Part 3

COLONEL ALBERT AUGUSTUS POPE, President of the Pope Manufacturing Company, was born in Boston in 1843. He received an ordinary public-school education, and at nineteen years of age entered the Union army as a volunteer, with the appointment of second lieutenant in the 35th Massachusetts Infantry, serving with distinction, and being gazetted lieutenant-colonel "for gallant conduct in the battles of Knoxville, Poplar Springs Church, and front of Petersburg." At the close of the war he commenced business in Boston, and, becoming interested in the development of the bicycle, he began to introduce the machines into the United States, commencing the manufacture of them in 1878. The Pope Manufacturing Company are the proprietors of the "Columbia" bicycle, and their works are among the largest of the kind in the world. Colonel Pope has taken an active interest in affairs of public moment both in his native State and throughout the country, notably so in the movement for establishing better roads, and in the welfare and education of factory employees.

EMPEROR WILLIAM OF GERMANY.

_Born January 27, 1859._

EUGENE FIELD.

_Born in St. Louis, 1850._

COLONEL ALBERT A. POPE.

_Born in Boston, 1843._

DREAMS GO BY CONTRARIES.

BY GEORGE H. JESSOP.

"I don't want to hurry any one," remarked our host, shaking the ashes out of a well-blackened meerschaum, "but we have a long day before us to-morrow, and if any one wants any sleep this is the time to take it."

No response from any one of the half-dozen men lounging in the snug armchairs of that most perfectly appointed smoking-room.

"I don't mind," said Sir Alan. "Two or three hours in bed are enough for me at any time. Please pass the spirit case, Jones. I wonder you're not sleepy, Tom Everton. You used always to be in bed by eleven when you had an early morning in prospect, but I suppose matrimony has cured you of that along with other failings."

"Tom says he isn't going," some one remarked.

"Not going! Pooh, nonsense! I thought he'd made up his mind to bring down a hart royal, at least, or leave his bones on Balmaquidder Brae."

Mr. Everton looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"I--I should like to try of all things," he stammered, "but--well--I won't--at least I think--I--I shan't go with you to-morrow--that is, if Sir Alan will excuse me."

"Please yourself and you'll please me," replied the hospitable baronet; "but if it isn't any secret I'd like to know what has made you change your mind so suddenly."

"He promised Mrs. Everton he wouldn't go," broke in the previous speaker. "She dreamed a dream, and, like Pharaoh's chief baker, she thought there was something in it."

"Do be quiet, Jones," interrupted Everton, irritably. "My wife had a rather odd dream last night, and she's a bit nervous, you know, and--well, after all, it's not much to give up one day's deer-stalking, if any one's going to make herself miserable over it."

We all knew each other pretty well, this little circle of guests collected by Sir Alan to help him to shoot his Scotch mountain, and very free and outspoken was the "chaff" that flew around poor Tom Everton's devoted head. He bore it with great good-humor for some time, till Jones made a rather uncalled-for remark involving questions of free will and "petticoat government." Then Tom flared up.

"I don't stay at home because I'm afraid of anything, but simply because I have promised. My wife dreamed that I went out with this party, and it grew late without any of us coming back. Then she thought she saw me lying face down in the Balmaquidder, and she seemed to know I was dead. I don't remember the details, but I know she worked herself up into a shocking nervous state about it till I promised not to go. Of course it's all nonsense, I know that, but what can I do?"

"Do as you promised!" It was Colonel Eyre's deep voice that uttered the words, and we all glanced round at the speaker. He had remained silent during the badinage occasioned by Everton's determination, sitting with his tumbler of Scotch whiskey-and-water in front of him, puffing away silently at the short brier-root, whose bowl scarcely cleared the sweep of his heavy, grizzled mustache. He was holding the pipe in his hand now, sitting erect and speaking with unmistakable earnestness of manner. "Do as you promised, and don't be too sure it's all nonsense, either. I have known cases in which men have lived to be very thankful that they yielded to a presentiment."

"But this was a dream, colonel," broke in the irrepressible Jones.

"Dream be it, then! Stay at home, Everton. As you say, it's not much to miss a day's shooting. And if you neglect this warning the chances are you may never live to regret it." The speaker took a sip from the tumbler in front of him, replaced his pipe between his lips, and leaned back as if the subject were at an end.

But the colonel, an Indian officer of many years' service, was popularly supposed to have led a life of adventure, and to have figured in more than one story whose exciting incidents could well bear repetition. As a rule, he was a taciturn man, and it was by no means easy to "set him talking," as the story goes. The present seemed an opportunity too good to be lost, and several voices demanded the experience by whose authority he had spoken so decidedly.

"Well, yes," said Colonel Eyre slowly, "I have seen a presentiment very remarkably fulfilled. I am not much of a hand at yarning, but, if you wish, I have no objection to give you a leaf out of my own book, if it's only that you may leave my friend Tom here in peace to follow his own course, without badgering him about it. Yes, I mean you, Mr. Jones," he went on, impaling that helpless youngster with a glance that sent him nervously to the spirit case, while the rest of us settled ourselves comfortably to listen, and Sir Alan, with a "Fire ahead, colonel," drew his chair forward into a better position.

"It was a good while after the breaking of the monsoon in '68," began the colonel, slowly; "the weather was cool and pleasant enough, so that, on the face of it, it seemed no great hardship when I was ordered to take a detachment down to Sumbalpar. I was stationed at Raipur at the time, in the Orissa district, and word came of some trouble with the Zemindars above Sumbalpar. The only thing that seemed inconvenient was the suddenness of the order. It was just 'Fall in and march out' without delay of an hour. I was a young married man in those days, pretty much in the position of my friend Tom Everton, with a wife of two years and a bit of a baby a few months old. It wasn't pleasant to leave them behind me in a place like Raipur, and, of course, it was out of the question to start them at an hour's notice. I spoke to my bearer, Josein, one of the best native servants I ever saw, and directed him to make arrangements for an early march on the following morning. He was to see my family driven quietly over to Sumbalpar in the tonga. They were to travel by easy stages under the charge of a careful bilewallah. If there are any 'griffs' in this company, I may explain for their benefit that a tonga is a kind of bullock wagon, and a bilewallah is the driver of the same. Well, I had just time for a few words of comfort and farewell--Tom will appreciate all that--before I rode out of Raipur at the head of my column. We camped that night in the jungle, after a march of about twenty miles, and it was under canvas that I was visited with the dream or presentiment, or whatever you choose to call it, that gives such point as it may possess to this old-time yarn of mine."

The colonel paused to refill his glass, but every one's interest was now awakened, and no one broke the momentary silence that ensued.

"It was pretty late before I fell asleep," resumed Colonel Eyre, setting down his tumbler, "and it was still dark when I awoke, or seemed to awake, with my wife's voice ringing in my ears--a shriek of agony that made me start up from my pillow and listen breathlessly. There was a lantern burning in my tent--I had left it so when I lay down--and by the glimmer of light I saw a large, dark mass spread itself between me and the canvas roof and gradually settle down on my head. I did not know what it was--it was vague and formless in outline--but I had a consciousness that it was something of a dangerous nature--something that threatened my life--and I struggled to throw myself to one side or the other. In vain. I could not move hand or foot. I lay as if chained to the bed, and still the dark mass descended, shutting out light and air and seeming to suffocate me."

"Nightmare!" remarked Sir Alan.

"Very possibly," returned the colonel. "Suddenly, just as I gave myself up for lost, and sank back on the pillow exhausted, I heard my wife's voice again, this time clear and articulate. 'Save yourself, Gerald,' it cried. 'Make one more effort for my sake.' I glanced up at the threatening outline, nerving myself for a final struggle. It was no longer formless; its approach had ceased to be slow. Swift as the swoop of a falcon it descended upon me--the immense body of a tiger on the spring--its cruel jaws agape, its enormous paws with every claw unsheathed, and its hot, fetid breath on my very brow!"

"A decidedly uncomfortable dream," observed Jones.

"Of course all this passed in one-tenth of the time I take to tell it. I rolled out from under the hungry jaws, and just as I reached the ground I heard the angry growl of the baffled monster, followed by a shattering roar loud enough to waken the Seven Sleepers. As my senses came back to me, I found myself lying half on the ground, half on my low camp bed, my body bathed in perspiration, and trembling in every limb. Just then my batman put his head inside the tent-flap and asked me if I had heard the roar, adding that there was a tiger in the camp. I pulled on my clothes, and I could hear the men walking about among the tents, searching and whispering--but no trace of a tiger could we discover."

"Then it was a real tiger?" inquired Tom.

"It would seem so, as the whole camp had heard the roar as well as myself. However, it was almost morning by this time, and as every one was afoot and moments were precious I gave orders to push on at once. A hurried chota hazree was quickly prepared and despatched, and by the time the sun rose we were fairly on our way, with a good prospect of reaching Sumbalpar before nightfall. I couldn't shake off the impression of the dream, however, try as I would. Besides, some natives who had come in before we broke camp told us of a man-eater which had been infesting the district. A tiger that has once tasted human flesh, as you may have heard, is never content with beef or venison afterwards, and they sometimes make themselves the terror of a whole country-side before they are shot. What with the vague misgivings suggested by my dream, and the tangible danger of the man-eater, I found myself growing more and more uneasy with every mile we marched. Finally, I determined to turn back and meet my wife. I was well mounted, and I believed I could gallop to the rear, assure myself that all was well with her, and pick up my command again before it reached Sumbalpar. I left the detachment in charge of a sergeant--poor old Busbee, he died of jungle fever that same year--and rode back as fast as King Tom, a very speedy chestnut, could lay leg to ground. I passed the spot where we had spent the night, and kept on several miles beyond without seeing anything to cause uneasiness. My fears were beginning to disperse, and common sense made itself heard. I realized that I might find it very difficult to give a satisfactory explanation of my absence if the men reached Sumbalpar without me--they do not pay much attention to dreams at headquarters. This view of the case became more impressive with each mile I rode, and I determined that if the next turn in the path did not bring my family into view, or show me some other good reason for pushing on, I would turn back and rejoin my command. Thus resolved, I cantered forward, swung round the tangled angle of brush that limited my view, and saw----"

Here the colonel stopped for another sip of whiskey-and-water.

"What did you see?" cried Sir Alan. "Your wife?"

"Yes, sir, I saw her. She was sitting with the baby in her lap in the tonga--pale--I have never seen such an expression of strained terror on any human countenance. The bilewallah was in front, trying to keep the bullocks, which seemed almost frantic with fear, to the path. I knew the man well--one of the best hands with a team at the station--but just then his face was so distorted with fright that I hardly recognized him. You know that lilac-grayish tinge a native's face gets when he is scared almost to death----"

"I know, I know," broke in Sir Alan. "But what was the matter--what was frightening them? Could you see anything?"

"Indeed I could," replied the colonel. "Cause enough they had; not five yards behind them trotted the largest tiger it has ever been my fortune to see."

Various exclamations testified to the completeness of the surprise to which Colonel Eyre had treated his audience.

"Was it a man-eater?" I asked.

"At first I supposed it was, but if it had been I never should have seen them alive. After I shot the beast----"

"Oh, you did shoot him?"

"Don't ask me how! I am counted a fair shot--I was far better then; but when I levelled my rifle at that brute's heart, when I realized how much hung on the result--for if I had missed, or if I had merely wounded him, he would have been in the tonga at a single spring, and nothing under heaven itself could have saved those dearest to me from a horrible death--when I realized all this, I don't know how I found the nerve to pull the trigger. I suppose I knew it was the only chance. My appearance had enraged the animal and he was just preparing to spring. This I do know, and I'm not ashamed to own it: when I saw that I had laid the tiger out with a single shot--a thing that doesn't happen twice in a lifetime--I fell flat beside the tonga in the act of helping my wife down; for the first and last time in my life I fainted.

"Yes, it was a pretty hard trial on the nerves," resumed the colonel, as our discussion of the situation sank into silence, "but nothing to what my wife had gone through. That tiger had followed them for more than four miles through the jungle. The bilewallah, with rare presence of mind, had managed to keep the bullocks to their steady jog-trot--any increase of pace or appearance of flight would have provoked a spring. She, poor woman, had succeeded in hushing her baby, for had the child cried, nothing is surer than that the sound would have led to an attack. It must have been an awful four miles for her. It was years before she recovered from the effect."

"And why did not the tiger attack them?" inquired Jones. "Does any one know?"

"The animal was doubtless waiting to kill them till they got into the vicinity of water," explained Colonel Eyre. "Tigers often do that with cattle and other large quarry. There was water a mile or less further on. I had noticed it myself in passing. If I had not come upon the ground, another ten minutes would have sealed their fate."

"So it may fairly be said that your dream was the means of saving their lives," observed Tom Everton, who, although the most silent, had not been the least attentive of the listeners.

"I think we may fairly admit so much," replied Colonel Eyre. "If it had not been for my dream, I do not think the report of the man-eater would have brought me back. On the other hand, but for hearing about the man-eater and actually being awakened by the roar of a tiger, I am not sure that the dream would have had weight enough with me to induce me to leave a detachment on the march--a serious thing, gentlemen, as some of you who are soldiers know well enough."

"It's a very curious circumstance, certainly," observed Sir Alan; and then there was a pause.

"But see here, colonel," Tom broke in again, "the dream, if a warning at all, was a warning of danger to you, yourself, and though you certainly heard Mrs. Eyre's voice calling to you, yet it was urging you to save yourself, and not summoning you to her assistance."

"That is very true, and it puzzled me at the time. But, as I argued, it is wonderful enough to get a warning of danger in the future at all; you must not expect to have it spelled out to you in large print. Now, as to this dream of Mrs. Everton's--it prefigures danger to you, as I understand?"

"You must go to Mrs. Everton herself for the details. All that I remember is that she saw me lying drowned in the Balmaquidder, and read the vision as a warning that some accident would befall me if I joined the shooting-party to-morrow. But, by the light of your experience, it would seem the danger is to her, not to me."

"I'm not quite so sure of that," returned the colonel, thoughtfully.

"Well, I think there can be no question that your dream saved your wife's life," observed Jones, upon whose scepticism the colonel's narrative had made some impression.

"No question at all," rejoined that officer, rising, "and therefore, young man, pay attention to dreams, whether they be your own or those of your better half, which should be, _a fortiori_, better and more reliable than your own. Good-night, gentlemen. It's past one o'clock, and we have an early start before us."

In ten minutes more silence and darkness reigned in the smoking-room of Balmaquidder Lodge.

Next morning the men of the party were up and stirring betimes. As I left my bedroom, candle in hand, I heard voices proceeding from the apartment occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Everton. "Ah, ha," thought I, "Tom's curtain lecture is not over yet." However, our friend's absence was forgotten in the enjoyment of a substantial Highland breakfast, and by the time the sun asserted his power against the mist we were bravely breasting a steep mountain side, spurred on by the hope of a good day's sport.

Only one incident occurred at our start. Sir Alan was setting his face against a steep brae when he was stopped by the bare-legged gillie who acted as our guide. "Dinna gae yon gait, Sir Alan. We must win ower by the brig below."

"Can't we get across by the stepping-stones at the ford?" inquired our host, impatiently. "The bridge is a mile of a round."

"I dinna ken that the stanes'll be ower muckle safe, Sir Alan, forbye ye canna see them at a' wi' the white water swirling ower them, and the pool maybe ten feet deep close in under them. We mought win ower recht enoo, an' again we mought na--ye ken----"

"Yes, I ken," interrupted Sir Alan. "We'll go round by the bridge, gentlemen. There's a flood in the river, it appears--a cheerful habit the Balmaquidder has when you least want it or expect it."

By the bridge accordingly we went, and when I saw the brown water whirling down in swift eddies I was thankful that we had not attempted the stepping-stones.

It was evening, and fast growing dark, when we reached the glen on our return, wet, tired, and hungry, but thoroughly satisfied with the day's result. We were stepping out briskly, for we knew we were close to home, when a big mountain hawk swooped right in front of us. Jones, who had not drawn the cartridge from his rifle, let fly on the instant, without remembering how small was his chance with a bullet at quarry on the wing. We were amusing ourselves chaffing Jones as the bird flew off untouched when Colonel Eyre, who was a few steps to the rear, pulled up short and raised his hand to signal for silence.

We all heard it then--a shrill, lamentable voice ringing sharply from the hillside; there was no mistaking the purport of that appeal, it was a cry for help. But the mist was beginning to settle and the echo baffled us. For a moment we looked blankly at each other and around, not knowing whither to turn.

Again the cry, "Help, help, help!" with a note of agony in it that stirred the blood like a trumpet. "God guide us--'tis at the foord above you," cried the gillie, and, tired as we were, none of us were far behind him when he reached the stepping-stones.

They were hidden by a mass of swirling, broken water, but just below them lay the pool of which the guide had spoken--calm by comparison with the ford, but agitated nevertheless with a swift current that flashed between steep banks faced with granite; as ugly a place for an accident as might be found in the whole length of the brawling Balmaquidder.

And an accident had happened, plainly enough. On one of the granite boulders knelt Mrs. Everton, leaning back with all her might against the drag of a plaid, one end of which she held, while the other was lost in the black shadows of the pool.

She heard our footsteps as we ran up, but did not turn her head. "Help, help!" she cried again. "I can't hold on much longer, and he--oh----"

She broke off with a sob, as strong hands relieved her of the extemporized life-line, and Colonel Eyre, bending forward, peered down into the obscurity of the pool. I was one of those who had grasped the shore end of the plaid, and the strain told me that whoever was below still maintained his grasp. "Can you hold on another moment?" asked the colonel; then, without waiting for a reply, "Cling close for dear life. Now, boys, gently does it. A steady, slow pull--no jerking;" and in another moment the dripping, half-senseless form of Tom Everton was drawn out on the bank, his drowning grip of the plaid still unloosened, and laid beside the fainting form of his wife.

"It was this way," Tom explained some hours later, when we were all assembled for our usual smoking-room symposium. "I dare say I was pretty cross all day, thinking of the sport you fellows were having, and all I was missing, and towards evening my wife suggested that we should walk out and try to meet you. We kept along the river up to the stepping-stones, but the crossing there looked so bad that my wife would not hear of my attempting it. I did not think it so very dangerous, but I dare say I'd have let her have her own way----"

"As you usually do," interjected Jones.