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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:32 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:32 -0700 |
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diff --git a/10446-0.txt b/10446-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6073f0a --- /dev/null +++ b/10446-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8284 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10446 *** +THE GREEN FLAG. + +ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. + + + + +CONTENTS. + +THE GREEN FLAG. + +CAPTAIN SHARKEY. + +THE CROXLEY MASTER. + +THE LORD OF CHATEAU NOIR. + +THE STRIPED CHEST. + +A SHADOW BEFORE. + +THE KING OF THE FOXES. + +THE THREE CORRESPONDENTS. + +THE NEW CATACOMB. + +THE DEBUT OF BIMBASHI JOYCE. + +A FOREIGN OFFICE ROMANCE. + + + + +THE GREEN FLAG + + +When Jack Conolly, of the Irish Shotgun Brigade, the Rory of the Hills +Inner Circle, and the extreme left wing of the Land League, was +incontinently shot by Sergeant Murdoch of the constabulary, in a little +moonlight frolic near Kanturk, his twin-brother Dennis joined the +British Army. The countryside had become too hot for him; and, as the +seventy-five shillings were wanting which might have carried him to +America, he took the only way handy of getting himself out of the way. +Seldom has Her Majesty had a less promising recruit, for his hot Celtic +blood seethed with hatred against Britain and all things British. +The sergeant, however, smiling complacently over his 6 ft. of brawn and +his 44 in. chest, whisked him off with a dozen other of the boys to the +depot at Fermoy, whence in a few weeks they were sent on, with the +spade-work kinks taken out of their backs, to the first battalion of the +Royal Mallows, at the top of the roster for foreign service. + +The Royal Mallows, at about that date, were as strange a lot of men as +ever were paid by a great empire to fight its battles. It was the +darkest hour of the land struggle, when the one side came out with +crow-bar and battering-ram by day, and the other with mask and with +shot-gun by night. Men driven from their homes and potato-patches found +their way even into the service of the Government, to which it seemed to +them that they owed their troubles, and now and then they did wild +things before they came. There were recruits in the Irish regiments who +would forget to answer to their own names, so short had been their +acquaintance with them. Of these the Royal Mallows had their full +share; and, while they still retained their fame as being one of the +smartest corps in the army, no one knew better than their officers that +they were dry-rotted with treason and with bitter hatred of the flag +under which they served. + +And the centre of all the disaffection was C Company, in which Dennis +Conolly found himself enrolled. They were Celts, Catholics, and men of +the tenant class to a man; and their whole experience of the British +Government had been an inexorable landlord, and a constabulary who +seemed to them to be always on the side of the rent-collector. Dennis +was not the only moonlighter in the ranks, nor was he alone in having an +intolerable family blood-feud to harden his heart. Savagery had +begotten savagery in that veiled civil war. A landlord with an iron +mortgage weighing down upon him had small bowels for his tenantry. +He did but take what the law allowed, and yet, with men like Jim Holan, +or Patrick McQuire, or Peter Flynn, who had seen the roofs torn from +their cottages and their folk huddled among their pitiable furniture +upon the roadside, it was ill to argue about abstract law. What matter +that in that long and bitter struggle there was many another outrage on +the part of the tenant, and many another grievance on the side of the +landowner! A stricken man can only feel his own wound, and the rank and +file of the C Company of the Royal Mallows were sore and savage to the +soul. There were low whisperings in barrack-rooms and canteens, +stealthy meetings in public-house parlours, bandying of passwords from +mouth to mouth, and many other signs which made their officers right +glad when the order came which sent them to foreign, and better still, +to active service. + +For Irish regiments have before now been disaffected, and have at a +distance looked upon the foe as though he might, in truth, be the +friend; but when they have been put face on to him, and when their +officers have dashed to the front with a wave and halloo, those rebel +hearts have softened and their gallant Celtic blood has boiled with the +mad joy of the fight, until the slower Britons have marvelled that they +ever could have doubted the loyalty of their Irish comrades. So it +would be again, according to the officers, and so it would not be if +Dennis Conolly and a few others could have their way. + +It was a March morning upon the eastern fringe of the Nubian desert. +The sun had not yet risen, but a tinge of pink flushed up as far as the +cloudless zenith, and the long strip of sea lay like a rosy ribbon +across the horizon. From the coast inland stretched dreary sand-plains, +dotted over with thick clumps of mimosa scrub and mottled patches of +thorny bush. No tree broke the monotony of that vast desert. The dull, +dusty hue of the thickets, and the yellow glare of the sand, were the +only colours, save at one point, where, from a distance, it seemed that +a land-slip of snow-white stones had shot itself across a low foot-hill. +But as the traveller approached he saw, with a thrill, that these were +no stones, but the bleaching bones of a slaughtered army. With its dull +tints, its gnarled, viprous bushes, its arid, barren soil, and this +death streak trailed across it, it was indeed a nightmare country. + +Some eight or ten miles inland the rolling plain curved upwards with a +steeper slope until it ran into a line of red basaltic rock which +zigzagged from north to south, heaping itself up at one point into a +fantastic knoll. On the summit of this there stood upon that March +morning three Arab chieftains--the Sheik Kadra of the Hadendowas, Moussa +Wad Aburhegel, who led the Berber dervishes, and Hamid Wad Hussein, who +had come northward with his fighting men from the land of the Baggaras. +They had all three just risen from their praying-carpets, and were +peering out, with fierce, high-nosed faces thrust forwards, at the +stretch of country revealed by the spreading dawn. + +The red rim of the sun was pushing itself now above the distant sea, and +the whole coast-line stood out brilliantly yellow against the rich deep +blue beyond. At one spot lay a huddle of white-walled houses, a mere +splotch in the distance; while four tiny cock-boats, which lay beyond, +marked the position of three of Her Majesty’s 10,000-ton troopers and +the admiral’s flagship. But it was not upon the distant town, nor upon +the great vessels, nor yet upon the sinister white litter which gleamed +in the plain beneath them, that the Arab chieftains gazed. Two miles +from where they stood, amid the sand-hills and the mimosa scrub, a great +parallelogram had been marked by piled-up bushes. From the inside of +this dozens of tiny blue smoke-reeks curled up into the still morning +air; while there rose from it a confused deep murmur, the voices of men +and the gruntings of camels blended into the same insect buzz. + +“The unbelievers have cooked their morning food,” said the Baggara +chief, shading his eyes with his tawny, sinewy hand. “Truly their sleep +has been scanty; for Hamid and a hundred of his men have fired upon them +since the rising of the moon.” + +“So it was with these others,” answered the Sheik Kadra, pointing with +his sheathed sword towards the old battle-field. “They also had a day +of little water and a night of little rest, and the heart was gone out +of them ere ever the sons of the Prophet had looked them in the eyes. +This blade drank deep that day, and will again before the sun has +travelled from the sea to the hill.” + +“And yet these are other men,” remarked the Berber dervish. “Well, I +know that Allah has placed them in the clutch of our fingers, yet it may +be that they with the big hats will stand firmer than the cursed men of +Egypt.” + +“Pray Allah that it may be so,” cried the fierce Baggara, with a flash +of his black eyes. “It was not to chase women that I brought 700 men +from the river to the coast. See, my brother, already they are forming +their array.” + +A fanfare of bugle-calls burst from the distant camp. At the same time +the bank of bushes at one side had been thrown or trampled down, and the +little army within began to move slowly out on to the plain. Once clear +of the camp they halted, and the slant rays of the sun struck flashes +from bayonet and from gun-barrel as the ranks closed up until the big +pith helmets joined into a single long white ribbon. Two streaks of +scarlet glowed on either side of the square, but elsewhere the fringe of +fighting-men was of the dull yellow khaki tint which hardly shows +against the desert sand. Inside their array was a dense mass of camels +and mules bearing stores and ambulance needs. Outside a twinkling clump +of cavalry was drawn up on each flank, and in front a thin, scattered +line of mounted infantry was already slowly advancing over the +bush-strewn plain, halting on every eminence, and peering warily round +as men might who have to pick their steps among the bones of those who +have preceded them. + +The three chieftains still lingered upon the knoll, looking down with +hungry eyes and compressed lips at the dark steel-tipped patch. +“They are slower to start than the men of Egypt,” the Sheik of the +Hadendowas growled in his beard. + +“Slower also to go back, perchance, my brother,” murmured the dervish. + +“And yet they are not many--3,000 at the most.” + +“And we 10,000, with the Prophet’s grip upon our spear-hafts and his +words upon our banner. See to their chieftain, how he rides upon the +right and looks up at us with the glass that sees from afar! It may be +that he sees this also.” The Arab shook his sword at the small clump of +horsemen who had spurred out from the square. + +“Lo! he beckons,” cried the dervish; “and see those others at the +corner, how they bend and heave. Ha! by the Prophet, I had thought it.” +As he spoke, a little woolly puff of smoke spurted up at the corner of +the square, and a 7 lb. shell burst with a hard metallic smack just over +their heads. The splinters knocked chips from the red rocks around +them. + +“Bismillah!” cried the Hadendowa; “if the gun can carry thus far, then +ours can answer to it. Ride to the left, Moussa, and tell Ben Ali to +cut the skin from the Egyptians if they cannot hit yonder mark. +And you, Hamid, to the right, and see that 3,000 men lie close in the +wady that we have chosen. Let the others beat the drum and show the +banner of the Prophet, for by the black stone their spears will have +drunk deep ere they look upon the stars again.” + +A long, straggling, boulder-strewn plateau lay on the summit of the red +hills, sloping very precipitously to the plain, save at one point, where +a winding gully curved downwards, its mouth choked with sand-mounds and +olive-hued scrub. Along the edge of this position lay the Arab host--a +motley crew of shock-headed desert clansmen, fierce predatory slave +dealers of the interior, and wild dervishes from the Upper Nile, all +blent together by their common fearlessness and fanaticism. Two races +were there, as wide as the poles apart--the thin-lipped, straight-haired +Arab and the thick-lipped, curly negro--yet the faith of Islam had bound +them closer than a blood tie. Squatting among the rocks, or lying +thickly in the shadow, they peered out at the slow-moving square beneath +them, while women with water-skins and bags of dhoora fluttered from +group to group, calling out to each other those fighting texts from the +Koran which in the hour of battle are maddening as wine to the true +believer. A score of banners waved over the ragged, valiant crew, and +among them, upon desert horses and white Bishareen camels, were the +Emirs and Sheiks who were to lead them against the infidels. + +As the Sheik Kadra sprang into his saddle and drew his sword there was a +wild whoop and a clatter of waving spears, while the one-ended war-drums +burst into a dull crash like a wave upon shingle. For a moment 10,000 +men were up on the rocks with brandished arms and leaping figures; the +next they were under cover again, waiting sternly and silently for their +chieftain’s orders. The square was less than half a mile from the ridge +now, and shell after shell from the 7 lb. guns were pitching over it. +A deep roar on the right, and then a second one showed that the Egyptian +Krupps were in action. Sheik Kadra’s hawk eyes saw that the shells +burst far beyond the mark, and he spurred his horse along to where a +knot of mounted chiefs were gathered round the two guns, which were +served by their captured crews. + +“How is this, Ben Ali?” he cried. “It was not thus that the dogs fired +when it was their own brothers in faith at whom they aimed!” + +A chieftain reined his horse back, and thrust a blood-smeared sword into +its sheath. Beside him two Egyptian artillerymen with their throats cut +were sobbing out their lives upon the ground. “Who lays the gun this +time?” asked the fierce chief, glaring at the frightened gunners. +“Here, thou black-browed child of Shaitan, aim, and aim for thy life.” + +It may have been chance, or it may have been skill, but the third and +fourth shells burst over the square. Sheik Kadra smiled grimly and +galloped back to the left, where his spearmen were streaming down into +the gully. As he joined them a deep growling rose from the plain +beneath, like the snarling of a sullen wild beast, and a little knot of +tribesmen fell into a struggling heap, caught in the blast of lead from +a Gardner. Their comrades pressed on over them, and sprang down into +the ravine. From all along the crest burst the hard, sharp crackle of +Remington fire. + +The square had slowly advanced, rippling over the low sandhills, and +halting every few minutes to re-arrange its formation. Now, having made +sure that there was no force of the enemy in the scrub, it changed its +direction, and began to take a line parallel to the Arab position. +It was too steep to assail from the front, and if they moved far enough +to the right the general hoped that he might turn it. On the top of +those ruddy hills lay a baronetcy for him, and a few extra hundreds in +his pension, and he meant having them both that day. The Remington fire +was annoying, and so were those two Krupp guns; already there were more +cacolets full than he cared to see. But on the whole he thought it +better to hold his fire until he had more to aim at than a few hundred +of fuzzy heads peeping over a razor-back ridge. He was a bulky, +red-faced man, a fine whist-player, and a soldier who knew his work. +His men believed in him, and he had good reason to believe in them, for +he had excellent stuff under him that day. Being an ardent champion of +the short-service system, he took particular care to work with veteran +first battalions, and his little force was the compressed essence of an +army corps. + +The left front of the square was formed by four companies of the Royal +Wessex, and the right by four of the Royal Mallows. On either side the +other halves of the same regiments marched in quarter column of +companies. Behind them, on the right was a battalion of Guards, and on +the left one of Marines, while the rear was closed in by a Rifle +battalion. Two Royal Artillery 7 lb. screw-guns kept pace with the +square, and a dozen white-bloused sailors, under their blue-coated, +tight-waisted officers, trailed their Gardner in front, turning every +now and then to spit up at the draggled banners which waved over the +cragged ridge. Hussars and Lancers scouted in the scrub at each side, +and within moved the clump of camels, with humorous eyes and +supercilious lips, their comic faces a contrast to the blood-stained men +who already lay huddled in the cacolets on either side. + +The square was now moving slowly on a line parallel with the rocks, +stopping every few minutes to pick up wounded, and to allow the +screw-guns and Gardner to make themselves felt. The men looked serious, +for that spring on to the rocks of the Arab army had given them a vague +glimpse of the number and ferocity of their foes; but their faces were +set like stone, for they knew to a man that they must win or they must +die--and die, too, in a particularly unlovely fashion. But most serious +of all was the general, for he had seen that which brought a flush to +his cheeks and a frown to his brow. + +“I say, Stephen,” said he to his galloper, “those Mallows seem a trifle +jumpy. The right flank company bulged a bit when the niggers showed on +the hill.” + +“Youngest troops in the square, sir,” murmured the aide, looking at them +critically through his eye-glass. + +“Tell Colonel Flanagan to see to it, Stephen,” said the general; and the +galloper sped upon his way. The colonel, a fine old Celtic warrior, was +over at C Company in an instant. + +“How are the men, Captain Foley?” + +“Never better, sir,” answered the senior captain, in the spirit that +makes a Madras officer look murder if you suggest recruiting his +regiment from the Punjab. + +“Stiffen them up!” cried the colonel. As he rode away a colour-sergeant +seemed to trip, and fell forward into a mimosa bush. He made no effort +to rise, but lay in a heap among the thorns. + +“Sergeant O’Rooke’s gone, sorr,” cried a voice. “Never mind, lads,” +said Captain Foley. “He’s died like a soldier, fighting for his Queen.” + +“Down with the Queen!” shouted a hoarse voice from the ranks. + +But the roar of the Gardner and the typewriter-like clicking of the +hopper burst in at the tail of the words. Captain Foley heard them, and +Subalterns Grice and Murphy heard them; but there are times when a deaf +ear is a gift from the gods. + +“Steady, Mallows!” cried the captain, in a pause of the grunting +machine-gun. “We have the honour of Ireland to guard this day.” + +“And well we know how to guard it, captin!” cried the same ominous +voice; and there was a buzz from the length of the company. + +The captain and the two subs. came together behind the marching line. + +“They seem a bit out of hand,” murmured the captain. + +“Bedad,” said the Galway boy, “they mean to scoot like redshanks.” + +“They nearly broke when the blacks showed on the hill,” said Grice. + +“The first man that turns, my sword is through him,” cried Foley, loud +enough to be heard by five files on either side of him. Then, in a +lower voice, “It’s a bitter drop to swallow, but it’s my duty to report +what you think to the chief, and have a company of Jollies put behind +us.” He turned away with the safety of the square upon his mind, and +before he had reached his goal the square had ceased to exist. + +In their march in front of what looked like a face of cliff, they had +come opposite to the mouth of the gully, in which, screened by scrub and +boulders, 3,000 chosen dervishes, under Hamid Wad Hussein, of the +Baggaras, were crouching. Tat, tat, tat, went the rifles of three +mounted infantrymen in front of the left shoulder of the square, and an +instant later they were spurring it for their lives, crouching over the +manes of their horses, and pelting over the sandhills with thirty or +forty galloping chieftains at their heels. Rocks and scrub and mimosa +swarmed suddenly into life. Rushing black figures came and went in the +gaps of the bushes. A howl that drowned the shouts of the officers, a +long quavering yell, burst from the ambuscade. Two rolling volleys from +the Royal Wessex, one crash from the screw-gun firing shrapnel, and then +before a second cartridge could be rammed in, a living, glistening black +wave, tipped with steel, had rolled over the gun, the Royal Wessex had +been dashed back among the camels, and 1,000 fanatics were hewing and +hacking in the heart of what had been the square. + +The camels and mules in the centre, jammed more and more together as +their leaders flinched from the rush of the tribesmen, shut out the view +of the other three faces, who could only tell that the Arabs had got in +by the yells upon Allah, which rose ever nearer and nearer amid the +clouds of sand-dust, the struggling animals, and the dense mass of +swaying, cursing men. Some of the Wessex fired back at the Arabs who +had passed them, as excited Tommies will, and it is whispered among +doctors that it was not always a Remington bullet which was cut from a +wound that day. Some rallied in little knots, stabbing furiously with +their bayonets at the rushing spearmen. Others turned at bay with their +backs against the camels, and others round the general and his staff, +who, revolver in hand, had flung themselves into the heart of it. +But the whole square was sidling slowly away from the gorge, pushed back +by the pressure at the shattered corner. + +The officers and men at the other faces were glancing nervously to the +rear, uncertain what was going on, and unable to take help to their +comrades without breaking the formation. + +“By Jove, they’ve got through the Wessex!” cried Grice of the Mallows. + +“The divils have hurrooshed us, Ted,” said his brother subaltern, +cocking his revolver. + +The ranks were breaking, and crowding towards Private Conolly, all +talking together as the officers peered back through the veil of dust. +The sailors had run their Gardner out, and she was squirting death out +of her five barrels into the flank of the rushing stream of savages. +“Oh, this bloody gun!” shouted a voice. “She’s jammed again.” +The fierce metallic grunting had ceased, and her crew were straining and +hauling at the breech. + +“This damned vertical feed!” cried an officer. + +“The spanner, Wilson!--the spanner! Stand to your cutlasses, boys, or +they’re into us.” His voice rose into a shriek as he ended, for a +shovel-headed spear had been buried in his chest. A second wave of +dervishes lapped over the hillocks, and burst upon the machine-gun and +the right front of the line. The sailors were overborne in an instant, +but the Mallows, with their fighting blood aflame, met the yell of the +Moslem with an even wilder, fiercer cry, and dropped two hundred of them +with a single point-blank volley. The howling, leaping crew swerved +away to the right, and dashed on into the gap which had already been +made for them. + +But C Company had drawn no trigger to stop that fiery rush. The men +leaned moodily upon their Martinis. Some had even thrown them upon the +ground. Conolly was talking fiercely to those about him. Captain +Foley, thrusting his way through the press, rushed up to him with a +revolver in his hand. + +“This is your doing, you villain!” he cried. + +“If you raise your pistol, Captin, your brains will be over your coat,” +said a low voice at his side. + +He saw that several rifles were turned on him. The two subs. had +pressed forward, and were by his side. “What is it, then?” he cried, +looking round from one fierce mutinous face to another. “Are you +Irishmen? Are you soldiers? What are you here for but to fight for +your country?” + +“England is no country of ours,” cried several. + +“You are not fighting for England. You are fighting for Ireland, and +for the Empire of which it as part.” + +“A black curse on the Impire!” shouted Private McQuire, throwing down +his rifle. “’Twas the Impire that backed the man that druv me onto the +roadside. May me hand stiffen before I draw trigger for it. + +“What’s the Impire to us, Captain Foley, and what’s the Widdy to us +ayther?” cried a voice. + +“Let the constabulary foight for her.” + +“Ay, be God, they’d be better imployed than pullin’ a poor man’s thatch +about his ears.” + +“Or shootin’ his brother, as they did mine.” + +“It was the Impire laid my groanin’ mother by the wayside. Her son will +rot before he upholds it, and ye can put that in the charge-sheet in the +next coort-martial.” + +In vain the three officers begged, menaced, persuaded. The square was +still moving, ever moving, with the same bloody fight raging in its +entrails. Even while they had been speaking they had been shuffling +backwards, and the useless Gardner, with her slaughtered crew, was +already a good hundred yards from them. And the pace was accelerating. +The mass of men, tormented and writhing, was trying, by a common +instinct, to reach some clearer ground where they could re-form. Three +faces were still intact, but the fourth had been caved in, and badly +mauled, without its comrades being able to help it. The Guards had met +a fresh rush of the Hadendowas, and had blown back the tribesmen with a +volley, and the cavalry had ridden over another stream of them, as they +welled out of the gully. A litter of hamstrung horses, and haggled men +behind them, showed that a spearman on his face among the bushes can +show some sport to the man who charges him. But, in spite of all, the +square was still reeling swiftly backwards, trying to shake itself clear +of this torment which clung to its heart. Would it break or would it +re-form? The lives of five regiments and the honour of the flag hung +upon the answer. + +Some, at least, were breaking. The C Company of the Mallows had lost +all military order, and was pushing back in spite of the haggard +officers, who cursed, and shoved, and prayed in the vain attempt to hold +them. The captain and the subs. were elbowed and jostled, while the men +crowded towards Private Conolly for their orders. The confusion had not +spread, for the other companies, in the dust and smoke and turmoil, had +lost touch with their mutinous comrades. Captain Foley saw that even +now there might be time to avert a disaster. “Think what you are doing, +man,” he yelled, rushing towards the ringleader. “There are a thousand +Irish in the square, and they are dead men if we break.” + +The words alone might have had little effect on the old moonlighter. +It is possible that, in his scheming brain, he had already planned how +he was to club his Irish together and lead them to the sea. But at that +moment the Arabs broke through the screen of camels which had fended +them off. There was a struggle, a screaming, a mule rolled over, a +wounded man sprang up in a cacolet with a spear through him, and then +through the narrow gap surged a stream of naked savages, mad with +battle, drunk with slaughter, spotted and splashed with blood--blood +dripping from their spears, their arms, their faces. Their yells, their +bounds, their crouching, darting figures, the horrid energy of their +spear-thrusts, made them look like a blast of fiends from the pit. And +were these the Allies of Ireland? Were these the men who were to strike +for her against her enemies? Conolly’s soul rose up in loathing at the +thought. + +He was a man of firm purpose, and yet at the first sight of those +howling fiends that purpose faltered, and at the second it was blown to +the winds. He saw a huge coal-black negro seize a shrieking +camel-driver and saw at his throat with a knife. He saw a shock-headed +tribesman plunge his great spear through the back of their own little +bugler from Mill-street. He saw a dozen deeds of blood--the murder of +the wounded, the hacking of the unarmed--and caught, too, in a glance, +the good wholesome faces of the faced-about rear rank of the Marines. +The Mallows, too, had faced about, and in an instant Conolly had thrown +himself into the heart of C Company, striving with the officers to form +the men up with their comrades. + +But the mischief had gone too far. The rank and file had no heart in +their work. They had broken before, and this last rush of murderous +savages was a hard thing for broken men to stand against. They flinched +from the furious faces and dripping forearms. Why should they throw +away their lives for a flag for which they cared nothing? Why should +their leader urge them to break, and now shriek to them to re-form? +They would not re-form. They wanted to get to the sea and to safety. +He flung himself among them with outstretched arms, with words of +reason, with shouts, with gaspings. It was useless; the tide was beyond +his control. They were shredding out into the desert with their faces +set for the coast. + +“Bhoys, will ye stand for this?” screamed a voice. It was so ringing, +so strenuous, that the breaking Mallows glanced backwards. They were +held by what they saw. Private Conolly had planted his rifle-stock +downwards in a mimosa bush. From the fixed bayonet there fluttered a +little green flag with the crownless harp. God knows for what black +mutiny, for what signal of revolt, that flag had been treasured up +within the corporal’s tunic! Now its green wisp stood amid the rush, +while three proud regimental colours were reeling slowly backwards. + +“What for the flag?” yelled the private. + +“My heart’s blood for it! and mine! and mine!” cried a score of voices. +“God bless it! The flag, boys--the flag!” + +C Company were rallying upon it. The stragglers clutched at each +other, and pointed. “Here, McQuire, Flynn, O’Hara,” ran the shoutings. +“Close on the flag! Back to the flag!” The three standards reeled +backwards, and the seething square strove for a clearer space where they +could form their shattered ranks; but C Company, grim and +powder-stained, choked with enemies and falling fast, still closed in on +the little rebel ensign that flapped from the mimosa bush. + +It was a good half-hour before the square, having disentangled itself +from its difficulties and dressed its ranks, began to slowly move +forwards over the ground, across which in its labour and anguish it had +been driven. The long trail of Wessex men and Arabs showed but too +clearly the path they had come. + +“How many got into us, Stephen?” asked the general, tapping his +snuff-box. + +“I should put them down at a thousand or twelve hundred, sir.” + +“I did not see any get out again. What the devil were the Wessex +thinking about? The Guards stood well, though; so did the Mallows.” + +“Colonel Flanagan reports that his front flank company was cut off, +sir.” + +“Why, that’s the company that was out of hand when we advanced!” + +“Colonel Flanagan reports, sir, that the company took the whole brunt of +the attack, and gave the square time to re-form.” + +“Tell the Hussars to ride forward, Stephen,” said the general, “and try +if they can see anything of them. There’s no firing, and I fear that +the Mallows will want to do some recruiting. Let the square take ground +by the right, and then advance!” + +But the Sheik Kadra of the Hadendowas saw from his knoll that the men +with the big hats had rallied, and that they were coming back in the +quiet business fashion of men whose work was before them. He took +counsel with Moussa the Dervish and Hussein the Baggara, and a woestruck +man was he when he learned that the third of his men were safe in the +Moslem Paradise. So, having still some signs of victory to show, he +gave the word, and the desert warriors flitted off unseen and unheard, +even as they had come. + +A red rock plateau, a few hundred spears and Remingtons, and a plain +which for the second time was strewn with slaughtered men, was all that +his day’s fighting gave to the English general. + +It was a squadron of Hussars which came first to the spot where the +rebel flag had waved. A dense litter of Arab dead marked the place. +Within, the flag waved no longer, but the rifle stood in the mimosa +bush, and round it, with their wounds in front, lay the Fenian private +and the silent ranks of the Irishry. Sentiment is not an English +failing, but the Hussar captain raised his hilt in a salute as he rode +past the blood-soaked ring. + +The British general sent home dispatches to his Government, and so did +the chief of the Hadendowas, though the style and manner differed +somewhat in each. + + + +The Sheik Kadra of the Hadendowa people to Mohammed Ahmed, the chosen of +Allah, homage and greeting, (began the latter). Know by this that on +the fourth day of this moon we gave battle to the Kaffirs who call +themselves Inglees, having with us the Chief Hussein with ten thousand +of the faithful. By the blessing of Allah we have broken them, and +chased them for a mile, though indeed these infidels are different from +the dogs of Egypt, and have slain very many of our men. Yet we hope to +smite them again ere the new moon be come, to which end I trust that +thou wilt send us a thousand Dervishes from Omdurman. In token of our +victory I send you by this messenger a flag which we have taken. By the +colour it might well seem to have belonged to those of the true faith, +but the Kaffirs gave their blood freely to save it, and so we think +that, though small, it is very dear to them. + + + + +CAPTAIN SHARKEY. + + + I + +HOW THE GOVERNOR OF SAINT KITT’S CAME HOME. + + +When the great wars of the Spanish Succession had been brought to an end +by the Treaty of Utrecht, the vast number of privateers which had been +fitted out by the contending parties found their occupation gone. Some +took to the more peaceful but less lucrative ways of ordinary commerce, +others were absorbed into the fishing fleets, and a few of the more +reckless hoisted the Jolly Rodger at the mizzen and the bloody flag at +the main, declaring a private war upon their own account against the +whole human race. + +With mixed crews, recruited from every nation, they scoured the seas, +disappearing occasionally to careen in some lonely inlet, or putting in +for a debauch at some outlying port, where they dazzled the inhabitants +by their lavishness, and horrified them by their brutalities. + +On the Coromandel Coast, at Madagascar, in the African waters, and above +all in the West Indian and American seas, the pirates were a constant +menace. With an insolent luxury they would regulate their depredations +by the comfort of the seasons, harrying New England in the summer, and +dropping south again to the tropical islands in the winter. + +They were the more to be dreaded because they had none of that +discipline and restraint which made their predecessors, the Buccaneers, +both formidable and respectable. These Ishmaels of the sea rendered an +account to no man, and treated their prisoners according to the drunken +whim of the moment. Flashes of grotesque generosity alternated with +longer stretches of inconceivable ferocity, and the skipper who fell +into their hands might find himself dismissed with his cargo, after +serving as boon companion in some hideous debauch, or might sit at his +cabin table with his own nose and his lips served up with pepper and +salt in front of him. It took a stout seaman in those days to ply his +calling in the Caribbean Gulf. + +Such a man was Captain John Scarrow, of the ship _Morning Star_, and yet +he breathed a long sigh of relief when he heard the splash of the +falling anchor and swung at his moorings within a hundred yards of the +guns of the citadel of Basseterre. St. Kitt’s was his final port of +call, and early next morning his bowsprit would be pointed for Old +England. He had had enough of those robber-haunted seas. Ever since he +had left Maracaibo upon the Main, with his full lading of sugar and red +pepper, he had winced at every topsail which glimmered over the violet +edge of the tropical sea. He had coasted up the Windward Islands, +touching here and there, and assailed continually by stories of villainy +and outrage. + +Captain Sharkey, of the twenty-gun pirate barque, _Happy Delivery_, had +passed down the coast, and had littered it with gutted vessels and with +murdered men. Dreadful anecdotes were current of his grim pleasantries +and of his inflexible ferocity. From the Bahamas to the Main his +coal-black barque, with the ambiguous name, had been freighted with +death and many things which are worse than death. So nervous was +Captain Scarrow, with his new full-rigged ship, and her full and +valuable lading, that he struck out to the west as far as Bird’s Island +to be out of the usual track of commerce. And yet even in those +solitary waters he had been unable to shake off sinister traces of +Captain Sharkey. + +One morning they had raised a single skiff adrift upon the face of the +ocean. Its only occupant was a delirious seaman, who yelled hoarsely as +they hoisted him aboard, and showed a dried-up tongue like a black and +wrinkled fungus at the back of his mouth. Water and nursing soon +transformed him into the strongest and smartest sailor on the ship. +He was from Marblehead, in New England, it seemed, and was the sole +survivor of a schooner which had been scuttled by the dreadful Sharkey. + +For a week Hiram Evanson, for that was his name, had been adrift beneath +a tropical sun. Sharkey had ordered the mangled remains of his late +captain to be thrown into the boat, “as provisions for the voyage,” but +the seaman had at once committed it to the deep, lest the temptation +should be more than he could bear. He had lived upon his own huge frame +until, at the last moment, the _Morning Star_ had found him in that +madness which is the precursor of such a death. It was no bad find for +Captain Scarrow, for, with a short-handed crew, such a seaman as this +big New Englander was a prize worth having. He vowed that he was the +only man whom Captain Sharkey had ever placed under an obligation. + +Now that they lay under the guns of Basseterre, all danger from the +pirate was at an end, and yet the thought of him lay heavily upon the +seaman’s mind as he watched the agent’s boat shooting out from the +Custom-house quay. + +“I’ll lay you a wager, Morgan,” said he to the first mate, “that the +agent will speak of Sharkey in the first hundred words that pass his +lips.” + +“Well, captain, I’ll have you a silver dollar, and chance it,” said the +rough old Bristol man beside him. + +The negro rowers shot the boat alongside, and the linen-clad steersman +sprang up the ladder. “Welcome, Captain Scarrow!” he cried. “Have you +heard about Sharkey?” + +The captain grinned at the mate. + +“What devilry has he been up to now?” he asked. + +“Devilry! You’ve not heard, then? Why, we’ve got him safe under lock +and key at Basseterre. He was tried last Wednesday, and he is to be +hanged to-morrow morning.” + +Captain and mate gave a shout of joy, which an instant later was taken +up by the crew. Discipline was forgotten as they scrambled up through +the break of the poop to hear the news. The New Englander was in the +front of them with a radiant face turned up to Heaven, for he came of +the Puritan stock. + +“Sharkey to be hanged!” he cried. “You don’t know, Master Agent, if +they lack a hangman, do you?” + +“Stand back!” cried the mate, whose outraged sense of discipline was +even stronger than his interest at the news. “I’ll pay that dollar, +Captain Scarrow, with the lightest heart that ever I paid a wager yet. +How came the villain to be taken?” + +“Why, as to that, he became more than his own comrades could abide, and +they took such a horror of him that they would not have him on the ship. +So they marooned him upon the Little Mangles to the south of the +Mysteriosa Bank, and there he was found by a Portobello trader, who +brought him in. There was talk of sending him to Jamaica to be tried, +but our good little Governor, Sir Charles Ewan, would not hear of it. +‘He’s my meat,’ said he, ‘and I claim the cooking of it.’ If you can +stay till to-morrow morning at ten, you’ll see the joint swinging.” + +“I wish I could,” said the captain, wistfully, “but I am sadly behind +time now. I should start with the evening tide.” + +“That you can’t do,” said the agent with decision. “The Governor is +going back with you.” + +“The Governor!” + +“Yes. He’s had a dispatch from Government to return without delay. +The fly-boat that brought it has gone on to Virginia. So Sir Charles +has been waiting for you, as I told him you were due before the rains.” + +“Well, well!” cried the captain in some perplexity, “I’m a plain seaman, +and I don’t know much of governors and baronets and their ways. I don’t +remember that I ever so much as spoke to one. But if it’s in King +George’s service, and he asks a cast in the _Morning Star_ as far as +London, I’ll do what I can for him. There’s my own cabin he can have +and welcome. As to the cooking, it’s lobscouse and salmagundy six days +in the week; but he can bring his own cook aboard with him if he thinks +our galley too rough for his taste.” + +“You need not trouble your mind, Captain Scarrow,” said the agent. +“Sir Charles is in weak health just now, only clear of a quartan ague, +and it is likely he will keep his cabin most of the voyage. +Dr. Larousse said that he would have sunk had the hanging of Sharkey not +put fresh life into him. He has a great spirit in him, though, and you +must not blame him if he is somewhat short in his speech.” + +“He may say what he likes, and do what he likes, so long as he does not +come athwart my hawse when I am working the ship,” said the captain. +“He is Governor of St. Kitt’s, but I am Governor of the _Morning Star_, +and, by his leave, I must weigh with the first tide, for I owe a duty to +my employer, just as he does to King George.” + +“He can scarce be ready to-night, for he has many things to set in order +before he leaves.” + +“The early morning tide, then.” + +“Very good. I shall send his things aboard to-night; and he will follow +them to-morrow early if I can prevail upon him to leave St. Kitt’s +without seeing Sharkey do the rogue’s hornpipe. His own orders were +instant, so it may be that he will come at once. It is likely that Dr. +Larousse may attend him upon the journey.” + +Left to themselves, the captain and mate made the best preparations +which they could for their illustrious passenger. The largest cabin was +turned out and adorned in his honour, and orders were given by which +barrels of fruit and some cases of wine should be brought off to vary +the plain food of an ocean-going trader. In the evening the Governor’s +baggage began to arrive--great iron-bound ant-proof trunks, and official +tin packing-cases, with other strange-shaped packages, which suggested +the cocked hat or the sword within. And then there came a note, with a +heraldic device upon the big red seal, to say that Sir Charles Ewan made +his compliments to Captain Scarrow, and that he hoped to be with him in +the morning as early as his duties and his infirmities would permit. + +He was as good as his word, for the first grey of dawn had hardly begun +to deepen into pink when he was brought alongside, and climbed with some +difficulty up the ladder. The captain had heard that the Governor was +an eccentric, but he was hardly prepared for the curious figure who came +limping feebly down his quarter-deck, his steps supported by a thick +bamboo cane. He wore a Ramillies wig, all twisted into little tails +like a poodle’s coat, and cut so low across the brow that the large +green glasses which covered his eyes looked as if they were hung from +it. A fierce beak of a nose, very long and very thin, cut the air in +front of him. His ague had caused him to swathe his throat and chin +with a broad linen cravat, and he wore a loose damask powdering-gown +secured by a cord round the waist. As he advanced he carried his +masterful nose high in the air, but his head turned slowly from side to +side in the helpless manner of the purblind, and he called in a high, +querulous voice for the captain. + +“You have my things?” he asked. + +“Yes, Sir Charles.” + +“Have you wine aboard?” + +“I have ordered five cases, sir.” + +“And tobacco?” + +“There is a keg of Trinidad.” + +“You play a hand at picquet?” + +“Passably well, sir.” + +“Then anchor up, and to sea!” + +There was a fresh westerly wind, so by the time the sun was fairly +through the morning haze, the ship was hull down from the islands. +The decrepit Governor still limped the deck, with one guiding hand upon +the quarter rail. + +“You are on Government service now, captain,” said he. “They are +counting the days till I come to Westminster, I promise you. Have you +all that she will carry?” + +“Every inch, Sir Charles.” + +“Keep her so if you blow the sails out of her. I fear, Captain Scarrow, +that you will find a blind and broken man a poor companion for your +voyage.” + +“I am honoured in enjoying your Excellency’s society,” said the captain. +“But I am sorry that your eyes should be so afflicted.” + +“Yes, indeed. It is the cursed glare of the sun on the white streets of +Basseterre which has gone far to burn them out.” + +“I had heard also that you had been plagued by a quartan ague.” + +“Yes; I have had a pyrexy, which has reduced me much.” + +“We had set aside a cabin for your surgeon.” + +“Ah, the rascal! There was no budging him, for he has a snug business +amongst the merchants. But hark!” He raised his ring-covered band in +the air. From far astern there came the low, deep thunder of cannon. + +“It is from the island!” cried the captain in astonishment. “Can it be +a signal for us to put back?” + +The Governor laughed. “You have heard that Sharkey, the pirate, is to +be hanged this morning. I ordered the batteries to salute when the +rascal was kicking his last, so that I might know of it out at sea. +There’s an end of Sharkey!” + +“There’s an end of Sharkey!” cried the captain; and the crew took up the +cry as they gathered in little knots upon the deck and stared back at +the low, purple line of the vanishing land. + +It was a cheering omen for their start across the Western Ocean, and the +invalid Governor found himself a popular man on board, for it was +generally understood that but for his insistence upon an immediate trial +and sentence, the villain might have played upon some more venal judge +and so escaped. At dinner that day Sir Charles gave many anecdotes of +the deceased pirate; and so affable was he, and so skilful in adapting +his conversation to men of lower degree, that captain, mate, and +Governor smoked their long pipes, and drank their claret as three good +comrades should. + +“And what figure did Sharkey cut in the dock?” asked the captain. + +“He is a man of some presence,” said the Governor. + +“I had always understood that he was an ugly, sneering devil,” remarked +the mate. + +“Well, I dare say he could look ugly upon occasions,” said the Governor. + +“I have heard a New Bedford whaleman say that he could not forget his +eyes,” said Captain Scarrow. “They were of the lightest filmy blue, +with red-rimmed lids. Was that not so, Sir Charles?” + +“Alas, my own eyes will not permit me to know much of those of others! +But I remember now that the adjutant-general said that he had such an +eye as you describe, and added that the jury was so foolish as to be +visibly discomposed when it was turned upon them. It is well for them +that he is dead, for he was a man who would never forget an injury, and +if he had laid hands upon any one of them he would have stuffed him with +straw and hung him for a figure-head.” + +The idea seemed to amuse the Governor, for he broke suddenly into a +high, neighing laugh, and the two seamen laughed also, but not so +heartily, for they remembered that Sharkey was not the last pirate who +sailed the western seas, and that as grotesque a fate might come to be +their own. Another bottle was broached to drink to a pleasant voyage, +and the Governor would drink just one other on the top of it, so that +the seamen were glad at last to stagger off--the one to his watch, and +the other to his bunk. But when, after his four hours’ spell, the mate +came down again, he was amazed to see the Governor, in his Ramillies +wig, his glasses, and his powdering-gown, still seated sedately at the +lonely table with his reeking pipe and six black bottles by his side. + +“I have drunk with the Governor of St. Kitt’s when he was sick,” said +he, “and God forbid that I should ever try to keep pace with him when he +is well.” + +The voyage of the _Morning Star_ was a successful one, and in about +three weeks she was at the mouth of the British Channel. From the first +day the infirm Governor had begun to recover his strength, and before +they were halfway across the Atlantic, he was, save only for his eyes, +as well as any man upon the ship. Those who uphold the nourishing +qualities of wine might point to him in triumph, for never a night +passed that he did not repeat the performance of his first one. And yet +he would be out upon deck in the early morning as fresh and brisk as the +best of them, peering about with his weak eyes, and asking questions +about the sails and the rigging, for he was anxious to learn the ways of +the sea. And he made up for the deficiency of his eyes by obtaining +leave from the captain that the New England seaman--he who had been cast +away in the boat--should lead him about, and, above all, that he should +sit beside him when he played cards and count the number of the pips, +for unaided he could not tell the king from the knave. + +It was natural that this Evanson should do the Governor willing service, +since the one was the victim of the vile Sharkey and the other was his +avenger. One could see that it was a pleasure to the big American to +lend his arm to the invalid, and at night he would stand with all +respect behind his chair in the cabin and lay his great stub-nailed +forefinger upon the card which he should play. Between them there was +little in the pockets either of Captain Scarrow or of Morgan, the first +mate, by the time they sighted the Lizard. + +And it was not long before they found that all they had heard of the +high temper of Sir Charles Ewan fell short of the mark. At a sign of +opposition or a word of argument his chin would shoot out from his +cravat, his masterful nose would be cocked at a higher and more insolent +angle, and his bamboo cane would whistle up over his shoulders. +He cracked it once over the head of the carpenter when the man had +accidentally jostled him upon the deck. Once, too, when there was some +grumbling and talk of a mutiny over the state of the provisions, he was +of opinion that they should not wait for the dogs to rise, but that they +should march forward and set upon them until they had trounced the +devilment out of them. “Give me a knife and a bucket!” he cried with an +oath, and could hardly be withheld from setting forth alone to deal with +the spokesman of the seamen. + +Captain Scarrow had to remind him that though he might be only +answerable to himself at St. Kitt’s, killing became murder upon the high +seas. In politics he was, as became his official position, a stout prop +of the House of Hanover, and he swore in his cups that he had never met +a Jacobite without pistolling him where he stood. Yet for all his +vapouring and his violence he was so good a companion, with such a +stream of strange anecdote and reminiscence, that Scarrow and Morgan had +never known a voyage pass so pleasantly. + +And then at length came the last day, when, after passing the island, +they had struck land again at the high white cliffs at Beachy Head. As +evening fell the ship lay rolling in an oily calm, a league off from +Winchelsea, with the long, dark snout of Dungeness jutting out in front +of her. Next morning they would pick up their pilot at the Foreland, +and Sir Charles might meet the King’s ministers at Westminster before +the evening. The boatswain had the watch, and the three friends were +met for a last turn of cards in the cabin, the faithful American still +serving as eyes to the Governor. There was a good stake upon the table, +for the sailors had tried on this last night to win their losses back +from their passenger. Suddenly he threw his cards down, and swept all +the money into the pocket of his long-flapped silken waistcoat. + +“The game’s mine!” said he. + +“Heh, Sir Charles, not so fast!” cried Captain Scarrow; “you have not +played out the hand, and we are not the losers.” + +“Sink you for a liar!” said the Governor. “I tell you I _have_ played +out the hand, and that you _are_ a loser.” He whipped off his wig and +his glasses as he spoke, and there was a high, bald forehead, and a pair +of shifty blue eyes with the red rims of a bull terrier. + +“Good God!” cried the mate. “It’s Sharkey!” + +The two sailors sprang from their seats, but the big American castaway +had put his huge back against the cabin door, and he held a pistol in +each of his hands. The passenger had also laid a pistol upon the +scattered cards in front of him, and he burst into his high, neighing +laugh. “Captain Sharkey is the name, gentlemen,” said he, “and this is +Roaring Ned Galloway, the quartermaster of the _Happy Delivery_. +We made it hot, and so they marooned us: me on a dry Tortuga cay, and +him in an oarless boat. You dogs--you poor, fond, water-hearted +dogs--we hold you at the end of our pistols!” + +“You may shoot, or you may not!” cried Scarrow, striking his hand upon +the breast of his frieze jacket. “If it’s my last breath, Sharkey, I +tell you that you are a bloody rogue and miscreant, with a halter and +hell-fire in store for you!” + +“There’s a man of spirit, and one of my own kidney, and he’s going to +make a very pretty death of it!” cried Sharkey. “There’s no one aft +save the man at the wheel, so you may keep your breath, for you’ll need +it soon. Is the dinghy astern, Ned?” + +“Ay, ay, captain!” + +“And the other boats scuttled?” + +“I bored them all in three places.” + +“Then we shall have to leave you, Captain Scarrow. You look as if you +hadn’t quite got your bearings yet. Is there anything you’d like to ask +me?” + +“I believe you’re the devil himself!” cried the captain. “Where is the +Governor of St. Kitt’s?” + +“When last I saw him his Excellency was in bed with his throat cut. +When I broke prison I learnt from my friends--for Captain Sharkey has +those who love him in every port--that the Governor was starting for +Europe under a master who had never seen him. I climbed his verandah, +and I paid him the little debt that I owed him. Then I came aboard you +with such of his things as I had need of, and a pair of glasses to hide +these tell-tale eyes of mine, and I have ruffled it as a governor +should. Now, Ned, you can get to work upon them.” + +“Help! Help! Watch ahoy!” yelled the mate; but the butt of the pirate’s +pistol crashed down on his head, and he dropped like a pithed ox. +Scarrow rushed for the door, but the sentinel clapped his hand over his +mouth, and threw his other arm round his waist. + +“No use, Master Scarrow,” said Sharkey. “Let us see you go down on your +knees and beg for your life.” + +“I’ll see you--” cried Scarrow, shaking his mouth clear. + +“Twist his arm round, Ned. Now will you?” + +“No; not if you twist it off.” + +“Put an inch of your knife into him.” + +“You may put six inches, and then I won’t.” + +“Sink me, but I like his spirit!” cried Sharkey. “Put your knife in +your pocket, Ned. You’ve saved your skin, Scarrow, and it’s a pity so +stout a man should not take to the only trade where a pretty fellow can +pick up a living. You must be born for no common death, Scarrow, since +you have lain at my mercy and lived to tell the story. Tie him up, +Ned.” + +“To the stove, captain?” + +“Tut, tut! there’s a fire in the stove. None of your rover tricks, Ned +Galloway, unless they are called for, or I’ll let you know which of us +two is captain and which is quartermaster. Make him fast to the table.” + +“Nay, I thought you meant to roast him!” said the quartermaster. +“You surely do not mean to let him go?” + +“If you and I were marooned on a Bahama cay, Ned Galloway, it is still +for me to command and for you to obey. Sink you for a villain, do you +dare to question my orders?” + +“Nay, nay, Captain Sharkey, not so hot, sir!” said the quartermaster, +and, lifting Scarrow like a child, he laid him on the table. With the +quick dexterity of a seaman, he tied his spread-eagled hands and feet +with a rope which was passed underneath, and gagged him securely with +the long cravat which used to adorn the chin of the Governor of +St. Kitt’s. + +“Now, Captain Scarrow, we must take our leave of you,” said the pirate. +“If I had half a dozen of my brisk boys at my heels I should have had +your cargo and your ship, but Roaring Ned could not find a foremast hand +with the spirit of a mouse. I see there are some small craft about, and +we shall get one of them. When Captain Sharkey has a boat he can get a +smack, when he has a smack he can get a brig, when he has a brig he can +get a barque, and when he has a barque he’ll soon have a full-rigged +ship of his own--so make haste into London town, or I may be coming +back, after all, for the _Morning Star_.” + +Captain Scarrow heard the key turn in the lock as they left the cabin. +Then, as he strained at his bonds, he heard their footsteps pass up the +companion and along the quarter-deck to where the dinghy hung in the +stern. Then, still struggling and writhing, he heard the creak of the +falls and the splash of the boat in the water. In a mad fury he tore +and dragged at his ropes, until at last, with flayed wrists and ankles, +he rolled from the table, sprang over the dead mate, kicked his way +through the closed door, and rushed hatless on to the deck. + +“Ahoy! Peterson, Armitage, Wilson!” he screamed. “Cutlasses and +pistols! Clear away the long-boat! Clear away the gig! Sharkey, the +pirate, is in yonder dinghy. Whistle up the larboard watch, bo’sun, +and tumble into the boats, all hands.” + +Down splashed the long-boat and down splashed the gig, but in an instant +the coxswains and crews were swarming up the falls on to the deck once +more. + +“The boats are scuttled!” they cried. “They are leaking like a sieve.” + +The captain gave a bitter curse. He had been beaten and outwitted at +every point. Above was a cloudless, starlit sky, with neither wind nor +the promise of it. The sails flapped idly in the moonlight. Far away +lay a fishing-smack, with the men clustering over their net. Close to +them was the little dinghy, dipping and lifting over the shining swell. + +“They are dead men!” cried the captain. “A shout all together, boys, +to warn them of their danger.” But it was too late. At that very +moment the dinghy shot into the shadow of the fishing-boat. There were +two rapid pistol-shots, a scream, and then another pistol-shot, followed +by silence. The clustering fishermen had disappeared. And then, +suddenly, as the first puffs of a land-breeze came out from the Sussex +shore, the boom swung out, the mainsail filled, and the little craft +crept out with her nose to the Atlantic. + + + II + +THE DEALINGS OF CAPTAIN SHARKEY WITH STEPHEN CRADDOCK + + +Careening was a very necessary operation for the old pirate. On his +superior speed he depended both for overhauling the trader and escaping +the man-of-war. But it was impossible to retain his sailing qualities +unless he periodically--once a year, at the least--cleared his vessel’s +bottom from the long, trailing plants and crusting barnacles which +gather so rapidly in the tropical seas. For this purpose he lightened +his vessel, thrust her into some narrow inlet where she would be left +high and dry at low water, fastened blocks and tackles to her masts to +pull her over on to her bilge, and then scraped her thoroughly from +rudder-post to cut-water. + +During the weeks which were thus occupied the ship was, of course, +defenceless; but, on the other hand, she was unapproachable by anything +heavier than an empty hull, and the place for careening was chosen with +an eye to secrecy, so that there was no great danger. So secure did the +captains feel, that it was not uncommon for them, at such times, to +leave their ships under a sufficient guard, and to start off in the +long-boat, either upon a sporting expedition or, more frequently, upon a +visit to some outlying town, where they burned the heads of the women by +their swaggering gallantry, or broached pipes of wine in the market +square, with a threat to pistol all who would not drink with them. + +Sometimes they would even appear in cities of the size of Charleston, +and walk the streets with their clattering side-arms--an open scandal to +the whole law-abiding colony. Such visits were not always paid with +impunity. It was one of them, for example, which provoked Lieutenant +Maynard to hack off Blackbeard’s head, and to spear it upon the end of +his bowsprit. But, as a rule, the pirate ruffled and bullied and +drabbed without let or hindrance, until it was time for him to go back +to his ship once more. + +There was one pirate, however, who never crossed even the skirts of +civilisation, and that was the sinister Sharkey, of the barque _Happy +Delivery_. It may have been from his morose and solitary temper, or, as +is more probable, that he knew that his name upon the coast was such +that outraged humanity would, against all odds, have thrown themselves +upon him, but never once did he show his face in a settlement. + +When his ship was laid up he would leave her under the charge of Ned +Galloway--her New England quartermaster--and would take long voyages in +his boat, sometimes, it was said, for the purpose of burying his share +of the plunder, and sometimes to shoot the wild oxen of Hispaniola, +which, when dressed and barbecued, provided provisions for his next +voyage. In the latter case the barque would come round to some +pre-arranged spot to pick him up, and take on board what he had shot. + +There had always been a hope in the islands that Sharkey might be taken +on one of these occasions; and at last there came news to Kingston which +seemed to justify an attempt upon him. It was brought by an elderly +logwood-cutter who had fallen into the pirate’s hands, and in some freak +of drunken benevolence had been allowed to get away with nothing worse +than a slit nose and a drubbing. His account was recent and definite. +The _Happy Delivery_ was careening at Torbec on the south-west of +Hispaniola. Sharkey, with four men, was buccaneering on the outlying +island of La Vache. The blood of a hundred murdered crews was calling +out for vengeance, and now at last it seemed as if it might not call in +vain. + +Sir Edward Compton, the high-nosed, red-faced Governor, sitting in +solemn conclave with the commandant and the head of the council, was +sorely puzzled in his mind as to how he should use this chance. +There was no man-of-war nearer than Jamestown, and she was a clumsy old +fly-boat, which could neither overhaul the pirate on the seas, nor reach +her in a shallow inlet. There were forts and artillerymen both at +Kingston and Port Royal, but no soldiers available for an expedition. + +A private venture might be fitted out--and there were many who had a +blood-feud with Sharkey--but what could a private venture do? +The pirates were numerous and desperate. As to taking Sharkey and his +four companions, that, of course, would be easy if they could get at +them; but how were they to get at them on a large well-wooded island +like La Vache, full of wild hills and impenetrable jungles? A reward +was offered to whoever could find a solution, and that brought a man to +the front who had a singular plan, and was himself prepared to carry it +out. + +Stephen Craddock had been that most formidable person, the Puritan gone +wrong. Sprung from a decent Salem family, his ill-doing seemed to be a +recoil from the austerity of their religion, and he brought to vice all +the physical strength and energy with which the virtues of his ancestors +had endowed him. He was ingenious, fearless, and exceedingly tenacious +of purpose, so that when he was still young, his name became notorious +upon the American coast. He was the same Craddock who was tried for his +life in Virginia for the slaying of the Seminole Chief, and, though he +escaped, it was well known that he had corrupted the witnesses and +bribed the judge. + +Afterwards, as a slaver, and even, as it was hinted, as a pirate, he had +left an evil name behind him in the Bight of Benin. Finally he had +returned to Jamaica with a considerable fortune, and had settled down to +a life of sombre dissipation. This was the man, gaunt, austere, and +dangerous, who now waited upon the Governor with a plan for the +extirpation of Sharkey. Sir Edward received him with little enthusiasm, +for in spite of some rumours of conversion and reformation, he had +always regarded him as an infected sheep who might taint the whole of +his little flock. Craddock saw the Governor’s mistrust under his thin +veil of formal and restrained courtesy. + +“You’ve no call to fear me, sir,” said he; “I’m a changed man from what +you’ve known. I’ve seen the light again of late, after losing sight of +it for many a black year. It was through the ministration of the Rev. +John Simons, of our own people. Sir, if your spirit should be in need +of quickening, you would find a very sweet savour in his discourse.” + +The Governor cocked his episcopalian nose at him. + +“You came here to speak of Sharkey, Master Craddock,” said he. + +“The man Sharkey is a vessel of wrath,” said Craddock. “His wicked +horn has been exalted over long, and it is borne in upon me that if I +can cut him off and utterly destroy him, it will be a goodly deed, and +one which may atone for many backslidings in the past. A plan has been +given to me whereby I may encompass his destruction.” + +The Governor was keenly interested, for there was a grim and practical +air about the man’s freckled face which showed that he was in earnest. +After all, he was a seaman and a fighter, and, if it were true that he +was eager to atone for his past, no better man could be chosen for the +business. + +“This will be a dangerous task, Master Craddock,” said he. + +“If I meet my death at it, it may be that it will cleanse the memory of +an ill-spent life. I have much to atone for.” + +The Governor did not see his way to contradict him. + +“What was your plan?” he asked. + +“You have heard that Sharkey’s barque, the _Happy Delivery_, came from +this very port of Kingston?” + +“It belonged to Mr. Codrington, and it was taken by Sharkey, who +scuttled his own sloop and moved into her because she was faster,” said +Sir Edward. + +“Yes; but it may be that you have lever heard that Mr. Codrington has a +sister ship, the _White Rose_, which lies even now in the harbour, and +which is so like the pirate, that, if it were not for a white paint +line, none could tell them apart.” + +“Ah! and what of that?” asked the Governor keenly, with the air of one +who is just on the edge of an idea. + +“By the help of it this man shall be delivered into our hands.” + +“And how?” + +“I will paint out the streak upon the _White Rose_, and make it in all +things like the _Happy Delivery_. Then I will set sail for the Island +of La Vache, where this man is slaying the wild oxen. When he sees me +he will surely mistake me for his own vessel which he is awaiting, and +he will come on board to his own undoing.” + +It was a simple plan, and yet it seemed to the Governor that it might be +effective. Without hesitation he gave Craddock permission to carry it +out, and to take any steps he liked in order to further the object which +he had in view. Sir Edward was not very sanguine, for many attempts had +been made upon Sharkey, and their results had shown that he was as +cunning as he was ruthless. But this gaunt Puritan with the evil record +was cunning and ruthless also. The contest of wits between two such men +as Sharkey and Craddock appealed to the Governor’s acute sense of sport, +and though he was inwardly convinced that the chances were against him, +he backed his man with the same loyalty which he would have shown to his +horse or his cock. + +Haste was, above all things, necessary, for upon any day the careening +might be finished, and the pirates out at sea once more. But there was +not very much to do, and there were many willing hands to do it, so the +second day saw the _White Rose_ beating out for the open sea. There +were many seamen in the port who knew the lines and rig of the pirate +barque, and not one of them could see the slightest difference in this +counterfeit. Her white side line had been painted out, her masts and +yards were smoked, to give them the dingy appearance of the +weather-beaten rover, and a large diamond-shaped patch was let into her +foretopsail. Her crew were volunteers, many of them being men who had +sailed with Stephen Craddock before--the mate, Joshua Hird, an old +slaver, had been his accomplice in many voyages, and came now at the +bidding of his chief. + +The avenging barque sped across the Caribbean Sea, and, at the sight of +that patched topsail, the little craft which they met flew left and +right like frightened trout in a pool. On the fourth evening Point +Abacou bore five miles to the north and east of them. On the fifth they +were at anchor in the Bay of Tortoises at the Island of La Vache, where +Sharkey and his four men had been hunting. It was a well-wooded place, +with the palms and underwood growing down to the thin crescent of silver +sand which skirted the shore. They had hoisted the black flag and the +red pennant, but no answer came from the shore. Craddock strained his +eyes, hoping every instant to see a boat shoot out to them with Sharkey +seated in the sheets. But the night passed away, and a day and yet +another night, without any sign of the men whom they were endeavouring +to trap. It looked as if they were already gone. + +On the second morning Craddock went ashore in search of some proof +whether Sharkey and his men were still upon the island. What he found +reassured him greatly. Close to the shore was a boucan of green wood, +such as was used for preserving the meat, and a great store of barbecued +strips of ox-flesh was hung upon lines all round it. The pirate ship +had not taken off her provisions, and therefore the hunters were still +upon the island. + +Why had they not shown themselves? Was it that they had detected that +this was not their own ship? Or was it that they were hunting in the +interior of the island, and were not on the look-out for a ship yet? +Craddock was still hesitating between the two alternatives, when a Carib +Indian came down with information. The pirates were in the island, he +said, and their camp was a day’s march from the Sea. They had stolen +his wife, and the marks of their stripes were still pink upon his brown +back. Their enemies were his friends, and he would lead them to where +they lay. + +Craddock could not have asked for anything better; so early next +morning, with a small party armed to the teeth, he set off, under the +guidance of the Carib. All day they struggled through brushwood and +clambered over rocks, pushing their way further and further into the +desolate heart of the island. Here and there they found traces of the +hunters, the bones of a slain ox, or the marks of feet in a morass, and +once, towards evening, it seemed to some of them that they heard the +distant rattle of guns. + +That night they spent under the trees, and pushed on again with the +earliest light. About noon they came to the huts of bark, which, the +Carib told them, were the camp of the hunters, but they were silent and +deserted. No doubt their occupants were away at the hunt and would +return in the evening, so Craddock and his men lay in ambush in the +brushwood around them. But no one came, and another night was spent in +the forest. Nothing more could be done, and it seemed to Craddock that +after the two days’ absence it was time that he returned to his ship +once more. + +The return journey was less difficult, as they had already blazed a path +for themselves. Before evening they found themselves once more at the +Bay of Palms, and saw their ship riding at anchor where they had left +her. Their boat and oars had been hauled up among the bushes, so they +launched it and pulled out to the barque. + +“No luck, then!” cried Joshua Hird, the mate, looking down with a pale +face from the poop. + +“His camp was empty, but he may come down to us yet,” said Craddock, +with his hand on the ladder. + +Somebody upon deck began to laugh. “I think,” said the mate, “that +these men had better stay in the boat.” + +“Why so?” + +“If you will come aboard, sir, you will understand it.” He spoke in a +curious, hesitating fashion. + +The blood flushed to Craddock’s gaunt face. “How is this, Master Hird?” +he cried, springing up the side. “What mean you by giving orders to my +boat’s crew?” + +But as he passed over the bulwarks, with one foot upon the deck and one +knee upon the rail, a tow-bearded man, whom he had never before observed +aboard his vessel, grabbed suddenly at his pistol. Craddock clutched at +the fellow’s wrist, but at the same instant his mate snatched the +cutlass from his side. + +“What roguery is this?” shouted Craddock, looking furiously around him. +But the crew stood in knots about the deck, laughing and whispering +amongst themselves without showing any desire to go to his assistance. +Even in that hurried glance Craddock noticed that they were dressed in +the most singular manner, with long riding-coats, full-skirted velvet +gowns and coloured ribands at their knees, more like men of fashion than +seamen. + +As he looked at their grotesque figures he struck his brow with his +clenched fist to be sure that he was awake. The deck seemed to be much +dirtier than when he had left it, and there were strange, sun-blackened +faces turned upon him from every side. Not one of them did he know save +only Joshua Hird. Had the ship been captured in his absence? Were +these Sharkey’s men who were around him? At the thought he broke +furiously away and tried to climb over to his boat, but a dozen hands +were on him in an instant, and he was pushed aft through the open door +of his own cabin. + +And it was all different to the cabin which he had left. The floor was +different, the ceiling was different, the furniture was different. +His had been plain and austere. This was sumptuous and yet dirty, hung +with rare velvet curtains splashed with wine-stains, and panelled with +costly woods which were pocked with pistol-marks. + +On the table was a great chart of the Caribbean Sea, and beside it, with +compasses in his hand, sat a clean-shaven, pale-faced man with a fur cap +and a claret-coloured coat of damask. Craddock turned white under his +freckles as he looked upon the long, thin high-nostrilled nose and the +red-rimmed eyes which were turned upon him with the fixed, humorous gaze +of the master player who has left his opponent without a move. +“Sharkey!” cried Craddock. + +Sharkey’s thin lips opened, and he broke into his high, sniggering +laugh. + +“You fool!” he cried, and, leaning over, he stabbed Craddock’s shoulder +again and again with his compasses. “You poor, dull-witted fool, would +you match yourself against me?” + +It was not the pain of the wounds, but it was the contempt in Sharkey’s +voice which turned Craddock into a savage madman. He flew at the +pirate, roaring with rage, striking, kicking, writhing, foaming. +It took six men to drag him down on to the floor amidst the splintered +remains of the table--and not one of the six who did not bear the +prisoner’s mark upon him. But Sharkey still surveyed him with the same +contemptuous eye. From outside there came the crash of breaking wood +and the clamour of startled voices. + +“What is that?” asked Sharkey. + +“They have stove the boat with cold shot, and the men are in the water.” + +“Let them stay there,” said the pirate. “Now, Craddock, you know where +you are. You are aboard my ship, the _Happy Delivery_, and you lie at +my mercy. I knew you for a stout seaman, you rogue, before you took to +this long-shore canting. Your hands then were no cleaner than my own. +Will you sign articles, as your mate has done, and join us, or shall I +heave you over to follow your ship’s company?” + +“Where is my ship?” asked Craddock. + +“Scuttled in the bay.” + +“And the hands?” + +“In the bay, too.” + +“Then I’m for the bay, also.” + +“Hock him and heave him over,” said Sharkey. + +Many rough hands had dragged Craddock out upon deck, and Galloway, the +quartermaster, had already drawn his hanger to cripple him, when Sharkey +came hurrying from his cabin with an eager face. “We can do better with +the hound!” he cried. “Sink me if it is not a rare plan. Throw him +into the sail-room with the irons on, and do you come here, +quartermaster, that I may tell you what I have in my mind.” + +So Craddock, bruised and wounded in soul and body, was thrown into the +dark sail-room, so fettered that he could not stir hand or foot, but his +Northern blood was running strong in his veins, and his grim spirit +aspired only to make such an ending as might go some way towards atoning +for the evil of his life. All night he lay in the curve of the bilge +listening to the rush of the water and the straining of the timbers +which told him that the ship was at sea and driving fast. In the early +morning someone came crawling to him in the darkness over the heap of +sails. + +“Here’s rum and biscuits,” said the voice of his late mate. “It’s at +the risk of my life, Master Craddock, that I bring them to you.” + +“It was you who trapped me and caught me as in a snare!” cried Craddock. +“How shall you answer for what you have done?” + +“What I did I did with the point of a knife betwixt my blade-bones.” + +“God forgive you for a coward, Joshua Hird. How came you into their +hands?” + +“Why, Master Craddock, the pirate ship came back from its careening upon +the very day that you left us. They laid us aboard, and, short-handed +as we were, with the best of the men ashore with you, we could offer but +a poor defence. Some were cut down, and they were the happiest. The +others were killed afterwards. As to me, I saved my life by signing on +with them.” + +“And they scuttled my ship?” + +“They scuttled her, and then Sharkey and his men, who had been watching +us from the brushwood, came off to the ship. His mainyard had been +cracked and fished last voyage, so he had suspicions of us, seeing that +ours was whole. Then he thought of laying the same trap for you which +you had set for him.” + +Craddock groaned. “How came I not to see that fished mainyard?” he +muttered. “But whither are we bound?” + +“We are running north and west.” + +“North and west! Then we are heading back towards Jamaica.” + +“With an eight-knot wind.” + +“Have you heard what they mean to do with me?” + +“I have not heard. If you would but sign the articles--” + +“Enough, Joshua Hird! I have risked my soul too often.” + +“As you wish. I have done what I could. Farewell!” + +All that night and the next day the _Happy Delivery_ ran before the +easterly trades, and Stephen Craddock lay in the dark of the sail-room +working patiently at his wrist-irons. One he had slipped off at the +cost of a row of broken and bleeding knuckles, but, do what he would, he +could not free the other, and his ankles were securely fastened. +From hour to hour he heard the swish of the water, and knew that the +barque must be driving with all set in front of the trade wind. In that +case they must be nearly back again to Jamaica by now. What plan could +Sharkey have in his head, and what use did he hope to make of him? +Craddock set his teeth, and vowed that if he had once been a villain +from choice he would, at least, never be one by compulsion. + +On the second morning Craddock became aware that sail had been reduced +in the vessel, and that she was tacking slowly, with a light breeze on +her beam. The varying slope of the sail-room and the sounds from the +deck told his practised senses exactly what she was doing. The short +reaches showed him that she was manoeuvring near shore, and making for +some definite point. If so, she must have reached Jamaica. But what +could she be doing there? + +And then suddenly there was a burst of hearty cheering from the deck, +and then the crash of a gun above his head, and then the answering +booming of guns from far over the water. Craddock sat up and strained +his ears. Was the ship in action? Only the one gun had been fired, and +though many had answered, there were none of the crashings which told of +a shot coming home. Then, if it was not an action, it must be a salute. +But who would salute Sharkey, the pirate? It could only be another +pirate ship which would do so. So Craddock lay back again with a groan, +and continued to work at the manacle which still held his right wrist. +But suddenly there came the shuffling of steps outside, and he had +hardly time to wrap the loose links round his free hand, when the door +was unbolted and two pirates came in. + +“Got your hammer, carpenter?” asked one, whom Craddock recognised as the +big quartermaster. + +“Knock off his leg shackles, then. Better leave the bracelets--he’s +safer with them on.” + +With hammer and chisel the carpenter loosened the irons. + +“What are you going to do with me?” asked Craddock. + +“Come on deck and you’ll see.” + +The sailor seized him by the arm and dragged him roughly to the foot of +the companion. Above him was a square of blue sky cut across by the +mizzen gaff, with the colours flying at the peak. But it was the sight +of those colours which struck the breath from Stephen Craddock’s lips. +For there were two of them, and the British ensign was flying above the +Jolly Rodger--the honest flag above that of the rogue. + +For an instant Craddock stopped in amazement, but a brutal push from the +pirates behind drove him up the companion ladder. As he stepped out +upon deck, his eyes turned up to the main, and there again were the +British colours flying above the red pennant, and all the shrouds and +rigging were garlanded with streamers. + +Had the ship been taken, then? But that was impossible, for there were +the pirates clustering in swarms along the port bulwarks, and waving +their hats joyously in the air. Most prominent of all was the renegade +mate, standing on the foc’sle head, and gesticulating wildly. Craddock +looked over the side to see what they were cheering at, and then in a +flash he saw how critical was the moment. + +On the port bow, and about a mile off, lay the white houses and forts of +Port Royal, with flags breaking out everywhere over their roofs. +Right ahead was the opening of the palisades leading to the town of +Kingston. Not more than a quarter of a mile off was a small sloop +working out against the very slight wind. The British ensign was at her +peak, and her rigging was all decorated. On her deck could be seen a +dense crowd of people cheering and waving their hats, and the gleam of +scarlet told that there were officers of the garrison among them. + +In an instant, with the quick perception of a man of action, Craddock +saw through it all. Sharkey, with that diabolical cunning and audacity +which were among his main characteristics, was simulating the part which +Craddock would himself have played had he come back victorious. It was +in _his_ honour that the salutes were firing and the flags flying. +It was to welcome _him_ that this ship with the Governor, the +commandant, and the chiefs of the island were approaching. In another +ten minutes they would all be under the guns of the _Happy Delivery_, +and Sharkey would have won the greatest stake that ever a pirate played +for yet. + +“Bring him forward,” cried the pirate captain, as Craddock appeared +between the carpenter and the quartermaster. “Keep the ports closed, +but clear away the port guns, and stand by for a broadside. Another two +cable lengths and we have them.” + +“They are edging away,” said the boatswain. “I think they smell us.” + +“That’s soon set right,” said Sharkey, turning his filmy eyes upon +Craddock. “Stand there, you--right there, where they can recognise you, +with your hand on the guy, and wave your hat to them. Quick, or your +brains will be over your coat. Put an inch of your knife into him, Ned. +Now, will you wave your hat? Try him again, then. Hey, shoot him! Stop +him!” + +But it was too late. Relying upon the manacles, the quartermaster had +taken his hands for a moment off Craddock’s arm. In that instant he had +flung off the carpenter, and, amid a spatter of pistol bullets, had +sprung the bulwarks and was swimming for his life. He had been hit and +hit again, but it takes many pistols to kill a resolute and powerful man +who has his mind set upon doing something before he dies. He was a +strong swimmer, and, in spite of the red trail which he left in the +water behind him, he was rapidly increasing his distance from the +pirate. “Give me a musket!” cried Sharkey, with a savage oath. + +He was a famous shot, and his iron nerves never failed him in an +emergency. The dark head appearing on the crest of a roller, and then +swooping down on the other side, was already half-way to the sloop. +Sharkey dwelt long upon his aim before he fired. With the crack of the +gun the swimmer reared himself up in the water, waved his hands in a +gesture of warning, and roared out in a voice which rang over the bay. +Then, as the sloop swung round her head-sails, and the pirate fired an +impotent broadside, Stephen Craddock, smiling grimly in his death agony, +sank slowly down to that golden couch which glimmered far beneath him. + + + + III + +HOW COPLEY BANKS SLEW CAPTAIN SHARKEY + + +The Buccaneers were something higher than a mere band of marauders. +They were a floating republic, with laws, usages, and discipline of +their own. In their endless and remorseless quarrel with the +Spaniards they had some semblance of right upon their side. +Their bloody harryings of the cities of the Main were not more barbarous +than the inroads of Spain upon the Netherlands--or upon the Caribs in +these same American lands. + +The chief of the Buccaneers, were he English or French, a Morgan or a +Granmont, was still a responsible person, whose country might +countenance him, or even praise him, so long as he refrained from any +deed which might shock the leathery seventeenth-century conscience too +outrageously. Some of them were touched with religion, and it is still +remembered how Sawkins threw the dice overboard upon the Sabbath, and +Daniel pistolled a man before the altar for irreverence. + +But there came a day when the fleets of the Buccaneers no longer +mustered at the Tortugas, and the solitary and outlawed pirate took +their place. Yet even with him the tradition of restraint and of +discipline still lingered; and among the early pirates, the Avorys, the +Englands, and the Robertses, there remained some respect for human +sentiment. They were more dangerous to the merchant than to the seaman. +But they in turn were replaced by more savage and desperate men, who +frankly recognised that they would get no quarter in their war with the +human race, and who swore that they would give as little as they got. +Of their histories we know little that is trustworthy. They wrote no +memoirs and left no trace, save an occasional blackened and +blood-stained derelict adrift upon the face of the Atlantic. +Their deeds could only be surmised from the long roll of ships who never +made their port. + +Searching the records of history, it is only here and there in an +old-world trial that the veil that shrouds them seems for an instant to +be lifted, and we catch a glimpse of some amazing and grotesque +brutality behind. Such was the breed of Ned Low, of Gow the Scotchman, +and of the infamous Sharkey, whose coal-black barque, the _Happy +Delivery_, was known from the Newfoundland Banks to the mouths of the +Orinoco as the dark forerunner of misery and of death. + +There were many men, both among the islands and on the Main, who had a +blood feud with Sharkey, but not one who had suffered more bitterly than +Copley Banks, of Kingston. Banks had been one of the leading sugar +merchants of the West Indies. He was a man of position, a member of the +Council, the husband of a Percival, and the cousin of the Governor of +Virginia. His two sons had been sent to London to be educated, and +their mother had gone over to bring them back. On their return voyage +the ship, the _Duchess of Cornwall_, fell into the hands of Sharkey, and +the whole family met with an infamous death. + +Copley Banks said little when he heard the news, but he sank into a +morose and enduring melancholy. He neglected his business, avoided his +friends, and spent much of his time in the low taverns of the fishermen +and seamen. There, amidst riot and devilry, he sat silently puffing at +his pipe, with a set face and a smouldering eye. It was generally +supposed that his misfortunes had shaken his wits, and his old friends +looked at him askance, for the company which he kept was enough to bar +him from honest men. + +From time to time there came rumours of Sharkey over the sea. Sometimes +it was from some schooner which had seen a great flame upon the horizon, +and approaching to offer help to the burning ship, had fled away at the +sight of the sleek, black barque, lurking like a wolf near a mangled +sheep. Sometimes it was a frightened trader, which had come tearing in +with her canvas curved like a lady’s bodice, because she had seen a +patched foretopsail rising slowly above the violet water-line. +Sometimes it was from a coaster, which had found a waterless Bahama cay +littered with sun-dried bodies. Once there came a man who had been mate +of a Guineaman, and who had escaped from the pirate’s hands. He could +not speak--for reasons which Sharkey could best supply--but he could +write, and he did write, to the very great interest of Copley Banks. +For hours they sat together over the map, and the dumb man pointed here +and there to outlying reefs and tortuous inlets, while his companion sat +smoking in silence, with his unvarying face and his fiery eyes. + +One morning, some two years after his misfortunes, Mr. Copley Banks +strode into his own office with his old air of energy and alertness. +The manager stared at him in surprise, for it was months since he had +shown any interest in business. + +“Good morning, Mr. Banks!” said he. + +“Good morning, Freeman. I see that _Ruffling Harry_ is in the Bay.” + +“Yes, sir; she clears for the Windward Islands on Wednesday.” + +“I have other plans for her, Freeman. I have determined upon a slaving +venture to Whydah.” + +“But her cargo is ready, sir.” + +“Then it must come out again, Freeman. My mind is made up, and the +_Ruffling Harry_ must go slaving to Whydah.” + +All argument and persuasion were vain, so the manager had dolefully to +clear the ship once more. And then Copley Banks began to make +preparations for his African voyage. It appeared that he relied upon +force rather than barter for the filling of his hold, for he carried +none of those showy trinkets which savages love, but the brig was fitted +with eight nine-pounder guns, and racks full of muskets and cutlasses. +The after-sailroom next the cabin was transformed into a powder +magazine, and she carried as many round shot as a well-found privateer. +Water and provisions were shipped for a long voyage. + +But the preparation of his ship’s company was most surprising. It made +Freeman, the manager, realise that there was truth in the rumour that +his master had taken leave of his senses. For, under one pretext or +another, he began to dismiss the old and tried hands, who had served the +firm for years, and in their place he embarked the scum of the port--men +whose reputations were so vile that the lowest crimp would have been +ashamed to furnish them. There was Birthmark Sweetlocks, who was known +to have been present at the killing of the logwood-cutters, so that his +hideous scarlet disfigurement was put down by the fanciful as being a +red afterglow from that great crime. He was first mate, and under him +was Israel Martin, a little sun-wilted fellow who had served with Howell +Davies at the taking of Cape Coast Castle. + +The crew were chosen from amongst those whom Banks had met and known in +their own infamous haunts, and his own table-steward was a haggard-faced +man, who gobbled at you when he tried to talk. His beard had been +shaved, and it was impossible to recognise him as the same man whom +Sharkey had placed under the knife, and who had escaped to tell his +experiences to Copley Banks. These doings were not unnoticed, nor yet +uncommented upon in the town of Kingston. The Commandant of the +troops--Major Harvey of the Artillery--made serious representations to +the Governor. + +“She is not a trader, but a small warship,” said he. + +“I think it would be as well to arrest Copley Banks and to seize the +vessel.” + +“What do you suspect?” asked the Governor, who was a slow-witted man, +broken down with fevers and port wine. + +“I suspect,” said the soldier, “that it is Stede Bonnet over again.” + +Now, Stede Bonnet was a planter of high reputation and religious +character who, from some sudden and overpowering freshet of wildness in +his blood, had given up everything in order to start off pirating in the +Caribbean Sea. The example was a recent one, and it had caused the +utmost consternation in the islands. Governors had before now been +accused of being in league with pirates, and of receiving commissions +upon their plunder, so that any want of vigilance was open to a sinister +construction. + +“Well, Major Harvey,” said he, “I am vastly sorry to do anything which +may offend my friend Copley Banks, for many a time have my knees been +under his mahogany, but in face of what you say there is no choice for +me but to order you to board the vessel and to satisfy yourself as to +her character and destination.” + +So at one in the morning Major Harvey, with a launchful of his soldiers, +paid a surprise visit to the _Ruffling Harry_, with the result that they +picked up nothing more solid than a hempen cable floating at the +moorings. It had been slipped by the brig, whose owner had scented +danger. She had already passed the Palisades, and was beating out +against the north-east trades on a course for the Windward Passage. + +When upon the next morning the brig had left Morant Point a mere haze +upon the Southern horizon, the men were called aft, and Copley Banks +revealed his plans to them. He had chosen them, he said, as brisk boys +and lads of spirit, who would rather run some risk upon the sea than +starve for a living upon the shore. King’s ships were few and weak, and +they could master any trader who might come their way. Others had done +well at the business, and with a handy, well-found vessel, there was no +reason why they should not turn their tarry jackets into velvet coats. +If they were prepared to sail under the black flag, he was ready to +command them; but if any wished to withdraw, they might have the gig and +row back to Jamaica. + +Four men out of six-and-forty asked for their discharge, went over the +ship’s side into the boat, and rowed away amidst the jeers and howlings +of the crew. The rest assembled aft, and drew up the articles of their +association. A square of black tarpaulin had the white skull painted +upon it, and was hoisted amidst cheering at the main. + +Officers were elected, and the limits of their authority fixed. Copley +Banks was chosen captain, but, as there are no mates upon a pirate +craft, Birthmark Sweetlocks became quartermaster, and Israel Martin the +boatswain. There was no difficulty in knowing what was the custom of +the brotherhood, for half the men at least had served upon pirates +before. Food should be the same for all, and no man should interfere +with another man’s drink! The captain should have a cabin, but all +hands should be welcome to enter it when they chose. + +All should share and share alike, save only the captain, quartermaster, +boatswain, carpenter, and master-gunner, who had from a quarter to a +whole share extra. He who saw a prize first should have the best weapon +taken out of her. He who boarded her first should have the richest suit +of clothes aboard of her. Every man might treat his own prisoner, be it +man or woman, after his own fashion. If a man flinched from his gun, +the quartermaster should pistol him. These were some of the rules which +the crew of the _Ruffling Harry_ subscribed by putting forty-two crosses +at the foot of the paper upon which they had been drawn. + +So a new rover was afloat upon the seas, and her name before a year was +over became as well known as that of the _Happy Delivery_. From the +Bahamas to the Leewards, and from the Leewards to the Windwards, Copley +Banks became the rival of Sharkey and the terror of traders. For a long +time the barque and the brig never met, which was the more singular as +the _Ruffling Harry_ was for ever looking in at Sharkey’s resorts; but +at last one day, when she was passing down the inlet of Coxon’s Hole, at +the east end of Cuba, with the intention of careening, there was the +_Happy Delivery_, with her blocks and tackle-falls already rigged for +the same purpose. Copley Banks fired a shotted salute and hoisted the +green trumpeter ensign, as the custom was among gentlemen of the sea. +Then he dropped his boat and went aboard. + +Captain Sharkey was not a man of a genial mood, nor had he any kindly +sympathy for those who were of the same trade as himself. Copley Banks +found him seated astride upon one of the after guns, with his New +England quartermaster, Ned Galloway, and a crowd of roaring ruffians +standing about him. Yet none of them roared with quite such assurance +when Sharkey’s pale face and filmy blue eyes were turned upon him. +He was in his shirt-sleeves, with his cambric frills breaking through +his open red satin long-flapped vest. The scorching sun seemed to have +no power upon his fleshless frame, for he wore a low fur cap, as though +it had been winter. A many-coloured band of silk passed across his body +and supported a short, murderous sword, while his broad, brass-buckled +belt was stuffed with pistols. + +“Sink you for a poacher!” he cried, as Copley Banks passed over the +bulwarks. “I will drub you within an inch of your life, and that inch +also! What mean you by fishing in my waters?” + +Copley Banks looked at him, and his eyes were like those of a traveller +who sees his home at last. “I am glad that we are of one mind,” said +he, “for I am myself of opinion that the seas are not large enough for +the two of us. But if you will take your sword and pistols and come +upon a sand-bank with me, then the world will be rid of a damned +villain, whichever way it goes.” + +“Now, this is talking!” said Sharkey, jumping off the gun and holding +out his hand. “I have not met many who could look John Sharkey in the +eyes and speak with a full breath. May the devil seize me if I do not +choose you as a consort! But if you play me false, then I will come +aboard of you and gut you upon your own poop.” + +“And I pledge you the same!” said Copley Banks, and so the two pirates +became sworn comrades to each other. + +That summer they went north as far as the Newfoundland Banks, and +harried the New York traders and the whale ships from New England. +It was Copley Banks who captured the Liverpool ship, _House of Hanover_, +but it was Sharkey who fastened her master to the windlass and pelted +him to death with empty claret-bottles. + +Together they engaged the King’s ship _Royal Fortune_, which had been +sent in search of them, and beat her off after a night action of five +hours, the drunken, raving crews fighting naked in the light of the +battle-lanterns, with a bucket of rum and a pannikin laid by the tackles +of every gun. They ran to Topsail Inlet in North Carolina to refit, and +then in the spring they were at the Grand Caicos, ready for a long +cruise down the West Indies. + +By this time Sharkey and Copley Banks had become very excellent friends, +for Sharkey loved a whole-hearted villain, and he loved a man of metal, +and it seemed to him that the two met in the captain of the _Ruffling +Harry_. It was long before he gave his confidence to him, for cold +suspicion lay deep in his character. Never once would he trust himself +outside his own ship and away from his own men. But Copley Banks came +often on board the _Happy Delivery_, and joined Sharkey in many of his +morose debauches, so that at last any lingering misgivings of the latter +were set at rest. He knew nothing of the evil that he had done to his +new boon companion, for of his many victims how could he remember the +woman and the two boys whom he had slain with such levity so long ago! +When, therefore, he received a challenge to himself and to his +quartermaster for a carouse upon the last evening of their stay at the +Caicos Bank he saw no reason to refuse. + +A well-found passenger ship had been rifled the week before, so their +fare was of the best, and after supper five of them drank deeply +together. There were the two captains, Birthmark Sweetlocks, Ned +Galloway, and Israel Martin, the old buccaneers-man. To wait upon them +was the dumb steward, whose head Sharkey split with a glass, because he +had been too slow in the filling of it. The quartermaster has slipped +Sharkey’s pistols away from him, for it was an old joke with him to fire +them cross-handed under the table and see who was the luckiest man. +It was a pleasantry which had cost his boatswain his leg, so now, when +the table was cleared, they would coax Sharkey’s weapons away from him +on the excuse of the heat, and lay them out of his reach. + +The captain’s cabin of the _Ruffling Harry_ was in a deck-house upon the +poop, and a stern-chaser gun was mounted at the back of it. Round shot +were racked round the wall, and three great hogsheads of powder made a +stand for dishes and for bottles. In this grim room the five pirates +sang and roared and drank, while the silent steward still filled up +their glasses, and passed the box and the candle round for their +tobacco-pipes. Hour after hour the talk became fouler, the voices +hoarser, the curses and shoutings more incoherent, until three of the +five had closed their blood-shot eyes, and dropped their swimming heads +upon the table. + +Copley Banks and Sharkey were left face to face, the one because he had +drunk the least, the other because no amount of liquor would ever shake +his iron nerve or warm his sluggish blood. Behind him stood the +watchful steward, for ever filling up his waning glass. From without +came the low lapping of the tide, and from over the water a sailor’s +chanty from the barque. In the windless tropical night the words came +clearly to their ears:-- + + A trader sailed from Stepney Town, + Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail! + A trader sailed from Stepney Town + With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown. + Ho, the bully Rover Jack, + Waiting with his yard aback + Out upon the Lowland Sea. + +The two boon companions sat listening in silence. Then Copley Banks +glanced at the steward, and the man took a coil of rope from +the shot-rack behind him. + +“Captain Sharkey,” said Copley Banks, “do you remember the _Duchess of +Cornwall_, hailing from London, which you took and sank three years ago +off the Statira Shoal?” + +“Curse me if I can bear their names in mind,” said Sharkey. “We did as +many as ten ships a week about that time.” + +“There were a mother and two sons among the passengers. Maybe that will +bring it back to your mind.” + +Captain Sharkey leant back in thought, with his huge thin beak of a nose +jutting upwards. Then he burst suddenly into a high treble, neighing +laugh. He remembered it, he said, and he added details to prove it. +“But burn me if it had not slipped from my mind!” he cried. “How came +you to think of it?” + +“It was of interest to me,” said Copley Banks, “for the woman was my +wife, and the lads were my only sons.” + +Sharkey stared across at his companion, and saw that the smouldering +fire which lurked always in his eyes had burned up into a lurid flame. +He read their menace, and he clapped his hands to his empty belt. +Then he turned to seize a weapon, but the bight of a rope was cast round +him, and in an instant his arms were bound to his side. He fought like +a wild cat, and screamed for help. “Ned!” he yelled. “Ned! Wake up! +Here’s damned villainy! Help, Ned!--help!” + +But the three men were far too deeply sunk in their swinish sleep for +any voice to wake them. Round and round went the rope, until Sharkey +was swathed like a mummy from ankle to neck. They propped him stiff and +helpless against a powder barrel, and they gagged him with a +handkerchief, but his filmy, red-rimmed eyes still looked curses at +them. The dumb man chattered in his exultation, and Sharkey winced for +the first time when he saw the empty mouth before him. He understood +that vengeance, slow and patient, had dogged him long, and clutched him +at last. + +The two captors had their plans all arranged, and they were somewhat +elaborate. First of all they stove the heads of two of the great powder +barrels, and they heaped the contents out upon the table and floor. +They piled it round and under the three drunken men, until each sprawled +in a heap of it. Then they carried Sharkey to the gun and they triced +him sitting over the port-hole, with his body about a foot from the +muzzle. Wriggle as he would he could not move an inch either to the +right or left, and the dumb man trussed him up with a sailor’s cunning, +so that there was no chance that he should work free. + +“Now, you bloody devil,” said Copley Banks, softly, “you must listen to +what I have to say to you, for they are the last words that you will +hear. You are my man now, and I have bought you at a price, for I have +given all that a man can give here below, and I have given my soul as +well. + +“To reach you I have had to sink to your level. For two years I strove +against it, hoping that some other way might come, but I learnt that +there was no other. I’ve robbed and I have murdered--worse still, I +have laughed and lived with you--and all for the one end. And now my +time has come, and you will die as I would have you die, seeing the +shadow creeping upon you and the devil waiting for you in the shadow.” + +Sharkey could hear the hoarse voices of his rovers singing their chanty +over the water. + + Where is the trader of Stepney Town? + Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stick a-bending! + Where is the trader of Stepney Town? + His gold’s on the capstan, his blood’s on his gown, + All for bully Rover Jack, + Reaching on the weather tack + Right across the Lowland Sea. + +The words came clear to his ear, and just outside he could hear two men +pacing backwards and forwards upon the deck. And yet he was helpless, +staring down the mouth of the nine-pounder, unable to move an inch or to +utter so much as a groan. Again there came the burst of voices from the +deck of the barque. + + So it’s up and it’s over to Stornoway Bay, + Pack it on! Crack it on! Try her with stunsails! + It’s off on a bowline to Stornoway Bay, + Where the liquor is good and the lasses are gay, + Waiting for their bully Jack, + Watching for him sailing back, + Right across the Lowland Sea. + +To the dying pirate the jovial words and rollicking tune made his own +fate seem the harsher, but there was no softening in those venomous blue +eyes. Copley Banks had brushed away the priming of the gun, and had +sprinkled fresh powder over the touch-hole. Then he had taken up the +candle and cut it to the length of about an inch. This he placed upon +the loose powder at the breach of the gun. Thin he scattered powder +thickly over the floor beneath, so that when the candle fell at the +recoil it must explode the huge pile in which the three drunkards were +wallowing. + +“You’ve made others look death in the face, Sharkey,” said he; “now it +has come to be your own turn. You and these swine here shall go +together!” He lit the candle-end as he spoke, and blew out the other +lights upon the table. Then he passed out with the dumb man, and locked +the cabin door upon the outer side. But before he closed it he took an +exultant look backwards, and received one last curse from those +unconquerable eyes. In the single dim circle of light that ivory-white +face, with the gleam of moisture upon the high, bald forehead, was the +last that was ever seen of Sharkey. + +There was a skiff alongside, and in it Copley Banks and the dumb steward +made their way to the beach, and looked back upon the brig riding in the +moonlight just outside the shadow of the palm trees. They waited and +waited watching that dim light which shone through the stem port. And +then at last there came the dull thud of a gun, and an instant later the +shattering crash of an explosion. The long, sleek, black barque, the +sweep of white sand, and the fringe of nodding feathery palm trees +sprang into dazzling light and back into darkness again. Voices +screamed and called upon the bay. + +Then Copley Banks, his heart singing within him, touched his companion +upon the shoulder, and they plunged together into the lonely jungle of +the Caicos. + + + + +THE CROXLEY MASTER + + + I + + +Mr. Robert Montgomery was seated at his desk, his head upon his hands, +in a state of the blackest despondency. Before him was the open ledger +with the long columns of Dr. Oldacre’s prescriptions. At his elbow lay +the wooden tray with the labels in various partitions, the cork box, the +lumps of twisted sealing-wax, while in front a rank of bottles waited to +be filled. But his spirits were too low for work. He sat in silence +with his fine shoulders bowed and his head upon his hands. + +Outside, through the grimy surgery window over a foreground of blackened +brick and slate, a line of enormous chimneys like Cyclopean pillars +upheld the lowering, dun-coloured cloud-bank. For six days in the week +they spouted smoke, but to-day the furnace fires were banked, for it was +Sunday. Sordid and polluting gloom hung over a district blighted and +blasted by the greed of man. There was nothing in the surroundings to +cheer a desponding soul, but it was more than his dismal environment +which weighed upon the medical assistant. His trouble was deeper and +more personal. The winter session was approaching. He should be back +again at the University completing the last year which would give him +his medical degree; but, alas! he had not the money with which to pay +his class fees, nor could he imagine how he could procure it. +Sixty pounds were wanted to make his career, and it might have been as +many thousand for any chance there seemed to be of his obtaining it. +He was roused from his black meditation by the entrance of Dr. Oldacre +himself, a large, clean-shaven, respectable man, with a prim manner and +an austere face. He had prospered exceedingly by the support of the +local Church interest, and the rule of his life was never by word or +action to run a risk of offending the sentiment which had made him. +His standard of respectability and of dignity was exceedingly high, and +he expected the same from his assistants. His appearance and words were +always vaguely benevolent. A sudden impulse came over the despondent +student. He would test the reality of this philanthropy. + +“I beg your pardon, Dr. Oldacre,” said he, rising from his chair; +“I have a great favour to ask of you.” + +The doctor’s appearance was not encouraging. His mouth suddenly +tightened, and his eyes fell. + +“Yes, Mr. Montgomery?” + +“You are aware, sir, that I need only one more session to complete my +course.” + +“So you have told me.” + +“It is very important to me, sir.” + +“Naturally.” + +“The fees, Dr. Oldacre, would amount to about sixty pounds.” + +“I am afraid that my duties call me elsewhere, Mr. Montgomery.” + +“One moment, sir! I had hoped, sir, that perhaps, if I signed a paper +promising you interest upon your money, you would advance this sum to +me. I will pay you back, sir, I really will. Or, if you like, I will +work it off after I am qualified.” + +The doctor’s lips had thinned into a narrow line. His eyes were raised +again, and sparkled indignantly. + +“Your request is unreasonable, Mr. Montgomery. I am surprised that you +should have made it. Consider, sir, how many thousands of medical +students there are in this country. No doubt there are many of them who +have a difficulty in finding their fees. Am I to provide for them all? +Or why should I make an exception in your favour? I am grieved and +disappointed, Mr. Montgomery, that you should have put me into the +painful position of having to refuse you.” He turned upon his heel, and +walked with offended dignity out of the surgery. + +The student smiled bitterly, and turned to his work of making up the +morning prescriptions. It was poor and unworthy work--work which any +weakling might have done as well, and this was a man of exceptional +nerve and sinew. But, such as it was, it brought him his board and one +pound a week--enough to help him during the summer months and let him +save a few pounds towards his winter keep. But those class fees! +Where were they to come from? He could not save them out of his scanty +wage. Dr. Oldacre would not advance them. He saw no way of earning +them. His brains were fairly good, but brains of that quality were a +drug in the market. He only excelled in his strength, and where was he +to find a customer for that? But the ways of Fate are strange, and his +customer was at hand. + +“Look y’ere!” said a voice at the door. Montgomery looked up, for the +voice was a loud and rasping one. A young man stood at the +entrance--a stocky, bull-necked young miner, in tweed Sunday clothes +and an aggressive neck-tie. He was a sinister-looking figure, with +dark, insolent eyes, and the jaw and throat of a bulldog. + +“Look y’ere!” said he again. “Why hast thou not sent t’ medicine oop as +thy master ordered?” + +Montgomery had become accustomed to the brutal frankness of the northern +worker. At first it had enraged him, but after a time he had grown +callous to it, and accepted it as it was meant. But this was something +different. It was insolence--brutal, overbearing insolence, with +physical menace behind it. + +“What name?” he asked coldly. + +“Barton. Happen I may give thee cause to mind that name, yoong man. +Mak’ oop t’ wife’s medicine this very moment, look ye, or it will be the +worse for thee.” + +Montgomery smiled. A pleasant sense of relief thrilled softly through +him. What blessed safety-valve was this through which his jangled +nerves might find some outlet. The provocation was so gross, the insult +so unprovoked, that he could have none of those qualms which take the +edge off a man’s mettle. He finished sealing the bottle upon which he +was occupied, and he addressed it and placed it carefully in the rack. +“Look here!” said he, turning round to the miner, “your medicine will be +made up in its turn and sent down to you. I don’t allow folk in the +surgery. Wait outside in the waiting-room if you wish to wait at all.” + +“Yoong man,” said the miner, “thou’s got to mak’ t’ wife’s medicine +here, and now, and quick, while I wait and watch thee, or else happen +thou might need some medicine thysel’ before all is over.” + +“I shouldn’t advise you to fasten a quarrel upon me.” Montgomery was +speaking in the hard, staccato voice of a man who is holding himself in +with difficulty. “You’ll save trouble if you’ll go quietly. If you +don’t you’ll be hurt. Ah, you would? Take it, then!” + +The blows were almost simultaneous--a savage swing which whistled past +Montgomery’s ear, and a straight drive which took the workman on the +chin. Luck was with the assistant. That single whizzing uppercut, and +the way in which it was delivered, warned him that he had a formidable +man to deal with. But if he had underrated his antagonist, his +antagonist had also underrated him, and had laid himself open to a fatal +blow. + +The miner’s head had come with a crash against the corner of the surgery +shelves, and he had dropped heavily on to the ground. There he lay with +his bandy legs drawn up and his hands thrown abroad, the blood trickling +over the surgery tiles. + +“Had enough?” asked the assistant, breathing fiercely through his nose. + +But no answer came. The man was insensible. And then the danger of his +position came upon Montgomery, and he turned as white as his antagonist. +A Sunday, the immaculate Dr. Oldacre with his pious connection, a savage +brawl with a patient; he would irretrievably lose his situation if the +facts came out. It was not much of a situation, but he could not get +another without a reference, and Oldacre might refuse him one. Without +money for his classes, and without a situation--what was to become of +him? It was absolute ruin. + +But perhaps he could escape exposure after all. He seized his +insensible adversary, dragged him out into the centre of he room, +loosened his collar, and squeezed the surgery sponge over his face. He +sat up at last with a gasp and a scowl. “Domn thee, thou’s spoilt my +neck-tie,” said he, mopping up the water from his breast. + +“I’m sorry I hit you so hard,” said Montgomery, apologetically. + +“Thou hit me hard! I could stan’ such fly-flappin’ all day. ’Twas this +here press that cracked my pate for me, and thou art a looky man to be +able to boast as thou hast outed me. And now I’d be obliged to thee if +thou wilt give me t’ wife’s medicine.” + +Montgomery gladly made it up and handed it to the miner. + +“You are weak still,” said he. “Won’t you stay awhile and rest?” + +“T’ wife wants her medicine,” said the man, and lurched out at the door. + +The assistant, looking after him, saw him rolling, with an uncertain +step, down the street, until a friend met him, and they walked on arm in +arm. The man seemed in his rough Northern fashion to bear no grudge, +and so Montgomery’s fears left him. There was no reason why the doctor +should know anything about it. He wiped the blood from the floor, put +the surgery in order, and went on with his interrupted task, hoping that +he had come scathless out of a very dangerous business. + +Yet all day he was aware of a sense of vague uneasiness, which sharpened +into dismay when, late in the afternoon, he was informed that three +gentlemen had called and were waiting for him in the surgery. +A coroner’s inquest, a descent of detectives, an invasion of angry +relatives--all sorts of possibilities rose to scare him. With tense +nerves and a rigid face he went to meet his visitors. + +They were a very singular trio. Each was known to him by sight; but +what on earth the three could be doing together, and, above all, what +they could expect from _him_, was a most inexplicable problem. +The first was Sorley Wilson, the son of the owner of the Nonpareil +Coalpit. He was a young blood of twenty, heir to a fortune, a keen +sportsman, and down for the Easter Vacation from Magdalene College. +He sat now upon the edge of the surgery table, looking in thoughtful +silence at Montgomery and twisting the ends of his small, black, waxed +moustache. The second was Purvis, the publican, owner of the chief +beer-shop, and well known as the local bookmaker. He was a coarse, +clean-shaven man, whose fiery face made a singular contrast with his +ivory-white bald head. He had shrewd, light-blue eyes with foxy lashes, +and he also leaned forward in silence from his chair, a fat, red hand +upon either knee, and stared critically at the young assistant. So did +the third visitor, Fawcett, the horse-breaker, who leaned back, his +long, thin legs, with their boxcloth riding-gaiters, thrust out in front +of him, tapping his protruding teeth with his riding-whip, with anxious +thought in every line of his rugged, bony face. Publican, exquisite, +and horse-breaker were all three equally silent, equally earnest, and +equally critical. Montgomery seated in the midst of them, looked from +one to the other. + +“Well, gentlemen?” he observed, but no answer came. + +The position was embarrassing. + +“No,” said the horse-breaker, at last. “No. It’s off. It’s nowt.” + +“Stand oop, lad; let’s see thee standin’.” It was the publican who +spoke. Montgomery obeyed. He would learn all about it, no doubt, if he +were patient. He stood up and turned slowly round, as if in front of +his tailor. + +“It’s off! It’s off!” cried the horse-breaker. “Why, mon, the Master +would break him over his knee.” + +“Oh, that be hanged for a yarn!” said the young Cantab. “You can drop +out if you like, Fawcett, but I’ll see this thing through, if I have to +do it alone. I don’t hedge a penny. I like the cut of him a great deal +better than I liked Ted Barton.” + +“Look at Barton’s shoulders, Mr. Wilson.” + +“Lumpiness isn’t always strength. Give me nerve and fire and breed. +That’s what wins.” + +“Ay, sir, you have it theer--you have it theer!” said the fat, red-faced +publican, in a thick suety voice. “It’s the same wi’ poops. Get ’em +clean-bred an’ fine, an’ they’ll yark the thick ’uns--yark ’em out o’ +their skins.” + +“He’s ten good pund on the light side,” growled the horse-breaker. + +“He’s a welter weight, anyhow.” + +“A hundred and thirty.” + +“A hundred and fifty, if he’s an ounce.” + +“Well, the Master doesn’t scale much more than that.” + +“A hundred and seventy-five.” + +“That was when he was hog-fat and living high. Work the grease out of +him and I lay there’s no great difference between them. Have you been +weighed lately, Mr. Montgomery?” + +It was the first direct question which had been asked him. He had stood +in the midst of them like a horse at a fair, and he was just beginning +to wonder whether he was more angry or amused. + +“I am just eleven stone,” said he. + +“I said that he was a welter weight.” + +“But suppose you was trained?” said the publican. “Wot then?” + +“I am always in training.” + +“In a manner of speakin’, no doubt, he _is_ always in trainin’,” +remarked the horse-breaker. “But trainin’ for everyday work ain’t the +same as trainin’ with a trainer; and I dare bet, with all respec’ to +your opinion, Mr. Wilson, that there’s half a stone of tallow on him at +this minute.” + +The young Cantab put his fingers on the assistant’s upper arm, then with +his other hand on his wrist, he bent the forearm sharply, and felt the +biceps, as round and hard as a cricket-ball, spring up under his +fingers. + +“Feel that!” said he. + +The publican and horse-breaker felt it with an air of reverence. “Good +lad! He’ll do yet!” cried Purvis. + +“Gentlemen,” said Montgomery, “I think that you will acknowledge that I +have been very patient with you. I have listened to all that you have +to say about my personal appearance, and now I must really beg that you +will have the goodness to tell me what is the matter.” + +They all sat down in their serious, business-like way. + +“That’s easy done, Mr. Montgomery,” said the fat-voiced publican. +“But before sayin’ anything we had to wait and see whether, in a way of +speakin’, there was any need for us to say anything at all. Mr. Wilson +thinks there is. Mr. Fawcett, who has the same right to his opinion, +bein’ also a backer and one o’ the committee, thinks the other way.” + +“I thought him too light built, and I think so now,” said the +horse-breaker, still tapping his prominent teeth with the metal head of +his riding-whip. “But happen he may pull through, and he’s a +fine-made, buirdly young chap, so if you mean to back him, Mr. +Wilson----” + +“Which I do.” + +“And you, Purvis?” + +“I ain’t one to go back, Fawcett.” + +“Well, I’ll stan’ to my share of the purse.” + +“And well I knew you would,” said Purvis, “for it would be somethin’ new +to find Isaac Fawcett as a spoil-sport. Well, then, we will make up the +hundred for the stake among us, and the fight stands--always supposin’ +the young man is willin’.” + +“Excuse all this rot, Mr. Montgomery,” said the University man, in a +genial voice. “We’ve begun at the wrong end, I know, but we’ll soon +straighten it out, and I hope that you will see your way to falling in +with our views. In the first place, you remember the man whom you +knocked out this morning? He is Barton--the famous Ted Barton.” + +“I’m sure, sir, you may well be proud to have outed him in one round,” +said the publican. “Why, it took Morris, the ten-stone-six champion, a +deal more trouble than that before he put Barton to sleep. You’ve done +a fine performance, sir, and happen you’ll do a finer, if you give +yourself the chance.” + +“I never heard of Ted Barton, beyond seeing the name on a medicine +label,” said the assistant. + +“Well, you may take it from me that he’s a slaughterer,” said the +horse-breaker. “You’ve taught him a lesson that he needed, for it was +always a word and a blow with him, and the word alone was worth five +shillin’ in a public court. He won’t be so ready now to shake his nief +in the face of everyone he meets. However, that’s neither here nor +there.” + +Montgomery looked at them in bewilderment. + +“For goodness’ sake, gentlemen, tell me what it is you want me to do!” +he cried. + +“We want you to fight Silas Craggs, better known as the Master of +Croxley.” + +“But why?” + +“Because Ted Barton was to have fought him next Saturday. He was the +champion of the Wilson coal-pits, and the other was the Master of the +iron-folk down at the Croxley smelters. We’d matched our man for a +purse of a hundred against the Master. But you’ve queered our man, and +he can’t face such a battle with a two-inch cut at the back of his head. +There’s only one thing to be done, sir, and that is for you to take his +place. If you can lick Ted Barton you may lick the Master of Croxley, +but if you don’t we’re done, for there’s no one else who is in the same +street with him in this district. It’s twenty rounds, two-ounce gloves, +Queensberry rules, and a decision on points if you fight to the finish.” + +For a moment the absurdity of the thing drove every other thought out of +Montgomery’s head. But then there came a sudden revulsion. A hundred +pounds!--all he wanted to complete his education was lying there ready +to his hand, if only that hand were strong enough to pick it up. He had +thought bitterly that morning that there was no market for his strength, +but here was one where his muscle might earn more in an hour than his +brains in a year. But a chill of doubt came over him. “How can I fight +for the coal-pits?” said he. “I am not connected with them.” + +“Eh, lad, but thou art!” cried old Purvis. “We’ve got it down in +writin’, and it’s clear enough ‘Anyone connected with the coal-pits.’ +Doctor Oldacre is the coal-pit club doctor; thou art his assistant. +What more can they want?” + +“Yes, that’s right enough,” said the Cantab. “It would be a very +sporting thing of you, Mr. Montgomery, if you would come to our help +when we are in such a hole. Of course, you might not like to take the +hundred pounds; but I have no doubt that, in the case of your winning, +we could arrange that it should take the form of a watch or piece of +plate, or any other shape which might suggest itself to you. You see, +you are responsible for our having lost our champion, so we really feel +that we have a claim upon you.” + +“Give me a moment, gentlemen. It is very unexpected. I am afraid the +doctor would never consent to my going--in fact, I am sure that he would +not.” + +“But he need never know--not before the fight, at any rate. We are not +bound to give the name of our man. So long as he is within the weight +limits on the day of the fight, that is all that concerns anyone.” + +The adventure and the profit would either of them have attracted +Montgomery. The two combined were irresistible. “Gentlemen,” said he, +“I’ll do it!” + +The three sprang from their seats. The publican had seized his right +hand, the horse-dealer his left, and the Cantab slapped him on the back. + +“Good lad! good lad!” croaked the publican. “Eh, mon, but if thou yark +him, thou’ll rise in one day from being just a common doctor to the +best-known mon ’twixt here and Bradford. Thou art a witherin’ tyke, +thou art, and no mistake; and if thou beat the Master of Croxley, +thou’ll find all the beer thou want for the rest of thy life waiting for +thee at the ‘Four Sacks.’” + +“It is the most sporting thing I ever heard of in my life,” said young +Wilson. “By George, sir, if you pull it off, you’ve got the +constituency in your pocket, if you care to stand. You know the +out-house in my garden?” + +“Next the road?” + +“Exactly. I turned it into a gymnasium for Ted Barton. You’ll find all +you want there: clubs, punching ball, bars, dumb-bells, everything. +Then you’ll want a sparring partner. Ogilvy has been acting for Barton, +but we don’t think that he is class enough. Barton bears you no grudge. +He’s a good-hearted fellow, though cross-grained with strangers. He +looked upon you as a stranger this morning, but he says he knows you +now. He is quite ready to spar with you for practice, and he will come +any hour you will name.” + +“Thank you; I will let you know the hour,” said Montgomery; and so the +committee departed jubilant upon their way. + +The medical assistant sat for a time in the surgery turning it over a +little in his mind. He had been trained originally at the University by +the man who had been middle-weight champion in his day. It was true +that his teacher was long past his prime, slow upon his feet, and stiff +in his joints, but even so he was still a tough antagonist; but +Montgomery had found at last that he could more than hold his own with +him. He had won the University medal, and his teacher, who had trained +so many students, was emphatic in his opinion that he had never had one +who was in the same class with him. He had been exhorted to go in for +the Amateur Championships, but he had no particular ambition in that +direction. Once he had put on the gloves with Hammer Tunstall in a +booth at a fair and had fought three rattling rounds, in which he had +the worst of it, but had made the prize fighter stretch himself to the +uttermost. There was his whole record, and was it enough to encourage +him to stand up to the Master of Croxley? He had never heard of the +Master before, but then he had lost touch of the ring during the last +few years of hard work. After all, what did it matter? If he won, +there was the money, which meant so much to him. If he lost, it would +only mean a thrashing. He could take punishment without flinching, of +that he was certain. If there were only one chance in a hundred of +pulling it off, then it was worth his while to attempt it. + +Dr. Oldacre, new come from church, with an ostentatious Prayer-book in +his kid-gloved hand, broke in upon his meditation. + +“You don’t go to service, I observe, Mr. Montgomery” said he, coldly. + +“No, sir; I have had some business to detain me.” + +“It is very near to my heart that my household should set a good +example. There are so few educated people in this district that a great +responsibility devolves upon us. If we do not live up to the highest, +how can we expect these poor workers to do so? It is a dreadful thing +to reflect that the parish takes a great deal more interest in an +approaching glove fight than in their religious duties.” + +“A glove fight, sir?” said Montgomery, guiltily. + +“I believe that to be the correct term. One of my patients tells me +that it is the talk of the district. A local ruffian, a patient of +ours, by the way, matched against a pugilist over at Croxley. +I cannot understand why the law does not step in and stop so degrading +an exhibition. It is really a prize fight.” + +“A glove fight, you said.” + +“I am informed that a 2oz. glove is an evasion by which they dodge the +law, and make it difficult for the police to interfere. They contend +for a sum of money. It seems dreadful and almost incredible--does it +not?--to think that such scenes can be enacted within a few miles of our +peaceful home. But you will realise, Mr. Montgomery, that while there +are such influences for us to counteract, it is very necessary that we +should live up to our highest.” + +The doctor’s sermon would have had more effect if the assistant had not +once or twice had occasion to test his highest, and come upon it at +unexpectedly humble elevations. It is always so particularly easy to +“compound for sins we’re most inclined to by damning those we have no +mind to.” In any case, Montgomery felt that of all the men concerned in +such a fight--promoters, backers, spectators--it is the actual fighter +who holds the strongest and most honourable position. His conscience +gave him no concern upon the subject. Endurance and courage are +virtues, not vices, and brutality is, at least, better than effeminacy. + +There was a little tobacco-shop at the corner of the street, where +Montgomery got his bird’s-eye and also his local information, for the +shopman was a garrulous soul, who knew everything about the affairs of +the district. The assistant strolled down there after tea and asked, in +a casual way, whether the tobacconist had ever heard of the Master of +Croxley. + +“Heard of him! Heard of him!” the little man could hardly articulate in +his astonishment. “Why, sir, he’s the first mon o’ the district, an’ +his name’s as well known in the West Riding as the winner o’ t’ Derby. +But Lor,’ sir,”--here he stopped and rummaged among a heap of papers. +“They are makin’ a fuss about him on account o’ his fight wi’ Ted +Barton, and so the _Croxley Herald_ has his life an’ record, an’ here it +is, an’ thou canst read it for thysel’.” + +The sheet of the paper which he held up was a lake of print around an +islet of illustration. The latter was a coarse wood-cut of a pugilist’s +head and neck set in a cross-barred jersey. It was a sinister but +powerful face, the face of a debauched hero, clean-shaven, strongly +eye-browed, keen-eyed, with huge, aggressive jaw, and an animal dewlap +beneath it. The long, obstinate cheeks ran flush up to the narrow, +sinister eyes. The mighty neck came down square from the ears and +curved outwards into shoulders, which had lost nothing at the hands of +the local artist. Above was written “Silas Craggs,” and beneath, +“The Master of Croxley.” + +“Thou’ll find all about him there, sir,” said the tobacconist. “He’s a +witherin’ tyke, he is, and we’re proud to have him in the county. If he +hadn’t broke his leg he’d have been champion of England.” + +“Broke his leg, has he?” + +“Yes, and it set badly. They ca’ him owd K, behind his back, for that +is how his two legs look. But his arms--well, if they was both stropped +to a bench, as the sayin’ is, I wonder where the champion of England +would be then.” + +“I’ll take this with me,” said Montgomery; and putting the paper into +his pocket he returned home. + +It was not a cheering record which he read there. The whole history of +the Croxley Master was given in full, his many victories, his few +defeats. + + Born in 1857 (said the provincial biographer), Silas Craggs, better + known in sporting circles as the Master of Croxley, is now in his + fortieth year. + +“Hang it, I’m only twenty-three!” said Montgomery to himself, and read +on more cheerfully. + + Having in his youth shown a surprising aptitude for the game, he + fought his way up among his comrades, until he became the + recognised champion of the district and won the proud title which + he still holds. Ambitious of a more than local fame, he secured a + patron, and fought his first fight against Jack Barton, of + Birmingham, in May 1880, at the old Loiterers’ Club. Craggs, + who fought at ten stone-two at the time, had the better of fifteen + rattling rounds, and gained an award on points against the Midlander. + Having disposed of James Dunn, of Rotherhithe, Cameron, of Glasgow, + and a youth named Fernie, he was thought so highly of by the fancy + that he was matched against Ernest Willox, at that time + middle-weight champion of the North of England, and defeated him in a + hard-fought battle, knocking him out in the tenth round after a + punishing contest. At this period it looked as if the very highest + honours of the ring were within the reach of the young Yorkshireman, + but he was laid upon the shelf by a most unfortunate accident. The + kick of a horse broke his thigh, and for a year he was compelled to + rest himself. When he returned to his work the fracture had set + badly, and his activity was much impaired. It was owing to this + that he was defeated in seven rounds by Willox, the man whom he had + previously beaten, and afterwards by James Shaw, of London, though + the latter acknowledged that he had found the toughest customer of + his career. Undismayed by his reverses, the Master adapted the + style of his fighting to his physical disabilities and resumed his + career of victory--defeating Norton (the black), Hobby Wilson, and + Levi Cohen, the latter a heavy-weight. Conceding two stone, he + fought a draw with the famous Billy McQuire, and afterwards, for + a purse of fifty pounds, he defeated Sam Hare at the Pelican Club, + London. In 1891 a decision was given against him upon a foul when + fighting a winning fight against Jim Taylor, the Australian middle + weight, and so mortified was he by the decision, that he withdrew + from the ring. Since then he has hardly fought at all save to + accommodate any local aspirant who may wish to learn the difference + between a bar-room scramble and a scientific contest. The latest + of these ambitious souls comes from the Wilson coal-pits, which have + undertaken to put up a stake of 100 pounds and back their local + champion. There are various rumours afloat as to who their + representative is to be, the name of Ted Barton being freely + mentioned; but the betting, which is seven to one on the Master + against any untried man, is a fair reflection of the feeling of + the community. + +Montgomery read it over twice, and it left him with a very serious face. +No light matter this which he had undertaken; no battle with a +rough-and-tumble fighter who presumed upon a local reputation. +The man’s record showed that he was first-class--or nearly so. There +were a few points in his favour, and he must make the most of them. +There was age--twenty-three against forty. There was an old ring +proverb that “Youth will be served,” but the annals of the ring offer a +great number of exceptions. A hard veteran full of cool valour and +ring-craft, could give ten or fifteen years and a beating to most +striplings. He could not rely too much upon his advantage in age. +But then there was the lameness; that must surely count for a great +deal. And, lastly, there was the chance that the Master might underrate +his opponent, that he might be remiss in his training, and refuse to +abandon his usual way of life, if he thought that he had an easy task +before him. In a man of his age and habits this seemed very possible. +Montgomery prayed that it might be so. Meanwhile, if his opponent were +the best man who ever jumped the ropes into a ring, his own duty was +clear. He must prepare himself carefully, throw away no chance, and do +the very best that he could. But he knew enough to appreciate the +difference which exists in boxing, as in every sport, between the +amateur and the professional. The coolness, the power of hitting, above +all the capability of taking punishment, count for so much. Those +specially developed, gutta-percha-like abdominal muscles of the hardened +pugilist will take without flinching a blow which would leave another +man writhing on the ground. Such things are not to be acquired in a +week, but all that could be done in a week should be done. + +The medical assistant had a good basis to start from. He was 5ft. 11 +ins.--tall enough for anything on two legs, as the old ring men used to +say--lithe and spare, with the activity of a panther, and a strength +which had hardly yet ever found its limitations. His muscular +development was finely hard, but his power came rather from that higher +nerve-energy which counts for nothing upon a measuring tape. He had the +well-curved nose and the widely opened eye which never yet were seen +upon the face of a craven, and behind everything he had the driving +force, which came from the knowledge that his whole career was at stake +upon the contest. The three backers rubbed their hands when they saw +him at work punching the ball in the gymnasium next morning; and +Fawcett, the horse-breaker, who had written to Leeds to hedge his bets, +sent a wire to cancel the letter, and to lay another fifty at the market +price of seven to one. + +Montgomery’s chief difficulty was to find time for his training without +any interference from the doctor. His work took him a large part of the +day, but as the visiting was done on foot, and considerable distances +had to be traversed, it was a training in itself. For the rest, he +punched the swinging ball and worked with the dumb-bells for an hour +every morning and evening, and boxed twice a day with Ted Barton in the +gymnasium, gaining as much profit as could be got from a rushing, +two-handed slogger. Barton was full of admiration for his cleverness +and quickness, but doubtful about his strength. Hard hitting was the +feature of his own style, and he exacted it from others. + +“Lord, sir, that’s a turble poor poonch for an eleven-stone man!” he +would cry. “Thou wilt have to hit harder than that afore t’ Master will +know that thou art theer. All, thot’s better, mon, thot’s fine!” he +would add, as his opponent lifted him across the room on the end of a +right counter. “Thot’s how I likes to feel ’em. Happen thou’lt pull +through yet.” He chuckled with joy when Montgomery knocked him into a +corner. “Eh, mon, thou art coming along grand. Thou hast fair yarked +me off my legs. Do it again, lad, do it again!” + +The only part of Montgomery’s training which came within the doctor’s +observation was his diet, and that puzzled him considerably. + +“You will excuse my remarking, Mr. Montgomery, that you are becoming +rather particular in your tastes. Such fads are not to be encouraged in +one’s youth. Why do you eat toast with every meal?” + +“I find that it suits me better than bread, sir.” + +“It entails unnecessary work upon the cook. I observe, also, that you +have turned against potatoes.” + +“Yes, sir; I think that I am better without them.” + +“And you no longer drink your beer?” + +“No, sir.” + +“These causeless whims and fancies are very much to be deprecated, Mr. +Montgomery. Consider how many there are to whom these very potatoes and +this very beer would be most acceptable.” + +“No doubt, sir, but at present I prefer to do without them.” + +They were sitting alone at lunch, and the assistant thought that it +would be a good opportunity of asking leave for the day of the fight. + +“I should be glad if you could let me have leave for Saturday, Dr. +Oldacre.” + +“It is very inconvenient upon so busy a day.” + +“I should do a double day’s work on Friday so as to leave everything in +order. I should hope to be back in the evening.” + +“I am afraid I cannot spare you, Mr. Montgomery.” + +This was a facer. If he could not get leave he would go without it. + +“You will remember, Dr. Oldacre, that when I came to you it was +understood that I should have a clear day every month. I have never +claimed one. But now there are reasons why I wish to have a holiday +upon Saturday.” + +Dr. Oldacre gave in with a very bad grace. “Of course, if you insist +upon your formal rights, there is no more to be said, Mr. Montgomery, +though I feel that it shows a certain indifference to my comfort and the +welfare of the practice. Do you still insist?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Very good. Have your way.” + +The doctor was boiling over with anger, but Montgomery was a valuable +assistant--steady, capable, and hardworking--and he could not afford to +lose him. Even if he had been prompted to advance those class fees, for +which his assistant had appealed, it would have been against his +interests to do so, for he did not wish him to qualify, and he desired +him to remain in his subordinate position, in which he worked so hard +for so small a wage. There was something in the cool insistence of the +young man, a quiet resolution in his voice as he claimed his Saturday, +which aroused his curiosity. + +“I have no desire to interfere unduly with your affairs, Mr. Montgomery, +but were you thinking of having a day in Leeds upon Saturday?” + +“No, sir. + +“In the country?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You are very wise. You will find a quiet day among the wild flowers a +very valuable restorative. Have you thought of any particular +direction?” + +“I am going over Croxley way.” + +“Well, there is no prettier country when once you are past the +iron-works. What could be more delightful than to lie upon the Fells, +basking in the sunshine, with perhaps some instructive and elevating +book as your companion? I should recommend a visit to the ruins of St. +Bridget’s Church, a very interesting relic of the early Norman era. +By the way, there is one objection which I see to your going to Croxley +on Saturday. It is upon that date, as I am informed, that that +ruffianly glove fight takes place. You may find yourself molested by +the blackguards whom it will attract.” + +“I will take my chance of that, sir,” said the assistant. + +On the Friday night, which was the last night before the fight, +Montgomery’s three backers assembled in the gymnasium and inspected +their man as he went through some light exercises to keep his muscles +supple. He was certainly in splendid condition, his skin shining with +health, and his eyes with energy and confidence. The three walked round +him and exulted. + +“He’s simply ripping!” said the undergraduate. + +“By gad, you’ve come out of it splendidly. You’re as hard as a pebble, +and fit to fight for your life.” + +“Happen he’s a trifle on the fine side,” said the publican. “Runs a bit +light at the loins, to my way of thinkin’.” + +“What weight to-day?” + +“Ten stone eleven,” the assistant answered. + +“That’s only three pund off in a week’s trainin’,” said the +horse-breaker. “He said right when he said that he was in condition. +Well, it’s fine stuff all there is of it, but I’m none so sure as there +is enough.” He kept poking his finger into Montgomery as if he were one +of his horses. “I hear that the Master will scale a hundred and sixty +odd at the ring-side.” + +“But there’s some of that which he’d like well to pull off and leave +behind wi’ his shirt,” said Purvis. “I hear they’ve had a rare job to +get him to drop his beer, and if it had not been for that great +red-headed wench of his they’d never ha’ done it. She fair scratted the +face off a potman that had brought him a gallon from t’ ‘Chequers.’ +They say the hussy is his sparrin’ partner, as well as his sweetheart, +and that his poor wife is just breakin’ her heart over it. Hullo, young +’un, what do you want?” + +The door of the gymnasium had opened and a lad, about sixteen, grimy and +black with soot and iron, stepped into the yellow glare of the oil lamp. +Ted Barton seized him by the collar. + +“See here, thou yoong whelp, this is private, and we want noan o’ thy +spyin’!” + +“But I maun speak to Mr. Wilson.” + +The young Cantab stepped forward. + +“Well, my lad, what is it?” + +“It’s aboot t’ fight, Mr. Wilson, sir. I wanted to tell your mon +somethin’ aboot t’ Maister.” + +“We’ve no time to listen to gossip, my boy. We know all about the +Master.” + +“But thou doan’t, sir. Nobody knows but me and mother, and we thought +as we’d like thy mon to know, sir, for we want him to fair bray him.” + +“Oh, you want the Master fair brayed, do you? So do we. Well, what +have you to say?” + +“Is this your mon, sir?” + +“Well, suppose it is?” + +“Then it’s him I want to tell aboot it. T’ Maister is blind o’ the left +eye.” + +“Nonsense!” + +“It’s true, sir. Not stone blind, but rarely fogged. He keeps it +secret, but mother knows, and so do I. If thou slip him on the left +side he can’t cop thee. Thou’ll find it right as I tell thee. And mark +him when he sinks his right. ’Tis his best blow, his right upper-cut. +T’ Maister’s finisher, they ca’ it at t’ works. It’s a turble blow when +it do come home.” + +“Thank you, my boy. This is information worth having about his sight,” +said Wilson. “How came you to know so much? Who are you?” + +“I’m his son, sir.” + +Wilson whistled. + +“And who sent you to us?” + +“My mother. I maun get back to her again.” + +“Take this half-crown.” + +“No, sir, I don’t seek money in comin’ here. I do it--” + +“For love?” suggested the publican. + +“For hate!” said the boy, and darted off into the darkness. + +“Seems to me t’ red-headed wench may do him more harm than good, after +all,” remarked the publican. “And now, Mr. Montgomery, sir, you’ve done +enough for this evenin’, an’ a nine-hours’ sleep is the best trainin’ +before a battle. Happen this time to-morrow night you’ll be safe back +again with your 100 pound in your pocket.” + + + II + + +Work was struck at one o’clock at the coal-pits and the iron-works, and +the fight was arranged for three. From the Croxley Furnaces, from +Wilson’s Coal-pits, from the Heartsease Mine, from the Dodd Mills, from +the Leverworth Smelters the workmen came trooping, each with his +fox-terrier or his lurcher at his heels. Warped with labour and twisted +by toil, bent double by week-long work in the cramped coal galleries or +half-blinded with years spent in front of white-hot fluid metal, these +men still gilded their harsh and hopeless lives by their devotion to +sport. It was their one relief, the only thing which could distract +their minds from sordid surroundings, and give them an interest beyond +the blackened circle which enclosed them. Literature, art, science, all +these things were beyond their horizon; but the race, the football +match, the cricket, the fight, these were things which they could +understand, which they could speculate upon in advance and comment upon +afterwards. Sometimes brutal, sometimes grotesque, the love of sport is +still one of the great agencies which make for the happiness of our +people. It lies very deeply in the springs of our nature, and when it +has been educated out, a higher, more refined nature may be left, but it +will not be of that robust British type which has left its mark so +deeply on the world. Every one of these raddled workers, slouching with +his dog at his heels to see something of the fight, was a true unit of +his race. + +It was a squally May day, with bright sunbursts and driving showers. +Montgomery worked all morning in the surgery getting his medicine made +up. + +“The weather seems so very unsettled, Mr. Montgomery,” remarked the +doctor, “that I am inclined to think that you had better postpone your +little country excursion until a later date.” + +“I am afraid that I must go to-day, sir.” + +“I have just had an intimation that Mrs. Potter, at the other side of +Angleton, wishes to see me. It is probable that I shall be there all +day. It will be extremely inconvenient to leave the house empty so +long.” + +“I am very sorry, sir, but I must go,” said the assistant, doggedly. + +The doctor saw that it would be useless to argue, and departed in the +worst of bad tempers upon mission. Montgomery felt easier now that he +was gone. He went up to his room, and packed his running-shoes, his +fighting-drawers, and his cricket sash into a hand-bag. When he came +down, Mr. Wilson was waiting for him in the surgery. “I hear the doctor +has gone.” + +“Yes; he is likely to be away all day.” + +“I don’t see that it matters much. It’s bound to come to his ears by +to-night.” + +“Yes; it’s serious with me, Mr. Wilson. If I win, it’s all right. +I don’t mind telling you that the hundred pounds will make all the +difference to me. But if I lose, I shall lose my situation, for, as you +say, I can’t keep it secret.” + +“Never mind. We’ll see you through among us. I only wonder the doctor +has not heard, for it’s all over the country that you are to fight the +Croxley Champion. We’ve had Armitage up about it already. He’s the +Master’s backer, you know. He wasn’t sure that you were eligible. +The Master said he wanted you whether you were eligible or not. +Armitage has money on, and would have made trouble if he could. But I +showed him that you came within the conditions of the challenge, and he +agreed that it was all right. They think they have a soft thing on.” + +“Well, I can only do my best,” said Montgomery. + +They lunched together; a silent and rather nervous repast, for +Montgomery’s mind was full of what was before him, and Wilson had +himself more money at stake than he cared to lose. + +Wilson’s carriage and pair were at the door, the horses with blue and +white rosettes at their ears, which were the colours of the Wilson +Coal-pits, well known, on many a football field. At the avenue gate a +crowd of some hundred pit-men and their wives gave a cheer as the +carriage passed. To the assistant it all seemed dream-like and +extraordinary--the strangest experience of his life, but with a thrill +of human action and interest in it which made it passionately absorbing. +He lay back in the open carriage and saw the fluttering handkerchiefs +from the doors and windows of the miners’ cottages. Wilson had pinned a +blue and white rosette upon his coat, and everybody knew him as their +champion. “Good luck, sir! good luck to thee!” they shouted from the +roadside. He felt that it was like some unromantic knight riding down +to sordid lists, but there was something of chivalry in it all the same. +He fought for others as well as for himself. He might fail from want of +skill or strength, but deep in his sombre soul he vowed that it should +never be for want of heart. + +Mr. Fawcett was just mounting into his high-wheeled, spidery dogcart, +with his little bit of blood between the shafts. He waved his whip and +fell in behind the carriage. They overtook Purvis, the tomato-faced +publican, upon the road, with his wife in her Sunday bonnet. They also +dropped into the procession, and then, as they traversed the seven miles +of the high road to Croxley, their two-horsed, rosetted carriage became +gradually the nucleus of a comet with a loosely radiating tail. +From every side-road came the miners’ carts, the humble, ramshackle +traps, black and bulging, with their loads of noisy, foul-tongued, +open-hearted partisans. They trailed for a long quarter of a mile +behind them--cracking, whipping, shouting, galloping, swearing. +Horsemen and runners were mixed with the vehicles. And then suddenly a +squad of the Sheffield Yeomanry, who were having their annual training +in those parts, clattered and jingled out of a field, and rode as an +escort to the carriage. Through the dust-clouds round him Montgomery +saw the gleaming brass helmets, the bright coats, and the tossing heads +of the chargers, the delighted brown faces of the troopers. It was more +dream-like than ever. + +And then, as they approached the monstrous, uncouth line of +bottle-shaped buildings which marked the smelting-works of Croxley, +their long, writhing snake of dust was headed off by another but longer +one which wound across their path. The main road into which their own +opened was filled by the rushing current of traps. The Wilson +contingent halted until the others should get past. The iron-men +cheered and groaned, according to their humour, as they whirled past +their antagonist. Rough chaff flew back and forwards like iron nuts and +splinters of coal. “Brought him up, then!” “Got t’ hearse for to fetch +him back?” “Where’s t’ owd K-legs?” “Mon, mon, have thy photograph +took--’twill mind thee of what thou used to look!” “He fight?--he’s +nowt but a half-baked doctor!” “Happen he’ll doctor thy Croxley +Champion afore he’s through wi’t.” + +So they flashed at each other as the one side waited and the other +passed. Then there came a rolling murmur swelling into a shout, and a +great brake with four horses came clattering along, all streaming with +salmon-pink ribbons. The driver wore a white hat with pink rosette, and +beside him, on the high seat, were a man and a woman-she with her arm +round his waist. Montgomery had one glimpse of them as they flashed +past; he with a furry cap drawn low over his brow, a great frieze coat +and a pink comforter round his throat; she brazen, red-headed, +bright-coloured, laughing excitedly. The Master, for it was he, turned +as he passed, gazed hard at Montgomery, and gave him a menacing, +gap-toothed grin. It was a hard, wicked face, blue-jowled and craggy, +with long, obstinate cheeks and inexorable eyes. The brake behind was +full of patrons of the sport-flushed iron-foremen, heads of departments, +managers. One was drinking from a metal flask, and raised it to +Montgomery as he passed; and then the crowd thinned, and the Wilson +cortege with their dragoons swept in at the rear of the others. + +The road led away from Croxley, between curving green hills, gashed and +polluted by the searchers for coal and iron. The whole country had been +gutted, and vast piles of refuse and mountains of slag suggested the +mighty chambers which the labour of man had burrowed beneath. On the +left the road curved up to where a huge building, roofless and +dismantled, stood crumbling and forlorn, with the light shining through +the windowless squares. + +“That’s the old Arrowsmith’s factory. That’s where the fight is to be,” +said Wilson. “How are you feeling now?” + +“Thank you, I was never better in my life,” Montgomery answered. + +“By Gad, I like your nerve!” said Wilson, who was himself flushed and +uneasy. “You’ll give us a fight for our money, come what may. +That place on the right is the office, and that has been set aside as +the dressing and weighing room.” + +The carriage drove up to it amidst the shouts of the folk upon the +hillside. Lines of empty carriages and traps curved down upon the +winding road, and a black crowd surged round the door of the ruined +factory. The seats, as a huge placard announced, were five shillings, +three shillings, and a shilling, with half-price for dogs. The takings, +deducting expenses, were to go to the winner, and it was already evident +that a larger stake than a hundred pounds was in question. A babel of +voices rose from the door. The workers wished to bring their dogs in +free. The men scuffled. The dogs barked. The crowd was a whirling, +eddying pool surging with a roar up to the narrow cleft which was its +only outlet. + +The brake, with its salmon-coloured streamers and four reeking horses, +stood empty before the door of the office; Wilson, Purvis, Fawcett and +Montgomery passed in. + +There was a large, bare room inside with square, clean patches upon the +grimy walls, where pictures and almanacs had once hung. Worn linoleum +covered the floor, but there was no furniture save some benches and a +deal table with an ewer and a basin upon it. Two of the corners were +curtained off. In the middle of the room was a weighing-chair. +A hugely fat man, with a salmon tie and a blue waistcoat with bird’s-eye +spots, came bustling up to them. It was Armitage, the butcher and +grazier, well known for miles round as a warm man, and the most liberal +patron of sport in the Riding. “Well, well,” he grunted, in a thick, +fussy, wheezy voice, “you have come, then. Got your man? Got your man?” + +“Here he is, fit and well. Mr. Montgomery, let me present you to Mr. +Armitage.” + +“Glad to meet you, sir. Happy to make your acquaintance. I make bold +to say, sir, that we of Croxley admire your courage, Mr. Montgomery, and +that our only hope is a fair fight and no favour, and the best man win. +That’s our sentiments at Croxley.” + +“And it is my sentiment, also,” said the assistant. + +“Well, you can’t say fairer than that, Mr. Montgomery. You’ve taken a +large contrac’ in hand, but a large contrac’ may be carried through, +sir, as anyone that knows my dealings could testify. The Master is +ready to weigh in!” + +“So am I.” + +“You must weigh in the buff.” Montgomery looked askance at the tall, +red-headed woman who was standing gazing out of the window. + +“That’s all right,” said Wilson. “Get behind the curtain and put on +your fighting kit.” + +He did so, and came out the picture of an athlete, in white, loose +drawers, canvas shoes, and the sash of a well-known cricket club round +his waist. He was trained to a hair, his skin gleaming like silk, and +every muscle rippling down his broad shoulders and along his beautiful +arms as he moved them. They bunched into ivory knobs, or slid into +long, sinuous curves, as he raised or lowered his hands. + +“What thinkest thou o’ that?” asked Ted Barton, his second, of the woman +in the window. + +She glanced contemptuously at the young athlete. “It’s but a poor +kindness thou dost him to put a thread-paper yoong gentleman like yon +against a mon as is a mon. Why, my Jock would throttle him wi’ one hond +lashed behind him.” + +“Happen he may--happen not,” said Barton. “I have but twa pund in the +world, but it’s on him, every penny, and no hedgin’. But here’s t’ +Maister, and rarely fine he do look.” + +The prize-fighter had come out from his curtain, a squat, formidable +figure, monstrous in chest and arms, limping slightly on his distorted +leg. His skin had none of the freshness and clearness of Montgomery’s, +but was dusky and mottled, with one huge mole amid the mat of tangled +black hair which thatched his mighty breast. His weight bore no +relation to his strength, for those huge shoulders and great arms, with +brown, sledge-hammer fists, would have fitted the heaviest man that ever +threw his cap into a ring. But his loins and legs were slight in +proportion. Montgomery, on the other hand, was as symmetrical as a +Greek statue. It would be an encounter between a man who was specially +fitted for one sport, and one who was equally capable of any. The two +looked curiously at each other: a bulldog, and a high-bred clean-limbed +terrier, each full of spirit. + +“How do you do?” + +“How do?” The Master grinned again, and his three jagged front teeth +gleamed for an instant. The rest had been beaten out of him in twenty +years of battle. He spat upon the floor. “We have a rare fine day +for’t.” + +“Capital,” said Montgomery. + +“That’s the good feelin’ I like,” wheezed the fat butcher. “Good lads, +both of them!--prime lads!--hard meat an’ good bone. There’s no +ill-feelin’.” + +“If he downs me, Gawd bless him!” said the Master. + +“An’ if we down him, Gawd help him!” interrupted the woman. + +“Haud thy tongue, wench!” said the Master, impatiently. “Who art thou +to put in thy word? Happen I might draw my hand across thy face.” + +The woman did not take the threat amiss. “Wilt have enough for thy hand +to do, Jock,” said she. “Get quit o’ this gradely man afore thou turn +on me.” + +The lovers’ quarrel was interrupted by the entrance of a newcomer, a +gentleman with a fur-collared overcoat and a very shiny top-hat--a +top-hat of a degree of glossiness which is seldom seen five miles from +Hyde Park. This hat he wore at the extreme back of his head, so that +the lower surface of the brim made a kind of frame for his high, bald +forehead, his, keen eyes, his rugged and yet kindly face. He bustled in +with the quiet air of possession with which the ring master enters the +circus. + +“It’s Mr. Stapleton, the referee from London,” said Wilson. + +“How do you do, Mr. Stapleton? I was introduced to you at the big fight +at the Corinthian Club in Piccadilly.” + +“Ah! I dare say,” said the other, shaking hands. “Fact is, I’m +introduced to so many that I can’t undertake to carry their names. +Wilson, is it? Well, Mr. Wilson, glad to see you. Couldn’t get a fly +at the station, and that’s why I’m late.” + +“I’m sure, sir,” said Armitage, “we should be proud that anyone so well +known in the boxing world should come down to our little exhibition.” + +“Not at all. Not at all. Anything in the interests of boxin’. All +ready? Men weighed?” + +“Weighing now, sir.” + +“Ah! Just as well that I should see it done. Seen you before, +Craggs. Saw you fight your second battle against Willox. You had +beaten him once, but he came back on you. What does the indicator +say?--163lbs.--two off for the kit--161lbs. Now, my lad, you jump. My +goodness, what colours are you wearing?” + +“The Anonymi Cricket Club.” + +“What right have you to wear them? I belong to the club myself.” + +“So do I.” + +“You an amateur?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And you are fighting for a money prize?” + +“Yes.” + +“I suppose you know what you are doing? You realise that you’re a +professional pug from this onwards, and that if ever you fight again--” + +“I’ll never fight again.” + +“Happen you won’t,” said the woman, and the Master turned a terrible eye +upon her. + +“Well, I suppose you know your own business best. Up you jump. One +hundred and fifty-one, minus two, 149--12lbs. difference, but youth and +condition on the other scale. Well, the sooner we get to work the +better, for I wish to catch the seven o’clock express at Hellifield. +Twenty three-minute rounds, with one-minute intervals, and Queensberry +rules. Those are the conditions, are they not?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Very good, then--we may go across.” + +The two combatants had overcoats thrown over their shoulders, and the +whole party, backers, fighters, seconds, and the referee filed out of +the room. A police inspector was waiting for them in the road. He had +a note-book in his hand--that terrible weapon which awes even the +London cabman. + +“I must take your names, gentlemen, in case it should be necessary to +proceed for breach of peace.” + +“You don’t mean to stop the fight?” cried Armitage, in a passion of +indignation. “I’m Mr. Armitage, of Croxley, and this is Mr. Wilson, and +we’ll be responsible that all is fair and as it should be.” + +“I’ll take the names in case it should be necessary to proceed,” said +the inspector, impassively. + +“But you know me well.” + +“If you was a dook or even a judge it would be all the same,” said the +inspector. “It’s the law, and there’s an end. I’ll not take upon +myself to stop the fight, seeing that gloves are to be used, but I’ll +take the names of all concerned. Silas Craggs, Robert Montgomery, +Edward Barton, James Stapleton, of London. Who seconds Silas Craggs?” + +“I do,” said the woman. “Yes, you can stare, but it’s my job, and no +one else’s. Anastasia’s the name--four a’s.” + +“Craggs?” + +“Johnson--Anastasia Johnson. If you jug him you can jug me.” + +“Who talked of juggin’, ye fool?” growled the Master. “Coom on, Mr. +Armitage, for I’m fair sick o’ this loiterin’.” + +The inspector fell in with the procession, and proceeded, as they walked +up the hill, to bargain in his official capacity for a front seat, where +he could safeguard the interests of the law, and in his private +capacity to lay out thirty shillings at seven to one with Mr. Armitage. +Through the door they passed, down a narrow lane walled with a dense +bank of humanity, up a wooden ladder to a platform, over a rope which +was slung waist-high from four corner-stakes, and then Montgomery +realised that he was in that ring in which his immediate destiny was to +be worked out. On the stake at one corner there hung a blue-and-white +streamer. Barton led him across, the overcoat dangling loosely from his +shoulders, and he sat down on a wooden stool. Barton and another man, +both wearing white sweaters, stood beside him. The so-called ring was a +square, twenty feet each way. At the opposite angle was the sinister +figure of the Master, with his red-headed woman and a rough-faced friend +to look after him. At each corner were metal basins, pitchers of water, +and sponges. + +During the hubbub and uproar of the entrance Montgomery was too +bewildered to take things in. But now there was a few minutes’ delay, +for the referee had lingered behind, and so he looked quietly about him. +It was a sight to haunt him for a lifetime. Wooden seats had been built +in, sloping upwards to the tops of the walls. Above, instead of a +ceiling, a great flight of crows passed slowly across a square of grey +cloud. Right up to the topmost benches the folk were banked--broadcloth +in front, corduroys and fustian behind; faces turned everywhere upon +him. The grey reek of the pipes filled the building, and the air was +pungent with the acrid smell of cheap, strong tobacco. Everywhere among +the human faces were to be seen the heads of the dogs. They growled and +yapped from the back benches. In that dense mass of humanity, one could +hardly pick out individuals, but Montgomery’s eyes caught the brazen +gleam of the helmets held upon the knees of the ten yeomen of his +escort. At the very edge of the platform sat the reporters, five of +them--three locals and two all the way from London. But where was the +all-important referee? There was no sign of him, unless he were in the +centre of that angry swirl of men near the door. + +Mr. Stapleton had stopped to examine the gloves which were to be used, +and entered the building after the combatants. He had started to come +down that narrow lane with the human walls which led to the ring. +But already it had gone abroad that the Wilson champion was a gentleman, +and that another gentleman had been appointed as referee. A wave of +suspicion passed through the Croxley folk. They would have one of their +own people for a referee. They would not have a stranger. His path was +stopped as he made for the ring. Excited men flung themselves in front +of him; they waved their fists in his face and cursed him. A woman +howled vile names in his ear. Somebody struck at him with an umbrella. +“Go thou back to Lunnon. We want noan o’ thee. Go thou back!” they +yelled. + +Stapleton, with his shiny hat cocked backwards, and his large, bulging +forehead swelling from under it, looked round him from beneath his bushy +brows. He was in the centre of a savage and dangerous mob. Then he +drew his watch from his pocket and held it dial upwards in his palm. + +“In three minutes,” said he, “I will declare the fight off.” + +They raged round him. His cool face and that aggressive top-hat +irritated them. Grimy hands were raised. But it was difficult, +somehow, to strike a man who was so absolutely indifferent. + +“In two minutes I declare the fight off.” + +They exploded into blasphemy. The breath of angry men smoked into his +placid face. A gnarled, grimy fist vibrated at the end of his nose. +“We tell thee we want noan o’ thee. Get thou back where thou com’st +from.” + +“In one minute I declare the fight off.” + +Then the calm persistence of the man conquered the swaying, mutable, +passionate crowd. + +“Let him through, mon. Happen there’ll be no fight after a’.” + +“Let him through.” + +“Bill, thou loomp, let him pass. Dost want the fight declared off?” + +“Make room for the referee!--room for the Lunnon referee!” + +And half pushed, half carried, he was swept up to the ring. There were +two chairs by the side of it, one for him and one for the timekeeper. +He sat down, his hands on his knees, his hat at a more wonderful angle +than ever, impassive but solemn, with the aspect of one who appreciates +his responsibilities. + +Mr. Armitage, the portly butcher, made his way into the ring and held up +two fat hands, sparkling with rings, as a signal for silence. + +“Gentlemen!” he yelled. And then in a crescendo shriek, “Gentlemen!” + +“And ladies!” cried somebody, for, indeed, there was a fair sprinkling +of women among the crowd. “Speak up, owd man!” shouted another. “What +price pork chops?” cried somebody at the back. Everybody laughed, and +the dogs began to bark. Armitage waved his hands amidst the uproar as +if he were conducting an orchestra. At last the babel thinned into +silence. + +“Gentlemen,” he yelled, “the match is between Silas Craggs, whom we +call the Master of Croxley, and Robert Montgomery, of the Wilson +Coal-pits. The match was to be under eleven-eight. When they were +weighed just now, Craggs weighed eleven-seven, and Montgomery ten-nine. +The conditions of the contest are--the best of twenty three-minute +rounds with two-ounce gloves. Should the fight run to its full length, +it will, of course, be decided upon points. Mr. Stapleton, the +well-known London referee, has kindly consented to see fair play. +I wish to say that Mr. Wilson and I, the chief backers of the two men, +have every confidence in Mr. Stapleton, and that we beg that you will +accept his rulings without dispute.” + +He then turned from one combatant to the other, with a wave of his hand. + + + III + + +“Montgomery--Craggs!” said he. + +A great hush fell over the huge assembly. Even the dogs stopped +yapping; one might have thought that the monstrous room was empty. +The two men had stood up, the small white gloves over their hands. +They advanced from their corners and shook hands, Montgomery gravely, +Craggs with a smile. Then they fell into position. The crowd gave a +long sigh--the intake of a thousand excited breaths. The referee tilted +his chair on to its back legs, and looked moodily critical from the one +to the other. + +It was strength against activity--that was evident from the first. +The Master stood stolidly upon his K leg. It gave him a tremendous +pedestal; one could hardly imagine his being knocked down. And he could +pivot round upon it with extraordinary quickness; but his advance or +retreat was ungainly. His frame, however, was so much larger and +broader than that of the student, and his brown, massive face looked so +resolute and menacing that the hearts of the Wilson party sank within +them. There was one heart, however, which had not done so. It was that +of Robert Montgomery. + +Any nervousness which he may have had completely passed away now that he +had his work before him. Here was something definite--this hard-faced, +deformed Hercules to beat, with a career as the price of beating him. +He glowed with the joy of action; it thrilled through his nerves. +He faced his man with little in-and-out steps, breaking to the left, +breaking to the right, feeling his way, while Craggs, with a dull, +malignant eye, pivoted slowly upon his weak leg, his left arm half +extended, his right sunk low across the mark. Montgomery led with his +left, and then led again, getting lightly home each time. He tried +again, but the Master had his counter ready, and Montgomery reeled back +from a harder blow than he had given. Anastasia, the woman, gave a +shrill cry of encouragement, and her man let fly his right. Montgomery +ducked under it, and in an instant the two were in each other’s arms. + +“Break away! Break away!” said the referee. + +The Master struck upwards on the break, and shook Montgomery with the +blow. Then it was “time.” It had been a spirited opening round. +The people buzzed into comment and applause. Montgomery was quite +fresh, but the hairy chest of the Master was rising and falling. +The man passed a sponge over his head while Anastasia flapped the towel +before him. “Good lass! good lass!” cried the crowd, and cheered her. + +The men were up again, the Master grimly watchful, Montgomery as alert +as a kitten. The Master tried a sudden rush, squattering along with his +awkward gait, but coming faster than one would think. The student +slipped aside and avoided him. The Master stopped, grinned, and shook +his head. Then he motioned with his hand as an invitation to +Montgomery to come to him. The student did so and led with his left, +but got a swinging right counter in the ribs in exchange. The heavy +blow staggered him, and the Master came scrambling in to complete his +advantage; but Montgomery, with his greater activity, kept out of danger +until the call of “time.” A tame round, and the advantage with the +Master. + +“T’ Maister’s too strong for him,” said a smelter to his neighbour. + +“Ay; but t’other’s a likely lad. Happen we’ll see some sport yet. +He can joomp rarely.” + +“But t’ Maister can stop and hit rarely. Happen he’ll mak’ him joomp +when he gets his nief upon him.” + +They were up again, the water glistening upon their faces. Montgomery +led instantly, and got his right home with a sounding smack upon the +master’s forehead. There was a shout from the colliers, and “Silence! +Order!” from the referee. Montgomery avoided the counter, and scored +with his left. Fresh applause, and the referee upon his feet in +indignation. + +“No comments, gentlemen, if _you_ please, during the rounds.” + +“Just bide a bit!” growled the Master. + +“Don’t talk--fight!” said the referee, angrily. + +Montgomery rubbed in the point by a flush hit upon the mouth, and the +Master shambled back to his corner like an angry bear, having had all +the worst of the round. + +“Where’s thot seven to one?” shouted Purvis, the publican. “I’ll take +six to one!” + +There were no answers. + +“Five to one!” + +There were givers at that. Purvis booked them in a tattered notebook. + +Montgomery began to feel happy. He lay back with his legs outstretched, +his back against the corner-post, and one gloved hand upon each rope. +What a delicious minute it was between each round. If he could only +keep out of harm’s way, he must surely wear this man out before the end +of twenty rounds. He was so slow that all his strength went for +nothing. + +“You’re fightin’ a winnin’ fight--a winnin’ fight,” Ted Barton whispered +in his ear. “Go canny; tak’ no chances; you have him proper.” + +But the Master was crafty. He had fought so many battles with his +maimed limb that he knew how to make the best of it. Warily and slowly +he manoeuvred round Montgomery, stepping forward and yet again forward +until he had imperceptibly backed him into his corner. The student +suddenly saw a flash of triumph upon the grim face, and a gleam in the +dull, malignant eyes. The Master was upon him. He sprang aside and was +on the ropes. The Master smashed in one of his terrible upper-cuts, and +Montgomery half broke it with his guard. The student sprang the other +way and was against the other converging rope. He was trapped in the +angle. The Master sent in another with a hoggish grunt which spoke of +the energy behind it. Montgomery ducked, but got a jab from the left +upon the mark. He closed with his man. + +“Break away! Break away!” cried the referee. Montgomery disengaged, +and got a swinging blow on the ear as he did so. It had been a damaging +round for him, and the Croxley people were shouting their delight. +“Gentlemen, I will _not_ have this noise!” Stapleton roared. “I have +been accustomed to preside at a well-conducted club, and not at a +bear-garden.” This little man, with the tilted hat and the bulging +forehead, dominated the whole assembly. He was like a head-master among +his boys. He glared round him, and nobody cared to meet his eye. +Anastasia had kissed the Master when he resumed his seat. + +“Good lass. Do’t again!” cried the laughing crowd, and the angry Master +shook his glove at her, as she flapped her towel in front of him. +Montgomery was weary and a little sore, but not depressed. He had +learned something. He would not again be tempted into danger. + +For three rounds the honours were fairly equal. The student’s hitting +was the quicker, the Master’s the harder. Profiting by his lesson, +Montgomery kept himself in the open, and refused to be herded into a +corner. Sometimes the Master succeeded in rushing him to the +side-ropes, but the younger man slipped away, or closed and then +disengaged. The monotonous “Break away! Break away!” of the referee +broke in upon the quick, low patter of rubber-soled shoes, the dull thud +of the blows, and the sharp, hissing breath of two tired men. + +The ninth round found both of them in fairly good condition. +Montgomery’s head was still singing from the blow that he had in the +corner, and one of his thumbs pained him acutely and seemed to be +dislocated. The Master showed no sign of a touch, but his breathing was +the more laboured, and a long line of ticks upon the referee’s paper +showed that the student had a good show of points. But one of this +iron-man’s blows was worth three of his, and he knew that without the +gloves he could not have stood for three rounds against him. All the +amateur work that he had done was the merest tapping and flapping when +compared to those frightful blows, from arms toughened by the shovel and +the crowbar. + +It was the tenth round, and the fight was half over. The betting now +was only three to one, for the Wilson champion had held his own much +better than had been expected. But those who knew the ring-craft as +well as the staying power of the old prize-fighter knew that the odds +were still a long way in his favour. + +“Have a care of him!” whispered Barton, as he sent his man up to the +scratch. “Have a care! He’ll play thee a trick, if he can.” + +But Montgomery saw, or imagined he saw, that his antagonist was tiring. +He looked jaded and listless, and his hands drooped a little from their +position. His own youth and condition were beginning to tell. +He sprang in and brought off a fine left-handed lead. The Master’s +return lacked his usual fire. Again Montgomery led, and again he got +home. Then he tried his right upon the mark, and the Master guarded it +downwards. + +“Too low! Too low! A foul! A foul!” yelled a thousand voices. + +The referee rolled his sardonic eyes slowly round. “Seems to me this +buildin’ is chock-full of referees,” said he. The people laughed and +applauded, but their favour was as immaterial to him as their anger. +“No applause, please! This is not a theatre!” he yelled. + +Montgomery was very pleased with himself. His adversary was evidently +in a bad way. He was piling on his points and establishing a lead. +He might as well make hay while the sun shone. The Master was looking +all abroad. Montgomery popped one upon his blue jowl and got away +without a return. And then the Master suddenly dropped both his hands +and began rubbing his thigh. Ah! that was it, was it? He had muscular +cramp. + +“Go in! Go in!” cried Teddy Barton. + +Montgomery sprang wildly forward, and the next instant was lying half +senseless, with his neck nearly broken, in the middle of the ring. + +The whole round had been a long conspiracy to tempt him within reach of +one of those terrible right-hand upper-cuts for which the Master was +famous. For this the listless, weary bearing, for this the cramp in the +thigh. When Montgomery had sprung in so hotly he had exposed himself to +such a blow as neither flesh nor blood could stand. Whizzing up from +below with a rigid arm, which put the Master’s eleven stone into its +force, it struck him under the jaw; he whirled half round, and fell a +helpless and half-paralysed mass. A vague groan and murmur, +inarticulate, too excited for words, rose from the great audience. +With open mouths and staring eyes they gazed at the twitching and +quivering figure. + +“Stand back! Stand right back!” shrieked the referee, for the Master +was standing over his man ready to give him the _coup-de-grace_ as he +rose. + +“Stand back, Craggs, this instant!” Stapleton repeated. + +The Master sank his hands sulkily and walked backwards to the rope with +his ferocious eyes fixed upon his fallen antagonist. The timekeeper +called the seconds. If ten of them passed before Montgomery rose to his +feet, the fight was ended. Ted Barton wrung his hands and danced about +in an agony in his corner. + +As if in a dream--a terrible nightmare--the student could hear the voice +of the timekeeper--three--four--five--he got up on his hand--six-- +seven--he was on his knee, sick, swimming, faint, but resolute to rise. +Eight--he was up, and the Master was on him like a tiger, lashing +savagely at him with both hands. Folk held their breath as they watched +those terrible blows, and anticipated the pitiful end--so much more +pitiful where a game but helpless man refuses to accept defeat. + +Strangely automatic is the human brain. Without volition, without +effort, there shot into the memory of this bewildered, staggering, +half-stupefied man the one thing which could have saved him--that blind +eye of which the Master’s son had spoken. It was the same as the other +to look at, but Montgomery remembered that he had said that it was the +left. He reeled to the left side, half felled by a drive which lit upon +his shoulder. The Master pivoted round upon his leg and was at him in +an instant. + +“Yark him, lad! Yark him!” screamed the woman. + +“Hold your tongue!” said the referee. + +Montgomery slipped to the left again and yet again, but the Master was +too quick and clever for him. He struck round and got him full on the +face as he tried once more to break away. Montgomery’s knees weakened +under him, and he fell with a groan on the floor. This time he knew +that he was done. With bitter agony he realised, as he groped blindly +with his hands, that he could not possibly raise himself. Far away and +muffled he heard, amid the murmurs of the multitude, the fateful voice +of the timekeeper counting off the seconds. + +“One--two--three--four--five--six--” + +“Time!” said the referee. + +Then the pent-up passion of the great assembly broke loose. Croxley +gave a deep groan of disappointment. The Wilsons were on their feet, +yelling with delight. There was still a chance for them. In four more +seconds their man would have been solemnly counted out. But now he had +a minute in which to recover. The referee looked round with relaxed +features and laughing eyes. He loved this rough game, this school for +humble heroes, and it was pleasant to him to intervene as a _Deus ex +machina_ at so dramatic a moment. His chair and his hat were both +tilted at an extreme angle; he and the timekeeper smiled at each other. +Ted Barton and the other second had rushed out and thrust an arm each +under Montgomery’s knee, the other behind his loins, and so carried him +back to his stool. His head lolled upon his shoulder, but a douche of +cold water sent a shiver through him, and he started and looked round +him. + +“He’s a’ right!” cried the people round. “He’s a rare brave lad. +Good lad! Good lad!” Barton poured some brandy into his mouth. +The mists cleared a little, and he realised where he was and what he had +to do. But he was still very weak, and he hardly dared to hope that he +could survive another round. + +“Seconds out of the ring!” cried the referee. “Time!” + +The Croxley Master sprang eagerly off his stool. + +“Keep clear of him! Go easy for a bit,” said Barton, and Montgomery +walked out to meet his man once more. + +He had had two lessons--the one when the Master got him into his corner, +the other when he had been lured into mixing it up with so powerful an +antagonist. Now he would be wary. Another blow would finish him; he +could afford to run no risks. The Master was determined to follow up +his advantage, and rushed at him, slogging furiously right and left. +But Montgomery was too young and active to be caught. He was strong +upon his legs once more, and his wits had all come back to him. It was +a gallant sight--the line-of-battleship trying to pour its overwhelming +broadside into the frigate, and the frigate manoeuvring always so as to +avoid it. The Master tried all his ring-craft. He coaxed the student +up by pretended inactivity; he rushed at him with furious rushes +towards the ropes. For three rounds he exhausted every wile in trying +to get at him. Montgomery during all this time was conscious that his +strength was minute by minute coming back to him. The spinal jar from +an upper-cut is overwhelming, but evanescent. He was losing all sense +of it beyond a great stiffness of the neck. For the first round after +his downfall he had been content to be entirely on the defensive, only +too happy if he could stall off the furious attacks of the Master. +In the second he occasionally ventured upon a light counter. In the +third he was smacking back merrily where he saw an opening. His people +yelled their approval of him at the end of every round. Even the +iron-workers cheered him with that fine unselfishness which true sport +engenders. To most of them, unspiritual and unimaginative, the sight of +this clean-limbed young Apollo, rising above disaster and holding on +while consciousness was in him to his appointed task, was the greatest +thing their experience had ever known. + +But the Master’s naturally morose temper became more and more murderous +at this postponement of his hopes. Three rounds ago the battle had been +in his hands; now it was all to do over again. Round by round his man +was recovering his strength. By the fifteenth he was strong again in +wind and limb. But the vigilant Anastasia saw something which +encouraged her. + +“That bash in t’ ribs is telling on him, Jock,” she whispered. +“Why else should he be gulping t’ brandy? Go in, lad, and thou hast him +yet.” + +Montgomery had suddenly taken the flask from Barton’s hand, and had a +deep pull at the contents. Then, with his face a little flushed, and +with a curious look of purpose, which made the referee stare hard at +him, in his eyes, he rose for the sixteenth round. + +“Game as a pairtridge!” cried the publican, as he looked at the hard-set +face. + +“Mix it oop, lad! Mix it oop!” cried the iron-men to their Master. +And then a hum of exultation ran through their ranks as they realised +that their tougher, harder, stronger man held the vantage, after all. +Neither of the men showed much sign of punishment. Small gloves crush +and numb, but they do not cut. One of the Master’s eyes was even more +flush with his cheek than Nature had made it. Montgomery had two or +three livid marks upon his body, and his face was haggard, save for that +pink spot which the brandy had brought into either cheek. He rocked a +little as he stood opposite his man, and his hands drooped as if he felt +the gloves to be an unutterable weight. It was evident that he was +spent and desperately weary. If he received one other blow it must +surely be fatal to him. If he brought one home, what power could there +be behind it, and what chance was there of its harming the colossus in +front of him? It was the crisis of the fight. This round must decide +it. “Mix it oop, lad! Mix it oop!” the iron-men whooped. Even the +savage eyes of the referee were unable to restrain the excited crowd. + +Now, at last, the chance had come for Montgomery. He had learned a +lesson from his more experienced rival. Why should he not play his own +game upon him? He was spent, but not nearly so spent as he pretended. +That brandy was to call up his reserves, to let him have strength to +take full advantage of the opening when it came. It was thrilling and +tingling through his veins at the very moment when he was lurching and +rocking like a beaten man. He acted his part admirably. The Master +felt that there was an easy task before him, and rushed in with ungainly +activity to finish it once for all. He slap-banged away left and right, +boring Montgomery up against the ropes, swinging in his ferocious blows +with those animal grunts which told of the vicious energy behind them. + +But Montgomery was too cool to fall a victim to any of those murderous +upper-cuts. He kept out of harm’s way with a rigid guard, an active +foot, and a head which was swift to duck. And yet he contrived to +present the same appearance of a man who is hopelessly done. The +Master, weary from his own shower of blows, and fearing nothing from so +weak a man, dropped his hand for an instant, and at that instant +Montgomery’s right came home. + +It was a magnificent blow, straight, clean, crisp, with the force of the +loins and the back behind it. And it landed where he had meant it to-- +upon the exact point of that blue-grained chin. Flesh and blood could +not stand such a blow in such a place. Neither valour nor hardihood can +save the man to whom it comes. The Master fell backwards, flat, +prostrate, striking the ground with so simultaneous a clap that it was +like a shutter falling from a wall. A yell, which no referee could +control, broke from the crowded benches as the giant went down. He lay +upon his back, his knees a little drawn up, his huge chest panting. +He twitched and shook, but could not move. His feet pawed convulsively +once or twice. It was no use. He was done. “Eight--nine--ten!” said +the timekeeper, and the roar of a thousand voices, with a deafening +clap like the broadside of a ship, told that the Master of Croxley was +the Master no more. + +Montgomery stood half dazed, looking down at the huge, prostrate figure. +He could hardly realise that it was indeed all over. He saw the referee +motion towards him with his hand. He heard his name bellowed in triumph +from every side. And then he was aware of someone rushing towards him; +he caught a glimpse of a flushed face and an aureole of flying red hair, +a gloveless fist struck him between the eyes, and he was on his back in +the ring beside his antagonist, while a dozen of his supporters were +endeavouring to secure the frantic Anastasia. He heard the angry +shouting of the referee, the screaming of the furious woman, and the +cries of the mob. Then something seemed to break like an over-stretched +banjo string, and he sank into the deep, deep, mist-girt abyss of +unconsciousness. + +The dressing was like a thing in a dream, and so was a vision of the +Master with the grin of a bulldog upon his face, and his three teeth +amiably protruded. He shook Montgomery heartily by the hand. + +“I would have been rare pleased to shake thee by the throttle, lad, a +short while syne,” said he. “But I bear no ill-feeling again’ thee. +It was a rare poonch that brought me down--I have not had a better +since my second fight wi’ Billy Edwards in ’89. Happen thou might think +o’ goin’ further wi’ this business. If thou dost, and want a trainer, +there’s not much inside t’ ropes as I don’t know. Or happen thou might +like to try it wi’ me old style and bare knuckles. Thou hast but to +write to t’ iron-works to find me.” + +But Montgomery disclaimed any such ambition. A canvas bag with his +share--190 sovereigns--was handed to him, of which he gave ten to the +Master, who also received some share of the gate-money. Then, with +young Wilson escorting him on one side, Purvis on the other, and Fawcett +carrying his bag behind, he went in triumph to his carriage, and drove +amid a long roar, which lined the highway like a hedge for the seven +miles, back to his starting-point. + +“It’s the greatest thing I ever saw in my life. By George, it’s +ripping!” cried Wilson, who had been left in a kind of ecstasy by the +events of the day. “There’s a chap over Barnsley way who fancies +himself a bit. Let us spring you on him, and let him see what he can +make of you. We’ll put up a purse--won’t we, Purvis? You shall never +want a backer.” + +“At his weight,” said the publican, “I’m behind him, I am, for twenty +rounds, and no age, country, or colour barred.” + +“So am I,” cried Fawcett; “middle-weight champion of the world, that’s +what he is--here, in the same carriage with us.” + +But Montgomery was not to be beguiled. + +“No; I have my own work to do now.” + +“And what may that be?” + +“I’ll use this money to get my medical degree.” + +“Well, we’ve plenty of doctors, but you’re the only man in the Riding +that could smack the Croxley Master off his legs. However, I suppose +you know your own business best. When you’re a doctor, you’d best come +down into these parts, and you’ll always find a job waiting for you at +the Wilson Coal-pits.” + +Montgomery had returned by devious ways to the surgery. The horses were +smoking at the door, and the doctor was just back from his long journey. +Several patients had called in his absence, and he was in the worst of +tempers. + +“I suppose I should be glad that you have come back at all, +Mr. Montgomery!” he snarled. “When next you elect to take a holiday, I +trust it will not be at so busy a time.” + +“I am sorry, sir, that you should have been inconvenienced.” + +“Yes, sir, I have been exceedingly inconvenienced.” Here, for the first +time, he looked hard at the assistant. “Good Heavens, Mr. Montgomery, +what have you been doing with your left eye?” + +It was where Anastasia had lodged her protest. Montgomery laughed. + +“It is nothing, sir,” said he. + +“And you have a livid mark under your jaw. It is, indeed, terrible that +my representative should be going about in so disreputable a condition. +How did you receive these injuries?” + +“Well, sir, as you know, there was a little glove-fight to-day over at +Croxley.” + +“And you got mixed up with that brutal crowd?” + +“I _was_ rather mixed up with them.” + +“And who assaulted you?” + +“One of the fighters.” + +“Which of them?” + +“The Master of Croxley.” + +“Good Heavens! Perhaps you interfered with him?” + +“Well, to tell the truth, I did a little.” + +“Mr. Montgomery, in such a practice as mine, intimately associated as it +is with the highest and most progressive elements of our small +community, it is impossible--” + +But just then the tentative bray of a cornet-player searching for his +key-note jarred upon their ears, and an instant later the Wilson +Colliery brass band was in full cry with, “See the Conquering Hero +Comes,” outside the surgery window. There was a banner waving, and a +shouting crowd of miners. + +“What is it? What does it mean?” cried the angry doctor. + +“It means, sir, that I have, in the only way which was open to me, +earned the money which is necessary for my education. It is my duty, +Dr. Oldacre, to warn you that I am about to return to the University, +and that you should lose no time in appointing my successor.” + + + + +THE LORD OF CHATEAU NOIR + +It was in the days when the German armies had broken their way across +France, and when the shattered forces of the young Republic had been +swept away to the north of the Aisne and to the south of the Loire. +Three broad streams of armed men had rolled slowly but irresistibly from +the Rhine, now meandering to the north, now to the south, dividing, +coalescing, but all uniting to form one great lake round Paris. And +from this lake there welled out smaller streams--one to the north, one +southward, to Orleans, and a third westward to Normandy. Many a German +trooper saw the sea for the first time when he rode his horse girth-deep +into the waves at Dieppe. + +Black and bitter were the thoughts of Frenchmen when they saw this weal +of dishonour slashed across the fair face of their country. They had +fought and they had been overborne. That swarming cavalry, those +countless footmen, the masterful guns--they had tried and tried to make +head against them. In battalions their invaders were not to be beaten, +but man to man, or ten to ten, they were their equals. A brave +Frenchman might still make a single German rue the day that he had left +his own bank of the Rhine. Thus, unchronicled amid the battles and the +sieges, there broke out another war, a war of individuals, with foul +murder upon the one side and brutal reprisal on the other. + +Colonel von Gramm, of the 24th Posen Infantry, had suffered severely +during this new development. He commanded in the little Norman town of +Les Andelys, and his outposts stretched amid the hamlets and farmhouses +of the district round. No French force was within fifty miles of him, +and yet morning after morning he had to listen to a black report of +sentries found dead at their posts, or of foraging parties which had +never returned. Then the colonel would go forth in his wrath, and +farmsteadings would blaze and villages tremble; but next morning there +was still that same dismal tale to be told. Do what he might, he could +not shake off his invisible enemies. And yet it should not have been so +hard, for, from certain signs in common, in the plan and in the deed, it +was certain that all these outrages came from a single source. + +Colonel von Gramm had tried violence, and it had failed. Gold might be +more successful. He published it abroad over the countryside that +500frs. would be paid for information. There was no response. Then +800frs. The peasants were incorruptible. Then, goaded on by a murdered +corporal, he rose to a thousand, and so bought the soul of Francois +Rejane, farm labourer, whose Norman avarice was a stronger passion than +his French hatred. + +“You say that you know who did these crimes?” asked the Prussian +colonel, eyeing with loathing the blue-bloused, rat-faced creature +before him. + +“Yes, colonel.” + +“And it was--?” + +“Those thousand francs, colonel--” + +“Not a sou until your story has been tested. Come! Who is it who has +murdered my men?” + +“It is Count Eustace of Chateau Noir.” + +“You lie!” cried the colonel, angrily. “A gentleman and a nobleman +could not have done such crimes.” + +The peasant shrugged his shoulders. “It is evident to me that you do +not know the count. It is this way, colonel. What I tell you is the +truth, and I am not afraid that you should test it. The Count of +Chateau Noir is a hard man, even at the best time he was a hard man. +But of late he has been terrible. It was his son’s death, you know. +His son was under Douay, and he was taken, and then in escaping from +Germany he met his death. It was the count’s only child, and indeed we +all think that it has driven him mad. With his peasants he follows the +German armies. I do not know how many he has killed, but it is he who +cut the cross upon the foreheads, for it is the badge of his house.” + +It was true. The murdered sentries had each had a saltire cross slashed +across their brows, as by a hunting-knife. The colonel bent his stiff +back and ran his forefinger over the map which lay upon the table. + +“The Chateau Noir is not more than four leagues,” he said. + +“Three and a kilometre, colonel.” + +“You know the place?” + +“I used to work there.” + +Colonel von Gramm rang the bell. + +“Give this man food and detain him,” said he to the sergeant. + +“Why detain me, colonel? I can tell you no more.” + +“We shall need you as guide.” + +“As guide? But the count? If I were to fall into his hands? +Ah, colonel--” + +The Prussian commander waved him away. “Send Captain Baumgarten to me +at once,” said he. + +The officer who answered the summons was a man of middle-age, +heavy-jawed, blue-eyed, with a curving yellow moustache, and a brick-red +face which turned to an ivory white where his helmet had sheltered it. +He was bald, with a shining, tightly stretched scalp, at the back of +which, as in a mirror, it was a favourite mess-joke of the subalterns to +trim their moustaches. As a soldier he was slow, but reliable and +brave. The colonel could trust him where a more dashing officer might +be in danger. + +“You will proceed to Chateau Noir to-night, captain,” said he. “A guide +has been provided. You will arrest the count and bring him back. +If there is an attempt at rescue, shoot him at once.” + +“How many men shall I take, colonel?” + +“Well, we are surrounded by spies, and our only chance is to pounce upon +him before he knows that we are on the way. A large force will attract +attention. On the other hand, you must not risk being cut off.” + +“I might march north, colonel, as if to join General Goeben. Then I +could turn down this road which I see upon your map, and get to Chateau +Noir before they could hear of us. In that case, with twenty men--” + +“Very good, captain. I hope to see you with your prisoner to-morrow +morning.” + +It was a cold December night when Captain Baumgarten marched out of Les +Andelys with his twenty Poseners, and took the main road to the north +west. Two miles out he turned suddenly down a narrow, deeply rutted +track, and made swiftly for his man. A thin, cold rain was falling, +swishing among the tall poplar trees and rustling in the fields on +either side. The captain walked first with Moser, a veteran sergeant, +beside him. The sergeant’s wrist was fastened to that of the French +peasant, and it had been whispered in his ear that in case of an +ambush the first bullet fired would be through his head. Behind them +the twenty infantrymen plodded along through the darkness with their +faces sunk to the rain, and their boots squeaking in the soft, wet clay. +They knew where they were going, and why, and the thought upheld them, +for they were bitter at the loss of their comrades. It was a cavalry +job, they knew, but the cavalry were all on with the advance, and, +besides, it was more fitting that the regiment should avenge its own +dead men. + +It was nearly eight when they left Les Andelys. At half-past eleven +their guide stopped at a place where two high pillars, crowned with some +heraldic stonework, flanked a huge iron gate. The wall in which it had +been the opening had crumbled away, but the great gate still towered +above the brambles and weeds which had overgrown its base. The +Prussians made their way round it and advanced stealthily, under the +shadow of a tunnel of oak branches, up the long avenue, which was still +cumbered by the leaves of last autumn. At the top they halted and +reconnoitred. + +The black chateau lay in front of them. The moon had shone out between +two rain-clouds, and threw the old house into silver and shadow. It was +shaped like an L, with a low arched door in front, and lines of small +windows like the open ports of a man-of-war. Above was a dark roof, +breaking at the corners into little round overhanging turrets, the whole +lying silent in the moonshine, with a drift of ragged clouds blackening +the heavens behind it. A single light gleamed in one of the lower +windows. + +The captain whispered his orders to his men. Some were to creep to the +front door, some to the back. Some were to watch the east, and some the +west. He and the sergeant stole on tiptoe to the lighted window. + +It was a small room into which they looked, very meanly furnished. +An elderly man, in the dress of a menial, was reading a tattered paper +by the light of a guttering candle. He leaned back in his wooden chair +with his feet upon a box, while a bottle of white wine stood with a +half-filled tumbler upon a stool beside him. The sergeant thrust his +needle-gun through the glass, and the man sprang to his feet with a +shriek. + +“Silence, for your life! The house is surrounded, and you cannot +escape. Come round and open the door, or we will show you no mercy when +we come in.” + +“For God’s sake, don’t shoot! I will open it! I will open it!” +He rushed from the room with his paper still crumpled up in his hand. +An instant later, with a groaning of old locks and a rasping of bars, +the low door swung open, and the Prussians poured into the stone-flagged +passage. + +“Where is Count Eustace de Chateau Noir?” + +“My master! He is out, sir.” + +“Out at this time of night? Your life for a lie!” + +“It is true, sir. He is out!” + +“Where?” + +“I do not know.” + +“Doing what?” + +“I cannot tell. No, it is no use your cocking your pistol, sir. You +may kill me, but you cannot make me tell you that which I do not know.” + +“Is he often out at this hour?” + +“Frequently.” + +“And when does he come home?” + +“Before daybreak.” + +Captain Baumgarten rasped out a German oath. He had had his journey +for nothing, then. The man’s answers were only too likely to be true. +It was what he might have expected. But at least he would search the +house and make sure. Leaving a picket at the front door and another at +the back, the sergeant and he drove the trembling butler in front of +them--his shaking candle sending strange, flickering shadows over the +old tapestries and the low, oak-raftered ceilings. They searched the +whole house, from the huge stone-flagged kitchen below to the +dining-hall on the second floor, with its gallery for musicians, and +its panelling black with age, but nowhere was there a living creature. +Up above, in an attic, they found Marie, the elderly wife of the +butler; but the owner kept no other servants, and of his own presence +there was no trace. + +It was long, however, before Captain Baumgarten had satisfied himself +upon the point. It was a difficult house to search. Thin stairs, which +only one man could ascend at a time, connected lines of tortuous +corridors. The walls were so thick that each room was cut off from its +neighbour. Huge fireplaces yawned in each, while the windows were 6ft. +deep in the wall. Captain Baumgarten stamped with his feet, tore down +curtains, and struck with the pommel of his sword. If there were secret +hiding-places, he was not fortunate enough to find them. + +“I have an idea,” said he, at last, speaking in German to the sergeant. +“You will place a guard over this fellow, and make sure that he +communicates with no one.” + +“Yes, captain.” + +“And you will place four men in ambush at the front and at the back. It +is likely enough that about daybreak our bird may return to the nest.” + +“And the others, captain?” + +“Let them have their suppers in the kitchen. The fellow will serve you +with meat and wine. It is a wild night, and we shall be better here +than on the country road.” + +“And yourself, captain?” + +“I will take my supper up here in the dining-hall. The logs are laid +and we can light the fire. You will call me if there is any alarm. +What can you give me for supper--you?” + +“Alas, monsieur, there was a time when I might have answered, ‘What you +wish!’ but now it is all that we can do to find a bottle of new claret +and a cold pullet.” + +“That will do very well. Let a guard go about with him, sergeant, and +let him feel the end of a bayonet if he plays us any tricks.” + +Captain Baumgarten was an old campaigner. In the Eastern provinces, and +before that in Bohemia, he had learned the art of quartering himself +upon the enemy. While the butler brought his supper he occupied himself +in making his preparations for a comfortable night. He lit the +candelabrum of ten candles upon the centre table. The fire was already +burning up, crackling merrily, and sending spurts of blue, pungent smoke +into the room. The captain walked to the window and looked out. +The moon had gone in again, and it was raining heavily. He could hear +the deep sough of the wind, and see the dark loom of the trees, all +swaying in the one direction. It was a sight which gave a zest to his +comfortable quarters, and to the cold fowl and the bottle of wine which +the butler had brought up for him. He was tired and hungry after his +long tramp, so he threw his sword, his helmet, and his revolver-belt +down upon a chair, and fell to eagerly upon his supper. Then, with his +glass of wine before him and his cigar between his lips, he tilted his +chair back and looked about him. + +He sat within a small circle of brilliant light which gleamed upon his +silver shoulder-straps, and threw out his terra-cotta face, his heavy +eyebrows, and his yellow moustache. But outside that circle things were +vague and shadowy in the old dining-hall. Two sides were oak-panelled +and two were hung with faded tapestry, across which huntsmen and dogs +and stags were still dimly streaming. Above the fireplace were rows of +heraldic shields with the blazonings of the family and of its alliances, +the fatal saltire cross breaking out on each of them. + +Four paintings of old seigneurs of Chateau Noir faced the fireplace, all +men with hawk noses and bold, high features, so like each other that +only the dress could distinguish the Crusader from the Cavalier of the +Fronde. Captain Baumgarten, heavy with his repast, lay back in his +chair looking up at them through the clouds of his tobacco smoke, and +pondering over the strange chance which had sent him, a man from the +Baltic coast, to eat his supper in the ancestral hall of these proud +Norman chieftains. But the fire was hot, and the captain’s eyes were +heavy. His chin sank slowly upon his chest, and the ten candles gleamed +upon the broad, white scalp. + +Suddenly a slight noise brought him to his feet. For an instant it +seemed to his dazed senses that one of the pictures opposite had walked +from its frame. There, beside the table, and almost within arm’s length +of him, was standing a huge man, silent, motionless, with no sign of +life save his fierce-glinting eyes. He was black-haired, olive-skinned, +with a pointed tuft of black beard, and a great, fierce nose, towards +which all his features seemed to run. His cheeks were wrinkled like a +last year’s apple, but his sweep of shoulder, and bony, corded hands, +told of a strength which was unsapped by age. His arms were folded +across his arching chest, and his mouth was set in a fixed smile. + +“Pray do not trouble yourself to look for your weapons,” he said, as the +Prussian cast a swift glance at the empty chair in which they had been +laid. “You have been, if you will allow me to say so, a little +indiscreet to make yourself so much at home in a house every wall of +which is honeycombed with secret passages. You will be amused to hear +that forty men were watching you at your supper. Ah! what then?” + +Captain Baumgarten had taken a step forward with clenched fists. +The Frenchman held up the revolver which he grasped in his right hand, +while with the left he hurled the German back into his chair. + +“Pray keep your seat,” said he. “You have no cause to trouble about +your men. They have already been provided for. It is astonishing with +these stone floors how little one can hear what goes on beneath. +You have been relieved of your command, and have now only to think of +yourself. May I ask what your name is?” + +“I am Captain Baumgarten of the 24th Posen Regiment.” + +“Your French is excellent, though you incline, like most of your +countrymen, to turn the ‘p’ into a ‘b.’ I have been amused to hear them +cry ‘_Avez bitie sur moi!_’ You know, doubtless, who it is who addresses +you.” + +“The Count of Chateau Noir.” + +“Precisely. It would have been a misfortune if you had visited my +chateau and I had been unable to have a word with you. I have had to do +with many German soldiers, but never with an officer before. I have +much to talk to you about.” + +Captain Baumgarten sat still in his chair. Brave as he was, there was +something in this man’s manner which made his skin creep with +apprehension. His eyes glanced to right and to left, but his weapons +were gone, and in a struggle he saw that he was but a child to this +gigantic adversary. The count had picked up the claret bottle and held +it to the light. + +“Tut! tut!” said he. “And was this the best that Pierre could do for +you? I am ashamed to look you in the face, Captain Baumgarten. We must +improve upon this.” + +He blew a call upon a whistle which hung from his shooting-jacket. +The old manservant was in the room in an instant. + +“Chambertin from bin 15!” he cried, and a minute later a grey bottle, +streaked with cobwebs, was carried in as a nurse bears an infant. +The count filled two glasses to the brim. + +“Drink!” said he. “It is the very best in my cellars, and not to be +matched between Rouen and Paris. Drink, sir, and be happy! There are +cold joints below. There are two lobsters, fresh from Honfleur. Will +you not venture upon a second and more savoury supper?” + +The German officer shook his head. He drained the glass, however, and +his host filled it once more, pressing him to give an order for this or +that dainty. + +“There is nothing in my house which is not at your disposal. You have +but to say the word. Well, then, you will allow me to tell you a story +while you drink your wine. I have so longed to tell it to some +German officer. It is about my son, my only child, Eustace, who was +taken and died in escaping. It is a curious little story, and I think +that I can promise you that you will never forget it. + +“You must know, then, that my boy was in the artillery--a fine young +fellow, Captain Baumgarten, and the pride of his mother. She died +within a week of the news of his death reaching us. It was brought by a +brother officer who was at his side throughout, and who escaped while my +lad died. I want to tell you all that he told me. + +“Eustace was taken at Weissenburg on the 4th of August. The prisoners +were broken up into parties, and sent back into Germany by different +routes. Eustace was taken upon the 5th to a village called Lauterburg, +where he met with kindness from the German officer in command. +This good colonel had the hungry lad to supper, offered him the best he +had, opened a bottle of good wine, as I have tried to do for you, and +gave him a cigar from his own case. Might I entreat you to take one +from mine?” + +The German again shook his head. His horror of his companion had +increased as he sat watching the lips that smiled and the eyes that +glared. + +“The colonel, as I say, was good to my boy. But, unluckily, the +prisoners were moved next day across the Rhine into Ettlingen. +They were not equally fortunate there. The officer who guarded them was +a ruffian and a villain, Captain Baumgarten. He took a pleasure in +humiliating and ill-treating the brave men who had fallen into his +power. That night, upon my son answering fiercely back to some taunt of +his, he struck him in the eye, like this!” + +The crash of the blow rang through the hall. The German’s face fell +forward, his hand up, and blood oozing through his fingers. The count +settled down in his chair once more. + +“My boy was disfigured by the blow, and this villain made his appearance +the object of his jeers. By the way, you look a little comical yourself +at the present moment, captain, and your colonel would certainly say +that you had been getting into mischief. To continue, however, my boy’s +youth and his destitution--for his pockets were empty--moved the pity of +a kind-hearted major, and he advanced him ten Napoleons from his own +pocket without security of any kind. Into your hands, Captain +Baumgarten, I return these ten gold pieces, since I cannot learn the +name of the lender. I am grateful from my heart for this kindness shown +to my boy. + +“The vile tyrant who commanded the escort accompanied the prisoners to +Durlack, and from there to Carlsruhe. He heaped every outrage upon my +lad, because the spirit of the Chateau Noirs would not stoop to turn +away his wrath by a feigned submission. Ay, this cowardly villain, +whose heart’s blood shall yet clot upon this hand, dared to strike my +son with his open hand, to kick him, to tear hairs from his moustache-- +to use him thus--and thus--and thus!” + +The German writhed and struggled. He was helpless in the hands of this +huge giant whose blows were raining upon him. When at last, blinded and +half-senseless, he staggered to his feet, it was only to be hurled back +again into the great oaken chair. He sobbed in his impotent anger and +shame. + +“My boy was frequently moved to tears by the humiliation of his +position,” continued the count. “You will understand me when I say that +it is a bitter thing to be helpless in the hands of an insolent and +remorseless enemy. On arriving at Carlsruhe, however, his face, which +had been wounded by the brutality of his guard, was bound up by a young +Bavarian subaltern who was touched by his appearance. I regret to see +that your eye is bleeding so. Will you permit me to bind it with my +silk handkerchief?” + +He leaned forward, but the German dashed his hand aside. + +“I am in your power, you monster!” he cried; “I can endure your +brutalities, but not your hypocrisy.” + +The count shrugged his shoulders. + +“I am taking things in their order, just as they occurred,” said he. +“I was under vow to tell it to the first German officer with whom I +could talk _tete-a-tete_. Let me see, I had got as far as the young +Bavarian at Carlsruhe. I regret extremely that you will not permit me +to use such slight skill in surgery as I possess. At Carlsruhe, my lad +was shut up in the old caserne, where he remained for a fortnight. +The worst pang of his captivity was that some unmannerly curs in the +garrison would taunt him with his position as he sat by his window in +the evening. That reminds me, captain, that you are not quite situated +upon a bed of roses yourself, are you now? You came to trap a wolf, my +man, and now the beast has you down with his fangs in your throat. +A family man, too, I should judge, by that well-filled tunic. Well, a +widow the more will make little matter, and they do not usually remain +widows long. Get back into the chair, you dog! + +“Well, to continue my story--at the end of a fortnight my son and his +friend escaped. I need not trouble you with the dangers which they ran, +or with the privations which they endured. Suffice it that to disguise +themselves they had to take the clothes of two peasants, whom they +waylaid in a wood. Hiding by day and travelling by night, they had got +as far into France as Remilly, and were within a mile--a single mile, +captain--of crossing the German lines when a patrol of Uhlans came right +upon them. Ah! it was hard, was it not, when they had come so far and +were so near to safety?” The count blew a double call upon his whistle, +and three hard-faced peasants entered the room. + +“These must represent my Uhlans,” said he. “Well, then, the captain in +command, finding that these men were French soldiers in civilian dress +within the German lines, proceeded to hang them without trial or +ceremony. I think, Jean, that the centre beam is the strongest.” + +The unfortunate soldier was dragged from his chair to where a noosed +rope had been flung over one of the huge oaken rafters which spanned the +room. The cord was slipped over his head, and he felt its harsh grip +round his throat. The three peasants seized the other end, and looked +to the count for his orders. The officer, pale, but firm, folded his +arms and stared defiantly at the man who tortured him. + +“You are now face to face with death, and I perceive from your lips +that you are praying. My son was also face to face with death, and he +prayed, also. It happened that a general officer came up, and he heard +the lad praying for his mother, and it moved him so--he being himself +a father--that he ordered his Uhlans away, and he remained with his +aide-de-camp only, beside the condemned men. And when he heard all the +lad had to tell--that he was the only child of an old family, and that +his mother was in failing health--he threw off the rope as I throw off +this, and he kissed him on either cheek, as I kiss you, and he bade him +go, as I bid you go, and may every kind wish of that noble general, +though it could not stave off the fever which slew my son, descend now +upon your head.” + +And so it was that Captain Baumgarten, disfigured, blinded, and +bleeding, staggered out into the wind and the rain of that wild +December dawn. + + + + +THE STRIPED CHEST + + +“What do you make of her, Allardyce?” I asked. + +My second mate was standing beside me upon the poop, with his short, +thick legs astretch, for the gale had left a considerable swell behind +it, and our two quarter-boats nearly touched the water with every roll. +He steadied his glass against the mizzen-shrouds, and he looked long and +hard at this disconsolate stranger every time she came reeling up on to +the crest of a roller and hung balanced for a few seconds before +swooping down upon the other side. She lay so low in the water that I +could only catch an occasional glimpse of a pea-green line of bulwark. +She was a brig, but her mainmast had been snapped short off some 10ft. +above the deck, and no effort seemed to have been made to cut away the +wreckage, which floated, sails and yards, like the broken wing of a +wounded gull upon the water beside her. The foremast was still +standing, but the foretopsail was flying loose, and the headsails were +streaming out in long, white pennons in front of her. Never have I seen +a vessel which appeared to have gone through rougher handling. But we +could not be surprised at that, for there had been times during the last +three days when it was a question whether our own barque would ever see +land again. For thirty-six hours we had kept her nose to it, and if the +_Mary Sinclair_ had not been as good a seaboat as ever left the Clyde, +we could not have gone through. And yet here we were at the end of it +with the loss only of our gig and of part of the starboard bulwark. +It did not astonish us, however, when the smother had cleared away, to +find that others had been less lucky, and that this mutilated brig +staggering about upon a blue sea and under a cloudless sky, had been +left, like a blinded man after a lightning flash, to tell of the terror +which is past. Allardyce, who was a slow and methodical Scotchman, +stared long and hard at the little craft, while our seamen lined the +bulwark or clustered upon the fore shrouds to have a view of the +stranger. In latitude 20 degrees and longitude 10 degrees, which were +about our bearings, one becomes a little curious as to whom one meets, +for one has left the main lines of Atlantic commerce to the north. +For ten days we had been sailing over a solitary sea. + +“She’s derelict, I’m thinking,” said the second mate. + +I had come to the same conclusion, for I could see no signs of life +upon her deck, and there was no answer to the friendly wavings from our +seamen. The crew had probably deserted her under the impression that +she was about to founder. + +“She can’t last long,” continued Allardyce, in his measured way. +“She may put her nose down and her tail up any minute. The water’s +lipping up to the edge of her rail.” + +“What’s her flag?” I asked. + +“I’m trying to make out. It’s got all twisted and tangled with the +halyards. Yes, I’ve got it now, clear enough. It’s the Brazilian flag, +but it’s wrong side up.” + +She had hoisted a signal of distress, then, before her people had +abandoned her. Perhaps they had only just gone. I took the mate’s +glass and looked round over the tumultuous face of the deep blue +Atlantic, still veined and starred with white lines and spoutings of +foam. But nowhere could I see anything human beyond ourselves. + +“There may be living men aboard,” said I. + +“There may be salvage,” muttered the second mate. + +“Then we will run down upon her lee side, and lie to.” We were not more +than a hundred yards from her when we swung our foreyard aback, and +there we were, the barque and the brig, ducking and bowing like two +clowns in a dance. + +“Drop one of the quarter-boats,” said I. “Take four men, Mr. Allardyce, +and see what you can learn of her.” + +But just at that moment my first officer, Mr. Armstrong, came on deck, +for seven bells had struck, and it was but a few minutes off his watch. +It would interest me to go myself to this abandoned vessel and to see +what there might be aboard of her. So, with a word to Armstrong, I +swung myself over the side, slipped down the falls, and took my place in +the sheets of the boat. + +It was but a little distance, but it took some time to traverse, and so +heavy was the roll that often when we were in the trough of the sea, we +could not see either the barque which we had left or the brig which we +were approaching. The sinking sun did not penetrate down there, and it +was cold and dark in the hollows of the waves, but each passing billow +heaved us up into the warmth and the sunshine once more. At each of +these moments, as we hung upon a white-capped ridge between the two dark +valleys, I caught a glimpse of the long, pea-green line, and the nodding +foremast of the brig, and I steered so as to come round by her stern, so +that we might determine which was the best way of boarding her. As we +passed her we saw the name _Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria_ painted across +her dripping counter. + +“The weather side, sir,” said the second mate. “Stand by with the +boat-hook, carpenter!” An instant later we had jumped over the +bulwarks, which were hardly higher than our boat, and found ourselves +upon the deck of the abandoned vessel. Our first thought was to provide +for our own safety in case--as seemed very probable--the vessel should +settle down beneath our feet. With this object two of our men held on +to the painter of the boat, and fended her off from the vessel’s side, +so that she might be ready in case we had to make a hurried retreat. +The carpenter was sent to find out how much water there was, and whether +it was still gaming, while the other seaman, Allardyce and myself, made +a rapid inspection of the vessel and her cargo. + +The deck was littered with wreckage and with hen-coops, in which the +dead birds were washing about. The boats were gone, with the exception +of one, the bottom of which had been stove, and it was certain that the +crew had abandoned the vessel. The cabin was in a deck-house, one side +of which had been beaten in by a heavy sea. Allardyce and I entered it, +and found the captain’s table as he had left it, his books and papers-- +all Spanish or Portuguese--scattered over it, with piles of cigarette +ash everywhere. I looked about for the log, but could not find it. + +“As likely as not he never kept one,” said Allardyce. “Things are +pretty slack aboard a South American trader, and they don’t do more than +they can help. If there was one it must have been taken away with him +in the boat.” + +“I should like to take all these books and papers,” said I. “Ask the +carpenter how much time we have.” + +His report was reassuring. The vessel was full of water, but some of +the cargo was buoyant, and there was no immediate danger of her sinking. +Probably she would never sink, but would drift about as one of those +terrible unmarked reefs which have sent so many stout vessels to the +bottom. + +“In that case there is no danger in your going below, Mr. Allardyce,” +said I. “See what you can make of her and find out how much of her +cargo may be saved. I’ll look through these papers while you are gone.” + +The bills of lading, and some notes and letters which lay upon the desk, +sufficed to inform me that the Brazilian brig _Nossa Sehnora da +Vittoria_ had cleared from Bahia a month before. The name of the +captain was Texeira, but there was no record as to the number of the +crew. She was bound for London, and a glance at the bills of lading was +sufficient to show me that we were not likely to profit much in the way +of salvage. Her cargo consisted of nuts, ginger, and wood, the latter +in the shape of great logs of valuable tropical growths. It was these, +no doubt, which had prevented the ill-fated vessel from going to the +bottom, but they were of such a size as to make it impossible for us to +extract them. Besides these, there were a few fancy goods, such as a +number of ornamental birds for millinery purposes, and a hundred cases +of preserved fruits. And then, as I turned over the papers, I came upon +a short note in English, which arrested my attention. + + It is requested (said the note) that the various old Spanish + and Indian curiosities, which came out of the Santarem + collection, and which are consigned to Prontfoot & Neuman + of Oxford Street, London, should be put in some place where + there may be no danger of these very valuable and unique articles + being injured or tampered with. This applies most particularly + to the treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, which must on + no account be placed where anyone can get at it. + +The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez! Unique and valuable articles! +Here was a chance of salvage after all. I had risen to my feet with the +paper in my hand when my Scotch mate appeared in the doorway. + +“I’m thinking all isn’t quite as it should be aboard of this ship, +sir,” said he. He was a hard-faced man, and yet I could see that he had +been startled. + +“What’s the matter?” + +“Murder’s the matter, sir. There’s a man here with his brains beaten +out.” + +“Killed in the storm?” said I. + +“May be so, sir, but I’ll be surprised if you think so after you have +seen him.” + +“Where is he, then?” + +“This way, sir; here in the maindeck house.” + +There appeared to have been no accommodation below in the brig, for +there was the after-house for the captain, another by the main hatchway, +with the cook’s galley attached to it, and a third in the forecastle for +the men. It was to this middle one that the mate led me. As you +entered, the galley, with its litter of tumbled pots and dishes, was +upon the right, and upon the left was a small room with two bunks for +the officers. Then beyond there was a place about 12ft. square, which +was littered with flags and spare canvas. All round the walls were a +number of packets done up in coarse cloth and carefully lashed to the +woodwork. At the other end was a great box, striped red and white, +though the red was so faded and the white so dirty that it was only +where the light fell directly upon it that one could see the colouring. +The box was, by subsequent measurement, 4ft. 3ins. in length, 3ft. 2ins. +in height, and 3ft. across--considerably larger than a seaman’s chest. +But it was not to the box that my eyes or my thoughts were turned as I +entered the store-room. On the floor, lying across the litter of +bunting, there was stretched a small, dark man with a short, curling +beard. He lay as far as it was possible from the box, with his feet +towards it and his head away. A crimson patch was printed upon the +white canvas on which his head was resting, and little red ribbons +wreathed themselves round his swarthy neck and trailed away on to the +floor, but there was no sign of a wound that I could see, and his face +was as placid as that of a sleeping child. It was only when I stooped +that I could perceive his injury, and then I turned away with an +exclamation of horror. He had been pole-axed; apparently by some person +standing behind him. A frightful blow had smashed in the top of his +head and penetrated deeply into his brains. His face might well be +placid, for death must have been absolutely instantaneous, and the +position of the wound showed that he could never have seen the person +who had inflicted it. + +“Is that foul play or accident, Captain Barclay?” asked my second mate, +demurely. + +“You are quite right, Mr. Allardyce. The man has been murdered--struck +down from above by a sharp and heavy weapon. But who was he, and why +did they murder him?” + +“He was a common seaman, sir,” said the mate. “You can see that if you +look at his fingers.” He turned out his pockets as he spoke and brought +to light a pack of cards, some tarred string, and a bundle of Brazilian +tobacco. + +“Hello, look at this!” said he. + +It was a large, open knife with a stiff spring blade which he had picked +up from the floor. The steel was shining and bright, so that we could +not associate it with the crime, and yet the dead man had apparently +held it in his hand when he was struck down, for it still lay within his +grasp. + +“It looks to me, sir, as if he knew he was in danger and kept his knife +handy,” said the mate. “However, we can’t help the poor beggar now. +I can’t make out these things that are lashed to the wall. They seem +to be idols and weapons and curios of all sorts done up in old sacking.” + +“That’s right,” said I. “They are the only things of value that we are +likely to get from the cargo. Hail the barque and tell them to send the +other quarter-boat to help us to get the stuff aboard.” + +While he was away I examined this curious plunder which had come into +our possession. The curiosities were so wrapped up that I could only +form a general idea as to their nature, but the striped box stood in a +good light where I could thoroughly examine it. On the lid, which was +clamped and cornered with metal-work, there was engraved a complex coat +of arms, and beneath it was a line of Spanish which I was able to +decipher as meaning, “The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, Knight +of the Order of Saint James, Governor and Captain-General of Terra Firma +and of the Province of Veraquas.” In one corner was the date, 1606, and +on the other a large white label, upon which was written in English, +“You are earnestly requested, upon no account, to open this box.” +The same warning was repeated underneath in Spanish. As to the lock, it +was a very complex and heavy one of engraved steel, with a Latin motto, +which was above a seaman’s comprehension. By the time I had finished +this examination of the peculiar box, the other quarter-boat with Mr. +Armstrong, the first officer, had come alongside, and we began to carry +out and place in her the various curiosities which appeared to be the +only objects worth moving from the derelict ship. When she was full I +sent her back to the barque, and then Allardyce and I, with the +carpenter and one seaman, shifted the striped box, which was the only +thing left, to our boat, and lowered it over, balancing it upon the two +middle thwarts, for it was so heavy that it would have given the boat a +dangerous tilt had we placed it at either end. As to the dead man, we +left him where we had found him. The mate had a theory that, at the +moment of the desertion of the ship, this fellow had started +plundering, and that the captain, in an attempt to preserve discipline, +had struck him down with a hatchet or some other heavy weapon. +It seemed more probable than any other explanation, and yet it did not +entirely satisfy me either. But the ocean is full of mysteries, and we +were content to leave the fate of the dead seaman of the Brazilian brig +to be added to that long list which every sailor can recall. + +The heavy box was slung up by ropes on to the deck of the _Mary +Sinclair_, and was carried by four seamen into the cabin, where, between +the table and the after-lockers, there was just space for it to stand. +There it remained during supper, and after that meal the mates remained +with me, and discussed over a glass of grog the event of the day. +Mr. Armstrong was a long, thin, vulture-like man, an excellent seaman, +but famous for his nearness and cupidity. Our treasure-trove had +excited him greatly, and already he had begun with glistening eyes to +reckon up how much it might be worth to each of us when the shares of +the salvage came to be divided. + +“If the paper said that they were unique, Mr. Barclay, then they may be +worth anything that you like to name. You wouldn’t believe the sums +that the rich collectors give. A thousand pounds is nothing to them. +We’ll have something to show for our voyage, or I am mistaken.” + +“I don’t think that,” said I. “As far as I can see, they are not very +different from any other South American curios.” + +“Well, sir, I’ve traded there for fourteen voyages, and I have never +seen anything like that chest before. That’s worth a pile of money, +just as it stands. But it’s so heavy that surely there must be +something valuable inside it. Don’t you think that we ought to open it +and see?” + +“If you break it open you will spoil it, as likely as not,” said the +second mate. + +Armstrong squatted down in front of it, with his head on one side, and +his long, thin nose within a few inches of the lock. + +“The wood is oak,” said he, “and it has shrunk a little with age. If I +had a chisel or a strong-bladed knife I could force the lock back +without doing any damage at all.” + +The mention of a strong-bladed knife made me think of the dead seaman +upon the brig. + +“I wonder if he could have been on the job when someone came to +interfere with him,” said I. + +“I don’t know about that, sir, but I am perfectly certain that I could +open the box. There’s a screwdriver here in the locker. Just hold the +lamp, Allardyce, and I’ll have it done in a brace of shakes.” + +“Wait a bit,” said I, for already, with eyes which gleamed with +curiosity and with avarice, he was stooping over the lid. “I don’t see +that there is any hurry over this matter. You’ve read that card which +warns us not to open it. It may mean anything or it may mean nothing, +but somehow I feel inclined to obey it. After all, whatever is in it +will keep, and if it is valuable it will be worth as much if it is +opened in the owner’s offices as in the cabin of the _Mary Sinclair_.” + +The first officer seemed bitterly disappointed at my decision. + +“Surely, sir, you are not superstitious about it,” said he, with a +slight sneer upon his thin lips. “If it gets out of our own hands, and +we don’t see for ourselves what is inside it, we may be done out of our +rights; besides--” + +“That’s enough, Mr. Armstrong,” said I, abruptly. “You may have every +confidence that you will get your rights, but I will not have that box +opened to-night.” + +“Why, the label itself shows that the box has been examined by +Europeans,” Allardyce added. “Because a box is a treasure-box is no +reason that it has treasures inside it now. A good many folk have had a +peep into it since the days of the old Governor of Terra Firma.” + +Armstrong threw the screwdriver down upon the table and shrugged his +shoulders. + +“Just as you like,” said he; but for the rest of the evening, although +we spoke upon many subjects, I noticed that his eyes were continually +coming round, with the same expression of curiosity and greed, to the +old striped box. + +And now I come to that portion of my story which fills me even now with +a shuddering horror when I think of it. The main cabin had the rooms of +the officers round it, but mine was the farthest away from it at the end +of the little passage which led to the companion. No regular watch was +kept by me, except in cases of emergency, and the three mates divided +the watches among them. Armstrong had the middle watch, which ends at +four in the morning, and he was relieved by Allardyce. For my part I +have always been one of the soundest of sleepers, and it is rare for +anything less than a hand upon my shoulder to arouse me. + +And yet I was aroused that night, or rather in the early grey of the +morning. It was just half-past four by my chronometer when something +caused me to sit up in my berth wide awake and with every nerve +tingling. It was a sound of some sort, a crash with a human cry at the +end of it, which still jarred on my ears. I sat listening, but all was +now silent. And yet it could not have been imagination, that hideous +cry, for the echo of it still rang in my head, and it seemed to have +come from some place quite close to me. I sprang from my bunk, and, +pulling on some clothes, I made my way into the cabin. At first I saw +nothing unusual there. In the cold, grey light I made out the +red-clothed table, the six rotating chairs, the walnut lockers, the +swinging barometer, and there, at the end, the big striped chest. I was +turning away, with the intention of going upon deck and asking the +second mate if he had heard anything, when my eyes fell suddenly upon +something which projected from under the table. It was the leg of a +man--a leg with a long sea-boot upon it. I stooped, and there was a +figure sprawling upon his face, his arms thrown forward and his body +twisted. One glance told me that it was Armstrong, the first officer, +and a second that he was a dead man. For a few moments I stood gasping. +Then I rushed on to the deck, called Allardyce to my assistance, and +came back with him into the cabin. + +Together we pulled the unfortunate fellow from under the table, and as +we looked at his dripping head we exchanged glances, and I do not know +which was the paler of the two. + +“The same as the Spanish sailor,” said I. + +“The very same. God preserve us! It’s that infernal chest! Look at +Armstrong’s hand!” + +He held up the mate’s right hand, and there was the screwdriver which he +had wished to use the night before. + +“He’s been at the chest, sir. He knew that I was on deck and you were +asleep. He knelt down in front of it, and he pushed the lock back with +that tool. Then something happened to him, and he cried out so that you +heard him.” + +“Allardyce,” I whispered, “what _could_ have happened to him?” + +The second mate put his hand upon my sleeve and drew me into his cabin. + +“We can talk here, sir, and we don’t know who may be listening to us in +there. What do you suppose is in that box, Captain Barclay?” + +“I give you my word, Allardyce, that I have no idea.” + +“Well, I can only find one theory which will fit all the facts. Look at +the size of the box. Look at all the carving and metal-work which may +conceal any number of holes. Look at the weight of it; it took four men +to carry it. On top of that, remember that two men have tried to open +it, and both have come to their end through it. Now, sir, what can it +mean except one thing?” + +“You mean there is a man in it?” + +“Of course there is a man in it. You know how it is in these South +American States, sir. A man may be president one week and hunted like a +dog the next--they are for ever flying for their lives. My idea is that +there is some fellow in hiding there, who is armed and desperate, and +who will fight to the death before he is taken.” + +“But his food and drink?” + +“It’s a roomy chest, sir, and he may have some provisions stowed away. +As to his drink, he had a friend among the crew upon the brig who saw +that he had what he needed.” + +“You think, then, that the label asking people not to open the box was +simply written in his interest?” + +“Yes, sir, that is my idea. Have you any other way of explaining the +facts?” + +I had to confess that I had not. + +“The question is what we are to do?” I asked. + +“The man’s a dangerous ruffian, who sticks at nothing. I’m thinking it +wouldn’t be a bad thing to put a rope round the chest and tow it +alongside for half an hour; then we could open it at our ease. Or if we +just tied the box up and kept him from getting any water maybe that +would do as well. Or the carpenter could put a coat of varnish over it +and stop all the blow-holes.” + +“Come, Allardyce,” said I, angrily. “You don’t seriously mean to say +that a whole ship’s company are going to be terrorised by a single man +in a box. If he’s there, I’ll engage to fetch him out!” I went to my +room and came back with my revolver in my hand. “Now, Allardyce,” said +I, “do you open the lock, and I’ll stand on guard.” + +“For God’s sake, think what you are doing, sir!” cried the mate. “Two +men have lost their lives over it, and the blood of one not yet dry upon +the carpet.” + +“The more reason why we should revenge him.” + +“Well, sir, at least let me call the carpenter. Three are better than +two, and he is a good stout man.” + +He went off in search of him, and I was left alone with the striped +chest in the cabin. I don’t think that I’m a nervous man, but I kept +the table between me and this solid old relic of the Spanish Main. +In the growing light of morning the red and white striping was beginning +to appear, and the curious scrolls and wreaths of metal and carving +which showed the loving pains which cunning craftsmen had expended upon +it. Presently the carpenter and the mate came back together, the former +with a hammer in his hand. + +“It’s a bad business, this, sir,” said he, shaking his head, as he +looked at the body of the mate. “And you think there’s someone hiding +in the box?” + +“There’s no doubt about it,” said Allardyce, picking up the screwdriver +and setting his jaw like a man who needs to brace his courage. +“I’ll drive the lock back if you will both stand by. If he rises let +him have it on the head with your hammer, carpenter. Shoot at once, +sir, if he raises his hand. Now!” + +He had knelt down in front of the striped chest, and passed the blade of +the tool under the lid. With a sharp snick the lock flew back. “Stand +by!” yelled the mate, and with a heave he threw open the massive top of +the box. As it swung up we all three sprang back, I with my pistol +levelled, and the carpenter with the hammer above his head. Then, as +nothing happened, we each took a step forward and peeped in. The box +was empty. + +Not quite empty either, for in one corner was lying an old yellow +candlestick, elaborately engraved, which appeared to be as old as the +box itself. Its rich yellow tone and artistic shape suggested that it +was an object of value. For the rest there was nothing more weighty or +valuable than dust in the old striped treasure-chest. + +“Well, I’m blessed!” cried Allardyce, staring blankly into it. +“Where does the weight come in, then?” + +“Look at the thickness of the sides, and look at the lid. Why, it’s +five inches through. And see that great metal spring across it.” + +“That’s for holding the lid up,” said the mate. “You see, it won’t lean +back. What’s that German printing on the inside?” + +“It means that it was made by Johann Rothstein of Augsburg, in 1606.” + +“And a solid bit of work, too. But it doesn’t throw much light on what +has passed, does it, Captain Barclay? That candlestick looks like gold. +We shall have something for our trouble after all.” + +He leant forward to grasp it, and from that moment I have never doubted +as to the reality of inspiration, for on the instant I caught him by the +collar and pulled him straight again. It may have been some story of +the Middle Ages which had come back to my mind, or it may have been that +my eye had caught some red which was not that of rust upon the upper +part of the lock, but to him and to me it will always seem an +inspiration, so prompt and sudden was my action. + +“There’s devilry here,” said I. “Give me the crooked stick from the +corner.” + +It was an ordinary walking-cane with a hooked top. I passed it over the +candlestick and gave it a pull. With a flash a row of polished steel +fangs shot out from below the upper lip, and the great striped chest +snapped at us like a wild animal. Clang came the huge lid into its +place, and the glasses on the swinging rack sang and tinkled with the +shock. The mate sat down on the edge of the table and shivered like a +frightened horse. + +“You’ve saved my life, Captain Barclay!” said he. + +So this was the secret of the striped treasure-chest of old Don Ramirez +di Leyra, and this was how he preserved his ill-gotten gains from the +Terra Firma and the Province of Veraquas. Be the thief ever so cunning +he could not tell that golden candlestick from the other articles of +value, and the instant that he laid hand upon it the terrible spring was +unloosed and the murderous steel pikes were driven into his brain, while +the shock of the blow sent the victim backward and enabled the chest to +automatically close itself. How many, I wondered, had fallen victims to +the ingenuity of the mechanic of Ausgburg? And as I thought of the +possible history of that grim striped chest my resolution was very +quickly taken. + +“Carpenter, bring three men, and carry this on deck.” + +“Going to throw it overboard, sir?” + +“Yes, Mr. Allardyce. I’m not superstitious as a rule, but there are +some things which are more than a sailor can be called upon to stand.” + +“No wonder that brig made heavy weather, Captain Barclay, with such a +thing on board. The glass is dropping fast, sir, and we are only just +in time.” + +So we did not even wait for the three sailors, but we carried it out, +the mate, the carpenter, and I, and we pushed it with our own hands over +the bulwarks. There was a white spout of water, and it was gone. There +it lies, the striped chest, a thousand fathoms deep, and if, as they +say, the sea will some day be dry land, I grieve for the man who finds +that old box and tries to penetrate into its secret. + + + + +A SHADOW BEFORE + + +The 15th of July, 1870, found John Worlington Dodds a ruined gamester of +the Stock Exchange. Upon the 17th he was a very opulent man. And yet +he had effected the change without leaving the penurious little Irish +townlet of Dunsloe, which could have been bought outright for a quarter +of the sum which he had earned during the single day that he was +within its walls. There is a romance of finance yet to be written, a +story of huge forces which are for ever waxing and waning, of bold +operations, of breathless suspense, of agonised failure, of deep +combinations which are baffled by others still more subtle. The mighty +debts of each great European Power stand like so many columns of +mercury, for ever rising and falling to indicate the pressure upon each. +He who can see far enough into the future to tell how that ever-varying +column will stand to-morrow is the man who has fortune within his grasp. + +John Worlington Dodds had many of the gifts which lead a speculator to +success. He was quick in observing, just in estimating, prompt and +fearless in acting. But in finance there is always the element of luck, +which, however one may eliminate it, still remains, like the blank at +roulette, a constantly present handicap upon the operator. And so it +was that Worlington Dodds had come to grief. On the best advices he had +dabbled in the funds of a South American Republic in the days before +South American Republics had been found out. The Republic defaulted, +and Dodds lost his money. He had bulled the shares of a Scotch railway, +and a four months’ strike had hit him hard. He had helped to underwrite +a coffee company in the hope that the public would come along upon the +feed and gradually nibble away some of his holding, but the political +sky had been clouded and the public had refused to invest. Everything +which he had touched had gone wrong, and now, on the eve of his +marriage, young, clear-headed, and energetic, he was actually a bankrupt +had his creditors chosen to make him one. But the Stock Exchange is an +indulgent body. What is the case of one to-day may be that of another +to-morrow, and everyone is interested in seeing that the stricken man is +given time to rise again. So the burden of Worlington Dodds was +lightened for him; many shoulders helped to bear it, and he was able to +go for a little summer tour into Ireland, for the doctors had ordered +him rest and change of air to restore his shaken nervous system. Thus +it was that upon the 15th of July, 1870, he found himself at his +breakfast in the fly-blown coffee-room of the “George Hotel” in the +market square of Dunsloe. It is a dull and depressing coffee-room, and +one which is usually empty, but on this particular day it was as crowded +and noisy as that of any London hotel. Every table was occupied, and a +thick smell of fried bacon and of fish hung in the air. Heavily booted +men clattered in and out, spurs jingled, riding-crops were stacked in +corners, and there was a general atmosphere of horse. The conversation, +too, was of nothing else. From every side Worlington Dodds heard of +yearlings, of windgalls, of roarers, of spavins, of cribsuckers, of a +hundred other terms which were as unintelligible to him as his own +Stock Exchange jargon would have been to the company. He asked the +waiter for the reason of it all, and the waiter was an astonished man +that there should be any man in this world who did not know it. + +“Shure it’s the Dunsloe horse fair, your honour--the greatest +horse-fair in all Oireland. It lasts for a wake, and the folk come from +far an’ near--from England an’ Scotland an’ iverywhere. If you look out +of the winder, your honour, you’ll see the horses, and it’s asy your +honour’s conscience must be, or you wouldn’t slape so sound that the +creatures didn’t rouse you with their clatter.” + +Dodds had a recollection that he had heard a confused murmur, which had +interwoven itself with his dreams--a sort of steady rhythmic beating and +clanking--and now, when he looked through the window, he saw the cause +of it. The square was packed with horses from end to end--greys, bays, +browns, blacks, chestnuts--young ones and old, fine ones and coarse, +horses of every conceivable sort and size. It seemed a huge function +for so small a town, and he remarked as much to the waiter. + +“Well, you see, your honour, the horses don’t live in the town, an’ they +don’t vex their heads how small it is. But it’s in the very centre of +the horse-bradin’ districts of Oireland, so where should they come to be +sould if it wasn’t to Dunsloe?” The waiter had a telegram in his hand, +and he turned the address to Worlington Dodds. “Shure I niver heard +such a name, sorr. Maybe you could tell me who owns it?” + +Dodds looked at the envelope. Strellenhaus was the name. “No, I don’t +know,” said he. “I never heard it before. It’s a foreign name. +Perhaps if you were--” + +But at that moment a little round-faced, ruddy-cheeked gentleman, who +was breakfasting at the next table, leaned forward and interrupted him. + +“Did you say a foreign name, sir?” said he. + +“Strellenhaus is the name.” + +“I am Mr. Strellenhaus--Mr. Julius Strellenhaus, of Liverpool. I was +expecting a telegram. Thank you very much.” + +He sat so near that Dodds, without any wish to play the spy, could not +help to some extent overlooking him as he opened the envelope. +The message was a very long one. Quite a wad of melon-tinted paper came +out from the tawny envelope. Mr. Strellenhaus arranged the sheets +methodically upon the table-cloth in front of him, so that no eye but +his own could see them. Then he took out a note-book, and, with an +anxious face, he began to make entries in it, glancing first at the +telegram and then at the book, and writing apparently one letter or +figure at a time. Dodds was interested, for he knew exactly what the +man was doing. He was working out a cipher. Dodds had often done it +himself. And then suddenly the little man turned very pale, as if the +full purport of the message had been a shock to him. Dodds had done +that also, and his sympathies were all with his neighbors. Then the +stranger rose, and, leaving his breakfast untasted, he walked out of the +room. + +“I’m thinkin’ that the gintleman has had bad news, sorr,” said the +confidential waiter. + +“Looks like it,” Dodds answered; and at that moment his thoughts were +suddenly drawn off into another direction. + +The boots had entered the room with a telegram in his hand. “Where’s +Mr. Mancune?” said he to the waiter. + +“Well, there are some quare names about. What was it you said?” + +“Mr. Mancune,” said the boots, glancing round him. “Ah, there he is!” +and he handed the telegram to a gentleman who was sitting reading the +paper in a corner. + +Dodds’s eyes had already fallen upon this man, and he had wondered +vaguely what he was doing in such company. He was a tall, white-haired, +eagle-nosed gentleman, with a waxed moustache and a carefully pointed +beard--an aristocratic type which seemed out of its element among the +rough, hearty, noisy dealers who surrounded him. This, then, was Mr. +Mancune, for whom the second telegram was intended. + +As he opened it, tearing it open with a feverish haste, Dodds could +perceive that it was as bulky as the first one. He observed also, from +the delay in reading it, that it was also in some sort of cipher. +The gentleman did not write down any translation of it, but he sat for +some time with his nervous, thin fingers twitching amongst the hairs of +his white beard, and his shaggy brows bent in the deepest and most +absorbed attention whilst he mastered the meaning of it. Then he sprang +suddenly to his feet, his eyes flashed, his cheeks flushed, and in his +excitement he crumpled the message up in his hand. With an effort he +mastered his emotion, put the paper into his pocket, and walked out of +the room. + +This was enough to excite a less astute and imaginative man than +Worlington Dodds. Was there any connection between these two messages, +or was it merely a coincidence? Two men with strange names receive two +telegrams within a few minutes of each other, each of considerable +length, each in cipher, and each causing keen emotion to the man who +received it. One turned pale. The other sprang excitedly to his feet. +It might be a coincidence, but it was a very curious one. If it was not +a coincidence, then what could it mean? Were they confederates who +pretended to work apart, but who each received identical orders from +some person at a distance? That was possible, and yet there were +difficulties in the way. He puzzled and puzzled, but could find no +satisfactory solution to the problem. All breakfast he was turning it +over in his mind. + +When breakfast was over he sauntered out into the market square, where +the horse sale was already in progress. The yearlings were being sold +first--tall, long-legged, skittish, wild-eyed creatures, who had run +free upon the upland pastures, with ragged hair and towsie manes, but +hardy, inured to all weathers, and with the makings of splendid hunters +and steeplechasers when corn and time had brought them to maturity. +They were largely of thoroughbred blood, and were being bought by +English dealers, who would invest a few pounds now on what they might +sell for fifty guineas in a year, if all went well. It was legitimate +speculation, for the horse is a delicate creature, he is afflicted with +many ailments, the least accident may destroy his value, he is a certain +expense and an uncertain profit, and for one who comes safely to +maturity several may bring no return at all. So the English +horse-dealers took their risks as they bought up the shaggy Irish +yearlings. One man with a ruddy face and a yellow overcoat took them by +the dozen, with as much _sang froid_ as if they had been oranges, +entering each bargain in a bloated note-book. He bought forty or fifty +during the time that Dodds was watching him. + +“Who is that?” he asked his neighbour, whose spurs and gaiters showed +that he was likely to know. + +The man stared in astonishment at the stranger’s ignorance. +“Why, that’s Jim Holloway, the great Jim Holloway,” said he; then, +seeing by the blank look upon Dodds’s face that even this information +had not helped him much, he went into details. “Sure he’s the head of +Holloway & Morland, of London,” said he. “He’s the buying partner, and +he buys cheap; and the other stays at home and sells, and he sells dear. +He owns more horses than any man in the world, and asks the best money +for them. I dare say you’ll find that half of what are sold at the +Dunsloe fair this day will go to him, and he’s got such a purse that +there’s not a man who can bid against him.” + +Worlington Dodds watched the doings of the great dealer with interest. +He had passed on now to the two-year-olds and three-year-olds, +full-grown horses, but still a little loose in the limb and weak in the +bone. The London buyer was choosing his animals carefully, but having +chosen them, the vigour of his competition drove all other bidders out +of it. With a careless nod he would run the figure up five pounds at a +time, until he was left in possession of the field. At the same time he +was a shrewd observer, and when, as happened more than once, he believed +that someone was bidding against him simply in order to run him up, the +head would cease suddenly to nod, the note-book would be closed with a +snap, and the intruder would be left with a purchase which he did not +desire upon his hands. All Dodds’s business instincts were aroused by +the tactics of this great operator, and he stood in the crowd watching +with the utmost interest all that occurred. + +It is not to buy young horses, however, that the great dealers come +to Ireland, and the real business of the fair commenced when the four +and five-year-olds were reached; the full-grown, perfect horses, +at their prime, and ready for any work or any fatigue. Seventy +magnificent creatures had been brought down by a single breeder, a +comfortable-looking, keen-eyed, ruddy-cheeked gentleman who stood +beside the salesman and whispered cautions and precepts into his ear. + +“That’s Flynn of Kildare,” said Dodds’s informant. “Jack Flynn has +brought down that string of horses, and the other large string over +yonder belongs to Tom Flynn, his brother. The two of them together +are the two first breeders in Ireland.” A crowd had gathered in +front of the horses. By common consent a place had been made for Mr. +Holloway, and Dodds could catch a glimpse of his florid face and yellow +covert-coat in the front rank. He had opened his note-book, and was +tapping his teeth reflectively with his pencil as he eyed the horses. + +“You’ll see a fight now between the first seller and the first buyer in +the country,” said Dodds’s acquaintance. “They are a beautiful string, +anyhow. I shouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t average five-and-thirty +pound apiece for the lot as they stand.” + +The salesman had mounted upon a chair, and his keen, clean-shaven face +overlooked the crowd. Mr. Jack Flynn’s grey whiskers were at his elbow, +and Mr. Holloway immediately in front. + +“You’ve seen these horses, gentlemen,” said the salesman, with a +backward sweep of his hand towards the line of tossing heads and +streaming manes. “When you know that they are bred by Mr. Jack Flynn, +at his place in Kildare, you will have a guarantee of their quality. +They are the best that Ireland can produce, and in this class of horse +the best that Ireland can produce are the best in the world, as every +riding man knows well. Hunters or carriage horses, all warranted sound, +and bred from the best stock. There are seventy in Mr. Jack Flynn’s +string, and he bids me say that if any wholesale dealer would make one +bid for the whole lot, to save time, he would have the preference over +any purchaser.” + +There was a pause and a whisper from the crowd in front, with some +expressions of discontent. By a single sweep all the small dealers had +been put out of it. It was only a long purse which could buy on such a +scale as that. The salesman looked round him inquiringly. + +“Come, Mr. Holloway,” said he, at last. “You didn’t come over here for +the sake of the scenery. You may travel the country and not see such +another string of horses. Give us a starting bid.” + +The great dealer was still rattling his pencil upon his front teeth. +“Well,” said he, at last, “they _are_ a fine lot of horses, and I won’t +deny it. They do you credit, Mr. Flynn, I am sure. All the same I +didn’t mean to fill a ship at a single bid in this fashion. I like to +pick and choose my horses.” + +“In that case Mr. Flynn is quite prepared to sell them in smaller lots,” +said the salesman. “It was rather for the convenience of a wholesale +customer that he was prepared to put them all up together. But if no +gentleman wishes to bid--” + +“Wait a minute,” said a voice. “They are very fine horses, these, and I +will give you a bid to start you. I will give you twenty pounds each +for the string of seventy.” + +There was a rustle as the crowd all swayed their heads to catch a +glimpse of the speaker. The salesman leaned forward. “May I ask your +name, sir?” + +“Strellenhaus--Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool.” + +“It’s a new firm,” said Dodds’s neighbour. “I thought I knew them all, +but I never heard of him before.” + +The salesman’s head had disappeared, for he was whispering with the +breeder. Now he suddenly straightened himself again. “Thank you for +giving us a lead, sir,” said he. “Now, gentlemen, you have heard the +offer of Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool. It will give us a base to start +from. Mr. Strellenhaus has offered twenty pounds a head.” + +“Guineas,” said Holloway. + +“Bravo, Mr. Holloway! I knew that you would take a hand. You are not +the man to let such a string of horses pass away from you. The bid is +twenty guineas a head.” + +“Twenty-five pounds,” said Mr. Strellenhaus. + +“Twenty-six.” + +“Thirty.” + +It was London against Liverpool, and it was the head of the trade +against an outsider. Still, the one man had increased his bids by fives +and the other only by ones. Those fives meant determination and also +wealth. Holloway had ruled the market so long that the crowd was +delighted at finding someone who would stand up to him. + +“The bid now stands at thirty pounds a head,” said the salesman. +“The word lies with you, Mr. Holloway.” + +The London dealer was glancing keenly at his unknown opponent, and he +was asking himself whether this was a genuine rival, or whether it was a +device of some sort--an agent of Flynn’s perhaps--for running up the +price. Little Mr. Strellenhaus, the same apple-faced gentleman whom +Dodds had noticed in the coffee-room, stood looking at the horses with +the sharp, quick glances of a man who knows what he is looking for. + +“Thirty-one,” said Holloway, with the air of a man who has gone to his +extreme limit. + +“Thirty-two,” said Strellenhaus, promptly. + +Holloway grew angry at this persistent opposition. His red face flushed +redder still. + +“Thirty-three!” he shouted. + +“Thirty-four,” said Strellenhaus. + +Holloway became thoughtful, and entered a few figures in his note-book. +There were seventy horses. He knew that Flynn’s stock was always of the +highest quality. With the hunting season coming on he might rely upon +selling them at an average of from forty-five to fifty. Some of them +might carry a heavy weight, and would run to three figures. On the +other hand, there was the feed and keep of them for three months, the +danger of the voyage, the chance of influenza or some of those other +complaints which run through an entire stable as measles go through a +nursery. Deducting all this, it was a question whether at the present +price any profit would be left upon the transaction. Every pound that +he bid meant seventy out of his pocket. And yet he could not submit to +be beaten by this stranger without a struggle. As a business matter it +was important to him to be recognised as the head of his profession. +He would make one more effort, if he sacrificed his profit by doing so. + +“At the end of your rope, Mr. Holloway?” asked the salesman, with the +suspicion of a sneer. + +“Thirty-five,” cried Holloway gruffly. + +“Thirty-six,” said Strellenhaus. + +“Then I wish you joy of your bargain,” said Holloway. “I don’t buy at +that price, but I should be glad to sell you some.” + +Mr. Strellenhaus took no notice of the irony. He was still looking +critically at the horses. The salesman glanced round him in a +perfunctory way. + +“Thirty-six pounds bid,” said he. “Mr. Jack Flynn’s lot is going to Mr. +Strellenhaus of Liverpool, at thirty-six pounds a head. Going--going--” + +“Forty!” cried a high, thin, clear voice. + +A buzz rose from the crowd, and they were all on tiptoe again, trying to +catch a glimpse of this reckless buyer. Being a tall man, Dodds could +see over the others, and there, at the side of Holloway, he saw the +masterful nose and aristocratic beard of the second stranger in the +coffee-room. A sudden personal interest added itself to the scene. +He felt that he was on the verge of something--something dimly seen-- +which he could himself turn to account. The two men with strange names, +the telegrams, the horses--what was underlying it all? The salesman was +all animation again, and Mr. Jack Flynn was sitting up with his white +whiskers bristling and his eyes twinkling. It was the best deal which +he had ever made in his fifty years of experience. + +“What name, sir?” asked the salesman. + +“Mr. Mancune.” + +“Address?” + +“Mr. Mancune of Glasgow.” + +“Thank you for your bid, sir. Forty pounds a head has been bid by Mr. +Mancune of Glasgow. Any advance upon forty?” + +“Forty-one,” said Strellenhaus. + +“Forty-five,” said Mancune. + +The tactics had changed, and it was the turn of Strellenhaus now to +advance by ones, while his rival sprang up by fives. But the former was +as dogged as ever. + +“Forty-six,” said he. + +“Fifty!” cried Mancune. + +It was unheard of. The most that the horses could possibly average at a +retail price was as much as these men were willing to pay wholesale. + +“Two lunatics from Bedlam,” whispered the angry Holloway. “If I was +Flynn I would see the colour of their money before I went any further.” + +The same thought had occurred to the salesman. “As a mere matter of +business, gentlemen,” said he, “it is usual in such cases to put down a +small deposit as a guarantee of _bona fides_. You will understand how I +am placed, and that I have not had the pleasure of doing business with +either of you before.” + +“How much?” asked Strellenhaus, briefly. + +“Should we say five hundred?” + +“Here is a note for a thousand pounds.” + +“And here is another,” said Mancune. + +“Nothing could be more handsome, gentlemen,” said the salesman. “It’s a +treat to see such a spirited competition. The last bid was fifty pounds +a head from Mancune. The word lies with you, Mr. Strellenhaus.” + +Mr. Jack Flynn whispered something to the salesman. “Quite so! Mr. +Flynn suggests, gentlemen, that as you are both large buyers, it would, +perhaps, be a convenience to you if he was to add the string of Mr. Tom +Flynn, which consists of seventy animals of precisely the same quality, +making one hundred and forty in all. Have you any objection, Mr. +Mancune?” + +“No, sir.” + +“And you, Mr. Strellenhaus?” + +“I should prefer it.” + +“Very handsome! Very handsome indeed!” murmured the salesman. “Then I +understand, Mr. Mancune, that your offer of fifty pounds a head extends +to the whole of these horses?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +A long breath went up from the crowd. Seven thousand pounds at one +deal. It was a record for Dunsloe. + +“Any advance, Mr. Strellenhaus?” + +“Fifty-one.” + +“Fifty-five.” + +“Fifty-six.” + +“Sixty.” + +They could hardly believe their ears. Holloway stood with his mouth +open, staring blankly in front of him. The salesman tried hard to look +as if such bidding and such prices were nothing unusual. Jack Flynn of +Kildare smiled benignly and rubbed his hands together. The crowd +listened in dead silence. + +“Sixty-one,” said Strellenhaus. From the beginning he had stood without +a trace of emotion upon his round face, like a little automatic figure +which bid by clockwork. His rival was of a more excitable nature. His +eyes were shining, and he was for ever twitching at his beard. + +“Sixty-five,” he cried. + +“Sixty-six.” + +“Seventy.” + +But the clockwork had run down. No answering bid came from Mr. +Strellenhaus. + +“Seventy bid, sir.” + +Mr. Strellenhaus shrugged his shoulders. + +“I am buying for another, and I have reached his limit,” said he. +“If you will permit me to send for instructions--” + +“I am afraid, sir, that the sale must proceed.” + +“Then the horses belong to this gentleman.” For the first time he +turned towards his rival, and their glances crossed like sword-blades. +“It is possible that I may see the horses again.” + +“I hope so,” said Mr. Mancune; and his white, waxed moustache gave a +feline upward bristle. + +So, with a bow, they separated. Mr. Strellenhaus walked, down to the +telegraph-office, where his message was delayed because Mr. Worlington +Dodds was already at the end of the wires, for, after dim guesses and +vague conjecture, he had suddenly caught a clear view of this coming +event which had cast so curious a shadow before it in this little Irish +town. Political rumours, names, appearances, telegrams, seasoned horses +at any price, there could only be one meaning to it. He held a secret, +and he meant to use it. + +Mr. Warner, who was the partner of Mr. Worlington Dodds, and who was +suffering from the same eclipse, had gone down to the Stock Exchange, +but had found little consolation there, for the European system was in a +ferment, and rumours of peace and of war were succeeding each other with +such rapidity and assurance that it was impossible to know which to +trust. It was obvious that a fortune lay either way, for every rumour +set the funds fluctuating; but without special information it was +impossible to act, and no one dared to plunge heavily upon the strength +of newspaper surmise and the gossip of the street. Warner knew that an +hour’s work might resuscitate the fallen fortunes of himself and his +partner, and yet he could not afford to make a mistake. He returned to +his office in the afternoon, half inclined to back the chances of peace, +for of all war scares not one in ten comes to pass. As he entered the +office a telegram lay upon the table. It was from Dunsloe, a place of +which he had never heard, and was signed by his absent partner. +The message was in cipher, but he soon translated it, for it was short +and crisp. + +“I am a bear of everything German and French. Sell, sell, sell, keep on +selling.” + +For a moment Warner hesitated. What could Worlington Dodds know at +Dunsloe which was not known in Throgmorton Street? But he remembered +the quickness and decision of his partner. He would not have sent such +a message without very good grounds. If he was to act at all he must +act at once, so, hardening his heart, he went down to the house, and, +dealing upon that curious system by which a man can sell what he has not +got, and what he could not pay for if he had it, he disposed of heavy +parcels of French and German securities. He had caught the market in +one of its little spasms of hope, and there was no lack of buying until +his own persistent selling caused others to follow his lead, and so +brought about a reaction. When Warner returned to his offices it took +him some hours to work out his accounts, and he emerged into the streets +in the evening with the absolute certainty that the next settling-day +would leave him either hopelessly bankrupt or exceedingly prosperous. + +It all depended upon Worlington Dodds’s information. What could he +possibly have found out at Dunsloe? + +And then suddenly he saw a newspaper boy fasten a poster upon a +lamp-post, and a little crowd had gathered round it in an instant. +One of them waved his hat in the air; another shouted to a friend across +the street. Warner hurried up and caught a glimpse of the poster +between two craning heads-- + + “FRANCE DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY.” + +“By Jove!” cried Warner. “Old Dodds was right, after all.” + + + + +THE KING OF THE FOXES + + +It was after a hunting dinner, and there were as many scarlet coats as +black ones round the table. The conversation over the cigars had +turned, therefore, in the direction of horses and horsemen, with +reminiscences of phenomenal runs where foxes had led the pack from end +to end of a county, and been overtaken at last by two or three limping +hounds and a huntsman on foot, while every rider in the field had been +pounded. As the port circulated the runs became longer and more +apocryphal, until we had the whips inquiring their way and failing to +understand the dialect of the people who answered them. The foxes, too, +became more eccentric, and we had foxes up pollard willows, foxes which +were dragged by the tail out of horses’ mangers, and foxes which had +raced through an open front door and gone to ground in a lady’s +bonnet-box. The master had told one or two tall reminiscences, and when +he cleared his throat for another we were all curious, for he was a bit +of an artist in his way, and produced his effects in a _crescendo_ +fashion. His face wore the earnest, practical, severely accurate +expression which heralded some of his finest efforts. + +“It was before I was master,” said he. “Sir Charles Adair had the +hounds at that time, and then afterwards they passed to old Lathom, and +then to me. It may possibly have been just after Lathom took them over, +but my strong impression is that it was in Adair’s time. That would be +early in the seventies--about seventy-two, I should say. + +“The man I mean has moved to another part of the country, but I daresay +that some of you can remember him. Danbury was the name--Walter +Danbury, or Wat Danbury, as the people used to call him. He was the son +of old Joe Danbury, of High Ascombe, and when his father died he came +into a very good thing, for his only brother was drowned when the _Magna +Charta_ foundered, so he inherited the whole estate. It was but a few +hundred acres, but it was good arable land, and those were the great +days of farming. Besides, it was freehold, and a yeoman farmer without +a mortgage was a warmish man before the great fall in wheat came. +Foreign wheat and barbed wire--those are the two curses of this country, +for the one spoils the farmer’s work and the other spoils his play. + +“This young Wat Danbury was a very fine fellow, a keen rider, and a +thorough sportsman, but his head was a little turned at having come, +when so young, into a comfortable fortune, and he went the pace for a +year or two. The lad had no vice in him, but there was a hard-drinking +set in the neighbourhood at that time, and Danbury got drawn in among +them; and, being an amiable fellow who liked to do what his friends were +doing, he very soon took to drinking a great deal more than was good for +him. As a rule, a man who takes his exercise may drink as much as he +likes in the evening, and do himself no very great harm, if he will +leave it alone during the day. Danbury had too many friends for that, +however, and it really looked as if the poor chap was going to the bad, +when a very curious thing happened which pulled him up with such a +sudden jerk that he never put his hand upon the neck of a whisky bottle +again. + +“He had a peculiarity which I have noticed in a good many other men, +that though he was always playing tricks with his own health, he was +none the less very anxious about it, and was extremely fidgety if ever +he had any trivial symptom. Being a tough, open-air fellow, who was +always as hard as a nail, it was seldom that there was anything amiss +with him; but at last the drink began to tell, and he woke one morning +with his hands shaking and all his nerves tingling like over-stretched +fiddle-strings. He had been dining at some very wet house the night +before, and the wine had, perhaps, been more plentiful than choice; at +any rate, there he was, with a tongue like a bath towel and a head that +ticked like an eight-day clock. He was very alarmed at his own +condition, and he sent for Doctor Middleton, of Ascombe, the father of +the man who practises there now. + +“Middleton had been a great friend of old Danbury’s, and he was very +sorry to see his son going to the devil; so he improved the occasion by +taking his case very seriously, and lecturing him upon the danger of his +ways. He shook his head and talked about the possibility of _delirium +tremens_, or even of mania, if he continued to lead such a life. +Wat Danbury was horribly frightened. + +“‘Do you think I am going to get anything of the sort?’ he wailed. + +“‘Well, really, I don’t know,’ said the doctor gravely. ‘I cannot +undertake to say that you are out of danger. Your system is very much +out of order. At any time during the day you might have those grave +symptoms of which I warn you.’ + +“‘You think I shall be safe by evening?’ + +“‘If you drink nothing during the day, and have no nervous symptoms +before evening, I think you may consider yourself safe,’ the doctor +answered. A little fright would, he thought, do his patient good, so he +made the most of the matter. + +“‘What symptoms may I expect?’ asked Danbury. + +“‘It generally takes the form of optical delusions.’ + +“‘I see specks floating all about.’ + +“‘That is mere biliousness,’ said the doctor soothingly, for he saw that +the lad was highly strung, and he did not wish to overdo it. +‘I daresay that you will have no symptoms of the kind, but when they do +come they usually take the shape of insects, or reptiles, or curious +animals.’ + +“‘And if I see anything of the kind?’ + +“‘If you do, you will at once send for me;’ and so, with a promise of +medicine, the doctor departed. + +“Young Wat Danbury rose and dressed and moped about the room feeling +very miserable and unstrung, with a vision of the County Asylum for ever +in his mind. He had the doctor’s word for it that if he could get +through to evening in safety he would be all right; but it is not very +exhilarating to be waiting for symptoms, and to keep on glancing at your +bootjack to see whether it is still a bootjack or whether it has begun +to develop antennae and legs. At last he could stand it no longer, and +an overpowering longing for the fresh air and the green grass came over +him. Why should he stay indoors when the Ascombe Hunt was meeting +within half a mile of him? If he was going to have these delusions +which the doctor talked of, he would not have them the sooner nor the +worse because he was on horseback in the open. He was sure, too, it +would ease his aching head. And so it came about that in ten minutes he +was in his hunting-kit, and in ten more he was riding out of his +stable-yard with his roan mare ‘Matilda’ between his knees. He was a +little unsteady in his saddle just at first, but the farther he went the +better he felt, until by the time he reached the meet his head was +almost clear, and there was nothing troubling him except those haunting +words of the doctor’s about the possibility of delusions any time before +nightfall. + +“But soon he forgot that also, for as he came up the hounds were thrown +off, and they drew the Gravel Hanger, and afterwards the Hickory Copse. +It was just the morning for a scent--no wind to blow it away, no water +to wash it out, and just damp enough to make it cling. There was a +field of forty, all keen men and good riders, so when they came to the +Black Hanger they knew that there would be some sport, for that’s a +cover which never draws blank. The woods were thicker in those days +than now, and the foxes were thicker also, and that great dark +oak-grove was swarming with them. The only difficulty was to make them +break, for it is, as you know, a very close country, and you must coax +them out into the open before you can hope for a run. + +“When they came to the Black Hanger the field took their positions along +the cover-side wherever they thought that they were most likely to get a +good start. Some went in with the hounds, some clustered at the ends of +the drives, and some kept outside in the hope of the fox breaking in +that direction. Young Wat Danbury knew the country like the palm of his +hand, so he made for a place where several drives intersected, and there +he waited. He had a feeling that the faster and the farther he galloped +the better he should be, and so he was chafing to be off. His mare, +too, was in the height of fettle and one of the fastest goers in the +county. Wat was a splendid lightweight rider--under ten stone with his +saddle--and the mare was a powerful creature, all quarters and +shoulders, fit to carry a lifeguardsman; and so it was no wonder that +there was hardly a man in the field who could hope to stay with him. +There he waited and listened to the shouting of the huntsman and the +whips, catching a glimpse now and then in the darkness of the wood of a +whisking tail, or the gleam of a white-and-tan side amongst the +underwood. It was a well-trained pack, and there was not so much as a +whine to tell you that forty hounds were working all round you. + +“And then suddenly there came one long-drawn yell from one of them, and +it was taken up by another, and another, until within a few seconds the +whole pack was giving tongue together and running on a hot scent. +Danbury saw them stream across one of the drives and disappear upon the +other side, and an instant later the three red coats of the hunt +servants flashed after them upon the same line. He might have made a +shorter cut down one of the other drives, but he was afraid of heading +the fox, so he followed the lead of the huntsman. Right through the +wood they went in a bee-line, galloping with their faces brushed by +their horses’ manes as they stooped under the branches. + +“It’s ugly going, as you know, with the roots all wriggling about in the +darkness, but you can take a risk when you catch an occasional glimpse +of the pack running with a breast-high scent; so in and out they dodged +until the wood began to thin at the edges, and they found themselves in +the long bottom where the river runs. It is clear going there upon +grassland, and the hounds were running very strong about two hundred +yards ahead, keeping parallel with the stream. The field, who had come +round the wood instead of going through, were coming hard over the +fields upon the left; but Danbury, with the hunt servants, had a clear +lead, and they never lost it. + +“Two of the field got on terms with them--Parson Geddes on a big +seventeen-hand bay which he used to ride in those days, and Squire +Foley, who rode as a feather-weight, and made his hunters out of cast +thoroughbreds from the Newmarket sales; but the others never had a +look-in from start to finish, for there was no check and no pulling, and +it was clear cross-country racing from start to finish. If you had +drawn a line right across the map with a pencil you couldn’t go +straighter than that fox ran, heading for the South Downs and the sea, +and the hounds ran as surely as if they were running to view, and yet +from the beginning no one ever saw the fox, and there was never a hallo +forrard to tell them that he had been spied. This, however, is not so +surprising, for if you’ve been over that line of country you will know +that there are not very many people about. + +“There were six of them then in the front row--Parson Geddes, Squire +Foley, the huntsman, two whips, and Wat Danbury, who had forgotten all +about his head and the doctor by this time, and had not a thought for +anything but the run. All six were galloping just as hard as they could +lay hoofs to the ground. One of the whips dropped back, however, as +some of the hounds were tailing off, and that brought them down to five. +Then Foley’s thoroughbred strained herself, as these slim-legged, +dainty-fetlocked thoroughbreds will do when the going is rough, and he +had to take a back seat. But the other four were still going strong, +and they did four or five miles down the river flat at a rasping pace. +It had been a wet winter, and the waters had been out a little time +before, so there was a deal of sliding and splashing; but by the time +they came to the bridge the whole field was out of sight, and these four +had the hunt to themselves. + +“The fox had crossed the bridge--for foxes do not care to swim a chilly +river any more than humans do--and from that point he had streaked away +southward as hard as he could tear. It is broken country, rolling +heaths, down one slope and up another, and it’s hard to say whether the +up or the down is the more trying for the horses. This sort of +switchback work is all right for a cobby, short-backed, short-legged +little horse, but it is killing work for a big, long-striding hunter +such as one wants in the Midlands. Anyhow, it was too much for Parson +Geddes’ seventeen-hand bay, and though he tried the Irish trick--for he +was a rare keen sportsman--of running up the hills by his horse’s head, +it was all to no use, and he had to give it up. So then there were only +the huntsman, the whip, and Wat Danbury--all going strong. + +“But the country got worse and worse and the hills were steeper and more +thickly covered in heather and bracken. The horses were over their +hocks all the time, and the place was pitted with rabbit-holes; but the +hounds were still streaming along, and the riders could not afford to +pick their steps. As they raced down one slope, the hounds were always +flowing up the opposite one, until it looked like that game where the +one figure in falling makes the other one rise. + +“But never a glimpse did they get of the fox, although they knew very +well that he must be only a very short way ahead for the scent to be so +strong. And then Wat Danbury heard a crash and a thud at his elbow, and +looking round he saw a pair of white cords and top-boots kicking out of +a tussock of brambles. The whip’s horse had stumbled, and the whip was +out of the running. Danbury and the huntsman eased down for an instant; +and then, seeing the man staggering to his feet all right, they turned +and settled into their saddles once more. + +“Joe Clarke, the huntsman, was a famous old rider, known for five +counties round; but he reckoned upon his second horse, and the second +horses had all been left many miles behind. However, the one he was +riding was good enough for anything with such a horseman upon his back, +and he was going as well as when he started. As to Wat Danbury, he was +going better. With every stride his own feelings improved, and the mind +of the rider had its influence upon the mind of the horse. The stout +little roan was gathering its muscular limbs under it, and stretching to +the gallop as if it were steel and whale-bone instead of flesh and +blood. Wat had never come to the end of its powers yet, and to-day he +had such a chance of testing them as he had never had before. + +“There was a pasture country beyond the heather slopes, and for several +miles the two riders were either losing ground as they fumbled with +their crop-handles at the bars of gates, or gaining it again as they +galloped over the fields. Those were the days before this accursed wire +came into the country, and you could generally break a hedge where you +could not fly it, so they did not trouble the gates more than they could +help. Then they were down in a hard lane, where they had to slacken +their pace, and through a farm where a man came shouting excitedly after +them; but they had no time to stop and listen to him, for the hounds +were on some ploughland, only two fields ahead. It was sloping upwards, +that ploughland, and the horses were over their fetlocks in the red, +soft soil. + +“When they reached the top they were blowing badly, but a grand valley +sloped before them, leading up to the open country of the South Downs. +Between, there lay a belt of pine-woods, into which the hounds were +streaming, running now in a long, straggling line, and shedding one here +and one there as they ran. You could see the white-and-tan dots here +and there where the limpers were tailing away. But half the pack were +still going well, though the pace and distance had both been +tremendous--two clear hours now without a check. + +“There was a drive through the pine-wood--one of those green, slightly +rutted drives where a horse can get the last yard out of itself, for the +ground is hard enough to give him clean going and yet springy enough to +help him. Wat Danbury got alongside of the huntsman and they galloped +together with their stirrup-irons touching, and the hounds within a +hundred yards of them. + +“‘We have it all to ourselves,’ said he. + +“‘Yes, sir, we’ve shook on the lot of ’em this time,’ said old Joe +Clarke. ‘If we get this fox it’s worth while ’aving ’im skinned an’ +stuffed, for ’e’s a curiosity ’e is.’ + +“‘It’s the fastest run I ever had in my life!’ cried Danbury. + +“‘And the fastest that ever I ’ad, an’ that means more,’ said the old +huntsman. ‘But what licks me is that we’ve never ’ad a look at the +beast. ’E must leave an amazin’ scent be’ind ’im when these ’ounds can +follow ’im like this, and yet none of us have seen ’im when we’ve ’ad a +clear ’alf mile view in front of us.’ + +“‘I expect we’ll have a view of him presently,’ said Danbury; and in his +mind he added, ‘at least, I shall,’ for the huntsman’s horse was gasping +as it ran, and the white foam was pouring down it like the side of a +washing-tub. + +“They had followed the hounds on to one of the side tracks which led out +of the main drive, and that divided into a smaller track still, where +the branches switched across their faces as they went, and there was +barely room for one horse at a time. Wat Danbury took the lead, and he +heard the huntsman’s horse clumping along heavily behind him, while his +own mare was going with less spring than when she had started. She +answered to a touch of his crop or spur, however, and he felt that there +was something still left to draw upon. And then he looked up, and there +was a heavy wooden stile at the end of the narrow track, with a lane of +stiff young saplings leading down to it, which was far too thick to +break through. The hounds were running clear upon the grassland on the +other side, and you were bound either to get over that stile or lose +sight of them, for the pace was too hot to let you go round. + +“Well, Wat Danbury was not the lad to flinch, and at it he went full +split, like a man who means what he is doing. She rose gallantly to it, +rapped it hard with her front hoof, shook him on to her withers, +recovered herself, and was over. Wat had hardly got back into his +saddle when there was a clatter behind him like the fall of a woodstack, +and there was the top bar in splinters, the horse on its belly, and the +huntsman on hands and knees half a dozen yards in front of him. +Wat pulled up for an instant, for the fall was a smasher; but he saw old +Joe spring to his feet and get to his horse’s bridle. The horse +staggered up, but the moment it put one foot in front of the other, Wat +saw that it was hopelessly lame--a slipped shoulder and a six weeks’ +job. There was nothing he could do, and Joe was shouting to him not to +lose the hounds, so off he went again, the one solitary survivor of the +whole hunt. When a man finds himself there, he can retire from +fox-hunting, for he has tasted the highest which it has to offer. +I remember once when I was out with the Royal Surrey--but I’ll tell you +that story afterwards. + +“The pack, or what was left of them, had got a bit ahead during this +time; but he had a clear view of them on the downland, and the mare +seemed full of pride at being the only one left, for she was stepping +out rarely and tossing her head as she went. They were two miles over +the green shoulder of a hill, a rattle down a stony, deep-rutted country +lane, where the mare stumbled and nearly came down, a jump over a 5ft. +brook, a cut through a hazel copse, another dose of heavy ploughland, a +couple of gates to open, and then the green, unbroken Downs beyond. + +“‘Well,’ said Wat Danbury to himself, ‘I’ll see this fox run into or I +shall see it drowned, for it’s all clear going now between this and the +chalk cliffs which line the sea.’ But he was wrong in that, as he +speedily discovered. In all the little hollows of the downs at that +part there are plantations of fir-woods, some of which have grown to a +good size. You do not see them until you come upon the edge of the +valleys in which they lie. Danbury was galloping hard over the short, +springy turf when he came over the lip of one of these depressions, and +there was the dark clump of wood lying in front of and beneath him. +There were only a dozen hounds still running, and they were just +disappearing among the trees. The sunlight was shining straight upon +the long olive-green slopes which curved down towards this wood, and +Danbury, who had the eyes of a hawk, swept them over this great expanse; +but there was nothing moving upon it. A few sheep were grazing far up +on the right, but there was no other sight of any living creature. +He was certain then that he was very near to the end, for either the fox +must have gone to ground in the wood or the hounds’ noses must be at his +very brush. The mare seemed to know also what that great empty sweep of +countryside meant, for she quickened her stride, and a few minutes +afterwards Danbury was galloping into the fir-wood. + +“He had come from bright sunshine, but the wood was very closely +planted, and so dim that he could hardly see to right or to left out of +the narrow path down which he was riding. You know what a solemn, +churchyardy sort of place a fir-wood is. I suppose it is the absence of +any undergrowth, and the fact that the trees never move at all. At any +rate a kind of chill suddenly struck Wat Danbury, and it flashed through +his mind that there had been some very singular points about this run-- +its length and its straightness, and the fact that from the first find +no one had ever caught a glimpse of the creature. Some silly talk which +had been going round the country about the king of the foxes--a sort of +demon fox, so fast that it could outrun any pack, and so fierce that +they could do nothing with it if they overtook it--suddenly came back +into his mind, and it did not seem so laughable now in the dim fir-wood +as it had done when the story had been told over the wine and cigars. +The nervousness which had been on him in the morning, and which he had +hoped that he had shaken off, swept over him again in an overpowering +wave. He had been so proud of being alone, and yet he would have given +10 pounds now to have had Joe Clarke’s homely face beside him. And +then, just at that moment, there broke out from the thickest part of the +wood the most frantic hullabaloo that ever he had heard in his life. +The hounds had run into their fox. + +“Well, you know, or you ought to know, what your duty is in such a case. +You have to be whip, huntsman, and everything else if you are the first +man up. You get in among the hounds, lash them off, and keep the brush +and pads from being destroyed. Of course, Wat Danbury knew all about +that, and he tried to force his mare through the trees to the place +where all this hideous screaming and howling came from, but the wood was +so thick that it was impossible to ride it. He sprang off, therefore, +left the mare standing, and broke his way through as best he could with +his hunting-lash ready over his shoulder. + +“But as he ran forward he felt his flesh go cold and creepy all over. +He had heard hounds run into foxes many times before, but he had never +heard such sounds as these. They were not the cries of triumph, but of +fear. Every now and then came a shrill yelp of mortal agony. Holding +his breath, he ran on until he broke through the interlacing branches, +and found himself in a little clearing with the hounds all crowding +round a patch of tangled bramble at the further end. + +“When he first caught sight of them the hounds were standing in a +half-circle round this bramble patch, with their backs bristling and +their jaws gaping. In front of the brambles lay one of them with his +throat torn out, all crimson and white-and-tan. Wat came running out +into the clearing, and at the sight of him the hounds took heart again, +and one of them sprang with a growl into the bushes. At the same +instant, a creature the size of a donkey jumped on to its feet, a huge +grey head, with monstrous glistening fangs and tapering fox jaws, shot +out from among the branches, and the hound was thrown several feet into +the air, and fell howling among the cover. Then there was a clashing +snap, like a rat-trap closing, and the howls sharpened into a scream and +then were still. + +“Danbury had been on the look-out for symptoms all day, and now he had +found them. He looked once more at the thicket, saw a pair of savage +red eyes fixed upon him, and fairly took to his heels. It might only be +a passing delusion, or it might be the permanent mania of which the +doctor had spoken, but anyhow, the thing to do was to get back to bed +and to quiet, and to hope for the best. + +“He forgot the hounds, the hunt, and everything else in his desperate +fears for his own reason. He sprang upon his mare, galloped her madly +over the downs, and only stopped when he found himself at a country +station. There he left his mare at the inn, and made back for home as +quickly as steam would take him. It was evening before he got there, +shivering with apprehension, and seeing those red eyes and savage teeth +at every turn. He went straight to bed and sent for Dr. Middleton. + +“‘I’ve got ’em, doctor,’ said he. ‘It came about exactly as you said-- +strange creatures, optical delusions, and everything. All I ask you now +is to save my reason.’ The doctor listened to his story, and was +shocked as he heard it. + +“‘It appears to be a very clear case,’ said he. ‘This must be a lesson +to you for life.’ + +“‘Never a drop again if I only come safely through this,’ cried Wat +Danbury. + +“‘Well, my dear boy, if you will stick to that it may prove a blessing +in disguise. But the difficulty in this case is to know where fact ends +and fancy begins. You see, it is not as if there was only one delusion. +There have been several. The dead dogs, for example, must have been one +as well as the creature in the bush.’ + +“‘I saw it all as clearly as I see you.’ + +“‘One of the characteristics of this form of delirium is that what you +see is even clearer than reality. I was wondering whether the whole run +was not a delusion also.’ + +“Wat Danbury pointed to his hunting boots still lying upon the floor, +necked with the splashings of two counties. + +“‘Hum! that looks very real, certainly. No doubt, in your weak state, +you over-exerted yourself and so brought this attack upon yourself. +Well, whatever the cause, our treatment is clear. You will take the +soothing mixture which I will send to you, and we shall put two leeches +upon your temples to-night to relieve any congestion of the brain.’ + +“So Wat Danbury spent the night in tossing about and reflecting what a +sensitive thing this machinery of ours is, and how very foolish it is to +play tricks with what is so easily put out of gear and so difficult to +mend. And so he repeated and repeated his oath that this first lesson +should be his last, and that from that time forward he would be a sober, +hard-working yeoman as his father had been before him. So he lay, +tossing and still repentant, when his door flew open in the morning and +in rushed the doctor with a newspaper crumpled up in his hand. + +“‘My dear boy,’ he cried, ‘I owe you a thousand apologies. You’re the +most ill-used lad and I the greatest numskull in the county. Listen to +this!’ And he sat down upon the side of the bed, flattened out his +paper upon his knee, and began to read. + +“The paragraph was headed, ‘Disaster to the Ascombe Hounds,’ and it went +on to say that four of the hounds, shockingly torn and mangled, had been +found in Winton Fir Wood upon the South Downs. The run had been so +severe that half the pack were lamed; but the four found in the wood +were actually dead, although the cause of their extraordinary injuries +was still unknown. + +“‘So, you see,’ said the doctor, looking up, ‘that I was wrong when I +put the dead hounds among the delusions.’ + +“‘But the cause?’ cried Wat. + +“‘Well, I think we may guess the cause from an item which has been +inserted just as the paper went to press:-- + + “Late last night, Mr. Brown, of Smither’s Farm, to the + east of Hastings, perceived what he imagined to be an enormous + dog worrying one of his sheep. He shot the creature, which + proves to be a grey Siberian wolf of the variety known as + _Lupus Giganticus_. It is supposed to have escaped from some + travelling menagerie. + +“That’s the story, gentlemen, and Wat Danbury stuck to his good +resolutions, for the fright which he had cured him of all wish to run +such a risk again; and he never touches anything stronger than +lime-juice--at least, he hadn’t before he left this part of the country, +five years ago next Lady Day.” + + + + +THE THREE CORRESPONDENTS + + +There was only the one little feathery clump of dom palms in all that +great wilderness of black rocks and orange sand. It stood high on the +bank, and below it the brown Nile swirled swiftly towards the Ambigole +Cataract, fitting a little frill of foam round each of the boulders +which studded its surface. Above, out of a naked blue sky, the sun was +beating down upon the sand, and up again from the sand under the brims +of the pith-hats of the horsemen with the scorching glare of a +blast-furnace. It had risen so high that the shadows of the horses were +no larger than themselves. + +“Whew!” cried Mortimer, mopping his forehead, “you’d pay five shillings +for this at the hummums.” + +“Precisely,” said Scott. “But you are not asked to ride twenty miles in +a Turkish bath with a field-glass and a revolver, and a water-bottle and +a whole Christmas-treeful of things dangling from you. The hot-house at +Kew is excellent as a conservatory, but not adapted for exhibitions upon +the horizontal bar. I vote for a camp in the palm-grove and a halt +until evening.” + +Mortimer rose on his stirrups and looked hard to the southward. +Everywhere were the same black burned rocks and deep orange sand. +At one spot only an intermittent line appeared to have been cut through +the rugged spurs which ran down to the river. It was the bed of the old +railway, long destroyed by the Arabs, but now in process of +reconstruction by the advancing Egyptians. There was no other sign of +man’s handiwork in all that desolate scene. + +“It’s palm trees or nothing,” said Scott. + +“Well, I suppose we must; and yet I grudge every hour until we catch the +force up. What _would_ our editors say if we were late for the action?” + +“My dear chap, an old bird like you doesn’t need to be told that no sane +modern general would ever attack until the Press is up.” + +“You don’t mean that?” said young Anerley. “I thought we were looked +upon as an unmitigated nuisance.” + +“‘Newspaper correspondents and travelling gentlemen, and all that tribe +of useless drones’--being an extract from Lord Wolseley’s ‘Soldier’s +Pocket-Book,’” cried Scott. “We know all about _that_, Anerley;” and he +winked behind his blue spectacles. “If there was going to be a battle +we should very soon have an escort of cavalry to hurry us up. I’ve been +in fifteen, and I never saw one where they had not arranged for a +reporter’s table.” + +“That’s very well; but the enemy may be less considerate,” said +Mortimer. + +“They are not strong enough to force a battle.” + +“A skirmish, then?” + +“Much more likely to be a raid upon the rear. In that case we are just +where we should be.” + +“So we are! What a score over Reuter’s man up with the advance! +Well, we’ll outspan and have our tiffin under the palms.” + +There were three of them, and they stood for three great London dailies. +Reuter’s was thirty miles ahead; two evening pennies upon camels were +twenty miles behind. And among them they represented the eyes and ears +of the public--the great silent millions and millions who had paid for +everything, and who waited so patiently to know the result of their +outlay. + +They were remarkable men these body-servants of the Press; two of them +already veterans in camps, the other setting out upon his first +campaign, and full of deference for his famous comrades. + +This first one, who had just dismounted from his bay polo-pony, was +Mortimer, of the _Intelligence_--tall, straight, and hawk-faced, with +khaki tunic and riding-breeches, drab putties, a scarlet cummerbund, and +a skin tanned to the red of a Scotch fir by sun and wind, and mottled by +the mosquito and the sand-fly. The other--small, quick, mercurial, with +blue-black, curling beard and hair, a fly-switch for ever flicking in +his left hand--was Scott, of the _Courier_, who had come through more +dangers and brought off more brilliant _coups_ than any man in the +profession, save the eminent Chandler, now no longer in a condition to +take the field. They were a singular contrast, Mortimer and Scott, and +it was in their differences that the secret of their close friendship +lay. Each dovetailed into the other. The strength of each was in the +other’s weakness. Together they formed a perfect unit. Mortimer was +Saxon--slow, conscientious, and deliberate; Scott was Celtic--quick, +happy-go-lucky, and brilliant. Mortimer was the more solid, Scott the +more attractive. Mortimer was the deeper thinker, Scott the brighter +talker. By a curious coincidence, though each had seen much of warfare, +their campaigns had never coincided. Together they covered all recent +military history. Scott had done Plevna, the Shipka, the Zulus, Egypt, +Suakim; Mortimer had seen the Boer War, the Chilian, the Bulgaria and +Servian, the Gordon relief, the Indian frontier, Brazilian rebellion, +and Madagascar. This intimate personal knowledge gave a peculiar +flavour to their talk. There was none of the second-hand surmise and +conjecture which form so much of our conversation; it was all concrete +and final. The speaker had been there, had seen it, and there was an +end of it. + +In spite of their friendship there was the keenest professional rivalry +between the two men. Either would have sacrificed himself to help his +companion, but either would also have sacrificed his companion to help +his paper. Never did a jockey yearn for a winning mount as keenly as +each of them longed to have a full column in a morning edition whilst +every other daily was blank. They were perfectly frank about the +matter. Each professed himself ready to steal a march on his neighbour, +and each recognised that the other’s duty to his employer was far higher +than any personal consideration. + +The third man was Anerley, of the _Gazette_--young, inexperienced, and +rather simple-looking. He had a droop of the lip, which some of his +more intimate friends regarded as a libel upon his character, and his +eyes were so slow and so sleepy that they suggested an affectation. +A leaning towards soldiering had sent him twice to autumn manoeuvres, +and a touch of colour in his descriptions had induced the proprietors of +the _Gazette_ to give him a trial as a war-special. There was a +pleasing diffidence about his bearing which recommended him to his +experienced companions, and if they had a smile sometimes at his +guileless ways, it was soothing to them to have a comrade from whom +nothing was to be feared. From the day that they left the +telegraph-wire behind them at Sarras, the man who was mounted upon a +15-guinea 13-4 Syrian was delivered over into the hands of the owners of +the two fastest polo-ponies that ever shot down the Ghezireh ground. +The three had dismounted and led their beasts under the welcome shade. +In the brassy, yellow glare every branch above threw so black and solid +a shadow that the men involuntarily raised their feet to step over +them. + +“The palm makes an excellent hat-rack,” said Scott, slinging his +revolver and his water-bottle over the little upward-pointing pegs which +bristle from the trunk. “As a shade tree, however, it isn’t an +unqualified success. Curious that in the universal adaptation of means +to ends something a little less flimsy could not have been devised for +the tropics.” + +“Like the banyan in India.” + +“Or the fine hardwood trees in Ashantee, where a whole regiment could +picnic under the shade.” + +“The teak tree isn’t bad in Burmah, either. By Jove, the baccy has all +come loose in the saddle-bag! That long-cut mixture smokes rather hot +for this climate. How about the baggles, Anerley?” + +“They’ll be here in five minutes.” + +Down the winding path which curved among the rocks the little train of +baggage-camels was daintily picking its way. They came mincing and +undulating along, turning their heads slowly from side to side with the +air of a self-conscious woman. In front rode the three Berberee +body-servants upon donkeys, and behind walked the Arab camel-boys. +They had been travelling for nine long hours, ever since the first +rising of the moon, at the weary camel-drag of two and a half miles an +hour, but now they brightened, both beasts and men, at the sight of the +grove and the riderless horses. In a few minutes the loads were +unstrapped, the animals tethered, a fire lighted, fresh water carried up +from the river, and each camel-boy provided with his own little heap of +tibbin laid in the centre of the table-cloth, without which no well-bred +Arabian will condescend to feed. The dazzling light without, the +subdued half-tones within, the green palm-fronds outlined against the +deep blue sky, the flitting, silent-footed Arab servants, the crackling +of sticks, the reek of a lighting fire, the placid supercilious heads of +the camels, they all come back in their dreams to those who have known +them. + +Scott was breaking eggs into a pan and rolling out a love-song in his +rich, deep voice. Anerley, with his head and arms buried in a deal +packing-case, was working his way through strata of tinned soups, bully +beef, potted chicken, and sardines to reach the jams which lay beneath. +The conscientious Mortimer, with his notebook upon his knee, was jotting +down what the railway engineer had told him at the line-end the day +before. Suddenly he raised his eyes and saw the man himself on his +chestnut pony, dipping and rising over the broken ground. + +“Hullo! Here’s Merryweather!” + +“A pretty lather his pony is in! He’s had her at that hand-gallop for +hours, by the look of her. Hullo, Merryweather, hullo!” + +The engineer, a small, compact man with a pointed red beard, had made as +though he would ride past their camp without word or halt. Now he +swerved, and easing his pony down to a canter, he headed her towards +them. + +“For God’s sake, a drink!” he croaked. “My tongue is stuck to the roof +of my mouth.” + +Mortimer ran with the water-bottle, Scott with the whisky-flask, and +Anerley with the tin pannikin. The engineer drank until his breath +failed him. + +“Well, I must be off,” said he, striking the drops from his red +moustache. + +“Any news?” + +“A hitch in the railway construction. I must see the general. +It’s the devil not having a telegraph.” + +“Anything we can report?” Out came three notebooks. + +“I’ll tell you after I’ve seen the general.” + +“Any dervishes?” + +“The usual shaves. Hud-up, Jinny! Good-bye!” + +With a soft thudding upon the sand, and a clatter among the stones the +weary pony was off upon her journey once more. + +“Nothing serious, I suppose?” said Mortimer, staring after him. + +“Deuced serious,” cried Scott. “The ham and eggs are burned! No--it’s +all right--saved, and done to a turn! Pull the box up, Anerley. +Come on, Mortimer, stow that notebook! The fork is mightier than the +pen just at present. What’s the matter with you, Anerley?” + +“I was wondering whether what we have just seen was worth a telegram.” + +“Well, it’s for the proprietors to say if it’s worth it. Sordid money +considerations are not for us. We must wire about something just to +justify our khaki coats and our putties.” + +“But what is there to say?” + +Mortimer’s long, austere face broke into a smile over the youngster’s +innocence. “It’s not quite usual in our profession to give each other +tips,” said he. “However, as my telegram is written, I’ve no objection +to your reading it. You may be sure that I would not show it to you if +it were of the slightest importance.” + +Anerley took up the slip of paper and read:-- + + Merryweather obstacles stop journey confer general stop nature + difficulties later stop rumours dervishes. + +“This is very condensed,” said Anerley, with wrinkled brows. + +“Condensed!” cried Scott. “Why, it’s sinfully garrulous. If my old man +got a wire like that his language would crack the lamp-shades. I’d cut +out half this; for example, I’d have out ‘journey,’ and ‘nature,’ and +‘rumours.’ But my old man would make a ten-line paragraph of it for all +that.” + +“How?” + +“Well, I’ll do it myself just to show you. Lend me that stylo.” He +scribbled for a minute in his notebook. “It works out somewhat on these +lines”:-- + + Mr. Charles H. Merryweather, the eminent railway engineer, + who is at present engaged in superintending the construction + of the line from Sarras to the front, has met with considerable + obstacles to the rapid completion of his important task-- + +“Of course the old man knows who Merryweather is, and what he is about, +so the word ‘obstacles’ would suggest all that to him.” + + He has to-day been compelled to make a journey of forty + miles to the front, in order to confer with the general upon + the steps which are necessary in order to facilitate the work. + Further particulars of the exact nature of the difficulties + met with will be made public at a later date. All is quiet + upon the line of communications, though the usual persistent + rumours of the presence of dervishes in the Eastern desert + continue to circulate.--_Our own correspondent_. + +“How’s that?” cried Scott, triumphantly, and his white teeth gleamed +suddenly through his black beard. “That’s the sort of flapdoodle for +the dear old public.” + +“Will it interest them?” + +“Oh, everything interests them. They want to know all about it; and +they like to think that there is a man who is getting a hundred a month +simply in order to tell it to them.” + +“It’s very kind of you to teach me all this.” + +“Well, it is a little unconventional, for, after all, we are here to +score over each other if we can. There are no more eggs, and you must +take it out in jam. Of course, as Mortimer says, such a telegram as +this is of no importance one way or another, except to prove to the +office that we _are_ in the Soudan, and not at Monte Carlo. But when it +comes to serious work it must be every man for himself.” + +“Is that quite necessary?” + +“Why, of course it is.” + +“I should have thought if three men were to combine and to share their +news, they would do better than if they were each to act for himself, +and they would have a much pleasanter time of it.” + +The two older men sat with their bread-and-jam in their hands, and an +expression of genuine disgust upon their faces. + +“We are not here to have a pleasant time,” said Mortimer, with a flash +through his glasses. “We are here to do our best for our papers. +How can they score over each other if we do not do the same? If we all +combine we might as well amalgamate with Reuter at once.” + +“Why, it would take away the whole glory of the profession!” cried +Scott. “At present the smartest man gets his stuff first on the wires. +What inducement is there to be smart if we all share and share alike?” + +“And at present the man with the best equipment has the best chance,” +remarked Mortimer, glancing across at the shot-silk polo ponies and the +cheap little Syrian grey. “That is the fair reward of foresight and +enterprise. Every man for himself, and let the best man win.” + +“That’s the way to find who the best man is. Look at Chandler. +He would never have got his chance if he had not played always off his +own bat. You’ve heard how he pretended to break his leg, sent his +fellow-correspondent off for the doctor, and so got a fair start for the +telegraph-office.” + +“Do you mean to say that was legitimate?” + +“Everything is legitimate. It’s your wits against my wits.” + +“I should call it dishonourable.” + +“You may call it what you like. Chandler’s paper got the battle and the +other’s didn’t. It made Chandler’s name.” + +“Or take Westlake,” said Mortimer, cramming the tobacco into his pipe. +“Hi, Abdul, you may have the dishes! Westlake brought his stuff down by +pretending to be the Government courier, and using the relays of +Government horses. Westlake’s paper sold half a million.” + +“Is that legitimate also?” asked Anerley, thoughtfully. + +“Why not?” + +“Well, it looks a little like horse-stealing and lying.” + +“Well, _I_ think I should do a little horse-stealing and lying if I +could have a column to myself in a London daily. What do you say, +Scott?” + +“Anything short of manslaughter.” + +“And I’m not sure that I’d trust you there.” + +“Well, I don’t think I should be guilty of newspaper-man-slaughter. +That I regard as a distinct breach of professional etiquette. But if +any outsider comes between a highly charged correspondent and an +electric wire, he does it at his peril. My dear Anerley, I tell you +frankly that if you are going to handicap yourself with scruple you may +just as well be in Fleet Street as in the Soudan. Our life is +irregular. Our work has never been systematised. No doubt it will be +some day, but the time is not yet. Do what you can and how you can, and +be first on the wires; that’s my advice to you; and also, that when next +you come upon a campaign you bring with you the best horse that money +can buy. Mortimer may beat me or I may beat Mortimer, but at least we +know that between us we have the fastest ponies in the country. We have +neglected no chance.” + +“I am not so certain of that,” said Mortimer, slowly. “You are aware, +of course, that though a horse beats a camel on twenty miles, a camel +beats a horse on thirty.” + +“What, one of those camels?” cried Anerley in astonishment. The two +seniors burst out laughing. + +“No, no, the real high-bred trotter--the kind of beast the dervishes +ride when they make their lightning raids.” + +“Faster than a galloping horse?” + +“Well, it tires a horse down. It goes the same gait all the way, and it +wants neither halt nor drink, and it takes rough ground much better than +a horse. They used to have long distance races at Halfa, and the camel +always won at thirty.” + +“Still, we need not reproach ourselves, Scott, for we are not very +likely to have to carry a thirty-mile message. They will have the field +telegraph next week.” + +“Quite so. But at the present moment--” + +“I know, my dear chap; but there is no motion of urgency before the +house. Load baggles at five o’clock; so you have just three hours +clear. Any sign of the evening pennies?” + +Mortimer swept the northern horizon with his binoculars. “Not in sight +yet.” + +“They are quite capable of travelling during the heat of the day. +Just the sort of thing evening pennies _would_ do. Take care of your +match, Anerley. These palm groves go up like a powder magazine if you +set them alight. Bye-bye.” The two men crawled under their +mosquito-nets and sank instantly into the easy sleep of those whose +lives are spent in the open. + +Young Anerley stood with his back against a palm tree and his briar +between his lips, thinking over the advice which he had received. +After all, they were the heads of the profession, these men, and it was +not for him, the newcomer, to reform their methods. If they served +their papers in this fashion, then he must do the same. They had at +least been frank and generous in teaching him the rules of the game. +If it was good enough for them it was good enough for him. + +It was a broiling afternoon, and those thin frills of foam round the +black, glistening necks of the Nile boulders looked delightfully cool +and alluring. But it would not be safe to bathe for some hours to come. +The air shimmered and vibrated over the baking stretch of sand and rock. +There was not a breath of wind, and the droning and piping of the +insects inclined one for sleep. Somewhere above a hoopoe was calling. +Anerley knocked out his ashes, and was turning towards his couch, when +his eye caught something moving in the desert to the south. It was a +horseman riding towards them as swiftly as the broken ground would +permit. A messenger from the army, thought Anerley; and then, as he +watched, the sun suddenly struck the man on the side of the head, and +his chin flamed into gold. There could not be two horsemen with beards +of such a colour. It was Merryweather, the engineer, and he was +returning. What on earth was he returning for? He had been so keen to +see the general, and yet he was coming back with his mission +unaccomplished. Was it that his pony was hopelessly foundered? +It seemed to be moving well. Anerley picked up Mortimer’s binoculars, +and a foam-bespattered horse and a weary koorbash-cracking man came +cantering up the centre of the field. But there was nothing in his +appearance to explain the mystery of his return. Then as he watched +them they dipped into a hollow and disappeared. He could see that it +was one of those narrow khors which led to the river, and he waited, +glass in hand, for their immediate reappearance. But minute passed +after minute and there was no sign of them. That narrow gully appeared +to have swallowed them up. And then with a curious gulp and start he +saw a little grey cloud wreathe itself slowly from among the rocks and +drift in a long, hazy shred over the desert. In an instant he had torn +Scott and Mortimer from their slumbers. + +“Get up, you chaps!” he cried. “I believe Merryweather has been shot by +dervishes.” + +“And Reuter not here!” cried the two veterans, exultantly clutching at +their notebooks. “Merryweather shot! Where? When? How?” + +In a few words Anerley explained what he had seen. + +“You heard nothing?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Well, a shot loses itself very easily among rocks. By George, look at +the buzzards!” + +Two large brown birds were soaring in the deep blue heaven. As Scott +spoke they circled down and dropped into the little khor. + +“That’s good enough,” said Mortimer, with his nose between the leaves of +his book. “‘Merryweather headed dervishes stop return stop shot +mutilated stop raid communications.’ How’s that?” + +“You think he was headed off?” + +“Why else should he return?” + +“In that case, if they were out in front of him and others cut him off, +there must be several small raiding parties.” + +“I should judge so.” + +“How about the ‘mutilated’?” + +“I’ve fought against Arabs before.” + +“Where are you off to?” + +“Sarras.” + +“I think I’ll race you in,” said Scott. + +Anerley stared in astonishment at the absolutely impersonal way in which +these men regarded the situation. In their zeal for news it had +apparently never struck them that they, their camp, and their servants +were all in the lion’s mouth. But even as they talked there came the +harsh, importunate rat-tat-tat of an irregular volley from among the +rocks, and the high, keening whistle of bullets over their heads. +A palm spray fluttered down amongst them. At the same instant the six +frightened servants came running wildly in for protection. + +It was the cool-headed Mortimer who organised the defence, for Scott’s +Celtic soul was so aflame at all this “copy” in hand and more to come +that he was too exuberantly boisterous for a commander. The other, with +his spectacles and his stern face, soon had the servants in hand. +“_Tali henna! Egri!_ What the deuce are you frightened about? Put the +camels between the palm trunks. That’s right. Now get the knee-tethers +on them. _Quies_! Did you never hear bullets before? Now put the +donkeys here. Not much--you don’t get my polo-pony to make a zareba +with. Picket the ponies between the grove and the river out of danger’s +way. These fellows seem to fire even higher than they did in ’85.” + +“That’s got home, anyhow,” said Scott, as they heard a soft, splashing +thud like a stone in a mud-bank. + +“Who’s hit, then?” + +“The brown camel that’s chewing the cud.” As he spoke the creature, its +jaw still working, laid its long neck along the ground and closed its +large dark eyes. + +“That shot cost me 15 pounds,” said Mortimer, ruefully. “How many of +them do you make?” + +“Four, I think.” + +“Only four Bezingers, at any rate; there may be some spearmen.” + +“I think not; it is a little raiding-party of rifle-men. By the way, +Anerley, you’ve never been under fire before, have you?” + +“Never,” said the young pressman, who was conscious of a curious feeling +of nervous elation. + +“Love and poverty and war, they are all experiences necessary to make a +complete life. Pass over those cartridges. This is a very mild baptism +that you are undergoing, for behind these camels you are as safe as if +you were sitting in the back room of the Authors’ Club.” + +“As safe, but hardly as comfortable,” said Scott. “A long glass of hock +and seltzer would be exceedingly acceptable. But oh, Mortimer, what a +chance! Think of the general’s feelings when he hears that the first +action of the war has been fought by the Press column. Think of Reuter, +who has been stewing at the front for a week! Think of the evening +pennies just too late for the fun. By George, that slug brushed a +mosquito off me!” + +“And one of the donkeys is hit.” + +“This is sinful. It will end in our having to carry our own kits to +Khartoum.” + +“Never mind, my boy, it all goes to make copy. I can see the +headlines--‘Raid on Communications’: ‘Murder of British Engineer’: +‘Press Column Attacked.’ Won’t it be ripping?” + +“I wonder what the next line will be,” said Anerley. + +“‘Our Special Wounded’!” cried Scott, rolling over on to his back. +“No harm done,” he added, gathering himself up again; “only a chip off +my knee. This is getting sultry. I confess that the idea of that back +room at the Authors’ Club begins to grow upon me.” + +“I have some diachylon.” + +“Afterwards will do. We’re having a ’appy day with Fuzzy on the rush. +I wish he _would_ rush.” + +“They’re coming nearer.” + +“This is an excellent revolver of mine if it didn’t throw so devilish +high. I always aim at a man’s toes if I want to stimulate his +digestion. O Lord, there’s our kettle gone!” With a boom like a +dinner-gong a Remington bullet had passed through the kettle, and a +cloud of steam hissed up from the fire. A wild shout came from the +rocks above. + +“The idiots think that they have blown us up. They’ll rush us now, as +sure as fate; then it will be our turn to lead. Got your revolver, +Anerley?” + +“I have this double-barrelled fowling-piece.” + +“Sensible man! It’s the best weapon in the world at this sort of +rough-and-tumble work. What cartridges?” + +“Swan-shot.” + +“That will do all right. I carry this big bore double-barrelled pistol +loaded with slugs. You might as well try to stop one of these fellows +with a pea-shooter as with a service revolver.” + +“There are ways and means,” said Scott. “The Geneva Convention does not +hold south of the first cataract. It’s easy to make a bullet mushroom +by a little manipulation of the tip of it. When I was in the broken +square at Tamai--” + +“Wait a bit,” cried Mortimer, adjusting his glasses. “I think they are +coming now.” + +“The time,” said Scott, snapping up his watch, “being exactly seventeen +minutes past four.” + +Anerley had been lying behind a camel staring with an interest which +bordered upon fascination at the rocks opposite. Here was a little +woolly puff of smoke, and there was another one, but never once had they +caught a glimpse of the attackers. To him there was something weird and +awesome in these unseen, persistent men who, minute by minute, were +drawing closer to them. He had heard them cry out when the kettle was +broken, and once, immediately afterwards, an enormously strong voice had +roared something which had set Scott shrugging his shoulders. + +“They’ve got to take us first,” said he, and Anerley thought his nerve +might be better if he did not ask for a translation. + +The firing had begun at a distance of some 100 yards, which put it out +of the question for them, with their lighter weapons, to make any reply +to it. Had their antagonists continued to keep that range the defenders +must either have made a hopeless sally or tried to shelter themselves +behind their zareba as best they might on the chance that the sound +might bring up help. But, luckily for them, the African has never taken +kindly to the rifle, and his primitive instinct to close with his enemy +is always too strong for his sense of strategy. They were drawing in, +therefore, and now, for the first time, Anerley caught sight of a face +looking at them from over a rock. It was a huge, virile, strong-jawed +head of a pure negro type, with silver trinkets gleaming in the ears. +The man raised a great arm from behind the rock, and shook his Remington +at them. + +“Shall I fire?” asked Anerley. + +“No, no; it is too far. Your shot would scatter all over the place.” + +“It’s a picturesque ruffian,” said Scott. “Couldn’t you kodak him, +Mortimer? There’s another!” A fine-featured brown Arab, with a black, +pointed beard, was peeping from behind another boulder. He wore the +green turban which proclaimed him hadji, and his face showed the keen, +nervous exultation of the religious fanatic. + +“They seem a piebald crowd,” said Scott. + +“That last is one of the real fighting Baggara,” remarked Mortimer. +“He’s a dangerous man.” + +“He looks pretty vicious. There’s another negro!” + +“Two more! Dingas, by the look of them. Just the same chaps we get our +own black battalions from. As long as they get a fight they don’t mind +who it’s for; but if the idiots had only sense enough to understand, +they would know that the Arab is their hereditary enemy, and we their +hereditary friends. Look at the silly juggins, gnashing his teeth at +the very men who put down the slave trade!” + +“Couldn’t you explain?” + +“I’ll explain with this pistol when he comes a little nearer. Now sit +tight, Anerley. They’re off!” + +They were indeed. It was the brown man with the green turban who headed +the rush. Close at his heels was the negro with the silver ear-rings-- +a giant of a man, and the other two were only a little behind. As they +sprang over the rocks one after the other, it took Anerley back to the +school sports when he held the tape for the hurdle-race. It was +magnificent, the wild spirit and abandon of it, the flutter of the +chequered galabeeahs, the gleam of steel, the wave of black arms, the +frenzied faces, the quick pitter-patter of the rushing feet. The +law-abiding Briton is so imbued with the idea of the sanctity of human +life that it was hard for the young pressman to realise that these men +had every intention of killing him, and that he was at perfect liberty +to do as much for them. He lay staring as if this were a show and he a +spectator. + +“Now, Anerley, now! Take the Arab!” cried somebody. + +He put up the gun and saw the brown fierce face at the other end of the +barrel. He tugged at the trigger, but the face grew larger and fiercer +with every stride. Again and again he tugged. A revolver-shot rang out +at his elbow, then another one, and he saw a red spot spring out on the +Arab’s brown breast. But he was still coming on. + +“Shoot, you ass, shoot!” screamed Scott. + +Again he strained unavailingly at the trigger. There were two more +pistol-shots, and the big negro had fallen and risen and fallen again. + +“Cock it, you fool!” shouted a furious voice; and at the same instant, +with a rush and flutter, the Arab bounded over the prostrate camel and +came down with his bare feet upon Anerley’s chest. In a dream he seemed +to be struggling frantically with someone upon the ground, then he was +conscious of a tremendous explosion in his very face, and so ended for +him the first action of the war. + +“Good-bye, old chap. You’ll be all right. Give yourself time.” It was +Mortimer’s voice, and he became dimly conscious of a long, spectacled +face, and of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. + +“Sorry to leave you. We’ll be lucky now if we are in time for the +morning editions.” Scott was tightening his girth as he spoke. + +“We’ll put in our wire that you have been hurt, so your people will know +why they don’t hear from you. If Reuter or the evening pennies come up, +don’t give the thing away. Abbas will look after you, and we’ll be back +to-morrow afternoon. Bye-bye!” + +Anerley heard it all, though he did not feel energy enough to answer. +Then, as he watched two sleek, brown ponies with their yellow-clad +riders dwindling among the rocks, his memory cleared suddenly, and he +realised that the first great journalistic chance of his life was +slipping away from him. It was a small fight, but it was the first of +the war, and the great public at home were all athirst for news. +They would have it in the _Courier_; they would have it in the +_Intelligence_, and not a word in the _Gazette_. The thought brought +him to his feet, though he had to throw his arm round the stem of the +palm tree to steady his swimming head. There was a big black man lying +where he had fallen, his huge chest pocked with bullet-marks, every +wound rosetted with its circle of flies. The Arab was stretched out +within a few yards of him, with two hands clasped over the dreadful +thing which had been his head. Across him was lying Anerley’s +fowling-piece, one barrel discharged, the other at half cock. + +“Scott effendi shoot him your gun,” said a voice. It was Abbas, his +English-speaking body-servant. + +Anerley groaned at the disgrace of it. He had lost his head so +completely that he had forgotten to cock his gun; and yet he knew that +it was not fear but interest which had so absorbed him. He put his hand +up to his head and felt that a wet handkerchief was bound round his +forehead. + +“Where are the two other dervishes?” + +“They ran away. One got shot in arm.” + +“What’s happened to me?” + +“Effendi got cut on head. Effendi catch bad man by arms, and Scott +effendi shot him. Face burn very bad.” + +Anerley became conscious suddenly that there was a pringling about his +skin and an overpowering smell of burned hair under his nostrils. He +put his hand to his moustache. It was gone. His eyebrows too? +He could not find them. His head, no doubt, was very near to the +dervish’s when they were rolling upon the ground together, and this was +the effect of the explosion of his own gun. Well, he would have time to +grow some more hair before he saw Fleet Street again. But the cut, +perhaps, was a more serious matter. Was it enough to prevent him +getting to the telegraph-office at Sarras? The only way was to try and +see. But there was only that poor little Syrian grey of his. There it +stood in the evening sunshine, with a sunk head and a bent knee, as if +its morning’s work was still heavy upon it. What hope was there of +being able to do thirty-five miles of heavy going upon that? It would +be a strain upon the splendid ponies of his companions--and they were +the swiftest and most enduring in the country. The most enduring? +There was one creature more enduring, and that was a real trotting +camel. If he had had one he might have got to the wires first after +all, for Mortimer had said that over thirty miles they have the better +of any horse. Yes, if he had only had a real trotting camel! And then +like a flash came Mortimer’s words, “It is the kind of beast that the +dervishes ride when they make their lightning raids.” + +The beasts the dervishes ride! What had these dead dervishes ridden? +In an instant he was clambering up the rocks, with Abbas protesting at +his heels. Had the two fugitives carried away all the camels, or had +they been content to save themselves? The brass gleam from a litter of +empty Remington cases caught his eye, and showed where the enemy had +been crouching. And then he could have shouted for joy, for there, in +the hollow, some little distance off, rose the high, graceful white neck +and the elegant head of such a camel as he had never set eyes upon +before--a swanlike, beautiful creature, as far from the rough, clumsy +baggles as the cart-horse is from the racer. + +The beast was kneeling under the shelter of the rocks with its waterskin +and bag of doora slung over its shoulders, and its forelegs tethered +Arab fashion with a rope around the knees. Anerley threw his leg over +the front pommel while Abbas slipped off the cord. Forward flew +Anerley towards the creature’s neck, then violently backwards, clawing +madly at anything which might save him, and then, with a jerk which +nearly snapped his loins, he was thrown forward again. But the camel +was on its legs now, and the young pressman was safely seated upon one +of the fliers of the desert. It was as gentle as it was swift, and it +stood oscillating its long neck and gazing round with its large brown +eyes, whilst Anerley coiled his legs round the peg and grasped the +curved camel-stick which Abbas had handed up to him. There were two +bridle-cords, one from the nostril and one from the neck, but he +remembered that Scott had said that it was the servant’s and not the +house-bell which had to be pulled, so he kept his grasp upon the lower. +Then he touched the long, vibrating neck with his stick, and in an +instant Abbas’ farewell seemed to come from far behind him, and the +black rocks and yellow sand were dancing past on either side. + +It was his first experience of a trotting camel, and at first the +motion, although irregular and abrupt, was not unpleasant. Having no +stirrup or fixed point of any kind, he could not rise to it, but he +gripped as tightly as he could with his knee, and he tried to sway +backwards and forwards as he had seen the Arabs do. It was a large, +very concave Makloofa saddle, and he was conscious that he was bouncing +about on it with as little power of adhesion as a billiard-ball upon a +tea-tray. He gripped the two sides with his hands to hold himself +steady. The creature had got into its long, swinging, stealthy trot, +its sponge-like feet making no sound upon the hard sand. Anerley leaned +back with his two hands gripping hard behind him, and he whooped the +creature on. The sun had already sunk behind the line of black volcanic +peaks, which look like huge slag-heaps at the mouth of a mine. +The western sky had taken that lovely light green and pale pink tint +which makes evening beautiful upon the Nile, and the old brown river +itself, swirling down amongst the black rocks, caught some shimmer of +the colours above. The glare, the heat, and the piping of the insects +had all ceased together. In spite of his aching head, Anerley could +have cried out for pure physical joy as the swift creature beneath him +flew along with him through that cool, invigorating air, with the virile +north wind soothing his pringling face. + +He had looked at his watch, and now he made a swift calculation of times +and distances. It was past six when he had left the camp. Over broken +ground it was impossible that he could hope to do more than seven miles +an hour--less on bad parts, more on the smooth. His recollection of the +track was that there were few smooth and many bad. He would be lucky, +then, if he reached Sarras anywhere from twelve to one. Then the +messages took a good two hours to go through, for they had to be +transcribed at Cairo. At the best he could only hope to have told his +story in Fleet Street at two or three in the morning. It was possible +that he might manage it, but the chances seemed enormously against him. +About three the morning edition would be made up, and his chance gone +for ever. The one thing clear was that only the first man at the wires +would have any chance at all, and Anerley meant to be first if hard +riding could do it. So he tapped away at the bird-like neck, and the +creature’s long, loose limbs went faster and faster at every tap. +Where the rocky spurs ran down to the river, horses would have to go +round, while camels might get across, so that Anerley felt that he was +always gaining upon his companions. + +But there was a price to be paid for the feeling. He had heard of men +who had burst when on camel journeys, and he knew that the Arabs swathe +their bodies tightly in broad cloth bandages when they prepare for a +long march. It had seemed unnecessary and ridiculous when he first +began to speed over the level track, but now, when he got on the rocky +paths, he understood what it meant. Never for an instant was he at the +same angle. Backwards, forwards he swung, with a tingling jar at the +end of each sway, until he ached from his neck to his knees. It caught +him across the shoulders, it caught him down the spine, it gripped him +over the loins, it marked the lower line of his ribs with one heavy, +dull throb. He clutched here and there with his hand to try and ease +the strain upon his muscles. He drew up his knees, altered his seat, +and set his teeth with a grim determination to go through with it should +it kill him. His head was splitting, his flayed face smarting, and +every joint in his body aching as if it were dislocated. But he forgot +all that when, with the rising of the moon, he heard the clinking of +horses’ hoofs down upon the track by the river, and knew that, unseen by +them, he had already got well abreast of his companions. But he was +hardly halfway, and the time already eleven. + +All day the needles had been ticking away without intermission in the +little corrugated iron hut which served as a telegraph station at +Sarras. With its bare walls and its packing-case seats, it was none the +less for the moment one of the vital spots upon the earth’s surface, and +the crisp, importunate ticking might have come from the world-old clock +of Destiny. Many august people had been at the other end of those +wires, and had communed with the moist-faced military clerk. A French +Premier had demanded a pledge, and an English marquis had passed on the +request to the General in command, with a question as to how it would +affect the situation. Cipher telegrams had nearly driven the clerk out +of his wits, for of all crazy occupations the taking of a cipher +message, when you are without the key to the cipher, is the worst. +Much high diplomacy had been going on all day in the innermost chambers +of European chancellories, and the results of it had been whispered into +this little corrugated-iron hut. About two in the morning an enormous +despatch had come at last to an end, and the weary operator had opened +the door, and was lighting his pipe in the cool, fresh air, when he saw +a camel plump down in the dust, and a man, who seemed to be in the last +stage of drunkenness, come rolling towards him. + +“What’s the time?” he cried, in a voice which appeared to be the only +sober thing about him. + +It was on the clerk’s lips to say that it was time that the questioner +was in his bed, but it is not safe upon a campaign to be ironical at the +expense of khaki-clad men. He contented himself, therefore, with the +bald statement that it was after two. But no retort that he could have +devised could have had a more crushing effect. The voice turned drunken +also, and the man caught at the door-post to uphold him. + +“Two o’clock! I’m done after all!” said he. His head was tied up in a +bloody handkerchief, his face was crimson, and he stood with his legs +crooked as if the pith had all gone out of his back. The clerk began to +realise that something out of the ordinary was in the wind. + +“How long does it take to get a wire to London?” + +“About two hours.” + +“And it’s two now. I could not get it there before four.” + +“Before three.” + +“Four.” + +“No, three.” + +“But you said two hours.” + +“Yes, but there’s more than an hour’s difference in longitude.” + +“By Heaven, I’ll do it yet!” cried Anerley, and staggering to a +packing-case, he began the dictation of his famous despatch. + +And so it came about that the _Gazette_ had a long column, with +headlines like an epitaph, when the sheets of the _Intelligence_ and the +_Courier_ were as blank as the faces of their editors. And so, too, it +happened that when two weary men, upon two foundered horses, arrived +about four in the morning at the Sarras post-office, they looked at each +other in silence and departed noiselessly, with the conviction that +there are some situations with which the English language is not capable +of dealing. + + + + +THE NEW CATACOMB + + +“Look here, Burger,” said Kennedy, “I do wish that you would confide in +me.” + +The two famous students of Roman remains sat together in Kennedy’s +comfortable room overlooking the Corso. The night was cold, and they +had both pulled up their chairs to the unsatisfactory Italian stove +which threw out a zone of stuffiness rather than of warmth. + +Outside under the bright winter stars lay the modern Rome, the long, +double chain of the electric lamps, the brilliantly lighted _cafes_, the +rushing carriages, and the dense throng upon the footpaths. But inside, +in the sumptuous chamber of the rich young English archaeologist, there +was only old Rome to be seen. Cracked and time-worn friezes hung upon +the walls, grey old busts of senators and soldiers with their fighting +heads and their hard, cruel faces peered out from the corners. On the +centre table, amidst a litter of inscriptions, fragments, and ornaments, +there stood the famous reconstruction by Kennedy of the Baths of +Caracalla, which excited such interest and admiration when it was +exhibited in Berlin. + +Amphorae hung from the ceiling, and a litter of curiosities strewed the +rich red Turkey carpet. And of them all there was not one which was not +of the most unimpeachable authenticity, and of the utmost rarity and +value; for Kennedy, though little more than thirty, had a European +reputation in this particular branch of research, and was, moreover, +provided with that long purse which either proves to be a fatal handicap +to the student’s energies, or, if his mind is still true to its purpose, +gives him an enormous advantage in the race for fame. Kennedy had often +been seduced by whim and pleasure from his studies, but his mind was an +incisive one, capable of long and concentrated efforts which ended in +sharp reactions of sensuous languor. His handsome face, with its high, +white forehead, its aggressive nose, and its somewhat loose and sensuous +mouth, was a fair index of the compromise between strength and weakness +in his nature. + +Of a very different type was his companion, Julius Burger. He came of a +curious blend, a German father and an Italian mother, with the robust +qualities of the North mingling strangely with the softer graces of the +South. Blue Teutonic eyes lightened his sun-browned face, and above +them rose a square, massive forehead, with a fringe of close yellow +curls lying round it. His strong, firm jaw was clean-shaven, and his +companion had frequently remarked how much it suggested those old Roman +busts which peered out from the shadows in the corners of his chamber. +Under its bluff German strength there lay always a suggestion of Italian +subtlety, but the smile was so honest, and the eyes so frank, that one +understood that this was only an indication of his ancestry, with no +actual bearing upon his character. + +In age and in reputation he was on the same level as his English +companion, but his life and his work had both been far more arduous. +Twelve years before he had come as a poor student to Rome, and had lived +ever since upon some small endowment for research which had been awarded +to him by the University of Bonn. + +Painfully, slowly, and doggedly, with extraordinary tenacity and +singlemindedness, he had climbed from rung to rung of the ladder of +fame, until now he was a member of the Berlin Academy, and there was +every reason to believe that he would shortly be promoted to the Chair +of the greatest of German Universities. But the singleness of purpose +which had brought him to the same high level as the rich and brilliant +Englishman, had caused him in everything outside their work to stand +infinitely below him. He had never found a pause in his studies in +which to cultivate the social graces. It was only when he spoke of his +own subject that his face was filled with life and soul. At other times +he was silent and embarrassed, too conscious of his own limitations in +larger subjects, and impatient of that small talk which is the +conventional refuge of those who have no thoughts to express. + +And yet for some years there had been an acquaintanceship which appeared +to be slowly ripening into a friendship between these two very different +rivals. The base and origin of this lay in the fact that in their own +studies each was the only one of the younger men who had knowledge and +enthusiasm enough to properly appreciate the other. Their common +interests and pursuits had brought them together, and each had been +attracted by the other’s knowledge. And then gradually something had +been added to this. Kennedy had been amused by the frankness and +simplicity of his rival, while Burger in turn had been fascinated by the +brilliancy and vivacity which had made Kennedy such a favourite in Roman +society. I say “had,” because just at the moment the young Englishman +was somewhat under a cloud. + +A love affair, the details of which had never quite come out, had +indicated a heartlessness and callousness upon his part which shocked +many of his friends. But in the bachelor circles of students and +artists in which he preferred to move there is no very rigid code of +honour in such matters, and though a head might be shaken or a pair of +shoulders shrugged over the flight of two and the return of one, the +general sentiment was probably one of curiosity and perhaps of envy +rather than of reprobation. + +“Look here, Burger,” said Kennedy, looking hard at the placid face of +his companion, “I do wish that you would confide in me.” + +As he spoke he waved his hand in the direction of a rug which +lay upon the floor. + +On the rug stood a long, shallow fruit-basket of the light wicker-work +which is used in the Campagna, and this was heaped with a litter of +objects, inscribed tiles, broken inscriptions, cracked mosaics, torn +papyri, rusty metal ornaments, which to the uninitiated might have +seemed to have come straight from a dustman’s bin, but which a +specialist would have speedily recognized as unique of their kind. + +The pile of odds and ends in the flat wicker-work basket supplied +exactly one of those missing links of social development which are of +such interest to the student. It was the German who had brought them +in, and the Englishman’s eyes were hungry as he looked at them. + +“I won’t interfere with your treasure-trove, but I should very much like +to hear about it,” he continued, while Burger very deliberately lit a +cigar. “It is evidently a discovery of the first importance. These +inscriptions will make a sensation throughout Europe.” + +“For every one here there are a million there!” said the German. “There +are so many that a dozen savants might spend a lifetime over them, and +build up a reputation as solid as the Castle of St. Angelo.” + +Kennedy was thinking with his fine forehead wrinkled and his fingers +playing with his long, fair moustache. + +“You have given yourself away, Burger!” said he at last. “Your words +can only apply to one thing. You have discovered a new catacomb.” + +“I had no doubt that you had already come to that conclusion from an +examination of these objects.” + +“Well, they certainly appeared to indicate it, but your last remarks +make it certain. There is no place except a catacomb which could +contain so vast a store of relics as you describe.” + +“Quite so. There is no mystery about that. I _have_ discovered a new +catacomb.” + +“Where?” + +“Ah, that is my secret, my dear Kennedy! Suffice it that it is so +situated that there is not one chance in a million of anyone else coming +upon it. Its date is different from that of any known catacomb, and it +has been reserved for the burial of the highest Christians, so that the +remains and the relics are quite different from anything which has ever +been seen before. If I was not aware of your knowledge and of your +energy, my friend, I would not hesitate, under the pledge of secrecy, to +tell you everything about it. But as it is I think that I must +certainly prepare my own report of the matter before I expose myself to +such formidable competition.” + +Kennedy loved his subject with a love which was almost a mania--a love +which held him true to it, amidst all the distractions which come to a +wealthy and dissipated young man. He had ambition, but his ambition was +secondary to his mere abstract joy and interest in everything which +concerned the old life and history of the city. He yearned to see this +new underworld which his companion had discovered. + +“Look here, Burger,” said he, earnestly, “I assure you that you can +trust me most implicitly in the matter. Nothing would induce me to put +pen to paper about anything which I see until I have your express +permission. I quite understand your feeling, and I think it is most +natural, but you have really nothing whatever to fear from me. On the +other hand, if you don’t tell me I shall make a systematic search, and I +shall most certainly discover it. In that case, of course, I should +make what use I liked of it, since I should be under no obligation to +you.” + +Burger smiled thoughtfully over his cigar. + +“I have noticed, friend Kennedy,” said he, “that when I want information +over any point you are not always so ready to supply it.” + +“When did you ever ask me anything that I did not tell you? You +remember, for example, my giving you the material for your paper about +the temple of the Vestals.” + +“Ah, well, that was not a matter of much importance. If I were to +question you upon some intimate thing, would you give me an answer, I +wonder! This new catacomb is a very intimate thing to me, and I should +certainly expect some sign of confidence in return.” + +“What you are driving at I cannot imagine,” said the Englishman, “but if +you mean that you will answer my question about the catacomb if I answer +any question which you may put to me, I can assure you that I will +certainly do so.” + +“Well, then,” said Burger, leaning luxuriously back in his settee, and +puffing a blue tree of cigar-smoke into the air, “tell me all about your +relations with Miss Mary Saunderson.” + +Kennedy sprang up in his chair and glared angrily at his impassive +companion. + +“What the devil do you mean?” he cried. “What sort of a question is +this? You may mean it as a joke, but you never made a worse one.” + +“No, I don’t mean it as a joke,” said Burger, simply. “I am really +rather interested in the details of the matter. I don’t know much about +the world and women and social life and that sort of thing, and such an +incident has the fascination of the unknown for me. I know you, and I +knew her by sight--I had even spoken to her once or twice. I should +very much like to hear from your own lips exactly what it was which +occurred between you.” + +“I won’t tell you a word.” + +“That’s all right. It was only my whim to see if you would give up a +secret as easily as you expected me to give up my secret of the new +catacomb. You wouldn’t, and I didn’t expect you to. But why should you +expect otherwise of me? There’s St. John’s clock striking ten. It is +quite time that I was going home.” + +“No, wait a bit, Burger,” said Kennedy; “this is really a ridiculous +caprice of yours to wish to know about an old love affair which has +burned out months ago. You know we look upon a man who kisses and tells +as the greatest coward and villain possible.” + +“Certainly,” said the German, gathering up his basket of curiosities, +“when he tells anything about a girl which is previously unknown, he +must be so. But in this case, as you must be aware, it was a public +matter which was the common talk of Rome, so that you are not really +doing Miss Mary Saunderson any injury by discussing her case with me. +But still, I respect your scruples; and so good night!” + +“Wait a bit, Burger,” said Kennedy, laying his hand upon the other’s +arm; “I am very keen upon this catacomb business, and I can’t let it +drop quite so easily. Would you mind asking me something else in +return--something not quite so eccentric this time?” + +“No, no; you have refused, and there is an end of it,” said Burger, with +his basket on his arm. “No doubt you are quite right not to answer, and +no doubt I am quite right also--and so again, my dear Kennedy, good +night!” + +The Englishman watched Burger cross the room, and he had his hand on the +handle of the door before his host sprang up with the air of a man who +is making the best of that which cannot be helped. “Hold on, old +fellow,” said he. “I think you are behaving in a most ridiculous +fashion, but still, if this is your condition, I suppose that I must +submit to it. I hate saying anything about a girl, but, as you say, it +is all over Rome, and I don’t suppose I can tell you anything which you +do not know already. What was it you wanted to know?” + +The German came back to the stove, and, laying down his basket, he sank +into his chair once more. “May I have another cigar?” said he. “Thank +you very much! I never smoke when I work, but I enjoy a chat much more +when I am under the influence of tobacco. Now, as regards this young +lady, with whom you had this little adventure. What in the world has +become of her?” + +“She is at home with her own people.” + +“Oh, really--in England?” + +“Yes.” + +“What part of England--London?” + +“No, Twickenham.” + +“You must excuse my curiosity, my dear Kennedy, and you must put it down +to my ignorance of the world. No doubt it is quite a simple thing to +persuade a young lady to go off with you for three weeks or so, and then +to hand her over to her own family at--what did you call the place?” + +“Twickenham.” + +“Quite so--at Twickenham. But it is something so entirely outside my +own experience that I cannot even imagine how you set about it. For +example, if you had loved this girl your love could hardly disappear in +three weeks, so I presume that you could not have loved her at all. But +if you did not love her why should you make this great scandal which has +damaged you and ruined her?” + +Kennedy looked moodily into the red eye of the stove. “That’s a logical +way of looking at it, certainly,” said he. “Love is a big word, and it +represents a good many different shades of feeling. I liked her, and-- +well, you say you’ve seen her--you know how charming she can look. +But still I am willing to admit, looking back, that I could never have +really loved her.” + +“Then, my dear Kennedy, why did you do it?” + +“The adventure of the thing had a great deal to do with it.” + +“What! You are so fond of adventures!” + +“Where would the variety of life be without them? It was for an +adventure that I first began to pay my attentions to her. I’ve chased a +good deal of game in my time, but there’s no chase like that of a pretty +woman. There was the piquant difficulty of it also, for, as she was the +companion of Lady Emily Rood it was almost impossible to see her alone. +On the top of all the other obstacles which attracted me, I learned from +her own lips very early in the proceedings that she was engaged.” + +“Mein Gott! To whom?” + +“She mentioned no names.” + +“I do not think that anyone knows that. So that made the adventure more +alluring, did it?” + +“Well, it did certainly give a spice to it. Don’t you think so?” + +“I tell you that I am very ignorant about these things.” + +“My dear fellow, you can remember that the apple you stole from your +neighbour’s tree was always sweeter than that which fell from your own. +And then I found that she cared for me.” + +“What--at once?” + +“Oh, no, it took about three months of sapping and mining. But at last +I won her over. She understood that my judicial separation from my wife +made it impossible for me to do the right thing by her--but she came all +the same, and we had a delightful time, as long as it lasted.” + +“But how about the other man?” + +Kennedy shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose it is the survival of the +fittest,” said he. “If he had been the better man she would not have +deserted him. Let’s drop the subject, for I have had enough of it!” + +“Only one other thing. How did you get rid of her in three weeks?” + +“Well, we had both cooled down a bit, you understand. She absolutely +refused, under any circumstances, to come back to face the people she +had known in Rome. Now, of course, Rome is necessary to me, and I was +already pining to be back at my work--so there was one obvious cause of +separation. Then, again, her old father turned up at the hotel in +London, and there was a scene, and the whole thing became so unpleasant +that really--though I missed her dreadfully at first--I was very glad to +slip out of it. Now, I rely upon you not to repeat anything of what I +have said.” + +“My dear Kennedy, I should not dream of repeating it. But all that you +say interests me very much, for it gives me an insight into your way of +looking at things, which is entirely different from mine, for I have +seen so little of life. And now you want to know about my new catacomb. +There’s no use my trying to describe it, for you would never find it by +that. There is only one thing, and that is for me to take you there.” + +“That would be splendid.” + +“When would you like to come?” + +“The sooner the better. I am all impatience to see it.” + +“Well, it is a beautiful night--though a trifle cold. Suppose we start +in an hour. We must be very careful to keep the matter to ourselves. +If anyone saw us hunting in couples they would suspect that there was +something going on.” + +“We can’t be too cautious,” said Kennedy. “Is it far?” + +“Some miles.” + +“Not too far to walk?” + +“Oh, no, we could walk there easily.” + +“We had better do so, then. A cabman’s suspicions would be aroused if +he dropped us both at some lonely spot in the dead of the night.” + +“Quite so. I think it would be best for us to meet at the Gate of the +Appian Way at midnight. I must go back to my lodgings for the matches +and candles and things.” + +“All right, Burger! I think it is very kind of you to let me into this +secret, and I promise you that I will write nothing about it until you +have published your report. Good-bye for the present! You will find me +at the Gate at twelve.” + +The cold, clear air was filled with the musical chimes from that city of +clocks as Burger, wrapped in an Italian overcoat, with a lantern hanging +from his hand, walked up to the rendezvous. Kennedy stepped out of the +shadow to meet him. + +“You are ardent in work as well as in love!” said the German, laughing. + +“Yes; I have been waiting here for nearly half an hour.” + +“I hope you left no clue as to where we were going.” + +“Not such a fool! By Jove, I am chilled to the bone! Come on, Burger, +let us warm ourselves by a spurt of hard walking.” + +Their footsteps sounded loud and crisp upon the rough stone paving of +the disappointing road which is all that is left of the most famous +highway of the world. A peasant or two going home from the wine-shop, +and a few carts of country produce coming up to Rome, were the only +things which they met. They swung along, with the huge tombs looming up +through the darkness upon each side of them, until they had come as far +as the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, and saw against a rising moon the +great circular bastion of Cecilia Metella in front of them. Then Burger +stopped with his hand to his side. “Your legs are longer than mine, and +you are more accustomed to walking,” said he, laughing. “I think that +the place where we turn off is somewhere here. Yes, this is it, round +the corner of the trattoria. Now, it is a very narrow path, so perhaps +I had better go in front, and you can follow.” He had lit his lantern, +and by its light they were enabled to follow a narrow and devious track +which wound across the marshes of the Campagna. The great Aqueduct of +old Rome lay like a monstrous caterpillar across the moonlit landscape, +and their road led them under one of its huge arches, and past the +circle of crumbling bricks which marks the old arena. At last Burger +stopped at a solitary wooden cowhouse, and he drew a key from his +pocket. + +“Surely your catacomb is not inside a house!” cried Kennedy. + +“The entrance to it is. That is just the safeguard which we have +against anyone else discovering it.” + +“Does the proprietor know of it?” + +“Not he. He had found one or two objects which made me almost certain +that his house was built on the entrance to such a place. So I rented +it from him, and did my excavations for myself. Come in, and shut the +door behind you.” + +It was a long, empty building, with the mangers of the cows along one +wall. Burger put his lantern down on the ground, and shaded its light +in all directions save one by draping his overcoat round it. “It might +excite remark if anyone saw a light in this lonely place,” said he. +“Just help me to move this boarding.” The flooring was loose in the +corner, and plank by plank the two savants raised it and leaned it +against the wall. Below there was a square aperture and a stair of old +stone steps which led away down into the bowels of the earth. + +“Be careful!” cried Burger, as Kennedy, in his impatience, +hurried down them. “It is a perfect rabbits’-warren below, and if +you were once to lose your way there, the chances would be a hundred +to one against your ever coming out again. Wait until I bring the +light.” + +“How do you find your own way if it is so complicated?” + +“I had some very narrow escapes at first, but I have gradually learned +to go about. There is a certain system to it, but it is one which a +lost man, if he were in the dark, could not possibly find out. Even now +I always spin out a ball of string behind me when I am going far into +the catacomb. You can see for yourself that it is difficult, but every +one of these passages divides and subdivides a dozen times before you go +a hundred yards.” They had descended some twenty feet from the level of +the byre, and they were standing now in a square chamber cut out of the +soft tufa. The lantern cast a flickering light, bright below and dim +above, over the cracked brown walls. In every direction were the black +openings of passages which radiated from this common centre. + +“I want you to follow me closely, my friend,” said Burger. “Do not +loiter to look at anything upon the way, for the place to which I will +take you contains all that you can see, and more. It will save time for +us to go there direct.” He led the way down one of the corridors, and +the Englishman followed closely at his heels. Every now and then the +passage bifurcated, but Burger was evidently following some secret marks +of his own, for he neither stopped nor hesitated. Everywhere along the +walls, packed like the berths upon an emigrant ship, lay the Christians +of old Rome. The yellow light flickered over the shrivelled features of +the mummies, and gleamed upon rounded skulls and long, white arm-bones +crossed over fleshless chests. And everywhere as he passed Kennedy +looked with wistful eyes upon inscriptions, funeral vessels, pictures, +vestments, utensils, all lying as pious hands had placed them so many +centuries ago. It was apparent to him, even in those hurried, passing +glances, that this was the earliest and finest of the catacombs, +containing such a storehouse of Roman remains as had never before come +at one time under the observation of the student. “What would happen if +the light went out?” he asked, as they hurried on. + +“I have a spare candle and a box of matches in my pocket. By the way, +Kennedy, have you any matches?” + +“No; you had better give me some.” + +“Oh, that is all right. There is no chance of our separating.” + +“How far are we going? It seems to me that we have walked at least a +quarter of a mile.” + +“More than that, I think. There is really no limit to the tombs--at +least, I have never been able to find any. This is a very difficult +place, so I think that I will use our ball of string.” He fastened one +end of it to a projecting stone and he carried the coil in the breast of +his coat, paying it out as he advanced. Kennedy saw that it was no +unnecessary precaution, for the passages had become more complexed and +tortuous than ever, with a perfect network of intersecting corridors. +But these all ended in one large circular hall with a square pedestal of +tufa topped with a slab of marble at one end of it. “By Jove!” cried +Kennedy in an ecstasy, as Burger swung his lantern over the marble. “It +is a Christian altar--probably the first one in existence. Here is the +little consecration cross cut upon the corner of it. No doubt this +circular space was used as a church.” + +“Precisely,” said Burger. “If I had more time I should like to show you +all the bodies which are buried in these niches upon the walls, for they +are the early popes and bishops of the Church, with their mitres, their +croziers, and full canonicals. Go over to that one and look at it!” +Kennedy went across, and stared at the ghastly head which lay loosely on +the shredded and mouldering mitre. + +“This is most interesting,” said he, and his voice seemed to boom +against the concave vault. “As far as my experience goes, it is unique. +Bring the lantern over, Burger, for I want to see them all.” But the +German had strolled away, and was standing in the middle of a yellow +circle of light at the other side of the hall. + +“Do you know how many wrong turnings there are between this and the +stairs?” he asked. “There are over two thousand. No doubt it was one +of the means of protection which the Christians adopted. The odds are +two thousand to one against a man getting out, even if he had a light; +but if he were in the dark it would, of course, be far more difficult.” + +“So I should think.” + +“And the darkness is something dreadful. I tried it once for an +experiment. Let us try it again!” He stooped to the lantern, and in an +instant it was as if an invisible hand was squeezed tightly over each of +Kennedy’s eyes. Never had he known what such darkness was. It seemed +to press upon him and to smother him. It was a solid obstacle against +which the body shrank from advancing. He put his hands out to push it +back from him. “That will do, Burger,” said he, “let’s have the light +again.” + +But his companion began to laugh, and in that circular room the sound +seemed to come from every side at once. “You seem uneasy, friend +Kennedy,” said he. + +“Go on, man, light the candle!” said Kennedy, impatiently. + +“It’s very strange, Kennedy, but I could not in the least tell by the +sound in which direction you stand. Could you tell where I am?” + +“No; you seem to be on every side of me.” + +“If it were not for this string which I hold in my hand I should not +have a notion which way to go.” + +“I dare say not. Strike a light, man, and have an end of this +nonsense.” + +“Well, Kennedy, there are two things which I understand that you are +very fond of. The one is adventure, and the other is an obstacle to +surmount. The adventure must be the finding of your way out of this +catacomb. The obstacle will be the darkness and the two thousand wrong +turns which make the way a little difficult to find. But you need not +hurry, for you have plenty of time, and when you halt for a rest now and +then, I should like you just to think of Miss Mary Saunderson, and +whether you treated her quite fairly.” + +“You devil, what do you mean?” roared Kennedy. He was running +about in little circles and clasping at the solid blackness with +both hands. + +“Good-bye,” said the mocking voice, and it was already at some distance. +“I really do not think, Kennedy, even by your own showing that you did +the right thing by that girl. There was only one little thing which you +appeared not to know, and I can supply it. Miss Saunderson was engaged +to a poor, ungainly devil of a student, and his name was Julius Burger.” +There was a rustle somewhere--the vague sound of a foot striking a +stone--and then there fell silence upon that old Christian church--a +stagnant heavy silence which closed round Kennedy and shut him in like +water round a drowning man. + + +Some two months afterwards the following paragraph made the round of the +European Press:-- + + + One of the most interesting discoveries of recent years is + that of the new catacomb in Rome, which lies some distance to the + east of the well-known vaults of St. Calixtus. The finding of this + important burial-place, which is exceedingly rich in most + interesting early Christian remains, is due to the energy and + sagacity of Dr. Julius Burger, the young German specialist, who is + rapidly taking the first place as an authority upon ancient Rome. + Although the first to publish his discovery, it appears that a less + fortunate adventurer had anticipated Dr. Burger. Some months ago + Mr. Kennedy, the well-known English student, disappeared suddenly + from his rooms in the “Corso”, and it was conjectured that his + association with a recent scandal had driven him to leave Rome. It + appears now that he had in reality fallen a victim to that fervid + love of archaeology which had raised him to a distinguished place + among living scholars. His body was discovered in the heart of the + new catacomb, and it was evident from the condition of his feet and + boots that he had tramped for days through the tortuous corridors + which make these subterranean tombs so dangerous to explorers. The + deceased gentleman had, with inexplicable rashness, made his way + into this labyrinth without, as far as can be discovered, taking + with him either candles or matches, so that his sad fate was the + natural result of his own temerity. What makes the matter more + painful is that Dr. Julius Burger was an intimate friend of the + deceased. His joy at the extraordinary find which he has been so + fortunate as to make has been greatly marred by the terrible fate + of his comrade and fellow-worker. + + + + +THE DEBUT OF BIMBASHI JOYCE + + +It was in the days when the tide of Mahdism, which had swept in such a +flood from the great Lakes and Darfur to the confines of Egypt, had at +last come to its full, and even begun, as some hoped, to show signs of a +turn. At its outset it had been terrible. It had engulfed Hicks’s +army, swept over Gordon and Khartoum, rolled behind the British forces +as they retired down the river, and finally cast up a spray of raiding +parties as far north as Assouan. Then it found other channels to east +and west, to Central Africa and to Abyssinia, and retired a little on +the side of Egypt. For ten years there ensued a lull, during which the +frontier garrisons looked out upon those distant blue hills of Dongola. +Behind the violet mists which draped them lay a land of blood and +horror. From time to time some adventurer went south towards those +haze-girt mountains, tempted by stories of gum and ivory, but none ever +returned. Once a mutilated Egyptian and once a Greek woman, mad with +thirst and fear, made their way to the lines. They were the only +exports of that country of darkness. Sometimes the sunset would turn +those distant mists into a bank of crimson, and the dark mountains would +rise from that sinister reek like islands in a sea of blood. It seemed +a grim symbol in the southern heaven when seen from the fort-capped +hills by Wady Halfa. Ten years of lust in Khartoum, ten years of silent +work in Cairo, and then all was ready, and it was time for civilisation +to take a trip south once more, travelling as her wont is in an armoured +train. Everything was ready, down to the last pack-saddle of the last +camel, and yet no one suspected it, for an unconstitutional Government +has its advantage. A great administrator had argued, and managed, and +cajoled; a great soldier had organised and planned, and made piastres do +the work of pounds. And then one night these two master spirits met and +clasped hands, and the soldier vanished away upon some business of his +own. And just at that very time, Bimbashi Hilary Joyce, seconded from +the Royal Mallow Fusiliers, and temporarily attached to the Ninth +Soudanese, made his first appearance in Cairo. + +Napoleon had said, and Hilary Joyce had noted, that great reputations +are only to be made in the East. Here he was in the East with four tin +cases of baggage, a Wilkinson sword, a Bond’s slug-throwing pistol, and +a copy of “Green’s Introduction to the Study of Arabic.” With such a +start, and the blood of youth running hot in his veins, everything +seemed easy. He was a little frightened of the general; he had heard +stories of his sternness to young officers, but with tact and suavity he +hoped for the best. So, leaving his effects at “Shepherd’s Hotel,” he +reported himself at headquarters. It was not the general, but the head +of the Intelligence Department who received him, the chief being still +absent upon that business which had called him. Hilary Joyce found +himself in the presence of a short, thick-set officer, with a gentle +voice and a placid expression which covered a remarkably acute and +energetic spirit. With that quiet smile and guileless manner he had +undercut and outwitted the most cunning of Orientals. He stood, a +cigarette between his fingers, looking at the newcomer. “I heard that +you had come. Sorry the chief isn’t here to see you. Gone up to the +frontier, you know.” + +“My regiment is at Wady Halfa. I suppose, sir, that I should report +myself there at once?” + +“No; I was to give you your orders.” He led the way to a map upon the +wall, and pointed with the end of his cigarette. “You see this place. +It’s the Oasis of Kurkur--a little quiet, I am afraid, but excellent +air. You are to get out there as quick as possible. You’ll find a +company of the Ninth, and half a squadron of cavalry. You will be in +command.” + +Hilary Joyce looked at the name, printed at the intersection of two +black lines without another dot upon the map for several inches around +it. “A village, sir?” + +“No, a well. Not very good water, I’m afraid, but you soon get +accustomed to natron. It’s an important post, as being at the junction +of two caravan routes. All routes are closed now, of course, but still +you never know who _might_ come along them.” + +“We are there, I presume, to prevent raiding?” + +“Well, between you and me, there’s really nothing to raid. You are +there to intercept messengers. They must call at the wells. Of course +you have only just come out, but you probably understand already enough +about the conditions of this country to know that there is a great deal +of disaffection about, and that the Khalifa is likely to try and keep in +touch with his adherents. Then, again, Senoussi lives up that way”--he +waved his cigarette to the westward--“the Khalifa might send a message +to him along that route. Anyhow, your duty is to arrest everyone coming +along, and get some account of him before you let him go. You don’t +talk Arabic, I suppose?” + +“I am learning, sir.” + +“Well, well, you’ll have time enough for study there. And you’ll have a +native officer, Ali something or other, who speaks English, and can +interpret for you. Well, good-bye--I’ll tell the chief that you +reported yourself. Get on to your post now as quickly as you can.” + +Railway to Baliani, the post-boat to Assouan, and then two days on a +camel in the Libyan desert, with an Ababdeh guide, and three +baggage-camels to tie one down to their own exasperating pace. +However, even two and a half miles an hour mount up in time, and at +last, on the third evening, from the blackened slag-heap of a hill which +is called the Jebel Kurkur, Hilary Joyce looked down upon a distant +clump of palms, and thought that this cool patch of green in the midst +of the merciless blacks and yellows was the fairest colour effect that +he had ever seen. An hour later he had ridden into the little camp, the +guard had turned out to salute him, his native subordinate had greeted +him in excellent English, and he had fairly entered into his own. +It was not an exhilarating place for a lengthy residence. There was one +large, bowl-shaped, grassy depression sloping down to the three pits of +brown and brackish water. There was the grove of palm trees also, +beautiful to look upon, but exasperating in view of the fact that Nature +has provided her least shady trees on the very spot where shade is +needed most. A single wide-spread acacia did something to restore the +balance. Here Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat, and in the cool he +inspected his square-shouldered, spindle-shanked Soudanese, with their +cheery black faces and their funny little pork-pie forage caps. +Joyce was a martinet at drill, and the blacks loved being drilled, so +the Bimbashi was soon popular among them. But one day was exactly like +another. The weather, the view, the employment, the food--everything +was the same. At the end of three weeks he felt that he had been there +for interminable years. And then at last there came something to break +the monotony. + +One evening, as the sun was sinking, Hilary Joyce rode slowly down the +old caravan road. It had a fascination for him, this narrow track, +winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs, for he +remembered how in the map it had gone on and on, stretching away into +the unknown heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable camels +through many centuries had beaten it smooth, so that now, unused and +deserted, it still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot broad, and +perhaps two thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as he rode how +long it was since any traveller had journeyed up it from the south, and +then he raised his eyes, and there was a man coming along the path. +For an instant Joyce thought that it might be one of his own men, but a +second glance assured him that this could not be so. The stranger was +dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab, and not in the close-fitting +khaki of a soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban made him seem +gigantic. He strode swiftly along, with head erect, and the bearing of +a man who knows no fear. + +Who could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the unknown? +The precursor possibly of a horde of savage spearmen. And where could +he have walked from? The nearest well was a long hundred miles down the +track. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur could not afford to +receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round his horse, galloped +into camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty horsemen at his back, +he rode out again to reconnoitre. The man was still coming on in spite +of these hostile preparations. For an instant he hesitated when first +he saw the cavalry, but escape was out of the question, and he advanced +with the air of one who makes the best of a bad job. He made no +resistance, and said nothing when the hands of two troopers clutched at +his shoulders, but walked quietly between their horses into camp. +Shortly afterwards the patrol came in again. There were no signs of any +dervishes. The man was alone. A splendid trotting camel had been found +lying dead a little way down the track. The mystery of the stranger’s +arrival was explained. But why, and whence, and whither?--these were +questions for which a zealous officer must find an answer. + +Hilary Joyce was disappointed that there were no dervishes. It would +have been a great start for him in the Egyptian army had he fought a +little action on his own account. But even as it was, he had a rare +chance of impressing the authorities. He would love to show his +capacity to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grim +Chief who never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was slack. +The prisoner’s dress and bearing showed that he was of importance. +Mean men do not ride pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce sponged his head +with cold water, drank a cup of strong coffee, put on an imposing +official tarboosh instead of his sun-helmet, and formed himself into a +court of inquiry and judgment under the acacia tree. He would have +liked his people to have seen him now, with his two black orderlies in +waiting, and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He sat behind a +camp-table, and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up to him. +The man was a handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long black +beard. + +“Why!” cried Joyce, “the rascal is making faces at me.” A curious +contraction had passed over the man’s features, but so swiftly that it +might have been a nervous twitch. He was now a model of Oriental +gravity. “Ask him who he is, and what he wants?” The native officer +did so, but the stranger made no reply, save that the same sharp spasm +passed once more over his face. “Well, I’m blessed!” cried Hilary +Joyce. “Of all the impudent scoundrels! He keeps on winking at me. +Who are you, you rascal? Give an account of yourself! D’ye hear?” +But the tall Arab was as impervious to English as to Arabic. +The Egyptian tried again and again. The prisoner looked at Joyce with +his inscrutable eyes, and occasionally twitched his face at him, but +never opened his mouth. The Bimbashi scratched his head in +bewilderment. + +“Look here, Mahomet Ali, we’ve got to get some sense out of this fellow. +You say there are no papers on him?” + +“No, sir; we found no papers.” + +“No clue of any kind?” + +“He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He has +come from Dongola, at least.” + +“Well, we must get him to talk.” + +“It is possible that he is deaf and dumb.” + +“Not he. I never saw a man look more all there in my life.” + +“You might send him across to Assouan.” + +“And give someone else the credit? No, thank you. This is my bird. +But how are we going to get him to find his tongue?” + +The Egyptian’s dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on the cook’s +fire. “Perhaps,” said he, “if the Bimbashi thought fit--” He looked at +the prisoner and then at the burning wood. + +“No, no; it wouldn’t do. No, by Jove, that’s going too far.” + +“A very little might do it.” + +“No, no. It’s all very well here, but it would sound just awful if ever +it got as far as Fleet Street. But, I say,” he whispered, “we might +frighten him a bit. There’s no harm in that.” + +“No, sir.” + +“Tell them to undo the man’s galabeeah. Order them to put a horseshoe +in the fire and make it red-hot.” The prisoner watched the proceedings +with an air which had more of amusement than of uneasiness. He never +winced as the black sergeant approached with the glowing shoe held upon +two bayonets. + +“Will you speak now?” asked the Bimbashi, savagely. The prisoner smiled +gently and stroked his beard. + +“Oh, chuck the infernal thing away!” cried Joyce, jumping up in a +passion. “There’s no use trying to bluff the fellow. He knows we won’t +do it. But I _can_ and I _will_ flog him, and you can tell him from me +that if he hasn’t found his tongue by to-morrow morning I’ll take the +skin off his back as sure as my name’s Joyce. Have you said all that?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Well, you can sleep upon it, you beauty, and a good night’s rest may it +give you!” He adjourned the Court, and the prisoner, as imperturbable +as ever, was led away by the guard to his supper of rice and water. +Hilary Joyce was a kind-hearted man, and his own sleep was considerably +disturbed by the prospect of the punishment which he must inflict next +day. He had hopes that the mere sight of the koorbash and the thongs +might prevail over his prisoner’s obstinacy. And then, again, he +thought how shocking it would be if the man proved to be really dumb +after all. The possibility shook him so that he had almost determined +by daybreak that he would send the stranger on unhurt to Assouan. +And yet what a tame conclusion it would be to the incident! He lay upon +his angareeb still debating it when the question suddenly and +effectively settled itself. Ali Mahomet rushed into his tent. + +“Sir,” he cried, “the prisoner is gone!” + +“Gone!” + +“Yes, sir, and your own best riding camel as well. There is a slit cut +in the tent, and he got away unseen in the early morning.” + +The Bimbashi acted with all energy. Cavalry rode along every track; +scouts examined the soft sand of the wadys for signs of the fugitive, +but no trace was discovered. The man had utterly disappeared. With a +heavy heart, Hilary Joyce wrote an official report of the matter and +forwarded it to Assouan. Five days later there came a curt order from +the chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst from +the stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself. +And his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, he +reported himself one night at the general’s quarters. Behind a table +piled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his Chief +of Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting was a +cold one. + +“I understand, Captain Joyce,” said the general, “that you have allowed +a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers.” + +“I am sorry, sir.” + +“No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain anything +about him before you lost him?” + +“No, sir.” + +“How was that?” + +“I could get nothing out of him, sir.” + +“Did you try?” + +“Yes, sir; I did what I could.” + +“What did you do?” + +“Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force.” + +“What did he say?” + +“He said nothing.” + +“What was he like?” + +“A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think.” + +“Any way by which we could identify him?” + +“A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of twitching +his face.” + +“Well, Captain Joyce,” said the general, in his stern, inflexible voice, +“I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army. +You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man. +I have the whole British army from which to draw. It is necessary, +therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency. +It would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zeal +or intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, I +understand?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling +your regimental duties again.” + +Hilary Joyce’s heart was too heavy for words. He was silent. + +“I will let you know my final decision to-morrow morning.” + +Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel. + +“You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night’s rest may it +give you!” + +Joyce turned in bewilderment. Where had those words been used before? +Who was it who had used them? The general was standing erect. Both he +and the Chief of the Intelligence were laughing. Joyce stared at the +tall figure, the erect bearing, the inscrutable grey eyes. + +“Good Lord!” he gasped. + +“Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!” said the general, holding out +his hand. “You gave me a bad ten minutes with that infernal red-hot +horseshoe of yours. I’ve done as much for you. I don’t think we can +spare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile.” + +“But, sir; but--!” + +“The fewer questions the better, perhaps. But of course it must seem +rather amazing. I had a little private business with the Kabbabish. +It must be done in person. I did it, and came to your post in my +return. I kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word with +you alone.” + +“Yes, yes. I begin to understand.” + +“I couldn’t give it away before all those blacks, or where should I have +been the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress? You put me in +a very awkward position. But at last I had a word alone with your +Egyptian officer, who managed my escape all right.” + +“He! Mahomet Ali!” + +“I ordered him to say nothing. I had a score to settle with you. +But we dine at eight, Captain Joyce. We live plainly here, but I think +I can do you a little better than you did me at Kurkur.” + + + +A FOREIGN OFFICE ROMANCE + + +There are many folk who knew Alphonse Lacour in his old age. From about +the time of the Revolution of ’48 until he died in the second year of +the Crimean War he was always to be found in the same corner of the Cafe +de Provence, at the end of the Rue St. Honore, coming down about nine in +the evening, and going when he could find no one to talk with. It took +some self-restraint to listen to the old diplomatist, for his stories +were beyond all belief, and yet he was quick at detecting the shadow of +a smile or the slightest little raising of the eyebrows. Then his huge, +rounded back would straighten itself, his bulldog chin would project, +and his r’s would burr like a kettledrum. When he got as far as, “Ah, +monsieur r-r-r-rit!” or “Vous ne me cr-r-r-royez pas donc!” it was quite +time to remember that you had a ticket for the opera. + +There was his story of Talleyrand and the five oyster-shells, and there +was his utterly absurd account of Napoleon’s second visit to Ajaccio. +Then there was that most circumstantial romance (which he never ventured +upon until his second bottle had been uncorked) of the Emperor’s escape +from St. Helena--how he lived for a whole year in Philadelphia, while +Count Herbert de Bertrand, who was his living image, personated him at +Longwood. But of all his stories there was none which was more +notorious than that of the Koran and the Foreign Office messenger. And +yet when Monsieur Otto’s memoirs were written it was found that there +really was some foundation for old Lacour’s incredible statement. + +“You must know, monsieur,” he would say, “that I left Egypt after +Kleber’s assassination. I would gladly have stayed on, for I was +engaged in a translation of the Koran, and between ourselves I had +thoughts at the time of embracing Mahometanism, for I was deeply struck +by the wisdom of their views about marriage. They had made an +incredible mistake, however, upon the subject of wine, and this was what +the Mufti who attempted to convert me could never get over. Then when +old Kleber died and Menou came to the top, I felt that it was time for +me to go. It is not for me to speak of my own capacities, monsieur, but +you will readily understand that the man does not care to be ridden by +the mule. I carried my Koran and my papers to London, where Monsieur +Otto had been sent by the First Consul to arrange a treaty of peace; for +both nations were very weary of the war, which had already lasted ten +years. Here I was most useful to Monsieur Otto on account of my +knowledge of the English tongue, and also, if I may say so, on account +of my natural capacity. They were happy days during which I lived in +the square of Bloomsbury. The climate of monsieur’s country is, it must +be confessed, detestable. But then what would you have? Flowers grow +best in the rain. One has but to point to monsieur’s fellow +country-women to prove it. + +“Well, Monsieur Otto, our Ambassador, was kept terribly busy over that +treaty, and all of his staff were worked to death. We had not Pitt to +deal with, which was, perhaps, as well for us. He was a terrible man +that Pitt, and wherever half a dozen enemies of France were plotting +together, there was his sharp-pointed nose right in the middle of them. +The nation, however, had been thoughtful enough to put him out of +office, and we had to do with Monsieur Addington. But Milord Hawkesbury +was the Foreign Minister, and it was with him that we were obliged to do +our bargaining. + +“You can understand that it was no child’s play. After ten years of war +each nation had got hold of a great deal which had belonged to the +other, or to the other’s allies. What was to be given back, and what +was to be kept? Is this island worth that peninsula? If we do this at +Venice, will you do that at Sierra Leone? If we give up Egypt to the +Sultan, will you restore the Cape of Good Hope, which you have taken +from our allies the Dutch? So we wrangled and wrestled, and I have seen +Monsieur Otto come back to the Embassy so exhausted that his secretary +and I had to help him from his carriage to his sofa. But at last things +adjusted themselves, and the night came round when the treaty was to be +finally signed. Now, you must know that the one great card which we +held, and which we played, played, played at every point of the game, +was that we had Egypt. The English were very nervous about our being +there. It gave us a foot at each end of the Mediterranean, you see. +And they were not sure that that wonderful little Napoleon of ours might +not make it the base of an advance against India. So whenever Lord +Hawkesbury proposed to retain anything, we had only to reply, ‘In _that_ +case, of course, we cannot consent to evacuate Egypt,’ and in this way +we quickly brought him to reason. It was by the help of Egypt that we +gained terms which were remarkably favourable, and especially that we +caused the English to consent to give up the Cape of Good Hope. We did +not wish your people, monsieur, to have any foothold in South Africa, +for history has taught us that the British foothold of one half-century +is the British Empire of the next. It is not your army or your navy +against which we have to guard, but it is your terrible younger son and +your man in search of a career. When we French have a possession across +the seas, we like to sit in Paris and to felicitate ourselves upon it. +With you it is different. You take your wives and your children, and +you run away to see what kind of place this may be, and after that we +might as well try to take that old Square of Bloomsbury away from you. + +“Well, it was upon the first of October that the treaty was finally to +be signed. In the morning I was congratulating Monsieur Otto upon the +happy conclusion of his labours. He was a little pale shrimp of a man, +very quick and nervous, and he was so delighted now at his own success +that he could not sit still, but ran about the room chattering and +laughing, while I sat on a cushion in the corner, as I had learned to do +in the East. Suddenly, in came a messenger with a letter which had been +forwarded from Paris. Monsieur Otto cast his eye upon it, and then, +without a word, his knees gave way, and he fell senseless upon the +floor. I ran to him, as did the courier, and between us we carried him +to the sofa. He might have been dead from his appearance, but I could +still feel his heart thrilling beneath my palm. ‘What is this, then?’ I +asked. + +“‘I do not know,’ answered the messenger. ‘Monsieur Talleyrand told me +to hurry as never man hurried before, and to put this letter into the +hands of Monsieur Otto. I was in Paris at midday yesterday.’ + +“I know that I am to blame, but I could not help glancing at the letter, +picking it out of the senseless hand of Monsieur Otto. My God! the +thunderbolt that it was! I did not faint, but I sat down beside my +chief and I burst into tears. It was but a few words, but they told us +that Egypt had been evacuated by our troops a month before. All our +treaty was undone then, and the one consideration which had induced our +enemies to give us good terms had vanished. In twelve hours it would +not have mattered. But now the treaty was not yet signed. We should +have to give up the Cape. We should have to let England have Malta. +Now that Egypt was gone we had nothing left to offer in exchange. + +“But we are not so easily beaten, we Frenchmen. You English misjudge us +when you think that because we show emotions which you conceal, that we +are therefore of a weak and womanly nature. You cannot read your +histories and believe that. Monsieur Otto recovered his senses +presently, and we took counsel what we should do. + +“‘It is useless to go on, Alphonse,’ said he. ‘This Englishman will +laugh at me when I ask him to sign.’ + +“‘Courage!’ I cried; and then a sudden thought coming into my head--‘How +do we know that the English will have news of this? Perhaps they may +sign the treaty before they know of it.’ + +“Monsieur Otto sprang from the sofa and flung himself into my arms. + +“‘Alphonse,’ he cried, ‘you have saved me! Why should they know about +it? Our news has come from Toulon to Paris, and thence straight to +London. Theirs will come by sea through the Straits of Gibraltar. At +this moment it is unlikely that anyone in Paris knows of it, save only +Talleyrand and the First Consul. If we keep our secret, we may still +get our treaty signed.’ + +“Ah! monsieur, you can imagine the horrible uncertainty in which we +spent the day. Never, never shall I forget those slow hours during +which we sat together, starting at every distant shout, lest it should +be the first sign of the rejoicing which this news would cause in +London. Monsieur Otto passed from youth to age in a day. As for me, I +find it easier to go out and meet danger than to wait for it. I set +forth, therefore, towards evening. I wandered here, and wandered there. +I was in the fencing-rooms of Monsieur Angelo, and in the salon-de-boxe +of Monsieur Jackson, and in the club of Brooks, and in the lobby of the +Chamber of Deputies, but nowhere did I hear any news. Still, it was +possible that Milord Hawkesbury had received it himself just as we had. +He lived in Harley Street, and there it was that the treaty was to be +finally signed that night at eight. I entreated Monsieur Otto to drink +two glasses of Burgundy before he went, for I feared lest his haggard +face and trembling hands should rouse suspicion in the English +minister. + +“Well, we went round together in one of the Embassy’s carriages about +half-past seven. Monsieur Otto went in alone; but presently, on excuse +of getting his portfolio, he came out again, with his cheeks flushed +with joy, to tell me that all was well. + +“‘He knows nothing,’ he whispered. ‘Ah, if the next half-hour were +over!’ + +“‘Give me a sign when it is settled,’ said I. + +“‘For what reason?’ + +“‘Because until then no messenger shall interrupt you. I give you my +promise--I, Alphonse Lacour.’ + +“He clasped my hand in both of his. + +“‘I shall make an excuse to move one of the candles on to the table in +the window,’ said he, and hurried into the house, whilst I was left +waiting beside the carriage. + +“Well, if we could but secure ourselves from interruption for a single +half-hour the day would be our own. I had hardly begun to form my plans +when I saw the lights of a carriage coming swiftly from the direction of +Oxford Street. Ah! if it should be the messenger! What could I do? +I was prepared to kill him--yes, even to kill him--rather than at this +last moment allow our work to be undone. Thousands die to make a +glorious war. Why should not one die to make a glorious peace? +What though they hurried me to the scaffold? I should have sacrificed +myself for my country. I had a little curved Turkish knife strapped to +my waist. My hand was on the hilt of it when the carriage which had +alarmed me so rattled safely past me. + +“But another might come. I must be prepared. Above all, I must not +compromise the Embassy. I ordered our carriage to move on, and I +engaged what you call a hackney coach. Then I spoke to the driver, and +gave him a guinea. He understood that it was a special service. + +“‘You shall have another guinea if you do what you are told,’ said I. + +“‘All right, master,’ said he, turning his slow eyes upon me without a +trace of excitement or curiosity. + +“‘If I enter your coach with another gentleman, you will drive up and +down Harley Street, and take no orders from anyone but me. When I get +out, you will carry the other gentleman to Watier’s Club, in Bruton +Street.’ + +“‘All right, master,’ said he again. + +“So I stood outside Milord Hawkesbury’s house, and you can think how +often my eyes went up to that window in the hope of seeing the candle +twinkle in it. Five minutes passed, and another five. Oh, how slowly +they crept along! It was a true October night, raw and cold, with a +white fog crawling over the wet, shining cobblestones, and blurring the +dim oil-lamps. I could not see fifty paces in either direction, but my +ears were straining, straining, to catch the rattle of hoofs or the +rumble of wheels. It is not a cheering place, monsieur, that street of +Harley, even upon a sunny day. The houses are solid and very +respectable over yonder, but there is nothing of the feminine about +them. It is a city to be inhabited by males. But on that raw night, +amid the damp and the fog, with the anxiety gnawing at my heart, it +seemed the saddest, weariest spot in the whole wide world. I paced up +and down slapping my hands to keep them warm, and still straining my +ears. And then suddenly out of the dull hum of the traffic down in +Oxford Street I heard a sound detach itself, and grow louder and louder, +and clearer and clearer with every instant, until two yellow lights came +flashing through the fog, and a light cabriolet whirled up to the door +of the Foreign Minister. It had not stopped before a young fellow +sprang out of it and hurried to the steps, while the driver turned his +horse and rattled off into the fog once more. + +“Ah, it is in the moment of action that I am best, monsieur. You, who +only see me when I am drinking my wine in the Cafe de Provence, cannot +conceive the heights to which I rise. At that moment, when I knew that +the fruits of a ten years’ war were at stake, I was magnificent. It was +the last French campaign and I the general and army in one. + +“‘Sir,” said I, touching him upon the arm, ‘are you the messenger for +Lord Hawkesbury?’ + +“‘Yes,’ said he. + +“‘I have been waiting for you half an hour,’ said I. ‘You are to follow +me at once. He is with the French Ambassador.’ + +“I spoke with such assurance that he never hesitated for an instant. +When he entered the hackney coach and I followed him in, my heart gave +such a thrill of joy that I could hardly keep from shouting aloud. +He was a poor little creature, this Foreign Office messenger, not much +bigger than Monsieur Otto, and I--monsieur can see my hands now, and +imagine what they were like when I was seven-and-twenty years of age. + +“Well, now that I had him in my coach, the question was what I should do +with him. I did not wish to hurt him if I could help it. + +“‘This is a pressing business,’ said he. ‘I have a despatch which I +must deliver instantly.’ + +“Our coach had rattled down Harley Street now, in accordance with my +instruction, it turned and began to go up again. + +“‘Hullo!’ he cried. ‘What’s this?’ + +“‘What then?’ I asked. + +“‘We are driving back. Where is Lord Hawkesbury?’ + +“‘We shall see him presently.’ + +“‘Let me out!’ he shouted. ‘There’s some trickery in this. Coachman, +stop the coach! Let me out, I say!’ + +“I dashed him back into his seat as he tried to turn the handle of the +door. He roared for help. I clapped my palm across his mouth. He made +his teeth meet through the side of it. I seized his own cravat and +bound it over his lips. He still mumbled and gurgled, but the noise was +covered by the rattle of our wheels. We were passing the minister’s +house, and there was no candle in the window. + +“The messenger sat quiet for a little, and I could see the glint of his +eyes as he stared at me through the gloom. He was partly stunned, I +think, by the force with which I had hurled him into his seat. And also +he was pondering, perhaps, what he should do next. Presently he got his +mouth partly free from the cravat. + +“‘You shall have my watch and my purse if you will let me go,’ said he. + +“‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I am as honourable a man as you are yourself.’ + +“‘Who are you, then?’ + +“‘My name is of no importance.’ + +“‘What do you want with me?’ + +“‘It is a bet.’ + +“‘A bet? What d’you mean? Do you understand that I am on the +Government service, and that you will see the inside of a gaol for +this?’ + +“‘That is the bet. That is the sport, said I.’ + +“‘You may find it poor sport before you finish,’ he cried. ‘What is +this insane bet of yours then?’ + +“‘I have bet,’ I answered, ‘that I will recite a chapter of the Koran to +the first gentleman whom I should meet in the street.’ + +“I do not know what made me think of it, save that my translation was +always running in my head. He clutched at the door-handle, and again I +had to hurl him back into his seat. + +“‘How long will it take?’ he gasped. + +“‘It depends on the chapter,’ I answered. + +“‘A short one, then, and let me go!’ + +“‘But is it fair?’ I argued. ‘When I say a chapter, I do not mean the +shortest chapter, but rather one which should be of average length.’ + +“‘Help! help! help!’ he squealed, and I was compelled again to adjust +his cravat. + +“‘A little patience,’ said I, ‘and it will soon be over. I should like +to recite the chapter which would be of most interest to yourself. You +will confess that I am trying to make things as pleasant as I can for +you?’ + +“He slipped his mouth free again. + +“‘Quick, then, quick!’ he groaned. + +“‘The Chapter of the Camel?’ I suggested. + +“‘Yes, yes.’ + +“‘Or that of the Fleet Stallion?’ + +“‘Yes, yes. Only proceed!’ + +“We had passed the window and there was no candle. I settled down to +recite the Chapter of the Stallion to him. Perhaps you do not know your +Koran very well, monsieur? Well, I knew it by heart then, as I know it +by heart now. The style is a little exasperating for anyone who is in a +hurry. But, then, what would you have? The people in the East are +never in a hurry, and it was written for them. I repeated it all with +the dignity and solemnity which a sacred book demands, and the young +Englishman he wriggled and groaned. + +“‘When the horses, standing on three feet and placing the tip of their +fourth foot upon the ground, were mustered in front of him in the +evening, he said, I have loved the love of earthly good above the +remembrance of things on high, and have spent the time in viewing these +horses. Bring the horses back to me. And when they were brought back +he began to cut off their legs and--’ + +“It was at this moment that the young Englishman sprang at me. My God! +how little can I remember of the next few minutes! He was a boxer, this +shred of a man. He had been trained to strike. I tried to catch him by +the hands. Pac, pac, he came upon my nose and upon my eye. I put down +my head and thrust at him with it. Pac, he came from below. But ah! +I was too much for him. I hurled myself upon him, and he had no place +where he could escape from my weight. He fell flat upon the cushions +and I seated myself upon him with such conviction that the wind flew +from him as from a burst bellows. + +“Then I searched to see what there was with which I could tie him. I +drew the strings from my shoes, and with one I secured his wrists, and +with another his ankles. Then I tied the cravat round his mouth again, +so that he could only lie and glare at me. When I had done all this, +and had stopped the bleeding of my own nose, I looked out of the coach +and ah, monsieur, the very first thing which caught my eyes was that +candle--that dear little candle--glimmering in the window of the +minister. Alone, with these two hands, I had retrieved the capitulation +of an army and the loss of a province. Yes, monsieur, what Abercrombie +and 5,000 men had done upon the beach at Aboukir was undone by me, +single-handed, in a hackney coach in Harley Street. + +“Well, I had no time to lose, for at any moment Monsieur Otto might be +down. I shouted to my driver, gave him his second guinea, and allowed +him to proceed to Watier’s. For myself, I sprang into our Embassy’s +carriage, and a moment later the door of the minister opened. He had +himself escorted Monsieur Otto downstairs, and now so deep was he in +talk that he walked out bareheaded as far as the carriage. As he stood +there by the open door, there came the rattle of wheels, and a man +rushed down the pavement. + +“‘A despatch of great importance for Milord Hawkesbury!’ he cried. + +“I could see that it was not my messenger, but a second one. Milord +Hawkesbury caught the paper from his hand, and read it by the light of +the carriage lamp. His face, monsieur, was as white as this plate, +before he had finished. + +“‘Monsieur Otto,’ he cried, ‘we have signed this treaty upon a false +understanding. Egypt is in our hands.’ + +“‘What!’ cried Monsieur Otto. ‘Impossible!’ + +“‘It is certain. It fell to Abercrombie last month.’ + +“‘In that case,’ said Monsieur Otto, ‘it is very fortunate that the +treaty is signed.’ + +“‘Very fortunate for you, sir,’ cried Milord Hawkesbury, as he turned +back to the house. + +“Next day, monsieur, what they call the Bow Street runners were after +me, but they could not run across salt water, and Alphonse Lacour was +receiving the congratulations of Monsieur Talleyrand and the First +Consul before ever his pursuers had got as far as Dover.” +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10446 *** |