CHAPTER VI.THE JOURNEY CONTINUED.

FOR the first time, Mr. Cascabel, the natural, the implacable

enemy of England, was about setting his foot

on an English possession. For the first time the sole of his

shoe would tread on British soil and be defiled with Anglo-Saxon

dust. Let the reader forgive us such very strong

language; most undoubtedly such was the somewhat ludicrous

form of expression under which the thought presented

itself to our showman's mind, so tenacious in its now unjustifiable

patriotic hatred.

Cæsar Cascabel/Part 1/Chapter VI

And still, Columbia was not in Europe. It was no portion

of that group formed by England, Scotland and Wales

and bearing the special name of Great Britain. But it was

none the less British, just as India, Australia, New Zealand; and, as such, it was repulsive to Cæsar Cascabel.

Cæsar Cascabel/Part 1/Chapter VI

British Columbia is a part of New Britain, one of the

most important colonies of the United Kingdom, comprising

as it does Nova Scotia, Upper and Lower Canada, as

well as the immense territories ceded to the Hudson Bay

Company. In width, it stretches from one ocean to the

other, from the coasts of the Pacific to those of the Atlantic. To the south it is bounded by the frontier of the United States, a line running from Washington Territory to the coast in the State of Maine.

Cæsar Cascabel/Part 1/Chapter VI

Columbia was therefore, on all counts, English soil, and

the necessities of the journey left our travelers no chance of

avoiding it. When all was added up, it was only a matter

of six hundred miles to the southern extremity of Alaska, that is to say to the Russian possessions in Western America. Still, a trip of six hundred miles on “that hated soil,” although a mere nothing for the Fair Rambler with its record of untold mileage, was six hundred times too much, and Mr. Cascabel was determined to clear that distance in the shortest possible time.

Henceforth, no halting save for meals. No exercising

for the equilibrist or the gymnast, no more dancing, no

more wrestling. The Anglo-Saxons would have to go without

it. The Cascabels felt nothing but contempt for any

coin bearing the effigy of the queen. Better a paper dollar

than a silver crown or a gold sovereign!

Under these conditions, it will be understood that the

Fair Rambler carefully kept away from the villages and gave

a wide berth to the towns. If the game by the roadside

could supply the wants of the troupe, it would save them

from aiding the home trade of this abominable country.

Let it not be imagined that this attitude was but a kind

of theatrical pose on the part of Mr. Cascabel. No! It

was natural with him. This same philosopher, who had so

stoically borne the blow of his late misfortune, who had so

quickly recovered his usual merry temper after the robbery

in the Sierra Nevada, became gloomy and speechless as soon

as he stepped into New Britain. He trudged along with

downcast eyes and a scowling look, his cap drawn down to

his ears; and wicked were the glances he cast on the inoffensive

travelers who happened to cross his path. That he

was in no mood for jokes was plainly shown one day when

Sander drew on himself a severe rebuke for his ill-timed

mirth.

That day, sure enough, behold the youngster taking it

into his head to walk a good quarter of a mile, backwards, in front of the horses, with a thousand and one contortions and grimaces.

On his father's inquiring the reason of this mode of locomotion, which should be, to say the least, very fatiguing:

“Why, father! Aren't we going home backwards?” he

replied with a wink of his eye.

And all burst out with laughter—even Clovy, who thought

the answer was very funny,—unless it should turn out to be

very silly.

“Sander,” said Mr. Cascabel angrily, and with his stagey

air, “if ever again you indulge in such frolic at a time when

we are so little inclined to merriment, I'll pull your ears for

you, and stretch them to your very heels!”

“Well now, father—”

“Silence under arms! I forbid you to laugh in this

Englishmen's land!”

And no one now thought of smiling or showing his teeth

in the presence of the terrible boss, although his anti-Saxon

ideas were far from being shared to that extent.