The Modern Vikings

They covered Garibaldi with a blanket. He had had a hard life of it on board the steamer, and had suffered much. Now his career was finished. At least, so Alf and Truls supposed, until a very extraordinary thing happened.

They had finished their breakfast some little time, when the door opened and Annibale entered with a little, smoky, and shrivelled-up Italian. He was Annibale’s uncle; his name was Giacomo Bianchi, and by trade he was a tobacconist. When he talked he used his arms, legs, eyes, and mouth, all with equal vigor. Fiddle-John’s children stood and gazed at him in undisguised wonder; they had never in all their lives seen anything so lively.

“Ecco!” he cried, pointing excitedly first to the dead bear and then to Truls; “the fit is perfect. He is of the same height, and will do perfectly well. If he has ordinary intelligence, and not too much of it, he can act the bear as well as if he were born one. I will prepare the skin for you, and stuff it just enough to fit his figure. Then you can make money like the sands of the sea. I have a small hand-organ at home, and a tambourine which that vagabond Gregorio left me for a debt. You give me half of what you earn, and I will lend you all these things. You will become a rich man before you die. The bigger boy can play the hand-organ, the little girl can strike the tambourine, and you yourself lead the bear and make him dance. Behold, my son, your fortune is made. Ecco, I have spoken!”

Giacomo’s dark eyes flashed with enthusiasm as he unfolded this glorious scheme, and he flourished his stick so violently in the direction of Karen that she grew frightened and began to cry. Her brothers, too, viewed the excitable little man with suspicion, and listened in no friendly spirit to his unintelligible talk. To their guileless Norse minds his gestures seemed at first to indicate insanity, but after awhile they concluded that, for some reason, he was angry at their sister. Then they clinched their fists in their pockets and made themselves ready to pounce upon him, the very moment he ventured to touch her.

His apparent wrath suddenly left him, however, and he came up to shake hands with each of them, smiling, and nodding his shaggy head with extreme affability. Still they could not quite conquer their distrust of him, and it required a long and lively pantomime to induce them to accompany him to his own dwelling. At last they yielded, because they knew of nothing else to do. Garibaldi was put into a bag, and Giacomo and the boys, taking each a corner, carried him easily. First they went to Castle Garden to inquire for their father, but there was no one there who knew anything about him. Another steamer had just come in with over eleven hundred Polish Jews, and the officials were too busy to give heed to the questions of the strange-looking boys who talked a strange-sounding language. All their attempts to get possession of the baggage were also unavailing; and with heavy hearts they plodded along together with the Italian and Garibaldi, winding their way through a labyrinth of dirty streets, until they reached a little, ill-smelling bird-shop in Canal Street.

Here, too, there was a bedlam of noise, and the young Norsemen remained standing in the middle of the floor, staring about them in helpless bewilderment. Two great blue-and-yellow macaws were shrieking overhead, an ancient and wise-looking cockatoo was apparently scolding them for their undignified behavior, and uncounted paroquets, pigeons, and canary-birds were chirping, cooing, and screaming in a confused chorus which would have racked the nerves of a mummy. The barking of a number of dogs, which seemed to object to the limited area of their cages, added to the uproar; and it was a great relief to the whole juvenile company when Giacomo invited them up-stairs, where he had his own personal domicile.

The bird-store, according to Annibale’s assertion, was a source of enormous revenue, but belonged to his other uncle, Matteo, who was a citizen of much weight and influence in the Italian colony. This great man, however, it was understood, had more important matters to attend to, and left the business in charge of his humbler brother, Giacomo. A vague impression of these facts Annibale had managed to communicate to his friends, in spite of the linguistic difficulties under which he labored; and the Norse boys, who during the two weeks on the steamship had learned the Italian names for many common things and ideas, were pleasantly surprised at the readiness with which they comprehended the mixture of signs, gestures, and words which constituted Annibale’s medium of communication.

Uncle Giacomo’s rooms proved much more agreeable than the shop below. The noise of the birds penetrated the floor only as a subdued confusion of sounds, and did not interfere with conversation. On a little low table at the window there was a multitude of small, sharp tools, and an array of bottles which emitted strong but not unpleasant odors. Some of them had feathers sticking through their stoppers, and others were labelled “Poison” in big red letters. About the walls there were rows of shelves, upon which stood bright-colored birds, perching upon twigs, as if on the point of taking flight, owls with big yellow eyes and a dignified sullenness of expression, hawks with wings outspread, swooping down upon unseen, unsuspicious rabbits; and, besides, there were little pet dogs and birds, whose skins had been preserved by the taxidermist’s art for sorrowing owners.

All these objects the boys and Karen found highly entertaining, and Uncle Giacomo, who was bent upon making a good impression, allowed them to take down and examine anything that struck their fancy. The work of skinning poor Garibaldi also served to occupy their minds, and thus the forenoon passed rapidly until it was time to sit down to dinner. They did not sit down, however, for their dinner consisted only of bread and milk, and that could be eaten just as well standing. In the afternoon they were allowed to fetch up some rabbits and guinea-pigs from the store, and when they had played with them for a couple of hours, Uncle Giacomo brought them a green parrot that could talk and scold in both English and Italian. Neither Alf nor Truls nor Karen understood its talk; but, for all that, it entertained them, and served for a time to keep their minds from dwelling on their misfortunes. They scarcely knew what was to become of them; the world seemed so vast and so pitiless, and they themselves such a very small part of it. They thought with flutterings of hope and fear of their father, and determined never to abandon their search for him until they should find him.

Their fate seemed strange and incomprehensible. But a few weeks ago they were living happily in their quiet Norse home, in the little cottage under the mountain-wall. Now they were flung out, helpless and alone, into a huge whirlpool of foreign life; their mother, whom they had loved more than anyone else in the whole world, was dead, and their father was wandering about, no one knew where, vainly seeking them, perhaps, and not knowing whither to turn. Indeed, much can happen in two short weeks. If they had but known what was to befall them before they left their happy home! Oh, if they had but known!

V

Nearly a week passed before Garibaldi’s skin was properly padded and prepared for the reception of its new occupant; but then it fitted to perfection, and was as soft and flexible as an overcoat. Truls put it on with perfect ease, and breathed as freely through Garibaldi’s nose as if it had been his own. Fortunately the bear had been of the shaggy, long-haired kind, and when the opening was laced together with fine silk cords the joining was completely hidden by the fur. The children had repeated rehearsals in Uncle Giacomo’s room; and they all agreed that Truls made a very respectable bear. He could walk on his hind-legs beautifully, he could salute with his right fore-paw, and he could even nod with his head in a very intelligent fashion. In fact, there was a danger that he might be too intelligent.

“Now, do remember,” Alf would cry out to him, “a bear cannot blow his nose. He may be allowed to sneeze, and even to cough; but he must not be too frisky and intelligent. And remember, that if you laugh or make any sound whatever, the game is up and we are ruined. Uncle Giacomo only keeps us to make money with us, but he is not unkind, and as long as we don’t starve, we ought to be thankful. It all depends upon you, whether we shall have a home or be thrown into the streets.”

It was with a great flutter of excitement that the Savoyard and his Norse friends started out early one Monday morning in the middle of May. Alf was carrying the hand-organ, Karen the tambourine, and Annibale was leading the make-believe bear by the same iron chain which had regulated the movements of Garibaldi. They were about to open their first performance on the sidewalk at the corner of Broadway and Canal Street, but two policemen were immediately on hand and sternly commanded them to “trot.” Trot they accordingly did; but the sidewalks were everywhere so crowded that they seemed in danger of being knocked down, in case they should offer to obstruct the hurrying stream of humanity.

It was not until they reached the broad steps of the Sub-Treasury in Wall Street that they summoned courage to make a second stop; and Truls was by that time so tired of the unnatural four-footed gait that he rose, without invitation, and began to promenade in a very unbearlike fashion. Presently Alf’s hand-organ began to wail a very sad air from “Il Trovatore,” and Karen struck the tambourine with a vigor which threatened to ruin both her knuckles and the drum-skin. A number of newsboys and bootblacks instantly scampered up to witness this attractive entertainment, and half a dozen brokers and bank-messengers also paused to view the antics of the little bear. Annibale shouted and swung his whip, and the animal saluted and danced slowly and clumsily (as he had been commanded), and at the end of five minutes quite a shower of pennies dropped into the Savoyard’s hat. The crowd increased; the newsboys screamed with delight, and scrambled up the steps, pell-mell, whenever the bear approached them. Truls began to enjoy the fun, and chuckled to himself at the thought that he could chase a whole flock of big boys who, if they had known what sort of a creature he was, would in all likelihood have chased him. This reflection made him every moment bolder, and he would have been in danger of overstepping his part altogether if Alf had not screamed to him in Norwegian:

“Now, take care, smarticat, don’t be too intelligent!”

Nevertheless, just as he was resolving to heed this advice, a little ragged bootblack, while trying to back away from him, fell, turned a dexterous somersault, and came down on his feet on the sidewalk at the foot of the stairs. The sight was so comical that Truls lost control of himself and burst out laughing; but in the same instant his brother and sister were at his side, and made so terrific a noise with their respective instruments that his laughter was completely drowned in the din. Someone, however, must have noticed his mirth; for there was a shriek of merriment among the boys, and one of them cried out:

“Did you hear that? The bear is a-laughin’! He is a jolly old coon, that bear is.”

“No, he was only a-yawnin’!” shouted another boy. “He is a queer old party, and he knows lots of tricks.”

“Them b’ars is a mighty funny lot,” the first boy rejoined. “I once seed one at the circus; he could ride bare-back and drink beer.”

“I once knowed one as could smoke cigars and kiss his boss,” shouted number two, determined not to be outdone.

All these comments escaped the bear’s brother, but Annibale caught a suspicion that something was wrong. He hastily gathered in the second shower of pennies, and made a sign to his friends to stop the entertainment. They made their way as quickly as they could down to the water-front, and thence to the Battery Park, where there was plenty of room for another exhibition. The newsboys and bootblacks followed them for a couple of blocks, but seeing that they had no intention of stopping, gradually dropped behind and returned to their accustomed haunts. Alf and Truls heaved a sigh of relief when the last of their importunate followers had disappeared; and it was with a lighter heart that they took their station under the trees of the park and commenced the same programme which had been so successful in Wall Street.

Their audience was here even larger than it had been at their first performance, but it was not nearly so profitable; for the foreign emigrants and corner-loafers who abound in this locality had probably no money to spare, or they preferred to have their entertainment gratis. Hardly half a dozen pennies dropped into Annibale’s hat, in spite of his repeated invitations to contribute. It was obvious that they had hit upon a bad locality, where art was not properly appreciated.

As Karen’s knuckles were by this time quite numb, it was agreed that Annibale should take his turn at the hand-organ and give Alf a chance to distinguish himself at the tambourine. They had just completed this arrangement, and were strolling rather aimlessly past Castle Garden toward the Coney Island Pier, when they saw a dense crowd gathered at the entrance of the great immigration depot. Curiosity prompted them to discover the cause of the demonstration, and as everyone fell aside to make room for the bear, they had no difficulty in reaching the open space in the centre of the throng.

What was their horror when they suddenly found themselves confronted with a real bear – a huge black beast which was dancing slowly upon his hind-legs, and every now and then, with an angry yawn, showing an array of terrible teeth! They wished themselves well out of sight again, and strove with all their might to avoid attracting attention. But instead of that, they found themselves pushed right into the middle of the ring. And the moment the huge bear spied a comrade, down he dropped on all-fours and insisted upon making his acquaintance. With a wild scream which was anything but bearlike, Truls rose up and rushed toward his brother Alf, flinging his paws about his neck. The keeper of the big bear gave him a cut with his whip, but he still strained at his chain and gave forth angry growls. The people fled in all directions, and Alf grabbed his disguised brother in his arms and ran as fast as he could carry him. The others followed; but before they had overtaken him he was stopped by a policeman, who inquired whether he had a license. The boy stared in abject terror at the officer of the law.

“Pl-please, sir,” he stammered, imploringly, in his native tongue, “don’t hurt my brother! He isn’t a bear at all, if you please, sir; and – and – I am a harmless lad who – who – arrived from Norway the other day, and – and – never did mortal thing any harm as long as I lived, sir!”

“Don’t jabber yer Dutch at me, ye young scalawag!” the policeman replied, seizing the boy by the arm and shaking him. “Ef it is an honest loivelihood ye’re afther, why don’t ye drap that poor dumb cr’atur’ and foind some dacent imployment, begorra?”

Alf was altogether too frightened to make any answer to this suggestion, of which, moreover, he understood not a word. He only gazed with his large blue eyes at the policeman, and moved his lips nervously, without being able to utter a sound.

“Pl – please, sir,” he faltered, after several vain attempts to speak, “please let me go.” And Truls, completely forgetting his disguise, raised two hairy paws imploringly toward the officer and begged tearfully.

“Please, sir, do let my brother go!”

The policeman’s face underwent a sudden and startling change. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, his jaw dropped down on his chest, and the veins on his forehead swelled. “I’ll be blowed,” he cried in breathless amazement, “ef the dumb cratur’ ain’t a-talkin’ Dutch!”

He stooped for a minute, with his hands resting upon his knees, and stared with a perplexed expression at the supposed bear; then the situation began to dawn upon him, and he burst out into a tremendous laugh.

“Oh, it is a foine bear ye be, sonny!” he exclaimed, lifting the boy-bear unceremoniously on his arm, and grabbing hold of Alf’s collar with his disengaged hand. “A smart young un ye be, be jabers! It is an alderman ye will be before ye doi – if ye only vote the roight ticket. ’Tis a shame, it is, ye don’t talk a Christian language, sech as a gintleman can understand.”

He was moving up Greenwich Street, talking in this humorous strain, half to himself and half to his prisoners, whom he was dragging reluctantly along, when his progress was suddenly arrested by a little girl who became unaccountably entangled in his legs.

“Mr. Policeman,” the child cried, in the same unintelligible tongue, gazing up with a pale and excited face at the tall officer, “please don’t hurt my brothers. And won’t you please take me along, too? I have been bad, too, Mr. Policeman – much badder than Truls.”

“Why, how-de-do, sis!” the officer asked, with a broad grin. “Is it the bear ye be, did ye say, as lent yer skin to this little chap? Ah, be jabers! now I begin to take in yer capers. It is a moighty mixed-up lot ye be, and up to no end of thricks. But jest ye wait till his honor gits hold on ye, and he will know how to git each one of ye back into his roight skin.”

This sinister allusion was lost, however, on the three culprits, and even if they had understood it, it would probably not have impressed them greatly. Their life had been so exciting since they left their quiet Norse valley, that they had almost ceased to be surprised at anything that might happen to them. Alf and Karen plodded on wearily at the policeman’s side, holding on to the tails of his coat, and showing no desire to part company with him; and Truls, who was wellnigh exhausted by the labors and excitement of the day, was only too glad to be able to rest his shaggy head on the officer’s shoulders, and to embrace his neck with his two hairy paws. The officer, somehow, seemed to enjoy the situation; for he laughed and chuckled incessantly to himself, as if he were contemplating some delightful plan which promised a great deal of amusement. He shook his club good-naturedly at the crowd which followed him, and pushed his way onward, until he reached a large brick building, over the door of which was carved, in big Roman letters, “Police Precinct, No. – .” Here he entered with his prisoners, and after having made an entry in a book, consigned them to a large, bare, and dreary-looking room, where a few miserable people were reposing in various attitudes upon the floor.

The two Norse boys, who vaguely understood that this was some kind of a prison, looked with horror upon the ragged and untidy occupants of the room, and withdrew with their sister into the remotest corner they could find, so as to escape observation. Here they held a consultation, glancing all the while fearfully about them, and lowering their voices to a whisper.

“Truls,” said Alf, raising his guileless eyes to those of his younger but braver-hearted brother, “what do you think will become of us? do you think we shall have to stay long in this dreadful place?”

“Oh, no, you sillibub!” replied the ursine Truls, with well-feigned cheerfulness; “we will be let out before night; and anyhow, I know what I am going to do. You remember that handsome American gentleman on board the steamboat, whom I wanted to fight because I thought he was making fun of father?”

“Yes, I remember,” said Alf.

“Well, he gave me his card, which I gave you to keep in your pocket-book; and he made me promise that if ever I needed a friend, I should send for him. There is an address on the card, and I shouldn’t wonder if he is a great man; and then everybody will be sure to know him.”

“Oh, Truls!” his brother exclaimed, admiringly; “you are always so bright and so clever; and I have the card here; and I’ll not lose it. But don’t you think you had better take off your bear-skin, so that the judge may see you aren’t a bear, but a little boy?”

“I have thought of that,” Truls rejoined, earnestly; “but the trouble is I haven’t anything else to put on. So I shall have to go to the judge as I am, and I guess he won’t be so very mad, when I tell him I haven’t got nothing else under.”

A dreary hour passed – dreary beyond expression. The two boys tried each to persuade the other that he was, on the whole, not at all afraid, but really quite cheerful. The only one whose argument was really convincing, however, was Karen; for she went peacefully to sleep on Truls’ shoulder, and did not wake until the policeman came and summoned them all into court. They made quite a sensation when they entered; and people rose and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the curious group. It was probably the first time that a bear had marched on its hind-legs into a police-court and taken its place behind the bar as a prisoner. The judge smiled a little when he saw it, and leaned himself half over to the policeman who was apparently giving an account of the case.

“The officer charges you with roaming about with an unlicensed bear,” he said severely, fixing a stern glance upon Alf. “What have you to say to the charge?”

Alf gazed up helplessly, and shook his head.

“Why don’t you answer?” repeated the judge, impatiently. “Why didn’t you take out a license for your bear?”

The policeman again leaned over and explained that the prisoners were Dutch, or some other kind of foreigners, and that they did not understand a word of English.

“Hm,” growled his Honor, “why didn’t you tell me that before? Is there anyone in this court-room,” he went on, raising his voice, “who understands foreign languages and would be willing to help the court out of a difficulty?”