Uncle Joe's Stories

First Baron Brabourne

Uncle Joe's Stories

PREFACE

I had almost made up my mind to write no more Fairy Tales, to let sprites and elves alone for ever, and to refrain from any further research into the dark and mysterious doings of warlocks and witches in the olden time. But fate is stronger than the will of man, and I am powerless to resist the influences brought to induce – nay, to compel – me to alter my determination. It is not only that verbal and written requests have come to me from many quarters which it is difficult to resist; it is not only that I am tired of being asked when my new book is coming out, and of being generally disbelieved when I answer "never." There is a stronger influence still. Fairies and elves have an extraordinary power which they exercise over those who have once sought to pry into their mysteries. If once you have dealings with such creatures, you can rarely, if ever, leave them. There is a fatality which urges you on – an irresistible fascination in the subject which brings you back to it again and again, and obliges you to recur to it in spite of yourself. When I walk out in the woods, or ramble through the fields alone, the objects which appear ordinary and commonplace to people who have, unhappily for themselves, neglected to study Fairy Lore, bear to me quite a different appearance. I see traces of the little beings which are not visible to the careless, still less to the unbelieving eye. I hear voices which are inaudible to the ear of the incredulous; and even without this, Fancy – free, glorious Fancy – clothes the grass, the flowers, the bushes, the trees, with a beauty of her own, and peoples every fairy haunt with a spirit company. Is it only Fancy? Ah! that is just what nobody knows. Only how could I tell so many different stories if nobody told them to me first?

That is a question I should like people to put to themselves calmly and quietly, and if they think, after full consideration, that some person or persons must have told me these curious stories, I hope they will come to the conclusion that I am only doing what is right and fair in passing them on to other people, so that the world may know as much as I do about the strange and wonderful beings to whom these stories relate.

UNCLE JOE

I do not think that I ever met so extraordinary a man as Uncle Joe in all my life. We children were all very fond of him, because he had an inexhaustible supply of stories, and those, too, of a kind which are especially popular with children. He had exciting stories of almost every sort: of thrilling adventures by land and sea, of captures by pirates, hair-breadth escapes from Red Indians; fearful conflicts with robbers; terrible struggles with wild animals; and strange encounters with sea-serpents or similarly wonderful creatures. Then he knew an immense deal about giants and dwarfs, witches and wizards, ogres and vampires, and he also possessed no little insight into all that concerned fairies and fairy-land. He could tell of the little sea fairy that rode on the crest of the wave, basking pleasantly when the sun shone down on a calm still ocean, and shrieking madly with frenzied delight when the winds lashed the waves into fury, and carried her forward on the great flakes of snow-like foam; of the fairy who looked after some particular house or family, and always appeared to warn them of danger just at the right moment, or to disclose a buried treasure, exactly in time to save them from ruin; and of the happy little woodland fairies, who are to be found in the deep glades and dark ravines of the wild forest, and about whom such innumerable legends have from time to time been written by some of those fortunate mortals who have visited and been aided by them in time of sickness or danger, and who have in gratitude chronicled their power.

Nothing delighted Uncle Joe so much as to tell one of his charming stories to us, eager listeners as we always were. He liked to get one child on each knee, and to have the others clustering round as near as possible, and then he would start off and go on just for all the world as if he was only reading from a book.

Looking back now, with the calmer judgment of riper years, I hardly know which was most wonderful, the unlimited power of invention of Uncle Joe, or the boundless credulity of us children. Because no man could by any possibility have gone through half the wonderful adventures of which he pretended to have been the hero, if he had lived to twice the ordinary age of man, and kept on searching for adventures all the time. Besides, it would have been five hundred to one against his escaping every time, as Uncle Joe always did, "by the skin o' his teeth."

Once he was tied to the stake, and just going to be scalped by the Indians, when some miraculous thing (I forget what at this moment) occurred to save him; once he was in the very coils of an enormous snake, and was yet preserved; and at another time, he was actually swallowed by a crocodile, (I am sure I don't know how he got down its throat without a disabling nip from some of those teeth which I have noticed in the mouths of stuffed crocodiles in museums,) and escaped by means of employing his penknife in a manner too disagreeable to describe. In short, there never was a man who, according to his own account, had gone through such a series of remarkable adventures as Uncle Joe, and I am therefore quite justified in pronouncing him to have been a most extraordinary man.

I have never discovered what really was Uncle Joe's profession or occupation. For anything I know, he may have been a soldier, a sailor, or a horse-marine; though, for the matter of that, I have so little conception of what may be the duties of persons engaged in the latter profession, that I should dispute the claims of nobody who averred that he had belonged to it. All I know is, that he wore a blue coat with brass buttons, had a hooked nose and a bright eye, and only possessed one arm; the other I solemnly declare I have heard him state, on different occasions, to have been shot off in battle, lost in saving life from a shipwreck, when it got jammed between two planks of the sinking ship, and bitten off by a tiger, under circumstances the details of which I do not happen to remember – it was gone, however, anyhow, was that left-arm of Uncle Joe's, and its loss must have had this great consolation, that it furnished a foundation upon which he built many a romance, pleasing to himself, and interesting to his listeners.

He had been a mighty traveller, had Uncle Joe. From Canada to the farthest extremity of South America, from Constantinople to Hong-Kong, from the Straits of Gibraltar to the Cape, all was familiar to him; whilst, as to continental Europe, there seemed to be no hole or corner which he had not explored. England was like his own house to him; that is to say, he knew every county and town in one as well as he knew every room in the other. In fact, to hear him talk on these subjects, you never would for a moment have guessed that which was the real truth, namely, that he had never been further from England than Paris, and had been so particularly ill in crossing the channel that nothing but the fear of the laughter of his friends, coupled with his total and entire ignorance of the French language, prevented his settling in France for the rest of his life, sooner than again undergo the ordeal of that terrible passage.

Happily for us children, (for this occurred before we were at the age of story-hearing, or indeed at any age at all,) he did face the channel once more, and never sought to tempt it again. But all this I only learned many years after, and during the whole of the early portion of my life, I (in common, I am sure, with the great majority of his acquaintance) set Uncle Joe down as a man who had seen more of the world than most living men, and knew more of the geography of foreign lands, as well as of the customs and manners of their inhabitants, than anyone whom I ordinarily met.

With all this sin, if sin it be, of exaggeration, (one wishes to use a mild word in speaking of a relative,) Uncle Joe's virtues greatly predominated over any defects which he may have possessed. He was good-natured to a fault – forgiving beyond most men – tender-hearted – a faithful friend – and full of sympathy for the woes and sorrows of others. I believe he lost a large sum of money in early life by becoming surety for some one whom he thought to be a friend, and who turned out to be an arrant scoundrel. Anyhow, he was far from rich, and was not one of those uncles who have always got a sovereign ready for a nephew going to school, or for spending at the confectioner's, if he comes to see a young relative during school-time. Still, Uncle Joe was the most popular of all our relations so far as the public opinion of the school-room was concerned, and every juvenile heart rejoiced when we were told that he was coming to spend Christmas at our home.

Upon one occasion he was expected to arrive upon the day before Christmas Eve, and we were all greatly delighted at the prospect. Fanny and Kitty, my two eldest sisters, were looking forward with much pleasure to the visits to the school-room which Uncle Joe always paid about tea-time, not only on account of the stories we were sure to hear, but because it was so very amusing to see the violent efforts which Miss Crinkles, the governess, used to make in order to avoid going into fits of laughter at some of our uncle's jokes, and the entire – though only temporary – loss of dignity which followed her inevitable failure to keep her countenance. Tom and Gerald and I (Harry is my name, and I was about twelve at the time of this story) were equally interested, and little Lucy and Mary were employed for several days beforehand in putting on their dolls' best dresses, that they might be in a fit state to receive this honoured relation.

Well, the day before Christmas Eve came – as it always comes every year, if you only look out for it – and our hearts beat high with expectation of Uncle Joe. But no Uncle Joe appeared at luncheon time (he often turned up about that time) and when tea-time had arrived, the hoped-for visit was not paid. Presently the dressing-bell rang, half-an-hour before dinner, and still no Uncle Joe. Even my father began to fidget now, and to wonder where the expected guest could be, and my mother became positively uneasy. If there was one thing rather than another about which our uncle was particular, it was the important point of being in time for dinner. The reason he always gave for this particularity was his sense of the unfairness to the cook which was occasioned by unpunctuality. No cook, he said, could contend against it, and you had no right to expect a good dinner unless you were ready to eat it at the hour for which it had been ordered.

The knowledge of this opinion on the part of Uncle Joe, and of the firmness – not to say obstinacy – with which he always maintained it – increased the uneasiness of my parents as the dinner hour grew nearer and nearer without his appearance, and when half-past seven arrived, and still no Uncle Joe, matters were held to be so serious that messengers were despatched in several directions to make inquiries whether anything had been heard or seen of the expected visitor. It was fortunate that this step was taken, because otherwise there exists a violent probability that this story might never have been told, and we children should have had to mourn over the loss of our favourite relative.

Uncle Joe was found lying by the roadside, barely a mile from our gate, at a spot where a path ran parallel with the road, but some twelve feet above it. His head was bruised and his left-arm broken, and, when found, he was insensible. There was snow on the ground: it had frozen during the day, and, about seven o'clock, light flakes of snow had begun to fall again, so that if my poor uncle had lain where he was much longer, he would either have been covered with snow, or frozen, and could in no case have come well out of the business. His story was, that, finding that he was at the station, some five miles off, in good time, he thought he would walk over to our house and have his portmanteau sent for from thence.

Some two miles from home there stood (and still stands) a convenient public-house by the road-side, bearing the respectable sign of "The Duke's Head," a staring picture of the head and shoulders of a man, displaying the prominent nose and distinctive features of the great Duke of Wellington, swinging gaily in front of the said inn. I believe it is a very old inn, and was originally named after the great Duke of Marlborough, and if England ever has another "great" Duke, I do not doubt that his picture will replace the present one, and the sign will do equally well for him.

At this hostelry, said Uncle Joe, he had pulled up to have a glass of hot brandy-and-water to cheer him on his way, and remembered to have observed several rough-looking characters hanging about the place at the time. He journeyed on, and at the spot at which he was found had been attacked by three foot-pads, whom he declared that he had resisted stoutly, but a blow with a short stick delivered by one of them had felled him to the earth with a broken arm, while he had been rendered insensible by a similar blow upon the head. The robbers seemed to have had some object other than that of mere plunder, for although Uncle Joe declared that they had taken all his money but half-a-crown, which was found in his waistcoat-pocket, yet it was so seldom that he had much more cash about him, that no one imagined that the robbers' booty could have been great, whilst they had left his big silver watch and chain untouched, and also the large old-fashioned silver pencil-case, which he always carried about with him. This he attributed to the stubbornness of his resistance, which had made the thieves glad to get away from the neighbourhood of so desperate a fellow as quickly as possible.

They were never traced, and as the snow soon afterwards came on more heavily, their footsteps could have been scarcely seen after the space of a very short time, and no one could tell in which direction they had fled. There were some people, indeed, who winked their eyes wickedly, and laid their fore-finger waggishly against the side of their noses whenever allusion was made to the attack upon Uncle Joe. They were unkind enough to declare that our good relative's story was true enough up to the time of his stopping at the "Duke's Head," but that at that point he had quitted the limits of strict veracity. They pretended to have the authority of the landlord of that highly respectable inn for the fact, that Uncle Joe, soon after six o'clock, came in and had, not one glass, but three good "stiff" tumblers of brandy-and-water before resuming his journey. They further maintained that he had gone on merrily for a while after this, but that it had had sufficient effect upon him to have rendered it very desirable that he should have kept in the road instead of following the pathway above it. Choosing the latter, however, he had lost his equilibrium at the spot near which he was found, tumbled down the steep bank into the road, and in this manner received the injuries to head and arm which he had undoubtedly sustained. The landlord, moreover, said these unbelievers, indignantly denied that any "rough-looking characters" had been near his house upon that day, and declared that the only people there at or about the time of Uncle Joe's visit were some Christmas ringers and singers preparing for, or proceeding with, their visits to the neighbouring villages, with the view of exchanging carols and hymns for pence and half-pence wherever they found Christian people ready for such a transaction.

These reports and doubts, however, about Uncle Joe's misfortune never reached us children at the time, and, if they had, we should not for a moment have attached the smallest weight to them. In our eyes the matter was one which placed our esteemed relative still higher in the rank of heroes to which our childish thoughts had long since raised him. Nor were we frightened at the idea of foot-pads or highwaymen having suddenly made their unwonted appearance in our happy and tranquil neighbourhood. It seemed to us only natural that curious and unusual things should attend Uncle Joe wherever he went, and it was with him and his life, and not with our home and its surroundings, that we connected the circumstance of this new feature in the locality.

However, the truth or falsehood of the story mattered little to us, so long as we had got our uncle safe and sound after all. There he was, and there he continued for several weeks; for a broken head and arm required attention, and he was nowhere so likely to receive it as at our house. During this long visit we saw more of Uncle Joe than we had ever done before, and it soon became an established practice that, after our tea and before dressing-time, he should narrate to us some of those wonderful stories of which I have spoken.

One of these I will relate, as nearly as possible in the words of my revered uncle, in order that my readers may be able to imagine the kind of way in which all his stories were told. But the other tales which I propose to chronicle I will tell after a different fashion, relating the substance of Uncle Joe's narrative, but leaving out the personal allusions to his own prowess with which it was embellished. Those who read have only to imagine that in the chief personage in every story they discern Uncle Joe, and they will easily discover the little alterations which I have thought it well to make in order to vary the form of each tale. The one which I am now going to tell was a favourite one with us boys, but the girls did not like so much killing, and rather thought Uncle Joe must have been a more cruel man in the days when these adventures happened to him than at the time he recounted them. Since then I have read a great many books from the pen of Cooper, Captain Mayne Reid, and Gustave Aimard, all dealing with the doings of Red Indians, their subtlety, their treachery, their implacable revenge, and other pleasing characteristics, and I have often thought that Uncle Joe must have intended a parody upon some of their most stirring recitals of Indian adventure in the following story. But, most certainly, he told it as having happened to himself, and threw so much vehemence into his manner of telling it, that we children never for a moment doubted that such was the case.

I remember quite well the day he first told it to us; and how intensely interested in it we all were. He began it at tea-time: I think he liked to tell his most extraordinary and unlikely stories at tea-time for the benefit of Miss Crinkles, and I sometimes wonder that the questions she occasionally asked him did not create a suspicion in our minds that there was some doubt as to the truth of some of his facts. But no such suspicion, as far as I can recollect, ever dawned upon our childish imaginations, and the only result of Miss Crinkles' questions was to imbue us with increased awe and respect for our uncle, whom even our governess could not readily understand without asking for further information. It was, I say, at tea-time that this story was begun, and, I think, finished. One of us boys had expressed a great desire to hear of some Indian adventures, and Uncle Joe, ever ready to oblige, at once commenced the following narrative, perhaps one of the least likely of the many marvellous tales with which he ever favoured us.

"It was during the time which I passed in America that some of the strangest and wildest adventures of my life happened. Perhaps none of these was more remarkable than that which I am about to relate to you, and indeed I question whether many people exist who have ever encountered an adventure so extraordinary. I had roamed some way through the dense forest, far from any human habitation, accompanied only by my faithful dog "Jumbo," a magnificent Cuban bloodhound, who never left my side, and was the cleverest as well as the bravest animal I ever possessed. I had with me my trusty double-barrelled rifle, a revolver, and a hunting-knife, and had for many days depended for my supply of food upon my skill as a marksman. I remember that it was a lovely day, and as the dense foliage of the woods protected me from the heat of the sun, I rambled on and on in pleasant and listless security for many a mile. At length it happened that I approached a large tree, standing rather apart from its forest companions, and conspicuous not only by the size of its trunk, but by the magnificent limbs which it threw out on every side. I was already within a few yards of this tree when I observed something which caused me to stand still and gaze upon it before I advanced further. One large branch hung across my line of march, and in a few seconds I should have passed immediately beneath it; but it was something in connection with this very branch which arrested my footsteps. The day was perfectly calm and still; not a breath of wind was to be perceived, and yet I fancied that I saw the leaves with which this branch was thickly covered, tremble and rustle just as if a breeze was blowing through them. As I stood wondering what could be the cause of this strange occurrence, and doubtful whether or not to proceed, my doubts were cleared away in a manner more alarming than agreeable. Suddenly I perceived, rearing itself among the leaves, the hideous head of a gigantic snake. In another instant, whether to re-arrange its position or for what other reason I know not, the reptile dropped down from the branch to the length of some three or four feet, and swing for a moment or two like the pendulum of a clock, from the branch around which its tail and part of its body remained curled. I could not tell how long or large it might be, but I saw quite sufficient to assure me that it was a snake of very great size, and I shuddered to think of my possible fate had I passed beneath the branch in ignorance of its terrible tenant.

"I hastily retraced my steps for a few yards, and passing the tree at some little distance, determined to quit the neighbourhood of so dangerous a creature. The tree upon which it had taken up its position was upon the side of a somewhat steep hill, and it so happened that I had walked some way along the said hill very much lower down, and was now working my way back in a line parallel to my previous passage.

"I had not gone many yards beyond the snake's tree, before the manner of my dog attracted my attention. He threw up his head, sniffed the air uneasily, and then gave vent to a low whine which, from previous experience, I knew full well to betoken the presence of danger. At the same moment, listening with eager attention, and with an acuteness of hearing which those only possess who live such a life of wild, dangerous activity as mine was at that time, I fancied that I heard the cracking of a stick under the foot of man. It seemed to be at some distance off, and apparently far below where I was standing. The trees were too thick to enable me to see far, but creeping forward a little, and standing on the trunk of a fallen tree, I endeavoured to look down the hill as much as the fall of the ground permitted. It so happened that there was a space of ground somewhat less thickly surrounded by trees than the rest of the forest, over which I had passed in my previous journey, and it was upon this space that I looked, being many feet above it. You may imagine my feelings when I caught sight of an Indian, fully armed and decked in his war-paint, just crossing this space, and evidently examining the ground before him with the greatest care. I should have thought but little of this, indeed, but for that which followed. He crossed the space, and immediately after him came nine of his companions, horrible-looking creatures, travelling in single file and closely following in their leader's footsteps. Horror of horrors! they were upon my track. I knew it but too well! there was I, alone in the wild forest, with no less than ten deadly foes after me, whose object undoubtedly was to take my life, and not improbably with some of those tortures with which Indians delight to amuse themselves at the expense of their captives.

"Now I happened to have a decided preference for living, if I could, and, if I must die, for dying in a respectable manner. The idea of having my scalp torn from my head, and hung up in the wigwam of a wild savage, was extremely repugnant to me, and I determined at once to avoid such an unpleasant catastrophe if I possibly could. The question was, however, as to the best way in which this could be accomplished. If I pushed on through the forest, it could not be long before these enemies, hardy and used to the woods, and animated with their savage desire for my life, would overtake me, when, perhaps, I might be too fatigued to offer any real resistance. If I stood firm where I was, what could I hope to do against ten men? If, on the other hand, I assumed a friendly air and advanced to meet them, I knew their treacherous nature too well to harbour for an instant the thought that they would treat me otherwise than as a captive taken in war. Indeed, should it be otherwise, my best fate would probably be to be obliged to join their tribe, very likely to marry several very unpleasant squaws, and to drag out my weary existence far away from scenes into which christianity or civilisation had penetrated. My aim, then, must be to escape from the clutches of these savages by some method or another, and I was indeed puzzled what to do. I had not much time to deliberate, and after a moment's thought, I decided to lie down flat behind the trunk of the tree on which I had been standing, and calmly await the event. I looked carefully to my rifle and revolver, both of which I ascertained to be loaded and ready for action, I bid my brave Jumbo lie down at my feet, which the intelligent animal immediately did, crouching quite close to the fallen tree, and then, having so disposed my body that I could see under one of the branches of the tree, and watch the approach of my enemies, I remained still and hoped for the best. It seemed to me hours before they came near. In reality it could not have been much more than half an hour, for the spot at which I had seen them could have been barely three miles, even by the zig-zag line which I had followed, and as I, having had no suspicion of the presence of a foe, had taken no precaution to conceal my track, they were not delayed in their pursuit by any trouble in discovering my footsteps. On they came, steadily and silently, and I saw them from my hiding-place rapidly approaching me. The foremost Indian had already arrived at the spot from which I had gazed at the overhanging branch and its fearful occupant, and stopped for an instant at the place where my footsteps ended, evidently puzzled as to what I had done, and where I had gone from that point.