A Gentleman From France

Front matter

An Airedale Hero

A Gentleman from France

An Airedale Hero

My Dog

Come in, old beggar whining at the door, Come in, old chap, and lie upon the floor, And rest your faithful head upon my knee, And deem it joy to be alone with me; My dear old dog, unto creation's end, Of all the world thou art my truest friend.

Thou dost not ask if I be rich the while, Or if my coat is shabby or in style, Or if the critics call me small or great, Whether my life be full of joy or hate, Or if my purse be over-lean or fat, All through and through, thou art a democrat.

Thou dost not ask that I be good to thee, It is enough that thou dost care for me; And if this hand could beat thee from my door, Thou wouldst come back at night and whine once more To lick the hand that made thy body smart, And love me still, deep in thy doggish heart.

Thou dost not ask for dainty bread and meat But lovest best the food I will not eat, And sweet the bit, if looks I understand, That thou canst eat from out thy master's hand, And while wise men to thank the Lord may fail, My dog says "Thank you," with his wagging tail.

And if my dog is sleeping in the hall, I have no fear that danger will befall, For thieves would find that passage doubly barred, A truer soldier never mounted guard, And lasting is a dog's fidelity To those he loves, as man's can ever be.

What love is beaming in those two brown eyes, When chidden, too, what sorrow in them lies, And how they follow me from place to place, As though they tried to read their master's face; And how he springs and barks when I am glad, How soon his tail will droop if I am sad!

And when I die, if friends forget to pine, There'll be one faithful dog to howl and whine, To bark impatient at my bedroom door, To search the woodland and the meadow o'er, And watch and whine for master who is late, And die at last still waiting at the gate.

The Little Corporal

Old Jean Dubois was a dog-lover. What he did not know about dogs was not to be found in the dog dictionary, or any other reliable dog book. He talked dog by day, ate "hot dog" for lunch, and dreamed dog all night long.

His canine friends were always scurrying between his legs, or jumping upon him; so he smelled of dog as well.

It was very laughable to see him come out of Hotel Bellevue in Rue Galilee and start down the street. This was a signal to all the dogs in the neighborhood that their friend and master was afoot; so they would come scurrying from every side-street and alley, yelping and barking, and nearly wagging their tails off with delight.

Finally the canine concourse would get so large that old Jean would have to send home a few of his friends to keep from being arrested as a dog nuisance.

A still more laughable sight was to see some grand madame promenading along the street with her favorite dog on the leash. Suddenly the beloved canine would begin to strain frantically upon the cord, and no word from his mistress would soothe him. At last he would break away with frantic yelps and make for old Jean Dubois, the dog man, whom he had espied coming up some side-street.

Old Jean had been in the French army in his younger days, and his grandfather had been one of the Old Guard at Waterloo. So next to dogs, or perhaps even before them, but in a different way, he worshipped soldiers, and the memory of Napoleon, whom he liked to refer to as the "Little Corporal."

Many a heated argument old Jean had with his grandson, young Jean of the Alpine Chasseurs, as to the merits of the new French army and the men of Napoleon's day, with whom the elder Jean had fought.

Young Jean always concluded these arguments with the assertion that the Germans would never again thrash France as they had done in 1871, at which the old soldier would shake his head.

The defeat of the French under Louis Napoleon was a sore topic with the old soldier, and his grandson reminded him of it only when sorely pressed.

Old Jean was as proud of the Alpine Chasseurs as was his grandson.

He always took part in their discussions when Jean's companions came to the stable to smoke and talk. Indeed they were a fine-looking lot in their gay uniforms and with their soldierly manners. Young Jean himself was as tall as a Lombardy poplar and handsome as any French gallant, or at least that was what his doting grandfather thought as he feasted his eyes upon him.

At Hotel Bellevue in Rue Galilee, where he was hostler, old Jean was allowed but one dog, and that was Nanette, an Airedale terrier.

But in the eyes of old Jean, Nanette was a dozen dogs in one. She was de- scended from a famous English strain and had taken many blue ribbons in her day, but was now well past her prime, and for that reason had fallen into the possession of the little Frenchman.

She was a typical Airedale, with coarse, wiry coat, black above and tan beneath. She was tall and muscular, and could hold her own in any street scrimmage, no matter what the company. Her keen terrier eyes looked warily out from under shaggy brows, always appraising one critically. Her ears were cocked with a slight droop at the tip, as though continually listening; this combination with the hairy face, gave her a quizzical look. As old Jean said, she always weighed you in the balance before making friends.

One day in early spring, about six months before my story, Nanette ran away and made the acquaintance of Pierre Beaufort, a celebrated Airedale Champion at a neighboring hotel. This meeting had been one of many, and very familiar relations were soon established.

Old Jean knew nothing of all this, for he had been busy in the garden at the time, and absorbed by rumors of war. So his astonishment can well be imagined when he found Nanette one morning in a manger licking a newly born Airedale puppy.

There was but one in the litter, because of Nanette's age, but old Jean was delighted. He laughed and cried and hugged the old Airedale until she was the happiest dog in France.

Though there was but one pup, it made up in size and beauty for a larger number, and with the feeding and petting of old Jean and the extra milk from its dam, it grew like a weed and was soon the idol of the hotel.

The old soldier christened the newcomer Napoleon Bonaparte, and called him Nap for short, and often the "Little Corporal." So these were the names that he went by until Madame, the great actress, discovered him one day before Hotel Bellevue while she was passing in her limousine.

The Little Corporal was playing in the yard when the shining machine drew up before the hotel. His play was never a tame affair, for he played as though the destiny of France hung upon the vigor with which he shook up the paper bag that he had just discovered.

"Stop, Laporte," cried the great lady as she caught sight of the pup. "I must have that dog."

She whistled shrilly to him.

Instantly he ceased his play and sat up very alert on his stub tail, his head cocked on one side, his bright eyes looking warily at her from under his shaggy brows.

Then she whistled again, and he cocked one ear, and let the other droop that he might listen the harder. This gave him such a ludicrous expression that Madame laughed.

This was enough for Nap; that laugh of the actress, at which kings and queens had smiled, went straight to the heart of the Little Corporal, and with a series of frantic bounds he reached the panting car. He did not stop there, but bounded like a rubber ball through the open door and into the actress's lap, soiling her beautiful fur coat with his muddy paws.

But she did not care. She hugged him

and snuggled his whiskered face close to hers, and vowed if there was money enough in France to buy him, he should be hers.

The chauffeur was then sent for Jean. The old man came bowing and smiling to the car. But when he heard what the actress wanted of him his face fell. If he had not been in the presence of a very great lady whom all France loved, he would have sworn at the idea of selling his dog. But instead, being a Frenchman, he wept.

"Madame," he said hoarsely, "lama soldier, and can a soldier of France sell Napoleon?"

It was a pertinent question, but Madame began counting out shining louis until old Jean's eyes bulged from his head.

He had a grandchild who was a cripple. He had dreamed for years of taking him to a great surgeon. Here was the way opening before him. Besides young Jean would need money if he went away to this war that every one said was coming.

He thought hard of little Adolph, and without even daring to look at the Little Corporal, nestled contentedly down in the lap of the actress, he silently stretched out his hand for the shining coins.

Not saying another word, and with tears streaming down his wrinkled face, he turned and walked into the stable, not daring to even look behind him lest one glance at the hairy face of Nap might cause him to repent. When he had disappeared, the actress spoke to the chauffeur and the car glided slowly out of the courtyard and down the street, on its way to her château on the Loire, which was to be the new home of the Little Corporal.

He had fallen into good hands. There was no doubt of that. No other woman in France loved dogs as did the actress. Her friends and servants would be good to him, because of the saying: "Love me, love my dog." But would the Little Corporal ever find another heart so true as old Jean's? Would he ever find another soldier to romp and play with him as young Jean did? It was doubtful, but life is strange. Even the life of a dog may be as wonderful as a fairy story; so we will follow the limousine and see for ourselves.

Pierre

When the limousine started slowly out of the courtyard before Hotel Bellevue, and he could see only the retreating back of old Jean, the Little Corporal was afraid. He began wriggling and whimpering to be let down, but the actress had a way with her that none could resist; for had she not coaxed and wheedled two continents, causing millions to laugh or weep as she willed? And so it was with Nap. She snuggled him in her warm coat, and covered his hairy face with kisses. She drew his shining ears through her fingers in that coaxing way that dog-lovers understand, and dogs love. She squeezed his paws between her small gloved hands, and laughed and smiled at him, and in five minutes they were the best of friends.

It must not be imagined that any woman could have picked up the Airedale and carried him off in this unceremonious manner, and so completely won his confidence. But the Little Corporal at once felt the great lady loved him. In fact, she had fallen desperately in love with him at sight, and being a true little gallant himself, he could not but reciprocate her love.

If he occasionally sat down thoughtfully on his stump of a tail and tried hard to think what it was that he missed, if at such times a strange tugging at his impulsive heart caused a mournful look to overspread his quizzical little face, there was no one to tell him that he missed his first love, old Jean.

But the new life at the château was so varied and full of interest, and his mistress and her servants petted him so freely that in a day or two the stump of a tail was wagging away just as it had done at the Hotel Bellevue.

There was no part of the château that was too good for Pierre, as the actress at once rechristened him—not even her own boudoir.

"Pierre!" she would cry, clapping her hands together the first thing in the morning when she awoke. The Airedale, that was sleeping on a beautiful moquette rug at the foot of the bed, or sometimes even on the bed itself, would scramble up to her face. Then there would be a real rough-and-tumble love feast.

How scandalized the vast audience in Drury Lane, or Broadway would have been to see her hugging, kissing, and fondling a mere dog! But her private life was her own, and she did with it very much as she pleased. The public and the theatre managers might tyrannize over her as an actress, but here she was supreme and her word was law.

Marie, her special maid, was disgusted with the manners of her mistress's latest canine love. She complained of him most grievously when she was sure of secrecy, but she never dared so much as breathe a word against Pierre in his mistress's presence.

Pierre's feeling for Marie was one of contempt. With his keen intuition, he soon discovered that she was afraid of him. When he could catch her in an out-of-the-way corner he would back her up against the wall, and by growling prodigiously for so small a dog, and showing a double row of puppy teeth as sharp as needles, the roguish Pierre would scare poor Marie nearly into a fit.

When she had screamed and wept to his complete satisfaction, he would back away and laugh at her, not audibly, but nevertheless the laughter would run all over his hairy, alert face, and any dog-lover would have recognized it as the most mirthful of dog laughter.

After one of these tragic scares Marie confided to Louis Laporte, the chauffeur, that the "little devil" would be the death of her. Louis, who was fond of Marie, kissed away her tears, and said Pierre was the most impudent piece of dog meat that had ever come to the château.

If I were to enumerate all the notable people whose acquaintance Pierre made during his six-months' stay at the château, it would weary my reader, but suffice it to say that they were legion.

Prime ministers, ambassadors, dramatists, poets, and actors,—in short, all the great people who came to the château had first to do homage to Madame's latest dog love; and of one accord, being very polite people, they pronounced him the most wonderful dog they had ever seen, although in secret afterwards some of them expressed themselves very freely to the contrary.

But none of these things ever came to the ears of either the actress or Pierre. If he did occasionally hear other things not intended for his keen cocked ears, he kept his own counsel and so kept out of trouble.

Early in the summer—it was July by the calendar, but of course Pierre did not know that—he noted great excitement among the people at the château. They talked much louder, and more continuously than usual. Each morning when Laporte came with the mail there was a great scramble for the Paris papers. No matter how quiet or peaceful it might have been before the mail came, there was always pandemonium after that. Something was turning the château upside down. Dog that he was, Pierre understood this.

The strange excitement that the papers always brought would cause the men to clench their fists and grow red in the face and cry "Boche," or "La Guerre," while the women would weep and look miserable.

From all this, Pierre concluded in his dim dog way, that "Boche" was somebody or something very bad, and that La Guerre was also very bad.

He likewise noted that Laporte put on the strange clothes that young Jean, his former playfellow, always wore. He could tell these clothes by the tight-fitting leggings. He could not reach under these trousers and nip the legs as he could with the ordinary suit.

Most of the men who came to the château now wore these soldier suits and Pierre would go sniffing about their legs to see if by any chance one of them might be young Jean.

He liked them all, for they were sure to tumble him about when they were not in a hurry. There was also something strong and rough about them that he missed in his pampered life at the château.

Thus it was that Pierre noted the warcloud that hung over France.

Being a mere dog, he did not know that Liège had fallen, or that the Germans were sweeping across Belgium a million strong; that they were coming in five great armies marching abreast, a mighty tidal wave of bayonets. Even France did not realize their numbers then, but all knew that terrible times were ahead. The men and the women knew it and Pierre felt it in the air and saw it in their faces.

Pierre Goes Up to Paris

About the middle of August when it was very hot even at the château, and intolerable in the city, Madame, accompanied by Pierre and Marie, set out for Paris. The actress was going to Paris to begin rehearsals with her company for a season in America.

She would gladly have donned a uniform in this, the hour of her country's need, but that she could not do. She could, however, give her services in another way. Few women have earned more money than she, and it should all go to France. Money meant cannon, ammunition, food, and tents for the soldiers. In short, money was almost as essential as men. Money she would give without stint. So up to Paris she went in the sweltering heat, with all the enthusiasm of youth.

But it was not a normal France through which they travelled. All was hurry and confusion. The railroads were crowded with troop trains, and the highways were swarming with taxicabs and other motors filled with eager, sweating soldiers. At each load of soldiers Madame waved her hand, and Pierre barked gladly. For they all reminded him of young Jean, whom he never would see again.

Even upon the outskirts of Paris they were obliged to go very slowly, for every vehicle that could carry men or supplies had been pressed into service. All these were hurrying northward, while others were coming back empty, or filled with wounded soldiers.

Dozens of times the luxurious car of Madame was held up in the gutter while seemingly endless lines of marching men passed. There were infantry and cavalry, artillery and ambulance corps, and these in turn were followed by crowding lowing herds of cattle, and bleating flocks of sheep—the rations on the hoof, following the army.

At one of these exciting waits, a handsome man in a gay uniform mounted on a splendid horse, rode up to Madame's car and drew rein.

"Madame, the great actress," cried the Colonel gaily, "your friend, Colonel Lafleur. Don't you remember?" And he saluted her just as though she had been a general herself.

The actress held out her eloquent hand.

"I have been looking for you all the afternoon, Colonel," she said, in her deep rich voice. "You are always in my thoughts."

She loved the Colonel and he loved her, but it was one of those unfortunate love affairs, which could never be realized to the full; for he was only a poor Colonel, without family or money, while she was the famous actress whom the world adored.

"This is my regiment," he said, motioning to the splendid column, eight abreast, which was marching rapidly by. "In five minutes more, Madame, I must follow them. Even now I should be riding at their head. My country calls, but I may stay five minutes at the call of Cupid. Can we not crowd a year into five minutes?" He rode close to the car and, leaning over, took the actress's hand. She did not resist, but returned his pressure warmly. "You are a brave man," she said. "I wish I could fight for France."

"It is such as you who inspire us to fight," he returned. "We fight for the women and the children of France."

"Four minutes are already gone," he said, presently, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "What a thief of time love is!"

While they had been talking, Pierre had been watching the soldiers with wary eyes. As the last rank filed by, he barked excitedly.

"Your dog says I must go," observed the Colonel. "He has spoken truly. This is my last moment. Can't you give me something that will go with me through the long march, and even through battles, to death if need be?"

Tears filled the actress's eyes. She leaned over and printed a warm kiss upon the soldier's hand. "You may remember that," she said in a low, intense voice.

"Will it mean anything more if I come back?" asked the soldier.

"Probably not," she returned. "You know how it is."

"Yes," he said sadly. "I know."

"I am sorry," she said, "but I am not mistress of my own life. None of us famous people are."

"More's the pity," returned the Colonel. "May I have this for a keepsake?"

He unclasped the bracelet on her wrist.

"Yes, yes," she said joyfully. "The things I can give, I give gladly."

Then looking down the Colonel's eyes fell upon Pierre. He was watching the soldier warily from under his shaggy eyebrows.

"May I have this, too?" he asked, laying his hand on the dog's head. "He would keep me from being lonesome. He loves you, too. We would be company for each other. We would talk about you on the march, or in camp. I want him very much."

"Pierre! Pierre! He is the dearest thing I have. Pierre, can I give you away?" The Airedale looked up inquiringly, first at his mistress, and then at the Colonel.

"Yes," she said at last. "Take him, and God keep you both."

The Colonel glanced at his watch again. "Time is up," he said. "Good-bye, my lady. If we do not meet again, we have had these five immortal minutes. I shall live them over again many times. Are you coming with me, my little soldier?" The Colonel laid his hand upon the dog'a head.

The Airedale had been sniffing at his coat-sleeve inquiringly for several seconds. He was one of the soldier-men, like young Jean. Pierre liked him.

"Are you coming with me?" repeated the Colonel. Now the Colonel was a masterful man. When he spoke, men, dogs, and horses always obeyed.

While the question was an invitation, yet it was also a command. The Airedale lifted his eyes to his mistress. Her eyes were filled with tears.

"Go, Pierre," she said, "and God keep you both."

The Colonel put one hand upon the dog's collar and the other under his belly and lifted him to the pommel of the saddle. He saluted, touched his horse with the spur, and they galloped away after the rapidly disappearing regiment.

The last the actress saw of Pierre, he was looking backward at her from under the Colonel's elbow.

He was going to be a soldier with one of the bravest men in France. Perhaps he would like that even better than his mistress's petting and fondling. In some ways he was a man's dog. Now he would be a War Dog.

"Laporte, start up the machine," she said irritably. "What are we waiting here for?"

"Oui, Madame," said Laporte, and they moved slowly on into the heart of Paris and to work—which after all is the best balm for aching hearts.

A War Dog

It was a sudden and complete change that had come into the life of the Airedale. From the luxury and ease of the car he had gone at a single bound, as it were, to the pommel of the Colonel's saddle.

From the small, soft hand of the actress to the strong, yet kindly hand of the man of iron. Of the two, he was not sure but that he preferred the strong hand, for he was a high-spirited animal, full of strife and struggle. As long as he could see the car, he continued to look backward beneath the Colonel's elbow, but when they turned the next corner he faced about and looked up at the man.

"That's right, little soldier," said the Colonel. "No more looking back for you and me. It must be forward at any cost for us from now on."

The horse joggled him so he could hardly keep his seat upon the saddle, which was not built for man and dog. But finally the Colonel borrowed a blanket from a soldier and strapped it in front of him, and his little chum was made quite comfortable.

They were in the very midst of things, with excitement all about them, and that suited Pierre. They were at the head of the fast-marching column. He had not imagined there were so many of the young I can men in the world. The streets were lined with people, not soldiers, but just ordinary people, and they cheered as the long column swept by and Pierre wiggled about on his perch and barked, just as though the cheering had been intended for him, and perhaps some of it was.

All through the afternoon till dusk they marched and marched.

As they went on, the city streets were left far behind, and the broad macadam road ran through green fields and country villages.

At dusk they halted in a field near one of the villages.

The Jean men all ihrew down their blankets and knapsacks and began building queer little houses. The Colonel and the other officers soon went to the village, where they were billeted for the night in the best quarters obtainable.

Pierre took mess with the Colonel, eating from his new master's hand. After each bite there was a kind word or a caress. Thus they grew to be good chums, and their friendship ripened rapidly.

It had been such an exciting afternoon and the Colonel was so good to him that Pierre did not once think of his mistress until the soldier drew the sparkling bracelet from his pocket and kissed it before lying down in his blanket in front of an open fire. He had been offered a bed but refused it, saying that he could not get accustomed to the blanket too soon.

"You want to kiss it, too, little soldier?" asked the man, placing the bracelet before the dog's muzzle. Pierre licked it and whined softly.

"We both love her, don't we, little soldier? We'll keep right on loving her till the end of life, whether that be long or short—who knows?"

Pierre was filled with a great sense of homesickness at the smell of the bracelet. He went to the door and scratched upon it, then went back to the Colonel and begged to be let out.

"It's not for us, little soldier," said the man. "Ours is the hard road ahead. You cuddle down with me and we'll say a prayer for her and for ourselves. God knows we may need it. Then sleep. We can't waste any time howling to-night."

All the time the strong hand had been caressing his head and drawing the soft ears between the fingers in the manner that dogs like.

Then the Colonel put the dog between his feet under the blanket and soon both were asleep.

In almost no time the bugler was blowing reveille, and both soldiers tumbled out of their blanket ready for the day's march. By half—past six the long column was on the road again, the Colonel and Pierre leading the way.

When he had become so accustomed to the life that the Colonel felt sure he would not run away he would let him down to run beside the horse. On these occasions he would scurry up and down the marching column, barking frantically and nipping at the soldiers' legs. These rhythmic marching legs, keeping time, all moving so rapidly, had a great fascination for Pierre. He, on his part, amused the soldiers. He was adopted almost immediately as the regimental mascot, and the men always hailed his appearance among them with shouts of delight. So altogether it was a most exciting and glorious life that the War Dog led.

One night, three days after they had left Paris, they camped upon the brow of a high hill, which looked down upon a broad plain. On the farther side of the plain were some villages. There was a river running close to the foot of the hill.

Beyond the villages, as far as the eye could reach, hung a great cloud of smoke, from which jagged flames of lightning spurted.

All the afternoon they had been hearing distant thunder and it seemed to come from this dark cloud. The new soldiers all pointed at it and seemed much excited.

That evening the Colonel was very busy and Pierre did not see him until taps. He was hurrying about among the men, and other men were constantly coming to him. There was a strange excitement in the air. Pierre felt it also. It made his nerves tingle and the hair stand up along his back. Somehow he wished that another dog would come along so he could get into a rough and tumble.