The Burial of the Rats

by

Bram Stoker
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***

Leaving Paris by the Orleans road, cross the Enceinte, and, turning
to the right, you find yourself in a somewhat wild and not at all
savoury district. Right and left, before and behind, on every side
rise great heaps of dust and waste accumulated by the process of time.

Paris has its night as well as its day life, and the sojourner who
enters his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli or the Rue St. Honore late at
night or leaves it early in the morning, can guess, in coming near
Montrouge-if he has not done so already-the purpose of those great
waggons that look like boilers on wheels which he finds halting
everywhere as he passes.

Every city has its peculiar institutions created out of its own
needs; and one of the most notable institutions of Paris is its
rag-picking population. In the early morning-and Parisian life
commences at an early hour-may be seen in most streets standing on
the pathway opposite every court and alley and between every few
houses, as still in some American cities, even in parts of New York,
large wooden boxes into which the domestics or tenement-holders empty
the accumulated dust of the past day. Round these boxes gather and
pass on, when the work is done, to fresh fields of labour and pastures
new, squalid, hungry-looking men and women, the implements of whose
craft consist of a coarse bag or basket slung over the shoulder and
a little rake with which they turn over and probe and examine in the
minutest manner the dustbins. They pick up and deposit in their
baskets, by aid of their rakes, whatever they may find, with the
same facility as a Chinaman uses his chopsticks.

Paris is a city of centralisation-and centralisation and

classification are closely allied. In the early times, when
centralisation is becoming a fact, its forerunner is classification.
All things which are similar or analogous become grouped together,
and from the grouping of groups rises one whole or central point.
We see radiating many long arms with innumerable tentaculae, and in
the centre rises a gigantic head with a comprehensive brain and
keen eyes to look on every side and ears sensitive to hear-and a
voracious mouth to swallow.

Other cities resemble all the birds and beasts and fishes whose
appetites and digestions are normal. Paris alone is the analogical
apotheosis of the octopus. Product of centralisation carried to an
ad absurdum, it fairly represents the devil fish; and in no respects
is the resemblance more curious than in the similarity of the
digestive apparatus.

Those intelligent tourists who, having surrendered their

individuality into the hands of Messrs. Cook or Gaze, "do" Paris
in three days, are often puzzled to know how it is that the dinner
which in London would cost about six shillings, can be had for
three francs in a cafe in the Palais Royal. They need have no more
wonder if they will but consider the classification which is a
theoretic speciality of Parisian life, and adopt all round the
fact from which the chiffonier has his genesis.

The Paris of 1850 was not like the Paris of to-day, and those who
see the Paris of Napoleon and Baron Haussmann can hardly realise the
existence of the state of things forty-five years ago.

Amongst other things, however, which have not changed are those
districts where the waste is gathered. Dust is dust all the world
over, in every age, and the family likeness of dust-heaps is perfect.
The traveller, therefore, who visits the environs of Montrouge can
go back in fancy without difficulty to the year 1850.

In this year I was making a prolonged stay in Paris. I was very

much in love with a young lady who, though she returned my passion,
so far yielded to the wishes of her parents that she had promised
not to see me or to correspond with me for a year. I, too, had
been compelled to accede to these conditions under a vague hope of
parental approval. During the term of probation I had promised to
remain out of the country and not to write to my dear one until
the expiration of the year.

Naturally the time went heavily with me. There was no one of my
own family or circle who could tell me of Alice, and none of her own
folk had, I am sorry to say, sufficient generosity to send me even
an occasional word of comfort regarding her health and well-being.
I spent six months wandering about Europe, but as I could find no
satisfactory distraction in travel, I determined to come to Paris,
where, at least, I would be within easy hail of London in case any
good fortune should call me thither before the appointed time. That
"hope deferred maketh the heart sick" was never better exemplified
than in my case, for in addition to the perpetual longing to see the
face I loved there was always with me a harrowing anxiety lest some
accident should prevent me showing Alice in due time that I had,
throughout the long period of probation, been faithful to her trust
and my own love. Thus, every adventure which I undertook had a fierce
pleasure of its own, for it was fraught with possible consequences
greater than it would have ordinarily borne.

Like all travellers I exhausted the places of most interest in the

first month of my stay, and was driven in the second month to look
for amusement whithersoever I might. Having made sundry journeys to
the better-known suburbs, I began to see that there was a terra
incognita, in so far as the guide book was concerned, in the social
wilderness lying between these attractive points. Accordingly I began
to systematise my researches, and each day took up the thread of my
exploration at the place where I had on the previous day dropped it.

In process of time my wanderings led me near Montrouge, and I saw

that hereabouts lay the Ultima Thule of social exploration-a country
as little known as that round the source of the White Nile. And so
I determined to investigate philosophically the chiffonier-his
habitat, his life, and his means of life.

The job was an unsavoury one, difficult of accomplishment,

and with little hope of adequate reward. However, despite reason,
obstinacy prevailed, and I entered into my new investigation with
a keener energy than I could have summoned to aid me in any
investigation leading to any end, valuable or worthy.

One day, late in a fine afternoon, toward the end of September,

I entered the holy of holies of the city of dust. The place was
evidently the recognised abode of a number of chiffoniers, for some
sort of arrangement was manifested in the formation of the dust
heaps near the road. I passed amongst these heaps, which stood like
orderly sentries, determined to penetrate further and trace dust
to its ultimate location.

As I passed along I saw behind the dust heaps a few forms that
flitted to and fro, evidently watching with interest the advent
of any stranger to such a place. The district was like a small
Switzerland, and as I went forward my tortuous course shut out the
path behind me.
 Presently I got into what seemed a small city or community of
chiffoniers. There were a number of shanties or huts, such as may be
met with in the remote parts of the Bog of Allan-rude places with
wattled walls, plastered with mud and roofs of rude thatch made from
stable refuse-such places as one would not like to enter for any
consideration, and which even in water-colour could only look
picturesque if judiciously treated. In the midst of these huts was
one of the strangest adaptations-I cannot say habitations-I had
ever seen. An immense old wardrobe, the colossal remnant of some
boudoir of Charles VII. or Henry II., had been converted into a
dwelling-house. The double doors lay open, so that the entire menage
was open to public view. In the open half of the wardrobe was a
common sitting-room of some four feet by six, in which sat, smoking
their pipes round a charcoal brazier, no fewer than six old soldiers
of the First Republic, with their uniforms torn and worn threadbare.
Evidently they were of the mauvais sujet class; their blear eyes and
limp jaws told plainly of a common love of absinthe; and their eyes
had that haggard, worn look which stamps the drunkard at his worst,
and that look of slumbering ferocity which follows hard in the wake
of drink. The other side stood as of old, with its shelves intact,
save that they were cut to half their depth, and in each shelf of
which there were six, was a bed made with rags and straw. The
half-dozen of worthies who inhabited this structure looked at me
curiously as I passed; and when I looked back after going a little
way I saw their heads together in a whispered conference. I did not
like the look of this at all, for the place was very lonely, and the
men looked very, very villainous. However, I did not see any cause
for fear, and went on my way, penetrating further and further into
the Sahara. The way was tortuous to a degree, and from going round
in a series of semi-circles, as one goes in skating with the Dutch
roll, I got rather confused with regard to the points of the compass.

When I had penetrated a little way I saw, as I turned the corner

of a half-made heap, sitting on a heap of straw an old soldier with
threadbare coat.

"Hallo!" said I to myself; "the First Republic is well represented

here in its soldiery."

As I passed him the old man never even looked up at me, but gazed
on the ground with stolid persistency. Again I remarked to myself:
"See what a life of rude warfare can do! This old man's curiosity
is a thing of the past."

When I had gone a few steps, however, I looked back suddenly, and
saw that curiosity was not dead, for the veteran had raised his head
and was regarding me with a very queer expression. He seemed to me to
look very like one of the six worthies in the press. When he saw me
looking he dropped his head; and without thinking further of him I
went on my way, satisfied that there was a strange likeness between
these old warriors.

Presently I met another old soldier in a similar manner. He, too,

did not notice me whilst I was passing.

By this time it was getting late in the afternoon, and I began

to think of retracing my steps. Accordingly I turned to go back, but
could see a number of tracks leading between different mounds and
could not ascertain which of them I should take. In my perplexity
I wanted to see someone of whom to ask the way, but could see no
one. I determined to go on a few mounds further and so try to see
someone-not a veteran.

I gained my object, for after going a couple of hundred yards

I saw before me a single shanty such as I had seen before-with,
however, the difference that this was not one for living in, but
merely a roof with three walls open in front. From the evidences
which the neighbourhood exhibited I took it to be a place for
sorting. Within it was an old woman wrinkled and bent with age;
I approached her to ask the way.

She rose as I came close and I asked her my way. She immediately
commenced a conversation; and it occurred to me that here in the very
centre of the Kingdom of Dust was the place to gather details of the
history of Parisian rag-picking-particularly as I could do so from
the lips of one who looked like the oldest inhabitant.

I began my inquiries, and the old woman gave me most interesting

answers-she had been one of the ceteuces who sat daily before the
guillotine and had taken an active part among the women who
signalised themselves by their violence in the revolution. While
we were talking she said suddenly: "But m'sieur must be tired
standing," and dusted a rickety old stool for me to sit down. I
hardly liked to do so for many reasons; but the poor old woman was
so civil that I did not like to run the risk of hurting her by
refusing, and moreover the conversation of one who had been at the
taking of the Bastille was so interesting that I sat down and so
our conversation went on.

While we were talking an old man-older and more bent and wrinkled
even than the woman-appeared from behind the shanty. "Here is
Pierre," said she. "M'sieur can hear stories now if he wishes, for
Pierre was in everything, from the Bastille to Waterloo." The old
man took another stool at my request and we plunged into a sea of
revolutionary reminiscences. This old man, albeit clothed like a
scare-crow, was like any one of the six veterans.

I was now sitting in the centre of the low hut with the woman on
my left hand and the man on my right, each of them being somewhat
in front of me. The place was full of all sorts of curious objects
of lumber, and of many things that I wished far away. In one corner
was a heap of rags which seemed to move from the number of vermin
it contained, and in the other a heap of bones whose odour was
something shocking. Every now and then, glancing at the heaps, I
could see the gleaming eyes of some of the rats which infested the
place. These loathsome objects were bad enough, but what looked even
more dreadful was an old butcher's axe with an iron handle stained
with clots of blood leaning up against the wall on the right hand
side. Still these things did not give me much concern. The talk of
the two old people was so fascinating that I stayed on and on, till
the evening came and the dust heaps threw dark shadows over the vales
between them.

After a time I began to grow uneasy, I could not tell how or why,
but somehow I did not feel satisfied. Uneasiness is an instinct and
means warning. The psychic faculties are often the sentries of the
intellect; and when they sound alarm the reason begins to act,
although perhaps not consciously.

This was so with me. I began to bethink me where I was and by

what surrounded, and to wonder how I should fare in case I should
be attacked; and then the thought suddenly burst upon me, although
without any overt cause, that I was in danger. Prudence whispered:
"Be still and make no sign," and so I was still and made no sign,
for I knew that four cunning eyes were on me. "Four eyes-if not
more." My God, what a horrible thought! The whole shanty might be
surrounded on three sides with villains! I might be in the midst
of a band of such desperadoes as only half a century of periodic
revolution can produce.

With a sense of danger my intellect and observation quickened, and

I grew more watchful than was my wont. I noticed that the old woman's
eyes were constantly wandering toward my hands. I looked at them too,
and saw the cause-my rings. On my left little finger I had a large
signet and on the right a good diamond.

I thought that if there was any danger my first care was to avert
suspicion. Accordingly I began to work the conversation round to
rag-picking-to the drains-of the things found there; and so by easy
stages to jewels. Then, seizing a favourable opportunity, I asked
the old woman if she knew anything of such things. She answered that
she did, a little. I held out my right hand, and, showing her the
diamond, asked her what she thought of that. She answered that her
eyes were bad, and stooped over my hand. I said as nonchalantly as
I could: "Pardon me! You will see better thus!" and taking it off
handed it to her. An unholy light came into her withered old face,
as she touched it. She stole one glance at me swift and keen as a
flash of lightning.

She bent over the ring for a moment, her face quite concealed as
though examining it. The old man looked straight out of the front
of the shanty before him, at the same time fumbling in his pockets
and producing a screw of tobacco in a paper and a pipe, which he
proceeded to fill. I took advantage of the pause and the momentary
rest from the searching eyes on my face to look carefully round the
place, now dim and shadowy in the gloaming. There still lay all the
heaps of varied reeking foulness; there the terrible blood-stained
axe leaning against the wall in the right hand corner, and everywhere,
despite the gloom, the baleful glitter of the eyes of the rats. I
could see them even through some of the chinks of the boards at the
back low down close to the ground. But stay! these latter eyes seemed
more than usually large and bright and baleful!

For an instant my heart stood still, and I felt in that whirling

condition of mind in which one feels a sort of spiritual drunkenness,
and as though the body is only maintained erect in that there is no
time for it to fall before recovery. Then, in another second, I was
calm-coldly calm, with all my energies in full vigour, with a
self-control which I felt to be perfect and with all my feeling
and instincts alert.

Now I knew the full extent of my danger: I was watched and

surrounded by desperate people! I could not even guess at how many
of them were lying there on the ground behind the shanty, waiting
for the moment to strike. I knew that I was big and strong, and they
knew it, too. They knew also, as I did, that I was an Englishman
and would make a fight for it; and so we waited. I had, I felt,
gained an advantage in the last few seconds, for I knew my danger
and understood the situation. Now, I thought, is the test of my
courage-the enduring test: the fighting test may come later!

The old woman raised her head and said to me in a satisfied kind
of way:
 "A very fine ring, indeed-a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had
such rings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! for in
those fine days I led the town a dance! But they've forgotten me now!
They've forgotten me! They? Why they never heard of me! Perhaps their
grandfathers remember me, some of them!" and she laughed a harsh,
croaking laugh. And then I am bound to say that she astonished me,
for she handed me back the ring with a certain suggestion of
old-fashioned grace which was not without its pathos.

The old man eyed her with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising
from his stool, and said to me suddenly and hoarsely:

"Let me see!"

I was about to hand the ring when the old woman said:

"No! no, do not give it to Pierre! Pierre is eccentric. He loses

things; and such a pretty ring!"

"Cat!" said the old man, savagely. Suddenly the old woman
said, rather more loudly than was necessary:

"Wait! I shall tell you something about a ring." There was

something in the sound other voice that jarred upon me. Perhaps
it was my hyper-sensitiveness, wrought up as I was to such a pitch
of nervous excitement, but I seemed to think that she was not
addressing me. As I stole a glance round the place I saw the eyes
of the rats in the bone heaps, but missed the eyes along the back.
But even as I looked I saw them again appear. The old woman's
"Wait!" had given me a respite from attack, and the men had sunk
back to their reclining posture.

"I once lost a ring-a beautiful diamond hoop that had belonged
to a queen, and which was given to me by a farmer of the taxes, who
afterwards cut his throat because I sent him away. I thought it must
have been stolen, and taxed my people; but I could get no trace.
The police came and suggested that it had found its way to the
drain. We descended-I in my fine clothes, for I would not trust
them with my beautiful ring! I know more of the drains since then,
and of rats, too! but I shall never forget the horror of that
place-alive with blazing eyes, a wall of them just outside the
light of our torches. Well, we got beneath my house. We searched
the outlet of the drain, and there in the filth found my ring, and
we came out.
 "But we found something else also before we came! As we were
coming toward the opening a lot of sewer rats-human ones this
time-came toward us. They told the police that one of their number
had gone into the drain, but had not returned. He had gone in only
shortly before we had, and, if lost, could hardly be far off. They
asked help to seek him, so we turned back. They tried to prevent me
going, but I insisted. It was a new excitement, and had I not
recovered my ring? Not far did we go till we came on something.
There was but little water, and the bottom of the drain was raised
with brick, rubbish, and much matter of the kind. He had made a
fight for it, even when his torch had gone out. But they were too
many for him! They had not been long about it! The bones were still
warm; but they were picked clean. They had even eaten their own dead
ones and there were bones of rats as well as of the man. They took
it cool enough those other-the human ones-and joked of their comrade
when they found him dead, though they would have helped him living.
Bah! what matters it-life or death?"

"And had you no fear?" I asked her.

"Fear!" she said with a laugh. "Me have fear? Ask Pierre! But I
was younger then, and, as I came through that horrible drain with
its wall of greedy eyes, always moving with the circle of the light
from the torches, I did not feel easy. I kept on before the men,
though! It is a way I have! I never let the men get it before me.
All I want is a chance and a means! And they ate him up-took every
trace away except the bones; and no one knew it, nor no sound of
him was ever heard!" Here she broke into a chuckling fit of the
ghastliest merriment which it was ever my lot to hear and see. A
great poetess describes her heroine singing: "Oh! to see or hear
her singing! Scarce I know which is the divinest."

And I can apply the same idea to the old crone-in all save the
divinity, for I scarce could tell which was the most hellish-the
harsh, malicious, satisfied, cruel laugh, or the leering grin, and
the horrible square opening of the mouth like a tragic mask, and
the yellow gleam of the few discoloured teeth in the shapeless gums.
In that laugh and with that grin and the chuckling satisfaction I
knew as well as if it had been spoken to me in words of thunder that
my murder was settled, and the murderers only bided the proper time
for its accomplishment. I could read between the lines of her
gruesome story the commands to her accomplices. "Wait," she seemed
to say, "bide your time. I shall strike the first blow. Find the
weapon for me, and I shall make the opportunity! He shall not
escape! Keep him quiet, and then no one will be wiser. There will
be no outcry, and the rats will do their work!"
 It was growing darker and darker; the night was coming. I stole
a glance round the shanty, still all the same! The bloody axe in the
corner, the heaps of filth, and the eyes on the bone heaps and in
the crannies of the floor.

Pierre had been still ostensibly filling his pipe; he now struck
a light and began to puff away at it. The old woman said:

"Dear heart, how dark it is! Pierre, like a good lad, light the
lamp!"

Pierre got up and with the lighted match in his hand touched the
wick of a lamp which hung at one side of the entrance to the shanty,
and which had a reflector that threw the light all over the place.
It was evidently that which was used for their sorting at night.

"Not that, stupid! Not that! The lantern!" she called out to him.

He immediately blew it out, saying: "All right, mother, I'll find

it," and he hustled about the left corner of the room-the old woman
saying through the darkness:

"The lantern! the lantern! Oh! That is the light that is most
useful to us poor folks. The lantern was the friend of the
revolution! It is the friend of the chiffonier! It helps us when
all else fails."

Hardly had she said the word when there was a kind of creaking
of the whole place, and something was steadily dragged over the roof.

Again I seemed to read between the lines of her words. I knew the
lesson of the lantern.

"One of you get on the roof with a noose and strangle him as he
passes out if we fail within."

As I looked out of the opening I saw the loop of a rope outlined

black against the lurid sky. I was now, indeed, beset!

Pierre was not long in finding the lantern. I kept my eyes fixed
through the darkness on the old woman. Pierre struck his light, and
by its flash I saw the old woman raise from the ground beside her
where it had mysteriously appeared, and then hide in the folds other
gown, a long sharp knife or dagger. It seemed to be like a butcher's
sharpening iron fined to a keen point.
 The lantern was lit.

"Bring it here, Pierre," she said. "Place it in the doorway where

we can see it. See how nice it is! It shuts out the darkness from
us; it is just right!"

Just right for her and her purposes! It threw all its light on my
face, leaving in gloom the faces of both Pierre and the woman, who
sat outside of me on each side.

I felt that the time of action was approaching; but I knew now
that the first signal and movement would come from the woman, and
so watched her.

I was all unarmed, but I had made up my mind what to do. At the
first movement I would seize the butcher's axe in the right-hand
corner and fight my way out. At least, I would die hard. I stole a
glance round to fix its exact locality so that I could not fail to
seize it at the first effort, for then, if ever, time and accuracy
would be precious.

Good God! It was gone! All the horror of the situation burst
upon me; but the bitterest thought of all was that if the issue of
the terrible position should be against me Alice would infallibly
suffer. Either she would believe me false-and any lover, or any one
who has ever been one, can imagine the bitterness of the thought-or
else she would go on loving long after I had been lost to her and
to the world, so that her life would be broken and embittered,
shattered with disappointment and despair. The very magnitude of
the pain braced me up and nerved me to bear the dread scrutiny of
the plotters.

I think I did not betray myself. The old woman was watching me
as a cat does a mouse; she had her right hand hidden in the folds of
her gown, clutching, I knew, that long, cruel-looking dagger. Had
she seen any disappointment in my face she would, I felt, have known
that the moment had come, and would have sprung on me like a tigress,
certain of taking me unprepared.

I looked out into the night, and there I saw new cause for
danger. Before and around the hut were at a little distance some
shadowy forms; they were quite still, but I knew that they were
all alert and on guard. Small chance for me now in that direction.

Again I stole a glance round the place. In moments of great

excitement and of great danger, which is excitement, the mind
works very quickly, and the keenness of the faculties which
depend on the mind grows in proportion. I now felt this. In an
instant I took in the whole situation. I saw that the axe had
been taken through a small hole made in one of the rotten boards.
How rotten they must be to allow of such a thing being done
without a particle of noise.

The hut was a regular murder-trap, and was guarded all around.
A garroter lay on the roof ready to entangle me with his noose if
I should escape the dagger of the old hag. In front the way was
guarded by I know not how many watchers. And at the back was a row
of desperate men-I had seen their eyes still through the crack in
the boards of the floor, when last I looked-as they lay prone
waiting for the signal to start erect. If it was to be ever, now
for it!

As nonchalantly as I could I turned slightly on my stool so as to

get my right leg well under me. Then with a sudden jump, turning my
head, and guarding it with my hands, and with the fighting instinct
of the knights of old, I breathed my lady's name, and hurled myself
against the back wall of the hut.

Watchful as they were, the suddenness of my movement surprised

both Pierre and the old woman. As I crashed through the rotten
timbers I saw the old woman rise with a leap like a tiger and heard
her low gasp of baffled rage. My feet lit on something that moved,
and as I jumped away I knew that I had stepped on the back of one of
the row of men lying on their faces outside the hut. I was torn with
nails and splinters, but otherwise unhurt. Breathless I rushed up
the mound in front of me, hearing as I went the dull crash of the
shanty as it collapsed into a mass.

It was a nightmare climb. The mound, though but low, was awfully
steep, and with each step I took the mass of dust and cinders tore
down with me and gave way under my feet. The dust rose and choked me;
it was sickening, foetid, awful; but my climb was, I felt, for life
or death, and I struggled on. The seconds seemed hours; but the few
moments I had in starting, combined with my youth and strength, gave
me a great advantage, and, though several forms struggled after me
in deadly silence which was more dreadful than any sound, I easily
reached the top. Since then I have climbed the cone of Vesuvius,
and as I struggled up that dreary steep amid the sulphurous fumes
the memory of that awful night at Montrouge came back to me so
vividly that I almost grew faint.
 The mound was one of the tallest in the region of dust, and as I
struggled to the top, panting for breath and with my heart beating
like a sledge-hammer, I saw away to my left the dull red gleam of
the sky, and nearer still the flashing of lights. Thank God! I knew
where I was now and where lay the road to Paris!

For two or three seconds I paused and looked back. My pursuers

were still well behind me, but struggling up resolutely, and in
deadly silence. Beyond, the shanty was a wreck-a mass of timber and
moving forms. I could see it well, for flames were already bursting
out; the rags and straw had evidently caught fire from the lantern.
Still silence there! Not a sound! These old wretches could die game,
anyhow.

I had no time for more than a passing glance, for as I cast an

eye round the mound preparatory to making my descent I saw several
dark forms rushing round on either side to cut me off on my way.
It was now a race for life. They were trying to head me on my way
to Paris, and with the instinct of the moment I dashed down to the
right-hand side. I was just in time, for, though I came as it seemed
to me down the steep in a few steps, the wary old men who were
watching me turned back, and one, as I rushed by into the opening
between the two mounds in front, almost struck me a blow with that
terrible butcher's axe. There could surely not be two such weapons
about!

Then began a really horrible chase. I easily ran ahead of the

old men, and even when some younger ones and a few women joined in
the hunt I easily distanced them. But I did not know the way, and
I could not even guide myself by the light in the sky, for I was
running away from it. I had heard that, unless of conscious purpose,
hunted men turn always to the left, and so I found it now; and
so, I suppose, knew also my pursuers, who were more animals than
men, and with cunning or instinct had found out such secrets for
themselves: for on finishing a quick spurt, after which I intended
to take a moment's breathing space, I suddenly saw ahead of me two
or three forms swiftly passing behind a mound to the right.

I was in the spider's web now indeed! But with the thought of
this new danger came the resource of the hunted, and so I darted
down the next turning to the right. I continued in this direction
for some hundred yards, and then, making a turn to the left again,
felt certain that I had, at any rate, avoided the danger of being
surrounded.

But not of pursuit, for on came the rabble after me, steady,
dogged, relentless, and still in grim silence.

In the greater darkness the mounds seemed now to be somewhat

smaller than before, although-for the night was closing-they looked
bigger in proportion. I was now well ahead of my pursuers, so I made
a dart up the mound in front.

Oh joy of joys! I was close to the edge of this inferno of

dustheaps. Away behind me the red light of Paris in the sky, and
towering up behind rose the heights of Montmartre-a dim light,
with here and there brilliant points like stars.

Restored to vigour in a moment, I ran over the few remaining

mounds of decreasing size, and found myself on the level land
beyond. Even then, however, the prospect was not inviting. All
before me was dark and dismal, and I had evidently come on one of
those dank, low-lying waste places which are found here and there
in the neighbourhood of great cities. Places of waste and desolation,
where the space is required for the ultimate agglomeration of all
that is noxious, and the ground is so poor as to create no desire
of occupancy even in the lowest squatter. With eyes accustomed to
the gloom of the evening, and away now from the shadows of those
dreadful dust-heaps, I could see much more easily than I could a
little while ago. It might have been, of course, that the glare in
the sky of the lights of Paris, though the city was some miles away,
was reflected here. Howsoever it was, I saw well enough to take
bearings for certainly some little distance around me.

In front was a bleak, flat waste that seemed almost dead level,
with here and there the dark shimmering of stagnant pools. Seemingly
far off on the right, amid a small cluster of scattered lights, rose
a dark mass of Fort Montrouge, and away to the left in the dim
distance, pointed with stray gleams from cottage windows, the lights
in the sky showed the locality of Bicetre. A moment's thought decided
me to take to the right and try to reach Montrouge. There at least
would be some sort of safety, and I might possibly long before come
on some of the cross roads which I knew. Somewhere, not far off, must
lie the strategic road made to connect the outlying chain of forts
circling the city.

Then I looked back. Coming over the mounds, and outlined black
against the glare of the Parisian horizon, I saw several moving
figures, and still a way to the right several more deploying out
between me and my destination. They evidently meant to cut me off
in this direction, and so my choice became constricted; it lay now
between going straight ahead or turning to the left. Stooping to
the ground, so as to get the advantage of the horizon as a line of
sight, I looked carefully in this direction, but could detect no
sign of my enemies. I argued that as they had not guarded or were
not trying to guard that point, there was evidently danger to me
there already. So I made up my mind to go straight on before me.

It was not an inviting prospect, and as I went on the reality grew

worse. The ground became soft and oozy, and now and again gave way
beneath me in a sickening kind of way. I seemed somehow to be going
down, for I saw round me places seemingly more elevated than where I
was, and this in a place which from a little way back seemed dead
level. I looked around, but could see none of my pursuers. This was
strange, for all along these birds of the night had followed me
through the darkness as well as though it was broad daylight. How I
blamed myself for coming out in my light-coloured tourist suit of
tweed. The silence, and my not being able to see my enemies, whilst
I felt that they were watching me, grew appalling, and in the hope
of some one not of this ghastly crew hearing me I raised my voice
and shouted several times. There was not the slightest response;
not even an echo rewarded my efforts. For a while I stood stock
still and kept my eyes in one direction. On one of the rising places
around me I saw something dark move along, then another, and another.
This was to my left, and seemingly moving to head me off.

I thought that again I might with my skill as a runner elude my

enemies at this game, and so with all my speed darted forward.

Splash!

My feet had given way in a mass of slimy rubbish, and I had

fallen headlong into a reeking, stagnant pool. The water and the
mud in which my arms sank up to the elbows was filthy and nauseous
beyond description, and in the suddenness of my fall I had actually
swallowed some of the filthy stuff, which nearly choked me, and
made me gasp for breath. Never shall I forget the moments during
which I stood trying to recover myself almost fainting from the
foetid odour of the filthy pool, whose white mist rose ghostlike
around. Worst of all, with the acute despair of the hunted animal
when he sees the pursuing pack closing on him, I saw before my eyes
whilst I stood helpless the dark forms of my pursuers moving swiftly
to surround me.

It is curious how our minds work on odd matters even when the
energies of thought are seemingly concentrated on some terrible
and pressing need. I was in momentary peril of my life: my safety
depended on my action, and my choice of alternatives coming now
with almost every step I took, and yet I could not but think of the
strange dogged persistency of these old men. Their silent resolution,
their steadfast, grim, persistency even in such a cause commanded,
as well as fear, even a measure of respect. What must they have
been in the vigour of their youth. I could understand now that
whirlwind rush on the bridge of Arcola, that scornful exclamation
of the Old Guard at Waterloo! Unconscious cerebration has its own
pleasures, even at such moments; but fortunately it does not in any
way clash with the thought from which action springs.

I realised at a glance that so far I was defeated in my object,

my enemies as yet had won. They had succeeded in surrounding me on
three sides, and were bent on driving me off to the left-hand, where
there was already some danger for me, for they had left no guard. I
accepted the alternative-it was a case of Hobson's choice and run.
I had to keep the lower ground, for my pursuers were on the higher
places. However, though the ooze and broken ground impeded me my
youth and training made me able to hold my ground, and by keeping
a diagonal line I not only kept them from gaining on me but even
began to distance them. This gave me new heart and strength, and by
this time habitual training was beginning to tell and my second
wind had come. Before me the ground rose slightly. I rushed up the
slope and found before me a waste of watery slime, with a low dyke
or bank looking black and grim beyond. I felt that if I could but
reach that dyke in safety I could there, with solid ground under my
feet and some kind of path to guide me, find with comparative ease
a way out of my troubles. After a glance right and left and seeing
no one near, I kept my eyes for a few minutes to their rightful
work of aiding my feet whilst I crossed the swamp. It was rough,
hard work, but there was little danger, merely toil; and a short
time took me to the dyke. I rushed up the slope exulting; but here
again I met a new shock. On either side of me rose a number of
crouching figures. From right and left they rushed at me. Each
body held a rope.

The cordon was nearly complete. I could pass on neither side, and
the end was near.

There was only one chance, and I took it. I hurled myself across
the dyke, and escaping out of the very clutches of my foes threw
myself into the stream.

At any other time I should have thought that water foul and
filthy, but now it was as welcome as the most crystal stream to
the parched traveller. It was a highway of safety!
 My pursuers rushed after me. Had only one of them held the rope
it would have been all up with me, for he could have entangled me
before I had time to swim a stroke; but the many hands holding it
embarrassed and delayed them, and when the rope struck the water I
heard the splash well behind me. A few minutes' hard swimming took
me across the stream. Refreshed with the immersion and encouraged
by the escape, I climbed the dyke in comparative gaiety of spirits.

From the top I looked back. Through the darkness I saw my

assailants scattering up and down along the dyke. The pursuit was
evidently not ended, and again I had to choose my course. Beyond
the dyke where I stood was a wild, swampy space very similar to
that which I had crossed. I determined to shun such a place, and
thought for a moment whether I would take up or down the dyke. I
thought I heard a sound-the muffled sound of oars, so I listened,
and then shouted.

No response; but the sound ceased. My enemies had evidently got

a boat of some kind. As they were on the up side of me I took the
down path and began to run. As I passed to the left of where I had
entered the water I heard several splashes, soft and stealthy, like
the sound a rat makes as he plunges into the stream, but vastly
greater; and as I looked I saw the dark sheen of the water broken
by the ripples of several advancing heads. Some of my enemies were
swimming the stream also.

And now behind me, up the stream, the silence was broken by the
quick rattle and creak of oars; my enemies were in hot pursuit. I
put my best leg foremost and ran on. After a break of a couple of
minutes I looked back, and by a gleam of light through the ragged
clouds I saw several dark forms climbing the bank behind me. The
wind had now begun to rise, and the water beside me was ruffled and
beginning to break in tiny waves on the bank. I had to keep my eyes
pretty well on the ground before me, lest I should stumble, for I
knew that to stumble was death. After a few minutes I looked back
behind me. On the dyke were only a few dark figures, but crossing the
waste, swampy ground were many more. What new danger this portended
I did not know-could only guess. Then as I ran it seemed to me that
my track kept ever sloping away to the right. I looked up ahead and
saw that the river was much wider than before, and that the dyke on
which I stood fell quite away, and beyond it was another stream on
whose near bank I saw some of the dark forms now across the marsh.
I was on an island of some kind.

My situation was now indeed terrible, for my enemies had hemmed

me in on every side. Behind came the quickening roll of the oars,
as though my pursuers knew that the end was close. Around me on
every side was desolation; there was not a roof or light, as far
as I could see. Far off to the right rose some dark mass, but what
it was I knew not. For a moment I paused to think what I should
do, not for more, for my pursuers were drawing closer. Then my
mind was made up. I slipped down the bank and took to the water.
I struck out straight ahead, so as to gain the current by clearing
the backwater of the island for such I presume it was, when I had
passed into the stream. I waited till a cloud came driving across
the moon and leaving all in darkness. Then I took off my hat and
laid it softly on the water floating with the stream, and a second
after dived to the right and struck out under water with all my
might. I was, I suppose, half a minute under water, and when I rose
came up as softly as I could, and turning, looked back. There went
my light brown hat floating merrily away. Close behind it came a
rickety old boat, driven furiously by a pair of oars. The moon was
still partly obscured by the drifting clouds, but in the partial
light I could see a man in the bows holding aloft ready to strike
what appeared to me to be that same dreadful pole-axe which I had
before escaped. As I looked the boat drew closer, closer, and the
man struck savagely. The hat disappeared. The man fell forward,
almost out of the boat. His comrades dragged him in but without
the axe, and then as I turned with all my energies bent on reaching
the further bank, I heard the fierce whirr of the muttered "Sacre!"
which marked the anger of my baffled pursuers.

That was the first sound I had heard from human lips during
all this dreadful chase, and full as it was of menace and danger
to me it was a welcome sound for it broke that awful silence which
shrouded and appalled me. It was as though an overt sign that my
opponents were men and not ghosts, and that with them I had, at
least, the chance of a man, though but one against many.

But now that the spell of silence was broken the sounds came thick
and fast. From boat to shore and back from shore to boat came quick
question and answer, all in the fiercest whispers. I looked back-a
fatal thing to do-for in the instant someone caught sight of my face,
which showed white on the dark water, and shouted. Hands pointed to
me, and in a moment or two the boat was under weigh, and following
hard after me. I had but a little way to go, but quicker and quicker
came the boat after me. A few more strokes and I would be on the
shore, but I felt the oncoming of the boat, and expected each second
to feel the crash of an oar or other weapon on my head. Had I not
seen that dreadful axe disappear in the water I do not think that I
could have won the shore. I heard the muttered curses of those not
rowing and the laboured breath of the rowers. With one supreme effort
for life or liberty I touched the bank and sprang up it. There was
not a single second to spare, for hard behind me the boat grounded
and several dark forms sprang after me. I gained the top of the dyke,
and keeping to the left ran on again. The boat put off and followed
down the stream. Seeing this I feared danger in this direction, and
quickly turning, ran down the dyke on the other side, and after
passing a short stretch of marshy ground gained a wild, open flat
country and sped on.

Still behind me came on my relentless pursuers. Far away, below

me, I saw the same dark mass as before, but now grown closer and
greater. My heart gave a great thrill of delight, for I knew that
it must be the fortress of Bicetre, and with new courage I ran on.
I had heard that between each and all of the protecting forts of
Paris there are strategic ways, deep sunk roads, where soldiers
marching should be sheltered from an enemy. I knew that if I could
gain this road I would be safe, but in the darkness I could not see
any sign of it, so, in blind hope of striking it, I ran on.

Presently I came to the edge of a deep cut, and found that down
below me ran a road guarded on each side by a ditch of water fenced
on either side by a straight, high wall.

Getting fainter and dizzier, I ran on; the ground got more
broken-more and more still, till I staggered and fell, and rose
again, and ran on in the blind anguish of the hunted. Again the
thought of Alice nerved me. I would not be lost and wreck her life:
I would fight and struggle for life to the bitter end. With a great
effort I caught the top of the wall. As, scrambling like a catamount,
I drew myself up, I actually felt a hand touch the sole of my foot.
I was now on a sort of causeway, and before me I saw a dim light.
Blind and dizzy, I ran on, staggered, and fell, rising, covered with
dust and blood.

"Halt la!"

The words sounded like a voice from heaven. A blaze of light

seemed to enwrap me, and I shouted with joy.

"Qui va la?" The rattle of musketry, the flash of steel before my

eyes. Instinctively I stopped, though close behind me came a rush of
my pursuers.

Another word or two, and out from a gateway poured, as it seemed

to me, a tide of red and blue, as the guard turned out. All around
seemed blazing with light, and the flash of steel, the clink and
rattle of arms, and the loud, harsh voices of command. As I fell
forward, utterly exhausted, a soldier caught me. I looked back in
dreadful expectation, and saw the mass of dark forms disappearing
into the night. Then I must have fainted. When I recovered my senses
I was in the guard room. They gave me brandy, and after awhile I was
able to tell them something of what had passed. Then a commissary of
police appeared, apparently out of the empty air, as is the way of
the Parisian police officer. He listened attentively, and then had a
moment's consultation with the officer in command. Apparently they
were agreed, for they asked me if I were ready now to come with them.

"Where to?" I asked, rising to go.

"Back to the dust heaps. We shall, perhaps, catch them yet!"

"I shall try!" said I.

He eyed me for a moment keenly, and said suddenly:

"Would you like to wait awhile or till to-morrow, young

Englishman?" This touched me to the quick, as, perhaps, he
intended, and I jumped to my feet.

"Come now!" I said; "now! now! An Englishman is always ready for

his duty!"

The commissary was a good fellow, as well as a shrewd one; he

slapped my shoulder kindly. "Brave garcon!" he said. "Forgive me,
but I knew what would do you most good. The guard is ready. Come!"

And so, passing right through the guard room, and through a long
vaulted passage, we were out into the night. A few of the men in
front had powerful lanterns. Through courtyards and down a sloping
way we passed out through a low archway to a sunken road, the same
that I had seen in my flight. The order was given to get at the
double, and with a quick, springing stride, half run, half walk, the
soldiers went swiftly along. I felt my strength renewed again-such
is the difference between hunter and hunted. A very short distance
took us to a low-lying pontoon bridge across the stream, and
evidently very little higher up than I had struck it. Some effort
had evidently been made to damage it, for the ropes had all been
cut, and one of the chains had been broken. I heard the officer
say to the commissary:

"We are just in time! A few more minutes, and they would have
destroyed the bridge. Forward, quicker still!" and on we went. Again
we reached a pontoon on the winding stream; as we came up we heard
the hollow boom of the metal drums as the efforts to destroy the
bridge was again renewed. A word of command was given, and several
men raised their rifles.

"Fire!" A volley rang out. There was a muffled cry, and the dark
forms dispersed. But the evil was done, and we saw the far end of
the pontoon swing into the stream. This was a serious delay, and it
was nearly an hour before we had renewed ropes and restored the
bridge sufficiently to allow us to cross.

We renewed the chase. Quicker, quicker we went towards the dust

heaps.

After a time we came to a place that I knew. There were the

remains of a fire-a few smouldering wood ashes still cast a red
glow, but the bulk of the ashes were cold. I knew the site of
the hut and the hill behind it up which I had rushed, and in the
flickering glow the eyes of the rats still shone with a sort of
phosphorescence. The commissary spoke a word to the officer, and
he cried:

"Halt!"

The soldiers were ordered to spread around and watch, and then
we commenced to examine the ruins. The commissary himself began to
lift away the charred boards and rubbish. These the soldiers took
and piled together. Presently he started back, then bent down and
rising beckoned me.

"See!" he said.

It was a gruesome sight. There lay a skeleton face downwards, a

woman by the lines-an old woman by the coarse fibre of the bone.
Between the ribs rose a long spike-like dagger made from a butcher's
sharpening knife, its keen point buried in the spine.

"You will observe," said the commissary to the officer and to

me as he took out his note book, "that the woman must have fallen
on her dagger. The rats are many here-see their eyes glistening
among that heap of bones-and you will also notice"-I shuddered as
he placed his hand on the skeleton-"that but little time was lost
by them, for the bones are scarcely cold!"

There was no other sign of any one near, living or dead; and
so deploying again into line the soldiers passed on. Presently we
came to the hut made of the old wardrobe. We approached. In five
of the six compartments was an old man sleeping-sleeping so soundly
that even the glare of the lanterns did not wake them. Old and grim
and grizzled they looked, with their gaunt, wrinkled, bronzed faces
and their white moustaches.

The officer called out harshly and loudly a word of command, and
in an instant each one of them was on his feet before us and standing
at "attention!"

"What do you here?"

"We sleep," was the answer.

"Where are the other chiffoniers?" asked the commissary.

"Gone to work."

"And you?"

"We are on guard!"

"Peste!" laughed the officer grimly, as he looked at the old

men one after the other in the face and added with cool deliberate
cruelty, "Asleep on duty! Is this the manner of the Old Guard? No
wonder, then, a Waterloo!"

By the gleam of the lantern I saw the grim old faces grow deadly
pale, and almost shuddered at the look in the eyes of the old men as
the laugh of the soldiers echoed the grim pleasantry of the officer.

I felt in that moment that I was in some measure avenged.

For a moment they looked as if they would throw themselves on

the taunter, but years of their life had schooled them and they
remained still.

"You are but five," said the commissary; "where is the sixth?"
The answer came with a grim chuckle.

"He is there!" and the speaker pointed to the bottom of the

wardrobe. "He died last night. You won't find much of him. The
burial of the rats is quick!"

The commissary stooped and looked in. Then he turned to the

officer and said calmly:
 "We may as well go back. No trace here now; nothing to prove
that man was the one wounded by your soldiers' bullets! Probably
they murdered him to cover up the trace. See!" again he stooped
and placed his hands on the skeleton. "The rats work quickly and
they are many. These bones are warm!"

I shuddered, and so did many more of those around me.

"Form!" said the officer, and so in marching order, with the

lanterns swinging in front and the manacled veterans in the midst,
with steady tramp we took ourselves out of the dust-heaps and
turned backward to the fortress of Bicetre.

***

My year of probation has long since ended, and Alice is my

wife. But when I look back upon that trying twelvemonth one of
the most vivid incidents that memory recalls is that associated
with my visit to the City of Dust.