been burst open either from within or without, I could not tell which, and suddenly all the din, the cries, the groans, the hideous laughter and bibulous songs which had sounded muffled up to now burst upon us with all their hideousness.

That was, I think, the most awful moment of that truly fearful hour. I could not have moved then, even had I wished or been able to do so, but I knew that between us all and a horrible, yelling, murdering mob there was now nothing--except the hand of God and the heroism of a band of English gentlemen.

Together they gave a cry--as loud, as terrifying as any that were uttered by the butchering crowd in the building, and with a wild rush they seemed to plunge with us right into the thick of the awful melee.

At least that is what it all felt like to me, and afterwards I heard from our gallant rescuer himself that that is exactly what he and his friends did. There were eight of them altogether, and we four young ones had each been hoisted on a pair of devoted shoulders, whilst maman and papa were each carried by two men.

I was lying across the finest pair of shoulders in the world, and close to me was beating the bravest heart on God's earth.

Thus burdened, these eight noble English gentlemen charged right through an army of butchering, howling brutes, they themselves howling with the fiercest of them.

All around me I heard weird and terrifying cries:

"What ho, citizens! what have you there?"

"Six aristos!" shouted my hero boldly as he rushed on, forcing his way through the crowd.

"What are you doing with them?" yelled a raucous voice.

"Food for the starving fish in the river," was the ready response. "Stand aside, citizen," he added, with a round curse. "I have my orders from citizen Danton himself about these six aristos. You hinder me at your peril."

He was challenged over and over again in the same way, and so were his friends who were carrying papa and maman and the children, but they were always ready for a reply. With eyes that could not see one could imagine them as hideous, as vengeful, as cruel as the rest of the crowd.

I think that soon I must have fainted from sheer excitement and terror, for I remember nothing more till I felt myself deposited on a hard floor, propped against the wall, and the stifling piece of sacking taken off my head and face.

I looked around me dazed and bewildered; gradually the horrors of the past hour came back to me, and I had to close my eyes again, for I felt sick and giddy with the sheer memory of it all.

But presently I felt stronger and looked around me again. Jean and Andre were squatting in a corner close by, gazing wide-eyed at the group of men in filthy, ragged clothing who sat round a deal table in the centre of a small, ill-furnished room.

Maman was lying on a horse-hair sofa at the other end of the room, with Marguerite beside her, and papa sat in a low chair by her side holding her hand.

The voice I loved was speaking in its quaint, somewhat drawly cadence:

"You are quite safe now, my dear Monsieur Lemercier," it said. "After Madame and the young people have had a rest some of my friends will find you suitable disguises, and they will escort you out of Paris, as they have some really genuine passports in their possession, which we obtain from time to time through the agency of a personage highly placed in this murdering Government, and with the help of English banknotes. Those passports are not always unchallenged, I must confess," added my hero, with a quaint laugh, "but to-night every one is busy murdering in one part of Paris, so the other parts are comparatively safe."

Then he turned to one of his friends and spoke to him in English:

"You had better see this through, Tony," he said, "with Hastings and Mackenzie. Three of you will be enough: I shall have need of the others."

No one seemed to question his orders. He had spoken and the others made ready to obey. Just then papa spoke up:

"How are we going to thank you, sir?" he asked, speaking broken English, but with his habitual dignity of manner.

"By leaving your welfare in our hands, Monsieur," replied our gallant rescuer quietly.

Papa tried to speak again, but the Englishman put up his hand to stop any further talk.

"There is no time now, Monsieur," he said, with gentle courtesy. "I must leave you, as I have much work yet to do."

"Where are you going, Blakeney?" asked one of the others.

"Back to the Abbaye prison," he said; "there are other women and children to be rescued there!"

WHAT CAN A LITTLE CHAP DO?

BY JOHN OXENHAM

_Painting by_ EUGENE HASTAIN _and Drawings by GORDON BROWNE, R.I._

_WHAT can a little chap do
For his country and for you?
What_ CAN _a little chap do?_

He can fight like a Knight
For the Truth and the Right--
_That's one good thing he can do._

"He can march in the queue
Of the Good and the Great,
Who battled with fate
And won through."

_Painted for
Princess Mary's Gift Book
by Eugene Hastain_]

He can shun all that's mean,
He can keep himself clean,
Both without and within--
_That's another good thing he can do_.

His soul he can brace
Against everything base,
And the trace will be seen
All his life in his face--
_That's a very fine thing he can do_.

He can look to the Light,
He can keep his thought white,
He can fight the great fight,
He can do with his might
What is good in God's sight--
_Those are excellent things he can do_.

Though his years be but few,
He can march in the queue
Of the Good and the Great,
Who battled with fate
And won through--
_That's a wonderful thing he can do_.

And--in each little thing
He can follow The King.
Yes--in each smallest thing
He can follow The King--
He can follow The Christ, The King.

ALTOGETHER DIFFERENT

BY W. PETT RIDGE

_Painting by_ M. E. GRAY _and Drawings by_ LEWIS BAUMER