Lang Andrew
The True Story Book
Another week they all waited in the neighbourhood of Auchnacarry (the ruined home of the Lochiels). At last a message reached them from Benalder that the passes were free and that they might safely try to join Lochiel. Having parted with his devoted friend Glenaladale, who returned to the coast, the Prince, with Dr. Cameron and Lochgarry, arrived on August 30 at Mellaneuir, at the foot of Benalder. People in hiding have no means of discriminating their friends from their enemies at a little distance. Lochiel seeing a considerable party approaching believed that he was discovered and determined to make a good fight for it. He as narrowly missed shooting Charles as Charles had missed shooting Dr. Cameron the week before. When, however, he recognised the figure in the coarse brown coat, the shabby kilt, and the rough red beard, he hobbled to the door and wanted to receive the Prince on his knees. 'My dear Lochiel,' remonstrated Charles as he embraced him, 'you don't know who may be looking down from these hills.'
In the hut there was a sufficiency of mutton, beef sausages, bacon, butter, cheese, &c., and an anker of whisky, and the Prince was almost overwhelmed by such an excess of luxury. 'Now, gentlemen,' he said with a cheerful air, 'now I live like a Prince.' Charles's wardrobe was as usual most dilapidated, and Cluny's three sisters set at once to work to make him a set of six shirts with their own fair hands, doubtless sewing the most passionate loyalty and infinite regret into their 'seams.'
The hiding-place where the Prince was now concealed was a very curious hut contrived by Cluny in one of the inmost recesses of the hills. It was called 'The Cage,' and was placed in a little thicket on the rocky slope of a hill. The walls were formed by actual growing trees with stakes planted between them, the whole woven together by ropes of heather and birch. Till you were close to the hut it looked merely like a thick clump of trees and bushes. The smoke escaped along the rocks, and the stone being of a bluish colour it could easily pass unnoticed. This hut could only hold six persons at a time, so the party generally divided in this way: one man cooked the food, four played cards, and the last man looked on at the others and possibly smoked!
Probably they played cards and talked and jested over the daily needs and hardships, and spoke little of the disastrous times that lay behind them, or the doubtful hopes that lay before them. Fearing lest the Prince might have to remain in hiding all winter the ingenious Cluny began to fit up a subterranean dwelling, thickly boarded up, where the party would have been in safety and shelter. But in the meantime no efforts were lacking to find a means of escape. Lochiel's brother, the clergyman, a man of great prudence, went secretly to Edinburgh, and there procured a ship and sent it round to a port on the East coast to await the Prince. Succour, however, had come from another quarter; it was known to the Prince and his followers that a certain Colonel Warren was fitting out a couple of ships in France for the purpose of bringing off the Prince, and daily they expected news of their arrival. On September 6 two ships, L'Heureux and La Princesse, appeared at Lochnanuagh. Old Borodale and his two sons immediately fled to the hills, leaving a faithful servant to find out and report to them who the strangers might be. After nightfall, twelve French officers came to the hut where they were hiding and told their errand. Information was at once sent to Glenaladale, who undertook to go to Auchnacarry and send on the news through Cameron of Clunes, he himself not knowing where the Prince was hiding. Any delay, even of a few hours, might be fatal, as the presence of the French ships must sooner or later become known to the authorities at Fort Augustus. To his dismay Glenaladale failed to find Clunes, and only by an accident met with an old woman, who directed him to the place where the latter was hiding. A messenger was at once despatched, and he, happening by a curious chance to meet with Cluny and Dr. Cameron on a dark night in Badenoch, gave them his message, and an express was at once sent to the Cage. On September 13, at one in the morning, the party – which now included Cluny, Lochiel, Macpherson of Breakachie, and some others of the Prince's more important followers – set off for the coast. They travelled by night, remaining in concealment by day, but so lonely was the country, so recklessly high were the Prince's spirits, that one whole day he amused himself by flinging up caps into the air and shooting at them.
Again he passed through the well-known country round Loch Arkaig, past Auchnacarry, the home of the Lochiels, which was lying in ruins, over the rugged hills where he had been hunted like a wild creature a few weeks before, down to the familiar waters of Lochnanuagh, back to the warm-hearted household of Borodale.
A considerable number of Jacobite gentlemen who had lain for months in hiding had been drawn to Lochnanuagh by the report of the landing of the French ships; amongst these were young Clanranald, Glenaladale, and Macdonald of Daleby. On the Prince's ship there sailed with him Lochgarry, John Roy Stuart, Dr. Cameron, and Lochiel. 'The gentlemen as well as commons were seen to weep, though they boasted of being soon back with an irresistible force,' says the newspaper of the day. For the greater part they never came back, never saw again the homes they loved so well. Most were to spend a life of hope deferred and of desperate longings for home, as dependents on a foreign Court. Dr. Cameron was ten years later taken prisoner in London and executed, the last man who suffered as a rebel; Lochiel died two years after he left Scotland, a heart-broken exile. 'Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no more nor see his native country.'9
TWO GREAT MATCHES
THE University matches, between the elevens of Oxford and Cambridge, are the most exciting that are played at Lord's. The elevens have been so equal that neither University is ever more than one or two victories ahead of its opponent. The players are at their best for activity and strength, and the fielding is usually the finest that can anywhere be seen. But, of all University matches, the most famous are those of 1870 and of 1875, for these were the most closely contested.
In 187 °Cambridge had won for three years running. They had on their side Mr. Yardley, one among the three best gentlemen bats who ever played, the others being Dr. Grace and Mr. Alan Steel. In 1869, when Cambridge won by 58 runs, Mr. Yardley had only made 19 and 0. Mr. Dale and Mr. Money were the other pillars of Cambridge batting: they had Mr. Thornton too, the hardest of hitters, who hit over the pavilion (with a bat which did not drive!) when he played for Eton against Harrow. On the Oxford side were Mr. Tylecote (E. F. S.), a splendid bat, Mr. Ottaway, one of the most finished bats of his day, and Mr. Pauncefote. The Oxford team was unlucky in its bowling, as Mr. Butler had strained his arm. In one University match, Mr. Butler took all ten wickets in one innings. He was fast, with a high delivery, and wickets were not so good then as they are now. Mr. Francis was also an excellent bowler, not so fast as Mr. Butler; and Mr. Belcher, who bowled with great energy, but did not excel as a bat, was a useful man. For Cambridge, Mr. Cobden bowled fast, Mr. Ward was an excellent medium pace bowler, Mr. Money's slows were sometimes fortunate, and Mr. Bourne bowled slow round. Cambridge went in first, and only got 147. Mr. Yardley fell for 2, being caught by Mr. Butler off Mr. Francis. Mr. Scott's 45 was the largest score, and Mr. Thornton contributed 17, while Mr. Francis and Mr. Belcher divided the wickets. Oxford was only 28 runs better than Cambridge, so that you might call it anybody's match. A good stand was made for the first wicket, Mr. Fortescue getting 35, and Mr. Hadow 17, but there was no high scoring. Mr. Butler got 18, which is not a bad score for a bowler, but Mr. Stewart and Mr. Belcher, who followed him, got ducks, and clearly the tail was not strong in batting. The beginning of the Cambridge second innings was most flattering to Oxford. When the fifth wicket fell, Cambridge had but 40 runs, or twelve 'on.'
Tobin and Money, Fryer and Scott had made but 8 among them, but Dale was in, and Yardley joined him. Mr. Dale was playing in perfect style, and he needed to do so, for Mr. Francis was bowling his best. Then came an hour and a half, or so, of sorrow for Oxford. Mr. Butler was tried, and bowled eight overs for 8 runs, but his arm was hurt, and he had to go off. He got Mr. Thornton's wicket, but Oxford were playing, as Tom Sayers fought, with a broken arm. Seven bowlers were put on, but the end of it was that, after making the first 100 recorded in these matches, Mr. Yardley sent a hard hit to Mr. Francis, who caught and bowled him. Mr. Dale was splendidly caught at leg by Mr. Ottaway, off Mr. Francis, with one hand over the ropes. He got 67; there was but one other double figure, Mr. Thornton's 11.
Oxford had to make 178 to win, and 178 is never easy to get, especially in a University match, where so much depends on it, and men are often nervous, as you shall see. Mr. Hadow came to grief, but Mr. Ottaway and Mr. Fortescue were not nervous bats. Mr. Ward bowled beautifully, but they got 44 and 69; it was 72 for one wicket, and Oxford were buoyant. At 86, however, the second wicket fell, and E. F. S. joined Mr. Ottaway. He put on 29, and Ottaway's defence was like a stone wall. Finally Mr. Ward bowled Mr. Tylecote; 25 to get and seven wickets to get them. It seemed all over but shouting. Another wicket fell for 1; 24 to get, and six wickets to fall. Mr. Hill came in, and played like a printed book, while Mr. Ottaway was always there. He played a ball to short leg, and Mr. Fryer held it so low down that Mr. Ottaway appealed. I dare say Oxford men in the pavilion distinctly saw that ball touch the ground, but the umpire did not; 17 to get, and four wickets to fall; but the last two wickets had scored exactly nothing in the first innings. But Mr. Francis could bat, and he stayed while Mr. Hill made 12, when he was l. b. w. to Ward, for a single. Four runs to get, and three wickets to fall! 'Mr. Charles Marsham's face wore a look that his friends know well.' Mr. Butler came in; he scored well in the first innings, and he could hit. Then came a bye. Four to get and three wickets to fall. Mr. Hill hit the next square, good for a 4, but Mr. Bourne got at it, and only a single was run. Three to get and three wickets to fall. We did not get them! Mr. Cobden, who had not done much, took the ball. Mr. Hill made a single to cover point. The next ball, to Mr. Butler, was well up on the off stump. Mr. Butler drove at it, Mr. Bourne caught it, and Mr. Belcher walked in, 'rather pale,' says Mr. Lyttelton, and if so, it was unusual. Mr. Belcher was of a ruddy countenance. He was yorked! he took a yorker for a half volley. Let us pity Mr. Stewart. If he could escape that one ball, the odds were that Mr. Hill would make the runs next over. Mr. Pauncefote had told Mr. Stewart to keep his bat immovable in the block-hole, but – he did not. Cobden scattered his bails to the breezes, 'and smash went Mr. Charles Marsham's umbrella against the pavilion brickwork.' Cambridge had won by two.
This is called Cobden's year, and will be so called while cricket is played. But, in fact, Mr. Ward had taken six wickets for 29, and these were all the best bats.
Mr. Butler's revenge came next year. He took fifteen wickets, and made the winning hit. Oxford's revenge came in 1875. In 1874 Cambridge was terribly beaten. They went in on a good wicket. Mr. Tabor, first man in, got 52, when a shower came. The first ball after the shower, Mr. Tabor hit at a dropping ball of Mr. Lang's, and was bowled. The whole side were then demolished by Mr. Lang and Mr. Ridley, for 109, and 64 second innings, while Oxford got 265 first innings. In 1876 Oxford had Mr. Webbe, an admirable bat, as he is still; Mr. Lang, who had been known to score; Mr. Ridley, a cricketer of the first class; Mr. Royle, the finest field, with Mr. Jardine, ever seen; Mr. Game, who had not quite come into his powers as a hitter; and Mr. Grey Tylecote, a good all-round man; also Mr. Pulman, a sterling cricketer, and Mr. Buckland, a very useful player all round. Cambridge had Mr. George Longman, who could play anything but Mr. Ridley's slows; Mr. Edward Lyttelton, one of the prettiest and most spirited bats in the world; Mr. A. P. Lucas, whom it were superfluous to praise; Mr. Sims, a hard hitter; Mr. W. J. Patterson, a renowned bat, and others. In bowling, Oxford had Mr. Ridley, whose slows were rather fast and near the ground. Being as tall as Mr. Spofforth, and following his ball far up the pitch, Mr. Ridley was alarming to the nervous batsman. He fielded his own bowling beautifully. Mr. Lang was a slow round-arm bowler with a very high delivery, and a valuable twist from either side. Mr. Buckland was afterwards better known as a bowler; Mr. Royle could also deliver a dangerous ball; the fast bowler was Mr. Foord Kelcey, but he, again, was lame, through an accident to his foot. For Cambridge Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Sims bowled. Lang and Webbe went to the wicket for Oxford, and made a masterly stand, the ball being cut and driven to the ropes in all directions. Mr. Webbe got 55, Mr. Lang 45, while Mr. Ridley contributed 21, Mr. Pulman 25, and Mr. Buckland 22. The whole score was 200, 86 for the first wicket. Mr. Longman's 40 was the best score for Cambridge, and Mr. Edward Lyttelton got 23; total 163. Mr. Lang got five wickets for 35, Mr. Ridley, Mr. Buckland, and Mr. Foord Kelcey divided the other four. In the second Oxford innings Mr. Sharpe got six wickets for 66, and the whole score was but 137, in which Mr. Pulman's 30 was very useful; Mr. Royle, Mr. Game, and Mr. Webbe got 21, 22, and 21, and Mr. Grey Tylecote, not out, contributed an invaluable 12. The tail of the Cambridge side made 14 among them in the first innings, not an assortment of duck's eggs. Cambridge went in, with 175 to get, much like Oxford in 1870. An over was bowled before seven o'clock, and resulted in a four to leg. Sharpe and Hamilton, who went in last, first innings, went in first in the second, to avoid losing a good bat in the five minutes before drawing stumps. One doubts if it was worth Mr. Ridley's while to insist on that one over, but such is the letter of the law. The two victims, in any case, played rarely, Mr. Sharpe making 29 and Mr. Hamilton 11. Mr. Lucas, however, was bowled by Mr. Buckland for 5. Two for 26. Mr. Longman came in and drove off Mr. Lang and Mr. Ridley. Mr. Royle then took the ball, a fast change-bowler. He bowled three maidens, and then settled Mr. Sharpe (at 65), Mr. Blacker (at 67), and Mr. Longman at 76 (for 23), with a fine breaking shooter such as you seldom see now. Twenty years ago a large percentage of balls shot dead. Mr. Greenfield and Mr. Edward Lyttelton stuck together.
At 97, an awful yell went up; mid-on had missed Mr. Lyttelton, a low hard catch, but one which he would have taken nine times in ten. At 101, Mr. Campbell caught Mr. Greenfield off Mr. Royle, six down and 70 to get. Then Mr. Sims came in, and another yell was heard. Mid-on had given Mr. Lyttelton another let-off, an easy thing he might have held in his mouth. Mid-on wished that the earth would open and swallow him. Presently Mr. Lyttelton hit Mr. Buckland a beautiful skimming smack to square leg. Mr. Webbe was standing deeper, but, running at full speed along the ropes, sideways to the catch, he held it low down – a repetition of what he did unto Mr. Lyttelton when they played for Harrow and Eton. Mr. Lyttelton had scored 20, but not in his best manner. There were now three wickets to fall for 60; Oxford seemed to have the advantage. Sims and Patterson had added 14 (40 to win), when a heavy shower came down, lasted for an hour and a half, and left Oxford with a wet ball and a slippery ground. The rain, which favoured Oxford in 1874, when Cambridge collapsed, was now on the Cambridge side. Mr. Sims was determined to knock the runs off by a forcing game, and these were the right tactics. Then Ridley went on, and his first slow bowled Mr. Patterson clean. Mr. Macan came in, and got a single (13 to win). Then Mr. Sims hit Mr. Ridley over his head to the ropes for 4 (9 to win). Mr. Lang went on for Mr. Royle, a leg bye followed, and then a no-ball (7 to win). Mr. Lang then, in a moment of despair, as unusual measures were needed, bowled a full pitch right at Mr. Sims's head. Mr. Sims, naturally concluding that two more hits would finish the match, hit at it as hard as he could. Mr. Pulman was standing by the ropes 'in the country' and the ball soared towards him; would it cross the ropes? would Pulman reach it; he had a long way to run? He reached it, he held it, and back went Mr. Sims. There remained Mr. Smith, in the same historical position as Mr. Belcher. There were six runs to get, and Mr. Macan, his companion, a good bat, was not yet settled. Some one in the pavilion said, 'His legs are trembling, Oxford wins.' Mr. Smith, unlike Mr. Belcher, stopped two of Mr. Ridley's slows, but not with enthusiasm. To the third he played slowly forward, the ball hit the middle stump, and Oxford won by six runs.
There was also a very good match in 1891. Cambridge was far the better team, and went in, second innings, for a small score. But Mr. Berkeley (left-hand medium) bowled so admirably that there were only two wickets to fall for the last run. Mr. Woods, however, was not nervous, and hit the first ball he received for 4 to the ropes. Still, I am inclined to think that, in these three matches, the bowling of Mr. Berkeley was the best, for he had very little encouragement, whereas, with 178 or so to get, a bowler has a good chance, and is on his mettle.
The moral is, don't poke about in your block-hole, but hit, and, when you bowl in an emergency, aim at getting wickets by any means, rather than at keeping down runs.
THE STORY OF KASPAR HAUSER
ON May 28, 1828, the town of Nuremberg, in Bavaria, presented a singularly deserted appearance, as it was Whit-Monday, and most of the inhabitants were spending their holiday in the country. A cobbler, who lived in Umschlitt Square, was an exception to the general rule, but towards four o'clock he, too, thought that he would take a stroll outside the city walls. When he came out of his door his curiosity was excited by a strange figure, which was leaning, as if unable to support itself, against a wall near, and uttering a moaning sound. The figure was that of a young man of about seventeen, dressed in a grey riding suit, and wearing a pair of dilapidated boots; he held a letter in one hand.
The cobbler's curiosity led him to approach the strange figure, which moaned some incoherent sounds, and held out the letter in its hand. This was addressed 'To the Captain of the 4th squadron of the 6th regiment of dragoons now stationed at Nuremberg'; and, as he lived quite near, the cobbler thought the surest way of gratifying his own curiosity was to take the stranger there. The poor creature stumbled and shuffled along behind his guide, and reached the captain's house quite worn out. The captain was not at home, but his servant, pitying the sufferings of the stranger, gave him a sack of straw to lie on in the stable, and brought him some bread and meat and beer. The meat and the beer he would not touch, but ate the bread greedily and drank some water; he then fell fast asleep. Towards eight o'clock the captain came home, and was told of his strange visitor, and of the letter he had brought with him. This letter was written in a feigned hand, and said that the writer, a poor labourer with ten children, had received the boy in 1812, and had kept him shut up in his house for sixteen years, not allowing him to see or know anything; that he could keep him no longer, and so sent him to the captain, who could make a soldier of him, hang him, or put him up the chimney, just as he chose. He added that the boy knew nothing and could tell nothing, but was quick at learning. Enclosed was a letter giving the date of the boy's birth (April 30, 1812), and purporting to be written by the mother; but the writing, paper, and ink all showed that the two letters were by the same person.
The captain could make nothing of this mysterious letter, but went to the stable, where he found the stranger still asleep. After many pushes, kicks, and thumps he awoke. When asked his name and where he came from, he made some sounds, which were at last understood to be, 'Want to be a soldier, as father was;' 'Don't know,' and 'Horse home.' These sentences he repeated over and over again like a parrot, and at last the captain decided to send his new recruit to the police office. Here he was asked his name, where he came from, &c., &c., but the result of the police inspector's questioning was the same: the stranger repeated his three sentences, and at last, in despair of getting any sensible reply from him, he was put into a cell in the west tower of the prison where vagrants were kept. This cell he shared with another prisoner, a butcher boy, who was ordered to watch him carefully, as the police naturally suspected him of being an impostor. He slept soundly through the night and woke at sunrise. He spent the greater part of the day sitting on the floor taking no notice of anything, but at last the gaoler gave him a sheet of paper and a pencil to play with. These he seized with pleasure and carried them off to a seat; nor did he stop writing until he had covered the paper with letters and syllables, arranged just as they would be in a copy-book. Among the letters were three complete words, 'Kaspar Hauser,' and 'reiter' (horse soldier). 'Kaspar Hauser' was evidently his name, though he did not recognise it when called by it.
The news of the strange arrival spread through the city. The guard-house, where he spent part of the day, was thronged by a curious crowd, anxious to see this strange creature, who looked at things without seeing them, who could not bear a strong light, who loathed any food but bread and water, and who, parrot-like, repeated a couple of phrases which he evidently did not understand, and one word, 'horse,' to which he seemed to attach some meaning. What they saw was a youth of about seventeen, with fair hair and blue eyes, the lower part of his face slightly projecting like a monkey's. He was four feet nine inches in height, broad-shouldered, with tiny hands and delicate little feet, which had never worn shoes nor been put to their natural use, for the soles were as soft as a baby's. He was dressed in grey riding-breeches, a round jacket, which had been made out of a frock-coat by cutting off the skirts, and wore a round felt hat bound with red leather. In his pockets were some rags, some tracts, a rosary, and a paper of gold sand.
Everyone who saw him and watched him came to the same conclusion, that his mind was that of a child of two or three, while his body was nearly grown up; and yet he was not half-witted, because he immediately began to pick up words and phrases, had a wonderful memory, and never forgot a face he had once seen, or the name which belonged to it. During the next two or three weeks he spent part of every day in the guard-room; part with the family of the gaoler, whose children taught him to talk and to walk as they did their own baby sister. He was not afraid of anything; swords were whirled round his head without his paying any attention to them; he stretched out his hand to the flame of a lighted candle, and cried when it burnt him, and when he saw his face in a looking-glass, looked behind it for the other person. He was particularly pleased when anything bright or glittering was given to him. Whenever this happened he called out 'Horse, horse,' and made signs as if he wanted to hang it on to the neck of something. At last one of the policemen gave him a wooden horse, when his happiness was complete, and he spent hours sitting on the floor playing with this horse and the dozens of horses which were given to him by his visitors as soon as they heard of his liking for them.
Six or seven weeks passed in this way, and all this time the town council were discussing what they would do with him. At last they decided to adopt him as the 'Child of Nuremberg,' and to have him properly cared for and taught, so that, if possible, something of his past might be learned. He was taken away from the prison and put under the charge of Professor Daumer, whose interest in the youth led him to undertake the difficult task of developing his mind so that it might fit his body. The burgomaster issued a notice to the inhabitants that in future they would not be allowed to see Kaspar Hauser at all hours of the day, and that the police had orders to interfere if the curiosity of visitors led them to annoy Dr. Daumer and his household. He entered Dr. Daumer's house on July 18, 1828, and during the next five months made such astonishing progress that the delight of his teacher knew no bounds. In order to satisfy public curiosity the burgomaster published, in July, a short account of Hauser's previous life, gleaned from him by careful questioning. It was to this effect: —
'He neither knows who he is nor where he came from, for it was only at Nuremberg that he came into the world. He always lived in a hole, where he sat on straw on the ground; he never heard a sound, nor saw any vivid light. He awoke and he slept, and awoke again; when he awoke he found a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water beside him. Sometimes the water tasted nasty and then he fell asleep again, and when he woke up found he had a clean shirt on; he never saw the face of the man who came to him. He had two wooden horses and some ribbons to play with; was never ill, never unhappy in his hole; once only the man struck him with a stick for making too much noise with his horses. One day the man came into his room and put a table over his feet; something white lay on the table, and on this the man made black marks with a pencil which he put into his fingers. This the man did several times, and when he was gone Kaspar imitated what he had done. At last he taught him to stand and to walk, and finally carried him out of his hole. Of what happened next Kaspar had no very clear idea, until he found himself in Nuremberg with the letter in his hand.'
At first sight this story seems quite impossible, but it is borne out by two or three things. Kaspar's legs were deformed in just such a way as would happen in the case of a person who had spent years sitting on the ground; he never walked properly to the end, and had great difficulty in getting upstairs. His feet showed no signs of use, except the blisters made by his boots and his walk to Nuremberg; he could see in the dark easily and disliked light; and finally, for several months after he came to Nuremberg, he refused to eat anything but bread and water, and was, in fact, made quite ill by the smell of meat, beer, wine, or milk.
For the first four months of his stay with Daumer, his senses of sight, taste, hearing, and smell were very acute. He had got past the stage in which he disliked light, and could now see much further than most people by day, without, however, losing his power of seeing in the dark; at the same time he could not distinguish between a thing and a picture of that thing, and could not for a long time judge distances at all, for he saw everything flat. His favourite colours were red and yellow; black and green he particularly disliked; everything ugly was called green. He could not be persuaded that a ball did not roll because it wished to do so, or that his top did not spin of its own accord. For a long time he saw no reason why animals should not behave like human beings, and was much annoyed because the cat refused to sit up at table and to eat with its paws, blaming its disobedience in not doing as it was told. He further thought that a cow which had lain down in the road would do well to go home to bed if it were tired. His sense of smell was very keen, painfully so, in fact, for he was made quite ill by the smell of the dye in his clothes, the smell of paper, and of many other things which other people do not notice at all; while the smell of a sweep a hundred yards off on the other side of the road upset him for a week. On the other hand, he could distinguish the leaves of trees by their smell.
By November he had made sufficient progress to make it possible for Dr. Daumer to teach him other things besides the use of his senses: he was encouraged to write letters and essays, to use his hands in every way, to draw, to make paper-models, to dig in the garden, where he had a little plot of ground with his name in mustard and cress; in fact, to use his lately acquired knowledge. The great difficulty was to persuade him to eat anything but bread and water, but by slow degrees he learned to eat different forms of farinaceous food, gruel, bread and milk, rice, &c., into which a little gravy and meat was gradually introduced. By the following May he could eat meat without being made ill by it, but never drank anything but water, except at breakfast, when he had chocolate.
For the next eleven months he lived a happy, simple life with his friend and tutor, who mentions, however, that the intense acuteness of his senses was gradually passing away, but that he had still the charming, obedient, child-like nature which had won all hearts. In the summer, public interest was aroused by the news that Kaspar Hauser was writing his life, and the paper was eagerly looked forward to. All went well until October 17, when Kaspar was discovered senseless in a cellar under Dr. Daumer's house, with a wound in his forehead. He was carried upstairs and put to bed, when he kept on moaning, 'Man! man! – tell mother (Mrs. Daumer) – tell professor – man beat me – black sweep.' For some days he was too ill to give any account of his wound, but at last said, that he had gone downstairs and was suddenly attacked by a man with a black face,10 who hit him on the head; that he fell down, and when he got up the man was gone; that he went to look for Mrs. Daumer, and, as he could not find her, finally hid in the cellar to be quite safe. After this murderous attack it was no longer safe to leave him in Dr. Daumer's house, so when well again he was removed to the house of one of the magistrates, and constantly guarded by two policemen, without whom he never went out. He was not very happy here, and after some months was put under the charge of Herr von Tucher (June 1830), with whom he remained for eighteen months. At first the arrangement answered admirably; he was happy in his new home, his only trouble being that he was sent to the grammar school and put into one of the upper forms, where he had to learn Latin, a task which proved too hard for his brain. By this time his face had quite lost the brutish character it had when he came to Nuremberg, and its expression was pleasant, though rather sad. Unfortunately for himself, he was one of the sights of Nuremberg, was always introduced to any stranger of distinction who came to the town, and attracted even more attention than the kangaroo; so that even his warmest friends were obliged to admit that he was rather spoiled.
