No sooner had I uttered the words, than the bear made a spring right off the stage, and rushed towards me, exclaiming, “Arrah! I’m Larry Harrigan, Mr Terence dear! and shure you’ve found me at last?”
At the first movement the bear made the audience rushed from all parts of the room, trying to effect their escape through the door, while Jacques Chacot endeavoured to seize it, and to drag it back on the stage. Larry, however, was not to be hindered, and, grasping my hand, he held it in his shaggy paws, his voice alone assuring me who he was.
“Hands off from him, Chacot!” I cried out. “He is an honest Irishman whom I know well. If you injure him it will be at your peril. Stop, friends, stop!” I shouted to the people as they were escaping. “The bear will do you no harm; come and assist me.” Jacques Chacot, however, fearing that the chance of making further gains by his prisoner would be lost, dragged him back by main force, while poor Larry, closely encased as he was in a skin, and padded out with pillows, was unable to help himself. At the same time, one of the sons, seizing his pike, threatened to run me through if I interfered.
I in vain called to the people to help me; they seemed to think that I was as mad as the bear, or that I was a mere bearish Englishman, who had lived so long amongst animals of that description that I very naturally took it for an old friend Larry continued to shout out to me for help, until Jacques Chacot seized his jaws, and, closing them, prevented his voice from coming out, while the young Frenchmen dragged him away.
“Keep up your spirits, Larry,” I cried. “If there’s justice in the country, I’ll obtain it for you.” As I found it would be impossible at that moment to set Larry free, I followed the people out of the show, and endeavoured to explain to them that the bear was no bear at all, but a human being, whom I had known all my life. This, however, I found they were by no means inclined to believe. It was a very strange bear, they acknowledged, but they had no reason to doubt that bears could speak; and the words he had uttered were just such as might be expected to proceed from a bear.
Young Pierre had bravely stuck by me all the time, and was more inclined to believe me than any one else.
“I have heard say that Jacques Chacot is a great rascal, and if monsieur will take my advice he will go to Monsieur Jules Pontet, the mayor, who will compel him to allow the bear to be properly examined, and if it proves to be a man have him set at liberty,” he observed.
“You are a sensible little fellow,” I answered; “and if you will show me the way to the mayor’s house, we will go to him at once. But don’t let any one know, or Chacot will take means to hide the bear, or carry him off, or perhaps throw him into the sea and drown him, so that there may be no evidence of his knavery.”
“That’s just what I was thinking, monsieur,” said Pierre, as he led the way. We hurried on, for I was very anxious about Larry’s safety, fearful that Chacot would play him some trick. In about twenty minutes we reached the most respectable-looking house in the village.
“Monsieur the mayor lives here,” said Pierre. “He is at home, I know, for he never leaves so early in the day.”