The Galaxy, June 1877 Part 19

"Oh, I say, you know, you mustn't get so excited, by Jove, you know; you mustn't indeed. Very irregular--'pon honor, I never saw such irregularity."

The Adam was aroused in me--I couldn't help it.

"Sir!" I roared, "you are here for the protection of the British subject----"

"No, you know," he interrupted. "Consul, that sort of thing. By Jove, never saw such a fellow."

"You are placed here for use or ornament. You are, sir, a failure in either capacity."

"John!"--oh, the superciliously grand air of that little mite!--"John, show this person the door!"

Once more in prison.

Another hour's mental rack, another resource--send for the landlord of the Hotel d'Hollande.

He came.

I fancy I see before me now the paunchy Dutchman, rubbing his fat hands and condoling with me in hybrid accents.

"But now, Herr Englander, an inspiration!" He approached me, placed his pursy lips to my ears, and whispered: "Offer--delicately as you can--but offer the commissaire a few of your English gold pieces, and see the pa.s.sport, he return, he come back--_vite_, quick. _Voila tout._"

"Bribe the commissaire?"

"Hus.h.!.+ yes, it is your only chance."

Heavens! what a country! Well might poor Jules rave at the Austrians!

The Dutchman left, and after a few minutes' hesitation, I summoned up courage to knock at the door, which was promptly opened by the officer, who respectfully demanded my requirements.

"I wish to see the commissaire."

"Surely. Will the Herr follow me?"

Where were the frowns gone? The commissaire received me in a most gracious manner. Would I be seated?

"Sir," I stammered, for it went sorely against the grain, "my carelessness has brought me into considerable trouble, and I feel that with your aid alone I can rectify matters. At the same time I am aware that I should pay some penalty for my lack of discretion. If therefore you would give these five sovereigns to some charitable inst.i.tution in Vienna, and use some effort to find my pa.s.sport, you will lay me under a great obligation."

The great official said he would do so, and the English sovereigns c.h.i.n.ked in his capacious vest-pocket.

"And now, if the Herr will go to his hotel, all Vienna shall be searched. The pa.s.sport cannot be lost, and in a few hours it shall be in his hands."

Free! It was the only time I was ever under lock and key, but I shall never forget the exhilarating delight of that moment.

I had hardly gone twenty rods when I remembered that the boat left at five o'clock, and I thought that I would return and tell the commissaire to hurry up.

As I opened the door of the bureau I saw him deliberately take from a pigeon-hole my pa.s.sport, and handing it to the agent, say, "Here, take this stupid Englishman his pa.s.sport!"

"Sir," I said, stepping forward, "I will relieve you of the trouble."

Not a blush, not an apology. With a profusion of compliments and hopes for my _bon voyage_, the commisaaire graciously bowed me out, and with all haste I sought the Hotel d'Hollande.

The fiacre was just driving up to the door as I arrived. I saw it all in one moment. _The boy was not there._

I questioned the driver and pa.s.sengers. It appeared that Jules had left the carriage shortly after my departure, and as three hours had elapsed before their return to Vienna, they concluded that he had joined me.

My excitement threw the landlord into a further convulsion of hand-rubbing and general perplexity.

"Get me a strong saddle horse," I impetuously demanded.

"It shall be at the door in five minutes. Will not the Herr dine before he leaves?"

"Dine! No; but let me have a flask of brandy."

Out through the paved streets to the plain. I scoured the whole country round, peered into every carriage, searched every bush and brier, rode up and down the neighboring lanes and highways, inquired of all I met, and only trotted back to Vienna when darkness came on and my jaded horse could hardly bear me home.

Then I ate and drank, and, taking a caleche, visited every police station and hospital in Vienna. All in vain; and at three o'clock in the morning I threw myself on my bed to s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours' sleep ere my search should be again renewed.

I will not dwell upon the horrors of that time. Day succeeded day, and nearly a week pa.s.sed in my frantic efforts to discover the whereabouts of the poor young Hungarian. How my heart bled for the gentle boy, perhaps languis.h.i.+ng in an Austrian dungeon and calling on the good Englishman to rescue him. I lived a year in that week. At last I resolved to telegraph to M. Danneris. "Jules is lost. For G.o.d's sake, come at once," flashed along the wires. The answer was equally terse.

The operator at Brussels replied, "Danneris gone. Left no address."

Was ever anything so unfortunate? Ah, yes, he did talk of visiting England, and that was the reason he could not himself escort Jules home.

Then I knew that I must brace my nerves to the terrible effort of telling that poor father that his child was lost; that I, by my cursed carelessness, had been the destroyer of his peace.

"Your son has mysteriously disappeared from my charge. Hasten here."

The answer was more perplexing than the one from Brussels: "Baron von Dressdorf not known--no such place as Kioske."

Heavens! Was I in a dream?

For three weeks I continued my search, wandering about in a haggard, broken manner, dreading every day to be stricken with brain fever. I could not sleep for thinking of the poor lad, whose big, pleading eyes seemed to look up into mine from every side. He haunted me.

One day I was watching the crowd pa.s.s the corner of the Thun Stra.s.se, when my hand was clasped, and a cheery voice rang in my ear:

"Mortimer, old fellow, by all that's glorious! Who would ever have thought of meeting you here?"

It was Harvey Lawson, my old college chum.

"But you are sick, man. You look clean out of condition. Come up into my den--mind those stairs--here you are--take that arm-chair. You see I'm 'own correspondent' to the 'Daily Growler.' There's a pipe. Will you have beer or wine? And, now, what have you been doing with yourself?"

I told him all, and my story certainly awakened much interest in him.

"What was the date of your leaving Brussels?"

"Wednesday, September 17."