band (a German itinerant one, Imean), he flew straight at them, and never failed to scatter them in alldirections. I am afraid I rather encouraged him in this habit of his;it was amusing and it made the people laugh. It did not make the Germanfellows laugh, however--at least, not the man with the big bassoon--forNero always singled him out, probably because he was making more rowthan the others. A gentleman said one day that Nero ought to be boughtby the people of Margate, and kept as public property to keep thestreets clear of the German band element.
"But Nero never attempted to disperse the ship's band--he seemed ratherto like it. I remember once walking in a city up North, some yearsafter Nero left the service, and meeting a band of volunteers.
"`Oh,' thought Nero, `this does put me in mind of old times.'
"I do not know for certain that this was really what the dog thought,but I am quite sure about what he did, and that was, to put himself atthe head of that volunteer regiment and march in front of it. As nocoaxing of mine could get the dog away, I was obliged to fall in too,and we had quite a mile of a march, which I really had not expected, anddid not care for.
"Nero's partiality for marines was very great; but here is a curiouscircumstance: the dog knows the difference between a marine and asoldier in the street, for even a year after he left garrison, if he sawa red-jacket in the street, he would rush up to its owner. If asoldier, he merely sniffed him and ran on; if a marine, he not onlysniffed him, but jumped about him and exhibited great joy, and perhapsended by taking the man's cap in a friendly kind of a way, and just forauld lang syne.
"Nero's life on board ship would have been one of unalloyed happiness,except for those dreadful guns. The dog was not afraid of an ordinaryfowling-piece, but a cannon was another concern, and as we were veryoften at general quarters, or saluting other ships, Nero had more thanenough of big guns. Terrible things he must have thought them--thingsthat went off when a man pulled a string, that went off with fire andsmoke, and a roar louder than any thunder; things that shook the shipand smashed the crockery, and brought his master's good old fiddletumbling down to the deck--terrible things indeed. Even on days whenthere was no saluting or firing, there was always that eight o'clockgun.
"As soon as the quartermaster entered the wardroom, a few seconds beforeeight in the evening, and reported the hour to the commander, poor Nerotook refuge under the sofa.
"He knew the man's knock.
"`Eight o'clock, sir, please,' the man would say.
"`Make it so,' the commander would reply, which meant, `Fire the gun.'
"This was enough for Nero; he was in hiding a full minute before theycould `make it so.'"
"Is that the reason," asked Ida, "why you sometimes say eight o'clock tohim when you want him to go and lie down?"
"Yes, birdie," I replied. "He does not forget it, and never will aslong as he lives. If you look at him even now, you will see a kind ofterror in his eye, for he knows what we are talking about, and he is notquite sure that even here in this peaceful pine wood some one might notfire a big gun and make it eight o'clock."
"No, no, no," cried Ida, throwing her arms around the dog, "don't beafraid, dear old Nero. It shan't be eight o'clock. It will never,never be eight o'clock any more, dearest doggie."
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Note 1. "Friends in Fur." Published by Messrs. Dean and Son, FleetStreet, London.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
THE STORY OF AILEEN'S HUSBAND, NERO--CONTINUED.
"His locked and lettered braw brass collar Showed him the gentleman and scholar."
"You promised," said my little companion the very next evening, "toresume the thread of Nero's narrative."
"Very prettily put, birdie," I said; "resume the thread of Nero'snarrative. Did I actually make use of those words? Very well, I will,though I fear you will think the story a little dull, and probably thestory-teller somewhat prosy.
"Do you know, then, Ida, that I am quite convinced that Providence gavemankind the dog to be a real companion to him, and I believe that thisis the reason why a dog is so very, very faithful, so long-sufferingunder trial, so patient when in pain, and so altogether good and kind.When I look at poor old Nero, as he lies beside you there, half asleep,yet listening to every word we say, my thoughts revert to many a bygonescene in which he and I were the principal actors. And many a time,Ida, when in grief and sorrow, I have felt, rightly or wrongly, that Ihad not a friend in the world but himself.
"Well, dear, I had learned to love Nero, and love him well, when Ireceived an appointment to join the flagship at Sheerness. The fact isI had been a whole year on sick leave, and Nero and I had beentravelling for the sake of my health. There was hardly a town inEngland, Ireland, or Scotland we had not visited, and I always managedit so that the dog should occupy the same room as myself. By the end ofa twelvemonth, Nero had got to be quite an old and quite a wisetraveller. His special duty was to see after the luggage--in otherwords, Master Nero was baggage-master. When I left a hotel, my trapswere generally taken in a hand-cart or trolly. Close beside the man allthe way to the station walked my faithful friend, he himself in allprobability carrying a carpet bag, and looking the very quintessence ofseriousness and dignified importance. As soon as he saw the porterplace the luggage in the van, then back he would come to me, with many ajoyous bark and bound, quite regardless of the fact that he sometimesran against a passenger, and sent him sprawling on the platform.
"When we arrived at our journey's end, Nero used to be at the luggagevan before me. And here is something worth recording: as we usuallycame out at a door on the opposite side of the train to that at which wehad entered, I was apt for a moment or two to forget the position of theluggage van. Nero never made a mistake, so I daresay his scent assistedhim. As soon as the luggage was put on the trolly, and the man startedwith it, the dog went with him, but as the man often went a long wayahead of me, Nero was naturally afraid of losing sight of me; thereforeif the porter attempted to turn a corner the dog invariably barked, notangrily, but determinedly, till he stopped. As soon as I came up, thenthe procession went on again, till we came to another corner, when theman had to stop once more. I remember he pulled a man down, because hewould not stop, but he did not otherwise hurt him at all.
"In the train, he either travelled in the same carriage with myself, orin cases where the guard objected to this, I travelled in the van withthe dog, so we were not separated.
"If a man is travelling much by train or by steamboat, he need neverfeel lonely if he has as splendid a dog as the Champion Theodore Nerowith him; for the dog makes his master acquaintances.
"When Nero was with me, I could hardly stand for a moment at a streetcorner or to look in at a shop window without attracting a small crowd.I was never half an hour on the deck of a steamer without some onecoming up and saying--
"`Excuse me, sir, but what a noble-looking dog you have! What breed ishe? Pure Newfoundland, doubtless.'
"This would in all probability lead to conversation, and many anacquaintance I have thus formed, which have ripened into friendshipsthat last till this day.
"Well, Ida, when I received my appointment to the flagship, my veryfirst thoughts were about my friend the dog, and with a sad feeling ofsinking at my heart, I asked myself the question--`Will Nero bepermitted to live on board?' To part with the dear fellow would havebeen a grief I could not bear to contemplate.
"An answer to the question, however, could not be obtained until Ijoined my ship, that was certain; so I started.
"It was in the gloaming of a blustering day in early spring that thetrain in which we travelled, slowly, and after much unseemly delay,rolled rattling into the little station at Sheerness, and after ashoulder-to-shoulder struggle between half a dozen boatmen, who wishedto take me, bag and baggage, off somewhere, and the same number ofcabbies, who wished to carry me anywhere else, I was lucky enough to getseated in a musty conveyance that smelt like the aroma o
f wetcollie-dogs and stale tobacco, with a slight suspicion of bad beer.Against the windows of this rattletrap beat the cold rain, and the mudflew from the wheels as from a wet swab. Lights were springing up hereand there in the street under the busy fingers of a lamp-lighter, whomight have been mistaken for a member of the monkey tribe, so nimbly didhe glide up and down his skeleton ladder, and hurry along at his task.The wind, too, was doing all in its power to render his work abortive,and the gas-lights burned blue under the blast.
"We were glad when we reached the hotel, but I was gladder still when,on making some inquiries about the ship I was about to join, I was toldthat the commander was extremely fond of dogs, and that he had two ofhis own.
"I slept more soundly after
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