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<h2>
<a href="#startoftext">Danger! and Other Stories, by Arthur Conan Doyle</a>
</h2>
<pre>
The Project Gutenberg eBook, Danger! and Other Stories, by Arthur Conan
Doyle


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with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org





Title: Danger! and Other Stories


Author: Arthur Conan Doyle



Release Date: August 19, 2007  [eBook #22357]

Language: English

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***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGER! AND OTHER STORIES***
</pre>
<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
<p>Transcribed from the 1918 John Murray edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
<h1>DANGER!<br />
AND OTHER STORIES</h1>
<p style="text-align: center">BY ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">author
of</span><br />
&ldquo;<span class="smcap">the white company</span>,&rdquo;
&ldquo;<span class="smcap">sir nigel</span>&rdquo;<br />
&ldquo;<span class="smcap">rodney stone</span>,&rdquo; <span
class="smcap">etc.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br />
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.<br />
1918</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page iv--><a
name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iv</span><span
class="smcap">All Rights Reserved</span></p>
<h2><!-- page v--><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
v</span>PREFACE</h2>
<p>The Title story of this volume was written about eighteen
months before the outbreak of the war, and was intended to direct
public attention to the great danger which threatened this
country.&nbsp; It is a matter of history how fully this warning
has been justified and how, even down to the smallest details,
the prediction has been fulfilled.&nbsp; The writer must,
however, most thankfully admit that what he did not foresee was
the energy and ingenuity with which the navy has found means to
meet the new conditions.&nbsp; The great silent battle which has
been fought beneath the waves has ended in the repulse of an
armada far more dangerous than that of Spain.</p>
<p>It may be objected that the writer, feeling the danger so
strongly, should have taken other means than fiction to put his
views before the authorities.&nbsp; The answer to this criticism
is that he did indeed adopt every possible method, that he
personally approached leading naval men and powerful editors,
that he sent three separate minutes upon the danger to various
public bodies, notably to the Committee <!-- page vi--><a
name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span>for National
Defence, and that he touched upon the matter in an article in
<i>The Fortnightly Review</i>.&nbsp; In some unfortunate way
subjects of national welfare are in this country continually
subordinated to party politics, so that a self-evident
proposition, such as the danger of a nation being fed from
without, is waved aside and ignored, because it will not fit in
with some general political shibboleth.&nbsp; It is against this
tendency that we have to guard in the future, and we have to bear
in mind that the danger may recur, and that the remedies in the
text (the only remedies ever proposed) have still to be
adopted.&nbsp; They are the sufficient encouragement of
agriculture, the making of adequate Channel tunnels, and the
provision of submarine merchantmen, which, on the estimate of Mr.
Lake, the American designer, could be made up to 7,000 ton burden
at an increased cost of about 25 per cent.&nbsp; It is true that
in this war the Channel tunnels would not have helped us much in
the matter of food, but were France a neutral and supplies at
liberty to come via Marseilles from the East, the difference
would have been enormous.</p>
<p>Apart from food however, when one considers the transports we
have needed, their convoys, the double handling of cargo, the
interruptions of traffic from submarines or bad weather, the
danger and suffering of the wounded, and all <!-- page vii--><a
name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vii</span>else that
we owe to the insane opposition to the Channel tunnels, one
questions whether there has ever been an example of national
stupidity being so rapidly and heavily punished.&nbsp; It is as
clear as daylight even now, that it will take years to recover
all our men and material from France, and that if the tunnel (one
will suffice for the time), were at once set in hand, it might be
ready to help in this task and so free shipping for the return of
the Americans.&nbsp; One thing however, is clear.&nbsp; It is far
too big and responsible and lucrative an undertaking for a
private company, and it should be carried out and controlled by
Government, the proceeds being used towards the war debt.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Arthur Conan
Doyle</span>.</p>
<p><i>August</i> 24<i>th</i>,<br />
<span class="smcap">Crowborough</span>.</p>
<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
1</span>I.&nbsp; DANGER! <a name="citation1"></a><a
href="#footnote1" class="citation">[1]</a><br />
BEING THE LOG OF CAPTAIN JOHN SIRIUS</h2>
<p>It is an amazing thing that the English, who have the
reputation of being a practical nation, never saw the danger to
which they were exposed.&nbsp; For many years they had been
spending nearly a hundred millions a year upon their army and
their fleet.&nbsp; Squadrons of Dreadnoughts costing two millions
each had been launched.&nbsp; They had spent enormous sums upon
cruisers, and both their torpedo and their submarine squadrons
were exceptionally strong.&nbsp; They were also by no means weak
in their aerial power, especially in the matter of
seaplanes.&nbsp; Besides all this, their army was very efficient,
in spite of its limited numbers, and it was the most expensive in
Europe.&nbsp; Yet when the day of trial came, all this imposing
force was of no use whatever, and might as well have not
existed.&nbsp; Their ruin could <!-- page 2--><a
name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>not have been
more complete or more rapid if they had not possessed an ironclad
or a regiment.&nbsp; And all this was accomplished by me, Captain
John Sirius, belonging to the navy of one of the smallest Powers
in Europe, and having under my command a flotilla of eight
vessels, the collective cost of which was eighteen hundred
thousand pounds.&nbsp; No one has a better right to tell the
story than I.</p>
<p>I will not trouble you about the dispute concerning the
Colonial frontier, embittered, as it was, by the subsequent death
of the two missionaries.&nbsp; A naval officer has nothing to do
with politics.&nbsp; I only came upon the scene after the
ultimatum had been actually received.&nbsp; Admiral Horli had
been summoned to the Presence, and he asked that I should be
allowed to accompany him, because he happened to know that I had
some clear ideas as to the weak points of England, and also some
schemes as to how to take advantage of them.&nbsp; There were
only four of us present at this meeting&mdash;the King, the
Foreign Secretary, Admiral Horli, and myself.&nbsp; The time
allowed by the ultimatum expired in forty-eight hours.</p>
<p>I am not breaking any confidence when I say that both the King
and the Minister were in favour of a surrender.&nbsp; They saw no
possibility of standing up against the colossal power of Great
Britain.&nbsp; The Minister had drawn up an <!-- page 3--><a
name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>acceptance of
the British terms, and the King sat with it before him on the
table.&nbsp; I saw the tears of anger and humiliation run down
his cheeks as he looked at it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I fear that there is no possible alternative,
Sire,&rdquo; said the Minister.&nbsp; &ldquo;Our envoy in London
has just sent this report, which shows that the public and the
Press are more united than he has ever known them.&nbsp; The
feeling is intense, especially since the rash act of Malort in
desecrating the flag.&nbsp; We must give way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The King looked sadly at Admiral Horli.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What is your effective fleet, Admiral?&rdquo; he
asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Two battleships, four cruisers, twenty torpedo-boats,
and eight submarines,&rdquo; said the Admiral.</p>
<p>The King shook his head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It would be madness to resist,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And yet, Sire,&rdquo; said the Admiral, &ldquo;before
you come to a decision I should wish you to hear Captain Sirius,
who has a very definite plan of campaign against the
English.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Absurd!&rdquo; said the King, impatiently.&nbsp;
&ldquo;What is the use?&nbsp; Do you imagine that you could
defeat their vast armada?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sire,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;I will stake my life
that if you will follow my advice you will, within a month or six
weeks at the utmost, bring proud England to her knees.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
4</span>There was an assurance in my voice which arrested the
attention of the King.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You seem self-confident, Captain Sirius.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have no doubt at all, Sire.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What then would you advise?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I would advise, Sire, that the whole fleet be gathered
under the forts of Blankenberg and be protected from attack by
booms and piles.&nbsp; There they can stay till the war is
over.&nbsp; The eight submarines, however, you will leave in my
charge to use as I think fit.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, you would attack the English battleships with
submarines?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sire, I would never go near an English
battleship.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And why not?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because they might injure me, Sire.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What, a sailor and afraid?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;My life belongs to the country, Sire.&nbsp; It is
nothing.&nbsp; But these eight ships&mdash;everything depends
upon them.&nbsp; I could not risk them.&nbsp; Nothing would
induce me to fight.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then what will you do?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I will tell you, Sire.&rdquo;&nbsp; And I did so.&nbsp;
For half an hour I spoke.&nbsp; I was clear and strong and
definite, for many an hour on a lonely watch I had spent in
thinking out every detail.&nbsp; I held them enthralled.&nbsp;
The King never took his eyes from my face.&nbsp; The Minister sat
as if turned to stone.</p>
<p><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
5</span>&ldquo;Are you sure of all this?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Perfectly, Sire.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The King rose from the table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Send no answer to the ultimatum,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Announce in both houses that we stand firm in the face of
menace.&nbsp; Admiral Horli, you will in all respects carry out
that which Captain Sirius may demand in furtherance of his
plan.&nbsp; Captain Sirius, the field is clear.&nbsp; Go forth
and do as you have said.&nbsp; A grateful King will know how to
reward you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I need not trouble you by telling you the measures which were
taken at Blankenberg, since, as you are aware, the fortress and
the entire fleet were destroyed by the British within a week of
the declaration of war.&nbsp; I will confine myself to my own
plans, which had so glorious and final a result.</p>
<p>The fame of my eight submarines, <i>Alpha</i>, <i>Beta</i>,
<i>Gamma</i>, <i>Theta</i>, <i>Delta</i>, <i>Epsilon</i>,
<i>Iota</i>, and <i>Kappa</i>, have spread through the world to
such an extent that people have begun to think that there was
something peculiar in their form and capabilities.&nbsp; This is
not so.&nbsp; Four of them, the <i>Delta</i>, <i>Epsilon</i>,
<i>Iota</i>, and <i>Kappa</i>, were, it is true, of the very
latest model, but had their equals (though not their superiors)
in the navies of all the great Powers.&nbsp; As to <i>Alpha</i>,
<i>Beta</i>, <i>Gamma</i>, and <i>Theta</i>, they were by no
means modern vessels, and found their prototypes in the old F
class of <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 6</span>British boats, having a submerged
displacement of eight hundred tons, with heavy oil engines of
sixteen hundred horse-power, giving them a speed of eighteen
knots on the surface and of twelve knots submerged.&nbsp; Their
length was one hundred and eighty-six and their breadth
twenty-four feet.&nbsp; They had a radius of action of four
thousand miles and a submerged endurance of nine hours.&nbsp;
These were considered the latest word in 1915, but the four new
boats exceeded them in all respects.&nbsp; Without troubling you
with precise figures, I may say that they represented roughly a
twenty-five per cent. advance up on the older boats, and were
fitted with several auxiliary engines which were wanting in the
others.&nbsp; At my suggestion, instead of carrying eight of the
very large Bakdorf torpedoes, which are nineteen feet long, weigh
half a ton, and are charged with two hundred pounds of wet
gun-cotton, we had tubes designed for eighteen of less than half
the size.&nbsp; It was my design to make myself independent of my
base.</p>
<p>And yet it was clear that I must have a base, so I made
arrangements at once with that object.&nbsp; Blankenberg was the
last place I would have chosen.&nbsp; Why should I have a
<i>port</i> of any kind?&nbsp; Ports would be watched or
occupied.&nbsp; Any place would do for me.&nbsp; I finally chose
a small villa standing alone nearly five miles from any village
and thirty miles from any port.&nbsp; To this I <!-- page 7--><a
name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>ordered them to
convey, secretly by night, oil, spare parts, extra torpedoes,
storage batteries, reserve periscopes, and everything that I
could need for refitting.&nbsp; The little whitewashed villa of a
retired confectioner&mdash;that was the base from which I
operated against England.</p>
<p>The boats lay at Blankenberg, and thither I went.&nbsp; They
were working frantically at the defences, and they had only to
look seawards to be spurred to fresh exertions.&nbsp; The British
fleet was assembling.&nbsp; The ultimatum had not yet expired,
but it was evident that a blow would be struck the instant that
it did.&nbsp; Four of their aeroplanes, circling at an immense
height, were surveying our defences.&nbsp; From the top of the
lighthouse I counted thirty battleships and cruisers in the
offing, with a number of the trawlers with which in the British
service they break through the mine-fields.&nbsp; The approaches
were actually sown with two hundred mines, half contact and half
observation, but the result showed that they were insufficient to
hold off the enemy, since three days later both town and fleet
were speedily destroyed.</p>
<p>However, I am not here to tell you the incidents of the war,
but to explain my own part in it, which had such a decisive
effect upon the result.&nbsp; My first action was to send my four
second-class boats away instantly to the point which I had chosen
for my base.&nbsp; There they were to wait <!-- page 8--><a
name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>submerged,
lying with negative buoyancy upon the sands in twenty foot of
water, and rising only at night.&nbsp; My strict orders were that
they were to attempt nothing upon the enemy, however tempting the
opportunity.&nbsp; All they had to do was to remain intact and
unseen, until they received further orders.&nbsp; Having made
this clear to Commander Panza, who had charge of this reserve
flotilla, I shook him by the hand and bade him farewell, leaving
with him a sheet of notepaper upon which I had explained the
tactics to be used and given him certain general principles which
he could apply as circumstances demanded.</p>
<p>My whole attention was now given to my own flotilla, which I
divided into two divisions, keeping <i>Iota</i> and <i>Kappa</i>
under my own command, while Captain Miriam had <i>Delta</i> and
<i>Epsilon</i>.&nbsp; He was to operate separately in the British
Channel, while my station was the Straits of Dover.&nbsp; I made
the whole plan of campaign clear to him.&nbsp; Then I saw that
each ship was provided with all it could carry.&nbsp; Each had
forty tons of heavy oil for surface propulsion and charging the
dynamo which supplied the electric engines under water.&nbsp;
Each had also eighteen torpedoes as explained and five hundred
rounds for the collapsible quick-firing twelve-pounder which we
carried on deck, and which, of course, disappeared into a
water-tight tank when we <!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 9</span>were submerged.&nbsp; We carried spare
periscopes and a wireless mast, which could be elevated above the
conning-tower when necessary.&nbsp; There were provisions for
sixteen days for the ten men who manned each craft.&nbsp; Such
was the equipment of the four boats which were destined to bring
to naught all the navies and armies of Britain.&nbsp; At sundown
that day&mdash;it was April 10th&mdash;we set forth upon our
historic voyage.</p>
<p>Miriam had got away in the afternoon, since he had so much
farther to go to reach his station.&nbsp; Stephan, of the
<i>Kappa</i>, started with me; but, of course, we realized that
we must work independently, and that from that moment when we
shut the sliding hatches of our conning-towers on the still
waters of Blankenberg Harbour it was unlikely that we should ever
see each other again, though consorts in the same waters.&nbsp; I
waved to Stephan from the side of my conning-tower, and he to
me.&nbsp; Then I called through the tube to my engineer (our
water-tanks were already filled and all kingstons and vents
closed) to put her full speed ahead.</p>
<p>Just as we came abreast of the end of the pier and saw the
white-capped waves rolling in upon us, I put the horizontal
rudder hard down and she slid under water.&nbsp; Through my glass
portholes I saw its light green change to a dark blue, while the
manometer in front of me indicated twenty feet.&nbsp; I let her
go to forty, because <!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 10</span>I should then be under the warships
of the English, though I took the chance of fouling the moorings
of our own floating contact mines.&nbsp; Then I brought her on an
even keel, and it was music to my ear to hear the gentle, even
ticking of my electric engines and to know that I was speeding at
twelve miles an hour on my great task.</p>
<p>At that moment, as I stood controlling my levers in my tower,
I could have seen, had my cupola been of glass, the vast shadows
of the British blockaders hovering above me.&nbsp; I held my
course due westward for ninety minutes, and then, by shutting off
the electric engine without blowing out the water-tanks, I
brought her to the surface.&nbsp; There was a rolling sea and the
wind was freshening, so I did not think it safe to keep my hatch
open long, for so small is the margin of buoyancy that one must
run no risks.&nbsp; But from the crests of the rollers I had a
look backwards at Blankenberg, and saw the black funnels and
upper works of the enemy&rsquo;s fleet with the lighthouse and
the castle behind them, all flushed with the pink glow of the
setting sun.&nbsp; Even as I looked there was the boom of a great
gun, and then another.&nbsp; I glanced at my watch.&nbsp; It was
six o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; The time of the ultimatum had
expired.&nbsp; We were at war.</p>
<p>There was no craft near us, and our surface speed is nearly
twice that of our submerged, so <!-- page 11--><a
name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>I blew out
the tanks and our whale-back came over the surface.&nbsp; All
night we were steering south-west, making an average of eighteen
knots.&nbsp; At about five in the morning, as I stood alone upon
my tiny bridge, I saw, low down in the west, the scattered lights
of the Norfolk coast.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah, Johnny, Johnny
Bull,&rdquo; I said, as I looked at them, &ldquo;you are going to
have your lesson, and I am to be your master.&nbsp; It is I who
have been chosen to teach you that one cannot live under
artificial conditions and yet act as if they were natural
ones.&nbsp; More foresight, Johnny, and less party
politics&mdash;that is my lesson to you.&rdquo;&nbsp; And then I
had a wave of pity, too, when I thought of those vast droves of
helpless people, Yorkshire miners, Lancashire spinners,
Birmingham metal-workers, the dockers and workers of London, over
whose little homes I would bring the shadow of starvation.&nbsp;
I seemed to see all those wasted eager hands held out for food,
and I, John Sirius, dashing it aside.&nbsp; Ah, well! war is war,
and if one is foolish one must pay the price.</p>
<p>Just before daybreak I saw the lights of a considerable town,
which must have been Yarmouth, bearing about ten miles
west-south-west on our starboard bow.&nbsp; I took her farther
out, for it is a sandy, dangerous coast, with many shoals.&nbsp;
At five-thirty we were abreast of the Lowestoft lightship.&nbsp;
A coastguard was sending up flash <!-- page 12--><a
name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>signals which
faded into a pale twinkle as the white dawn crept over the
water.&nbsp; There was a good deal of shipping about, mostly
fishing-boats and small coasting craft, with one large steamer
hull-down to the west, and a torpedo destroyer between us and the
land.&nbsp; It could not harm us, and yet I thought it as well
that there should be no word of our presence, so I filled my
tanks again and went down to ten feet.&nbsp; I was pleased to
find that we got under in one hundred and fifty seconds.&nbsp;
The life of one&rsquo;s boat may depend on this when a swift
craft comes suddenly upon you.</p>
<p>We were now within a few hours of our cruising ground, so I
determined to snatch a rest, leaving Vornal in charge.&nbsp; When
he woke me at ten o&rsquo;clock we were running on the surface,
and had reached the Essex coast off the Maplin Sands.&nbsp; With
that charming frankness which is one of their characteristics,
our friends of England had informed us by their Press that they
had put a cordon of torpedo-boats across the Straits of Dover to
prevent the passage of submarines, which is about as sensible as
to lay a wooden plank across a stream to keep the eels from
passing.&nbsp; I knew that Stephan, whose station lay at the
western end of the Solent, would have no difficulty in reaching
it.&nbsp; My own cruising ground was to be at the mouth of the
Thames, and here I was at the very spot with my tiny <!-- page
13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
13</span><i>Iota</i>, my eighteen torpedoes, my quick-firing gun,
and, above all, a brain that knew what should be done and how to
do it.</p>
<p>When I resumed my place in the conning-tower I saw in the
periscope (for we had dived) that a lightship was within a few
hundred yards of us upon the port bow.&nbsp; Two men were sitting
on her bulwarks, but neither of them cast an eye upon the little
rod that clove the water so close to them.&nbsp; It was an ideal
day for submarine action, with enough ripple upon the surface to
make us difficult to detect, and yet smooth enough to give me a
clear view.&nbsp; Each of my three periscopes had an angle of
sixty degrees so that between them I commanded a complete
semi-circle of the horizon.&nbsp; Two British cruisers were
steaming north from the Thames within half a mile of me.&nbsp; I
could easily have cut them off and attacked them had I allowed
myself to be diverted from my great plan.&nbsp; Farther south a
destroyer was passing westwards to Sheerness.&nbsp; A dozen small
steamers were moving about.&nbsp; None of these were worthy of my
notice.&nbsp; Great countries are not provisioned by small
steamers.&nbsp; I kept the engines running at the lowest pace
which would hold our position under water, and, moving slowly
across the estuary, I waited for what must assuredly come.</p>
<p>I had not long to wait.&nbsp; Shortly after one o&rsquo;clock
I perceived in the periscope a cloud of <!-- page 14--><a
name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>smoke to the
south.&nbsp; Half an hour later a large steamer raised her hull,
making for the mouth of the Thames.&nbsp; I ordered Vornal to
stand by the starboard torpedo-tube, having the other also loaded
in case of a miss.&nbsp; Then I advanced slowly, for though the
steamer was going very swiftly we could easily cut her off.&nbsp;
Presently I laid the <i>Iota</i> in a position near which she
must pass, and would very gladly have lain to, but could not for
fear of rising to the surface.&nbsp; I therefore steered out in
the direction from which she was coming.&nbsp; She was a very
large ship, fifteen thousand tons at the least, painted black
above and red below, with two cream-coloured funnels.&nbsp; She
lay so low in the water that it was clear she had a full
cargo.&nbsp; At her bows were a cluster of men, some of them
looking, I dare say, for the first time at the mother
country.&nbsp; How little could they have guessed the welcome
that was awaiting them!</p>
<p>On she came with the great plumes of smoke floating from her
funnels, and two white waves foaming from her cut-water.&nbsp;
She was within a quarter of a mile.&nbsp; My moment had
arrived.&nbsp; I signalled full speed ahead and steered straight
for her course.&nbsp; My timing was exact.&nbsp; At a hundred
yards I gave the signal, and heard the clank and swish of the
discharge.&nbsp; At the same instant I put the helm hard down and
flew off at an angle.&nbsp; There was a terrific lurch, which
<!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
15</span>came from the distant explosion.&nbsp; For a moment we
were almost upon our side.&nbsp; Then, after staggering and
trembling, the <i>Iota</i> came on an even keel.&nbsp; I stopped
the engines, brought her to the surface, and opened the
conning-tower, while all my excited crew came crowding to the
hatch to know what had happened.</p>
<p>The ship lay within two hundred yards of us, and it was easy
to see that she had her death-blow.&nbsp; She was already
settling down by the stern.&nbsp; There was a sound of shouting
and people were running wildly about her decks.&nbsp; Her name
was visible, the <i>Adela</i>, of London, bound, as we afterwards
learned, from New Zealand with frozen mutton.&nbsp; Strange as it
may seem to you, the notion of a submarine had never even now
occurred to her people, and all were convinced that they had
struck a floating mine.&nbsp; The starboard quarter had been
blown in by the explosion, and the ship was sinking
rapidly.&nbsp; Their discipline was admirable.&nbsp; We saw boat
after boat slip down crowded with people as swiftly and quietly
as if it were part of their daily drill.&nbsp; And suddenly, as
one of the boats lay off waiting for the others, they caught a
glimpse for the first time of my conning-tower so close to
them.&nbsp; I saw them shouting and pointing, while the men in
the other boats got up to have a better look at us.&nbsp; For my
part, I cared nothing, for I took it for granted that they
already knew that a <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 16</span>submarine had destroyed them.&nbsp;
One of them clambered back into the sinking ship.&nbsp; I was
sure that he was about to send a wireless message as to our
presence.&nbsp; It mattered nothing, since, in any case, it must
be known; otherwise I could easily have brought him down with a
rifle.&nbsp; As it was, I waved my hand to them, and they waved
back to me.&nbsp; War is too big a thing to leave room for
personal ill-feeling, but it must be remorseless all the
same.</p>
<p>I was still looking at the sinking <i>Adela</i> when Vornal,
who was beside me, gave a sudden cry of warning and surprise,
gripping me by the shoulder and turning my head.&nbsp; There
behind us, coming up the fairway, was a huge black vessel with
black funnels, flying the well-known house-flag of the P. and O.
Company.&nbsp; She was not a mile distant, and I calculated in an
instant that even if she had seen us she would not have time to
turn and get away before we could reach her.&nbsp; We went
straight for her, therefore, keeping awash just as we were.&nbsp;
They saw the sinking vessel in front of them and that little dark
speck moving over the surface, and they suddenly understood their
danger.&nbsp; I saw a number of men rush to the bows, and there
was a rattle of rifle-fire.&nbsp; Two bullets were flattened upon
our four-inch armour.&nbsp; You might as well try to stop a
charging bull with paper pellets as the <i>Iota</i> with
rifle-fire.&nbsp; I had learned my lesson <!-- page 17--><a
name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>from the
<i>Adela</i>, and this time I had the torpedo discharged at a
safer distance&mdash;two hundred and fifty yards.&nbsp; We caught
her amidships and the explosion was tremendous, but we were well
outside its area.&nbsp; She sank almost instantaneously.&nbsp; I
am sorry for her people, of whom I hear that more than two
hundred, including seventy Lascars and forty passengers, were
drowned.&nbsp; Yes, I am sorry for them.&nbsp; But when I think
of the huge floating granary that went to the bottom, I rejoice
as a man does who has carried out that which he plans.</p>
<p>It was a bad afternoon that for the P. and O. Company.&nbsp;
The second ship which we destroyed was, as we have since learned,
the <i>Moldavia</i>, of fifteen thousand tons, one of their
finest vessels; but about half-past three we blew up the
<i>Cusco</i>, of eight thousand, of the same line, also from
Eastern ports, and laden with corn.&nbsp; Why she came on in face
of the wireless messages which must have warned her of danger, I
cannot imagine.&nbsp; The other two steamers which we blew up
that day, the <i>Maid of Athens</i> (Robson Line) and the
<i>Cormorant</i>, were neither of them provided with apparatus,
and came blindly to their destruction.&nbsp; Both were small
boats of from five thousand to seven thousand tons.&nbsp; In the
case of the second, I had to rise to the surface and fire six
twelve-pound shells under her water-line before she would
sink.&nbsp; In each case the crew <!-- page 18--><a
name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>took to the
boats, and so far as I know no casualties occurred.</p>
<p>After that no more steamers came along, nor did I expect
them.&nbsp; Warnings must by this time have been flying in all
directions.&nbsp; But we had no reason to be dissatisfied with
our first day.&nbsp; Between the Maplin Sands and the Nore we had
sunk five ships of a total tonnage of about fifty thousand
tons.&nbsp; Already the London markets would begin to feel the
pinch.&nbsp; And Lloyd&rsquo;s&mdash;poor old
Lloyd&rsquo;s&mdash;what a demented state it would be in!&nbsp; I
could imagine the London evening papers and the howling in Fleet
Street.&nbsp; We saw the result of our actions, for it was quite
laughable to see the torpedo-boats buzzing like angry wasps out
of Sheerness in the evening.&nbsp; They were darting in every
direction across the estuary, and the aeroplanes and hydroplanes
were like flights of crows, black dots against the red western
sky.&nbsp; They quartered the whole river mouth, until they
discovered us at last.&nbsp; Some sharp-sighted fellow with a
telescope on board of a destroyer got a sight of our periscope,
and came for us full speed.&nbsp; No doubt he would very gladly
have rammed us, even if it had meant his own destruction, but
that was not part of our programme at all.&nbsp; I sank her and
ran her east-south-east with an occasional rise.&nbsp; Finally we
brought her to, not very far from the Kentish coast, and the
search-lights of our pursuers were <!-- page 19--><a
name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>far on the
western skyline.&nbsp; There we lay quietly all night, for a
submarine at night is nothing more than a very third-rate surface
torpedo-boat.&nbsp; Besides, we were all weary and needed
rest.&nbsp; Do not forget, you captains of men, when you grease
and trim your pumps and compressors and rotators, that the human
machine needs some tending also.</p>
<p>I had put up the wireless mast above the conning-tower, and
had no difficulty in calling up Captain Stephan.&nbsp; He was
lying, he said, off Ventnor and had been unable to reach his
station, on account of engine trouble, which he had now set
right.&nbsp; Next morning he proposed to block the Southampton
approach.&nbsp; He had destroyed one large Indian boat on his way
down Channel.&nbsp; We exchanged good wishes.&nbsp; Like myself,
he needed rest.&nbsp; I was up at four in the morning, however,
and called all hands to overhaul the boat.&nbsp; She was somewhat
up by the head, owing to the forward torpedoes having been used,
so we trimmed her by opening the forward compensating tank,
admitting as much water as the torpedoes had weighed.&nbsp; We
also overhauled the starboard air-compressor and one of the
periscope motors which had been jarred by the shock of the first
explosion.&nbsp; We had hardly got ourselves shipshape when the
morning dawned.</p>
<p>I have no doubt that a good many ships which had taken refuge
in the French ports at the first <!-- page 20--><a
name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>alarm had run
across and got safely up the river in the night.&nbsp; Of course
I could have attacked them, but I do not care to take
risks&mdash;and there are always risks for a submarine at
night.&nbsp; But one had miscalculated his time, and there she
was, just abreast of Warden Point, when the daylight disclosed
her to us.&nbsp; In an instant we were after her.&nbsp; It was a
near thing, for she was a flier, and could do two miles to our
one; but we just reached her as she went swashing by.&nbsp; She
saw us at the last moment, for I attacked her awash, since
otherwise we could not have had the pace to reach her.&nbsp; She
swung away and the first torpedo missed, but the second took her
full under the counter.&nbsp; Heavens, what a smash!&nbsp; The
whole stern seemed to go aloft.&nbsp; I drew off and watched her
sink.&nbsp; She went down in seven minutes, leaving her masts and
funnels over the water and a cluster of her people holding on to
them.&nbsp; She was the <i>Virginia</i>, of the Bibby
Line&mdash;twelve thousand tons&mdash;and laden, like the others,
with foodstuffs from the East.&nbsp; The whole surface of the sea
was covered with the floating grain.&nbsp; &ldquo;John Bull will
have to take up a hole or two of his belt if this goes on,&rdquo;
said Vornal, as we watched the scene.</p>
<p>And it was at that moment that the very worst danger occurred
that could befall us.&nbsp; I tremble now when I think how our
glorious voyage might have been nipped in the bud.&nbsp; I had
freed <!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 21</span>the hatch of my tower, and was
looking at the boats of the <i>Virginia</i> with Vornal near me,
when there was a swish and a terrific splash in the water beside
us, which covered us both with spray.&nbsp; We looked up, and you
can imagine our feelings when we saw an aeroplane hovering a few
hundred feet above us like a hawk.&nbsp; With its silencer, it
was perfectly noiseless, and had its bomb not fallen into the sea
we should never have known what had destroyed us.&nbsp; She was
circling round in the hope of dropping a second one, but we
shoved on all speed ahead, crammed down the rudders, and vanished
into the side of a roller.&nbsp; I kept the deflection indicator
falling until I had put fifty good feet of water between the
aeroplane and ourselves, for I knew well how deeply they can see
under the surface.&nbsp; However, we soon threw her off our
track, and when we came to the surface near Margate there was no
sign of her, unless she was one of several which we saw hovering
over Herne Bay.</p>
<p>There was not a ship in the offing save a few small coasters
and little thousand-ton steamers, which were beneath my
notice.&nbsp; For several hours I lay submerged with a blank
periscope.&nbsp; Then I had an inspiration.&nbsp; Orders had been
marconied to every foodship to lie in French waters and dash
across after dark.&nbsp; I was as sure of it as if they had been
recorded in our own receiver.&nbsp; Well, if they were there,
that was <!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 22</span>where I should be also.&nbsp; I blew
out the tanks and rose, for there was no sign of any warship
near.&nbsp; They had some good system of signalling from the
shore, however, for I had not got to the North Foreland before
three destroyers came foaming after me, all converging from
different directions.&nbsp; They had about as good a chance of
catching me as three spaniels would have of overtaking a
porpoise.&nbsp; Out of pure bravado&mdash;I know it was very
wrong&mdash;I waited until they were actually within
gunshot.&nbsp; Then I sank and we saw each other no more.</p>
<p>It is, as I have said, a shallow sandy coast, and submarine
navigation is very difficult.&nbsp; The worst mishap that can
befall a boat is to bury its nose in the side of a sand-drift and
be held there.&nbsp; Such an accident might have been the end of
our boat, though with our Fleuss cylinders and electric lamps we
should have found no difficulty in getting out at the air-lock
and in walking ashore across the bed of the ocean.&nbsp; As it
was, however, I was able, thanks to our excellent charts, to keep
the channel and so to gain the open straits.&nbsp; There we rose
about midday, but, observing a hydroplane at no great distance,
we sank again for half an hour.&nbsp; When we came up for the
second time, all was peaceful around us, and the English coast
was lining the whole western horizon.&nbsp; We kept outside the
Goodwins and straight down Channel until we <!-- page 23--><a
name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>saw a line of
black dots in front of us, which I knew to be the Dover-Calais
torpedo-boat cordon.&nbsp; When two miles distant we dived and
came up again seven miles to the south-west, without one of them
dreaming that we had been within thirty feet of their keels.</p>
<p>When we rose, a large steamer flying the German flag was
within half a mile of us.&nbsp; It was the North German Lloyd
<i>Altona</i>, from New York to Bremen.&nbsp; I raised our whole
hull and dipped our flag to her.&nbsp; It was amusing to see the
amazement of her people at what they must have regarded as our
unparalleled impudence in those English-swept waters.&nbsp; They
cheered us heartily, and the tricolour flag was dipped in
greeting as they went roaring past us.&nbsp; Then I stood in to
the French coast.</p>
<p>It was exactly as I had expected.&nbsp; There were three great
British steamers lying at anchor in Boulogne outer harbour.&nbsp;
They were the <i>C&aelig;sar</i>, the <i>King of the East</i>,
and the <i>Pathfinder</i>, none less than ten thousand
tons.&nbsp; I suppose they thought they were safe in French
waters, but what did I care about three-mile limits and
international law!&nbsp; The view of my Government was that
England was blockaded, food contraband, and vessels carrying it
to be destroyed.&nbsp; The lawyers could argue about it
afterwards.&nbsp; My business was to starve the enemy any way I
could.&nbsp; Within an hour the three ships were <!-- page
24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>under
the waves and the <i>Iota</i> was streaming down the Picardy
coast, looking for fresh victims.&nbsp; The Channel was covered
with English torpedo-boats buzzing and whirling like a cloud of
midges.&nbsp; How they thought they could hurt me I cannot
imagine, unless by accident I were to come up underneath one of
them.&nbsp; More dangerous were the aeroplanes which circled here
and there.</p>
<p>The water being calm, I had several times to descend as deep
as a hundred feet before I was sure that I was out of their
sight.&nbsp; After I had blown up the three ships at Boulogne I
saw two aeroplanes flying down Channel, and I knew that they
would head off any vessels which were coming up.&nbsp; There was
one very large white steamer lying off Havre, but she steamed
west before I could reach her.&nbsp; I dare say Stephan or one of
the others would get her before long.&nbsp; But those infernal
aeroplanes spoiled our sport for that day.&nbsp; Not another
steamer did I see, save the never-ending torpedo-boats.&nbsp; I
consoled myself with the reflection, however, that no food was
passing me on its way to London.&nbsp; That was what I was there
for, after all.&nbsp; If I could do it without spending my
torpedoes, all the better.&nbsp; Up to date I had fired ten of
them and sunk nine steamers, so I had not wasted my
weapons.&nbsp; That night I came back to the Kent coast and lay
upon the bottom in shallow water near Dungeness.</p>
<p><!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
25</span>We were all trimmed and ready at the first break of day,
for I expected to catch some ships which had tried to make the
Thames in the darkness and had miscalculated their time.&nbsp;
Sure enough, there was a great steamer coming up Channel and
flying the American flag.&nbsp; It was all the same to me what
flag she flew so long as she was engaged in conveying contraband
of war to the British Isles.&nbsp; There were no torpedo-boats
about at the moment, so I ran out on the surface and fired a shot
across her bows.&nbsp; She seemed inclined to go on so I put a
second one just above her water-line on her port bow.&nbsp; She
stopped then and a very angry man began to gesticulate from the
bridge.&nbsp; I ran the <i>Iota</i> almost alongside.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Are you the captain?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What the&mdash;&rdquo; I won&rsquo;t attempt to
reproduce his language.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have food-stuffs on board?&rdquo; I said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an American ship, you blind beetle!&rdquo;
he cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you see the flag?&nbsp;
It&rsquo;s the <i>Vermondia</i>, of Boston.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sorry, Captain,&rdquo; I answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have
really no time for words.&nbsp; Those shots of mine will bring
the torpedo-boats, and I dare say at this very moment your
wireless is making trouble for me.&nbsp; Get your people into the
boats.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I had to show him I was not bluffing, so I drew off and began
putting shells into him just <!-- page 26--><a
name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>on the
water-line.&nbsp; When I had knocked six holes in it he was very
busy on his boats.&nbsp; I fired twenty shots altogether, and no
torpedo was needed, for she was lying over with a terrible list
to port, and presently came right on to her side.&nbsp; There she
lay for two or three minutes before she foundered.&nbsp; There
were eight boats crammed with people lying round her when she
went down.&nbsp; I believe everybody was saved, but I could not
wait to inquire.&nbsp; From all quarters the poor old panting,
useless war-vessels were hurrying.&nbsp; I filled my tanks, ran
her bows under, and came up fifteen miles to the south.&nbsp; Of
course, I knew there would be a big row afterwards&mdash;as there
was&mdash;but that did not help the starving crowds round the
London bakers, who only saved their skins, poor devils, by
explaining to the mob that they had nothing to bake.</p>
<p>By this time I was becoming rather anxious, as you can
imagine, to know what was going on in the world and what England
was thinking about it all.&nbsp; I ran alongside a fishing-boat,
therefore, and ordered them to give up their papers.&nbsp;
Unfortunately they had none, except a rag of an evening paper,
which was full of nothing but betting news.&nbsp; In a second
attempt I came alongside a small yachting party from Eastbourne,
who were frightened to death at our sudden appearance out of the
depths.&nbsp; From <!-- page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 27</span>them we were lucky enough to get the
London <i>Courier</i> of that very morning.</p>
<p>It was interesting reading&mdash;so interesting that I had to
announce it all to the crew.&nbsp; Of course, you know the
British style of headline, which gives you all the news at a
glance.&nbsp; It seemed to me that the whole paper was headlines,
it was in such a state of excitement.&nbsp; Hardly a word about
me and my flotilla.&nbsp; We were on the second page.&nbsp; The
first one began something like this:&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">CAPTURE OF
BLANKENBERG!</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">destruction of
enemy&rsquo;s fleet</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">burning of
town</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">trawlers
destroy mine field</span><br />
<span class="smcap">loss of two battleships</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">is it the
end</span>?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Of course, what I had foreseen had occurred.&nbsp; The town
was actually occupied by the British.&nbsp; And they thought it
was the end!&nbsp; We would see about that.</p>
<p>On the round-the-corner page, at the back of <!-- page 28--><a
name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>the glorious
resonant leaders, there was a little column which read like
this:&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>HOSTILE SUBMARINES</p>
<p>Several of the enemy&rsquo;s submarines are at sea, and have
inflicted some appreciable damage upon our merchant ships.&nbsp;
The danger-spots upon Monday and the greater part of Tuesday
appear to have been the mouth of the Thames and the western
entrance to the Solent.&nbsp; On Monday, between the Nore and
Margate, there were sunk five large steamers, the <i>Adela</i>,
<i>Moldavia</i>, <i>Cusco</i>, <i>Cormorant</i>, and <i>Maid of
Athens</i>, particulars of which will be found below.&nbsp; Near
Ventnor, on the same day, was sunk the <i>Verulam</i>, from
Bombay.&nbsp; On Tuesday the <i>Virginia</i>, <i>C&aelig;sar</i>,
<i>King of the East</i>, and <i>Pathfinder</i> were destroyed
between the Foreland and Boulogne.&nbsp; The latter three were
actually lying in French waters, and the most energetic
representations have been made by the Government of the
Republic.&nbsp; On the same day <i>The Queen of Sheba</i>,
<i>Orontes</i>, <i>Diana</i>, and <i>Atalanta</i> were destroyed
near the Needles.&nbsp; Wireless messages have stopped all
ingoing cargo-ships from coming up Channel, but unfortunately
there is evidence that at least two of the enemy&rsquo;s
submarines are in the West.&nbsp; Four cattle-ships from Dublin
to Liverpool were sunk yesterday evening, while three
Bristol-bound steamers, <i>The Hilda</i>, <i>Mercury</i>, and
<i>Maria Toser</i>, were blown up in the neighbourhood of Lundy
Island.&nbsp; Commerce has, so far as possible, been diverted
into <!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
29</span>safer channels, but in the meantime, however vexatious
these incidents may be, and however grievous the loss both to the
owners and to Lloyd&rsquo;s, we may console ourselves by the
reflection that since a submarine cannot keep the sea for more
than ten days without refitting, and since the base has been
captured, there must come a speedy term to these
depredations.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>So much for the <i>Courier&rsquo;s</i> account of our
proceedings.&nbsp; Another small paragraph was, however, more
eloquent:&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The price of wheat, which stood at
thirty-five shillings a week before the declaration of war, was
quoted yesterday on the Baltic at fifty-two.&nbsp; Maize has gone
from twenty-one to thirty-seven, barley from nineteen to
thirty-five, sugar (foreign granulated) from eleven shillings and
threepence to nineteen shillings and sixpence.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>&ldquo;Good, my lads!&rdquo; said I, when I read it to the
crew.&nbsp; &ldquo;I can assure you that those few lines will
prove to mean more than the whole page about the Fall of
Blankenberg.&nbsp; Now let us get down Channel and send those
prices up a little higher.&rdquo;</p>
<p>All traffic had stopped for London&mdash;not so bad for the
little <i>Iota</i>&mdash;and we did not see a steamer that was
worth a torpedo between Dungeness and the Isle of Wight.&nbsp;
There I called <!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 30</span>Stephan up by wireless, and by seven
o&rsquo;clock we were actually lying side by side in a smooth
rolling sea&mdash;Hengistbury Head bearing N.N.W. and about five
miles distant.&nbsp; The two crews clustered on the whale-backs
and shouted their joy at seeing friendly faces once more.&nbsp;
Stephan had done extraordinarily well.&nbsp; I had, of course,
read in the London paper of his four ships on Tuesday, but he had
sunk no fewer than seven since, for many of those which should
have come to the Thames had tried to make Southampton.&nbsp; Of
the seven, one was of twenty thousand tons, a grain-ship from
America, a second was a grain-ship from the Black Sea, and two
others were great liners from South Africa.&nbsp; I congratulated
Stephan with all my heart upon his splendid achievement.&nbsp;
Then as we had been seen by a destroyer which was approaching at
a great pace, we both dived, coming up again off the Needles,
where we spent the night in company.&nbsp; We could not visit
each other, since we had no boat, but we lay so nearly alongside
that we were able, Stephan and I, to talk from hatch to hatch and
so make our plans.</p>
<p>He had shot away more than half his torpedoes, and so had I,
and yet we were very averse from returning to our base so long as
our oil held out.&nbsp; I told him of my experience with the
Boston steamer, and we mutually agreed to sink the ships by
gun-fire in future so far as possible.&nbsp; <!-- page 31--><a
name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>I remember
old Horli saying, &ldquo;What use is a gun aboard a
submarine?&rdquo;&nbsp; We were about to show.&nbsp; I read the
English paper to Stephan by the light of my electric torch, and
we both agreed that few ships would now come up the
Channel.&nbsp; That sentence about diverting commerce to safer
routes could only mean that the ships would go round the North of
Ireland and unload at Glasgow.&nbsp; Oh, for two more ships to
stop that entrance!&nbsp; Heavens, what <i>would</i> England have
done against a foe with thirty or forty submarines, since we only
needed six instead of four to complete her destruction!&nbsp;
After much talk we decided that the best plan would be that I
should dispatch a cipher telegram next morning from a French port
to tell them to send the four second-rate boats to cruise off the
North of Ireland and West of Scotland.&nbsp; Then when I had done
this I should move down Channel with Stephan and operate at the
mouth, while the other two boats could work in the Irish
Sea.&nbsp; Having made these plans, I set off across the Channel
in the early morning, reaching the small village of Etretat, in
Brittany.&nbsp; There I got off my telegram and then laid my
course for Falmouth, passing under the keels of two British
cruisers which were making eagerly for Etretat, having heard by
wireless that we were there.</p>
<p>Half-way down Channel we had trouble with a <!-- page 32--><a
name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>short circuit
in our electric engines, and were compelled to run on the surface
for several hours while we replaced one of the cam-shafts and
renewed some washers.&nbsp; It was a ticklish time, for had a
torpedo-boat come upon us we could not have dived.&nbsp; The
perfect submarine of the future will surely have some alternative
engines for such an emergency.&nbsp; However by the skill of
Engineer Morro, we got things going once more.&nbsp; All the time
we lay there I saw a hydroplane floating between us and the
British coast.&nbsp; I can understand how a mouse feels when it
is in a tuft of grass and sees a hawk high up in the
heavens.&nbsp; However, all went well; the mouse became a
water-rat, it wagged its tail in derision at the poor blind old
hawk, and it dived down into a nice safe green, quiet world where
there was nothing to injure it.</p>
<p>It was on the Wednesday night that the <i>Iota</i> crossed to
Etretat.&nbsp; It was Friday afternoon before we had reached our
new cruising ground.&nbsp; Only one large steamer did I see upon
our way.&nbsp; The terror we had caused had cleared the
Channel.&nbsp; This big boat had a clever captain on board.&nbsp;
His tactics were excellent and took him in safety to the
Thames.&nbsp; He came zigzagging up Channel at twenty-five knots,
shooting off from his course at all sorts of unexpected
angles.&nbsp; With our slow pace we could not catch him, nor
could we <!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 33</span>calculate his line so as to cut him
off.&nbsp; Of course, he had never seen us, but he judged, and
judged rightly, that wherever we were those were the tactics by
which he had the best chance of getting past.&nbsp; He deserved
his success.</p>
<p>But, of course, it is only in a wide Channel that such things
can be done.&nbsp; Had I met him in the mouth of the Thames there
would have been a different story to tell.&nbsp; As I approached
Falmouth I destroyed a three-thousand-ton boat from Cork, laden
with butter and cheese.&nbsp; It was my only success for three
days.</p>
<p>That night (Friday, April 16th) I called up Stephan, but
received no reply.&nbsp; As I was within a few miles of our
rendezvous, and as he would not be cruising after dark, I was
puzzled to account for his silence.&nbsp; I could only imagine
that his wireless was deranged.&nbsp; But, alas!</p>
<p>I was soon to find the true reason from a copy of the
<i>Western Morning News</i>, which I obtained from a Brixham
trawler.&nbsp; The <i>Kappa</i>, with her gallant commander and
crew, were at the bottom of the English Channel.</p>
<p>It appeared from this account that after I had parted from him
he had met and sunk no fewer than five vessels.&nbsp; I gathered
these to be his work, since all of them were by gun-fire, and all
were on the south coast of Dorset or Devon.&nbsp; How he met his
fate was stated in a short telegram which was headed
&ldquo;Sinking of a Hostile <!-- page 34--><a
name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
34</span>Submarine.&rdquo;&nbsp; It was marked
&ldquo;Falmouth,&rdquo; and ran thus:&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>The P. and O. mail steamer <i>Macedonia</i> came
into this port last night with five shell holes between wind and
water.&nbsp; She reports having been attacked by a hostile
submarine ten miles to the south-east of the Lizard.&nbsp;
Instead of using her torpedoes, the submarine for some reason
approached from the surface and fired five shots from a
semi-automatic twelve-pounder gun.&nbsp; She was evidently under
the impression that the <i>Macedonia</i> was unarmed.&nbsp; As a
matter of fact, being warned of the presence of submarines in the
Channel, the <i>Macedonia</i> had mounted her armament as an
auxiliary cruiser.&nbsp; She opened fire with two quick-firers
and blew away the conning-tower of the submarine.&nbsp; It is
probable that the shells went right through her, as she sank at
once with her hatches open.&nbsp; The <i>Macedonia</i> was only
kept afloat by her pumps.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Such was the end of the <i>Kappa</i>, and my gallant friend,
Commander Stephan.&nbsp; His best epitaph was in a corner of the
same paper, and was headed &ldquo;Mark Lane.&rdquo;&nbsp; It
ran:&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Wheat (average) 66, maize 48, barley
50.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Well, if Stephan was gone there was the more need for me to
show energy.&nbsp; My plans were quickly taken, but they were
comprehensive.&nbsp; All that day (Saturday) I passed down the
Cornish coast and round Land&rsquo;s End, getting <!-- page
35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>two
steamers on the way.&nbsp; I had learned from Stephan&rsquo;s
fate that it was better to torpedo the large craft, but I was
aware that the auxiliary cruisers of the British Government were
all over ten thousand tons, so that for all ships under that size
it was safe to use my gun.&nbsp; Both these craft, the
<i>Yelland</i> and the <i>Playboy</i>&mdash;the latter an
American ship&mdash;were perfectly harmless, so I came up within
a hundred yards of them and speedily sank them, after allowing
their people to get into boats.&nbsp; Some other steamers lay
farther out, but I was so eager to make my new arrangements that
I did not go out of my course to molest them.&nbsp; Just before
sunset, however, so magnificent a prey came within my radius of
action that I could not possibly refuse her.&nbsp; No sailor
could fail to recognize that glorious monarch of the sea, with
her four cream funnels tipped with black, her huge black sides,
her red bilges, and her high white top-hamper, roaring up Channel
at twenty-three knots, and carrying her forty-five thousand tons
as lightly as if she were a five-ton motor-boat.&nbsp; It was the
queenly <i>Olympic</i>, of the White Star&mdash;once the largest
and still the comeliest of liners.&nbsp; What a picture she made,
with the blue Cornish sea creaming round her giant fore-foot, and
the pink western sky with one evening star forming the background
to her noble lines.</p>
<p>She was about five miles off when we dived <!-- page 36--><a
name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>to cut her
off.&nbsp; My calculation was exact.&nbsp; As we came abreast we
loosed our torpedo and struck her fair.&nbsp; We swirled round
with the concussion of the water.&nbsp; I saw her in my periscope
list over on her side, and I knew that she had her
death-blow.&nbsp; She settled down slowly, and there was plenty
of time to save her people.&nbsp; The sea was dotted with her
boats.&nbsp; When I got about three miles off I rose to the
surface, and the whole crew clustered up to see the wonderful
sight.&nbsp; She dived bows foremost, and there was a terrific
explosion, which sent one of the funnels into the air.&nbsp; I
suppose we should have cheered&mdash;somehow, none of us felt
like cheering.&nbsp; We were all keen sailors, and it went to our
hearts to see such a ship go down like a broken eggshell.&nbsp; I
gave a gruff order, and all were at their posts again while we
headed north-west.&nbsp; Once round the Land&rsquo;s End I called
up my two consorts, and we met next day at Hartland Point, the
south end of Bideford Bay.&nbsp; For the moment the Channel was
clear, but the English could not know it, and I reckoned that the
loss of the <i>Olympic</i> would stop all ships for a day or two
at least.</p>
<p>Having assembled the <i>Delta</i> and <i>Epsilon</i>, one on
each side of me, I received the report from Miriam and Var, the
respective commanders.&nbsp; Each had expended twelve torpedoes,
and between them they had sunk twenty-two steamers.&nbsp; <!--
page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
37</span>One man had been killed by the machinery on board of the
<i>Delta</i>, and two had been burned by the ignition of some oil
on the <i>Epsilon</i>.&nbsp; I took these injured men on board,
and I gave each of the boats one of my crew.&nbsp; I also divided
my spare oil, my provisions, and my torpedoes among them, though
we had the greatest possible difficulty in those crank vessels in
transferring them from one to the other.&nbsp; However, by ten
o&rsquo;clock it was done, and the two vessels were in condition
to keep the sea for another ten days.&nbsp; For my part, with
only two torpedoes left, I headed north up the Irish Sea.&nbsp;
One of my torpedoes I expended that evening upon a cattle-ship
making for Milford Haven.&nbsp; Late at night, being abreast of
Holyhead, I called upon my four northern boats, but without
reply.&nbsp; Their Marconi range is very limited.&nbsp; About
three in the afternoon of the next day I had a feeble
answer.&nbsp; It was a great relief to me to find that my
telegraphic instructions had reached them and that they were on
their station.&nbsp; Before evening we all assembled in the lee
of Sanda Island, in the Mull of Kintyre.&nbsp; I felt an admiral
indeed when I saw my five whale-backs all in a row.&nbsp;
Panza&rsquo;s report was excellent.&nbsp; They had come round by
the Pentland Firth and reached their cruising ground on the
fourth day.&nbsp; Already they had destroyed twenty vessels
without any mishap.&nbsp; I ordered the <i>Beta</i> to <!-- page
38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
38</span>divide her oil and torpedoes among the other three, so
that they were in good condition to continue their cruise.&nbsp;
Then the <i>Beta</i> and I headed for home, reaching our base
upon Sunday, April 25th.&nbsp; Off Cape Wrath I picked up a paper
from a small schooner.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wheat, 84; Maize, 60; Barley, 62.&rdquo;&nbsp; What
were battles and bombardments compared to that!</p>
<p>The whole coast of Norland was closely blockaded by cordon
within cordon, and every port, even the smallest, held by the
British.&nbsp; But why should they suspect my modest
confectioner&rsquo;s villa more than any other of the ten
thousand houses that face the sea?&nbsp; I was glad when I picked
up its homely white front in my periscope.&nbsp; That night I
landed and found my stores intact.&nbsp; Before morning the
<i>Beta</i> reported itself, for we had the windows lit as a
guide.</p>
<p>It is not for me to recount the messages which I found waiting
for me at my humble headquarters.&nbsp; They shall ever remain as
the patents of nobility of my family.&nbsp; Among others was that
never-to-be-forgotten salutation from my King.&nbsp; He desired
me to present myself at Hauptville, but for once I took it upon
myself to disobey his commands.&nbsp; It took me two
days&mdash;or rather two nights, for we sank ourselves during the
daylight hours&mdash;to get all our stores on board, but my
presence was needful every minute of <!-- page 39--><a
name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>the
time.&nbsp; On the third morning, at four o&rsquo;clock, the
<i>Beta</i> and my own little flagship were at sea once more,
bound for our original station off the mouth of the Thames.</p>
<p>I had no time to read our papers whilst I was refitting, but I
gathered the news after we got under way.&nbsp; The British
occupied all our ports, but otherwise we had not suffered at all,
since we have excellent railway communications with Europe.&nbsp;
Prices had altered little, and our industries continued as
before.&nbsp; There was talk of a British invasion, but this I
knew to be absolute nonsense, for the British must have learned
by this time that it would be sheer murder to send transports
full of soldiers to sea in the face of submarines.&nbsp; When
they have a tunnel they can use their fine expeditionary force
upon the Continent, but until then it might just as well not
exist so far as Europe is concerned.&nbsp; My own country,
therefore, was in good case and had nothing to fear.&nbsp; Great
Britain, however, was already feeling my grip upon her
throat.&nbsp; As in normal times four-fifths of her food is
imported, prices were rising by leaps and bounds.&nbsp; The
supplies in the country were beginning to show signs of
depletion, while little was coming in to replace it.&nbsp; The
insurances at Lloyd&rsquo;s had risen to a figure which made the
price of the food prohibitive to the mass of the people by the
time it had reached the market.&nbsp; <!-- page 40--><a
name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>The loaf,
which, under ordinary circumstances stood at fivepence, was
already at one and twopence.&nbsp; Beef was three shillings and
fourpence a pound, and mutton two shillings and ninepence.&nbsp;
Everything else was in proportion.&nbsp; The Government had acted
with energy and offered a big bounty for corn to be planted at
once.&nbsp; It could only be reaped five months hence, however,
and long before then, as the papers pointed out, half the island
would be dead from starvation.&nbsp; Strong appeals had been made
to the patriotism of the people, and they were assured that the
interference with trade was temporary, and that with a little
patience all would be well.&nbsp; But already there was a marked
rise in the death-rate, especially among children, who suffered
from want of milk, the cattle being slaughtered for food.&nbsp;
There was serious rioting in the Lanarkshire coalfields and in
the Midlands, together with a Socialistic upheaval in the East of
London, which had assumed the proportions of a civil war.&nbsp;
Already there were responsible papers which declared that England
was in an impossible position, and that an immediate peace was
necessary to prevent one of the greatest tragedies in
history.&nbsp; It was my task now to prove to them that they were
right.</p>
<p>It was May 2nd when I found myself back at the Maplin Sands to
the north of the estuary of the Thames.&nbsp; The <i>Beta</i> was
sent on to the <!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 41</span>Solent to block it and take the place
of the lamented <i>Kappa</i>.&nbsp; And now I was throttling
Britain indeed&mdash;London, Southampton, the Bristol Channel,
Liverpool, the North Channel, the Glasgow approaches, each was
guarded by my boats.&nbsp; Great liners were, as we learned
afterwards, pouring their supplies into Galway and the West of
Ireland, where provisions were cheaper than has ever been
known.&nbsp; Tens of thousands were embarking from Britain for
Ireland in order to save themselves from starvation.&nbsp; But
you cannot transplant a whole dense population.&nbsp; The main
body of the people, by the middle of May, were actually
starving.&nbsp; At that date wheat was at a hundred, maize and
barley at eighty.&nbsp; Even the most obstinate had begun to see
that the situation could not possibly continue.</p>
<p>In the great towns starving crowds clamoured for bread before
the municipal offices, and public officials everywhere were
attacked and often murdered by frantic mobs, composed largely of
desperate women who had seen their infants perish before their
eyes.&nbsp; In the country, roots, bark, and weeds of every sort
were used as food.&nbsp; In London the private mansions of
Ministers were guarded by strong pickets of soldiers, while a
battalion of Guards was camped permanently round the Houses of
Parliament.&nbsp; The lives of the Prime Minister and of the
Foreign Secretary <!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 42</span>were continually threatened and
occasionally attempted.&nbsp; Yet the Government had entered upon
the war with the full assent of every party in the State.&nbsp;
The true culprits were those, be they politicians or journalists,
who had not the foresight to understand that unless Britain grew
her own supplies, or unless by means of a tunnel she had some way
of conveying them into the island, all her mighty expenditure
upon her army and her fleet was a mere waste of money so long as
her antagonists had a few submarines and men who could use
them.&nbsp; England has often been stupid, but has got off
scot-free.&nbsp; This time she was stupid and had to pay the
price.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t expect Luck to be your saviour
always.</p>
<p>It would be a mere repetition of what I have already described
if I were to recount all our proceedings during that first ten
days after I resumed my station.&nbsp; During my absence the
ships had taken heart and had begun to come up again.&nbsp; In
the first day I got four.&nbsp; After that I had to go farther
afield, and again I picked up several in French waters.&nbsp;
Once I had a narrow escape through one of my kingston valves
getting some grit into it and refusing to act when I was below
the surface.&nbsp; Our margin of buoyancy just carried us
through.&nbsp; By the end of that week the Channel was clear
again, and both <i>Beta</i> and my own boat were down West once
more.&nbsp; There we had encouraging <!-- page 43--><a
name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>messages from
our Bristol consort, who in turn had heard from <i>Delta</i> at
Liverpool.&nbsp; Our task was completely done.&nbsp; We could not
prevent all food from passing into the British Islands, but at
least we had raised what did get in to a price which put it far
beyond the means of the penniless, workless multitudes.&nbsp; In
vain Government commandeered it all and doled it out as a general
feeds the garrison of a fortress.&nbsp; The task was too
great&mdash;the responsibility too horrible.&nbsp; Even the proud
and stubborn English could not face it any longer.</p>
<p>I remember well how the news came to me.&nbsp; I was lying at
the time off Selsey Bill when I saw a small war-vessel coming
down Channel.&nbsp; It had never been my policy to attack any
vessel coming <i>down</i>.&nbsp; My torpedoes and even my shells
were too precious for that.&nbsp; I could not help being
attracted, however, by the movements of this ship, which came
slowly zigzagging in my direction.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Looking for me,&rdquo; thought I.&nbsp; &ldquo;What on
earth does the foolish thing hope to do if she could find
me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was lying awash at the time and got ready to go below in
case she should come for me.&nbsp; But at that moment&mdash;she
was about half a mile away&mdash;she turned her quarter, and
there to my amazement was the red flag with the blue circle, our
own beloved flag, flying from her peak.&nbsp; For <!-- page
44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>a
moment I thought that this was some clever dodge of the enemy to
tempt me within range.&nbsp; I snatched up my glasses and called
on Vornal.&nbsp; Then we both recognized the vessel.&nbsp; It was
the <i>Juno</i>, the only one left intact of our own
cruisers.&nbsp; What could she be doing flying the flag in the
enemy&rsquo;s waters?&nbsp; Then I understood it, and turning to
Vornal, we threw ourselves into each other&rsquo;s arms.&nbsp; It
could only mean an armistice&mdash;or peace!</p>
<p>And it was peace.&nbsp; We learned the glad news when we had
risen alongside the <i>Juno</i>, and the ringing cheers which
greeted us had at last died away.&nbsp; Our orders were to report
ourselves at once at Blankenberg.&nbsp; Then she passed on down
Channel to collect the others.&nbsp; We returned to port upon the
surface, steaming through the whole British fleet as we passed up
the North Sea.&nbsp; The crews clustered thick along the sides of
the vessels to watch us.&nbsp; I can see now their sullen, angry
faces.&nbsp; Many shook their fists and cursed us as we went
by.&nbsp; It was not that we had damaged them&mdash;I will do
them the justice to say that the English, as the old Boer War has
proved, bear no resentment against a brave enemy&mdash;but that
they thought us cowardly to attack merchant ships and avoid the
warships.&nbsp; It is like the Arabs who think that a flank
attack is a mean, unmanly device.&nbsp; War is not a big game, my
English friends.&nbsp; It is a desperate <!-- page 45--><a
name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>business to
gain the upper hand, and one must use one&rsquo;s brain in order
to find the weak spot of one&rsquo;s enemy.&nbsp; It is not fair
to blame me if I have found yours.&nbsp; It was my duty.&nbsp;
Perhaps those officers and sailors who scowled at the little
<i>Iota</i> that May morning have by this time done me justice
when the first bitterness of undeserved defeat was passed.</p>
<p>Let others describe my entrance into Blankenberg; the mad
enthusiasm of the crowds, and the magnificent public reception of
each successive boat as it arrived.&nbsp; Surely the men deserved
the grant made them by the State which has enabled each of them
to be independent for life.&nbsp; As a feat of endurance, that
long residence in such a state of mental tension in cramped
quarters, breathing an unnatural atmosphere, will long remain as
a record.&nbsp; The country may well be proud of such
sailors.</p>
<p>The terms of peace were not made onerous, for we were in no
condition to make Great Britain our permanent enemy.&nbsp; We
knew well that we had won the war by circumstances which would
never be allowed to occur again, and that in a few years the
Island Power would be as strong as ever&mdash;stronger,
perhaps&mdash;for the lesson that she had learned.&nbsp; It would
be madness to provoke such an antagonist.&nbsp; A mutual salute
of flags was arranged, the Colonial boundary was adjusted by
arbitration, and we claimed no indemnity <!-- page 46--><a
name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>beyond an
undertaking on the part of Britain that she would pay any damages
which an International Court might award to France or to the
United States for injury received through the operations of our
submarines.&nbsp; So ended the war!</p>
<p>Of course, England will not be caught napping in such a
fashion again!&nbsp; Her foolish blindness is partly explained by
her delusion that her enemy would not torpedo merchant
vessels.&nbsp; Common sense should have told her that her enemy
will play the game that suits them best&mdash;that they will not
inquire what they may do, but they will do it first and talk
about it afterwards.&nbsp; The opinion of the whole world now is
that if a blockade were proclaimed one may do what one can with
those who try to break it, and that it was as reasonable to
prevent food from reaching England in war time as it is for a
besieger to prevent the victualling of a beleaguered
fortress.</p>
<p>I cannot end this account better than by quoting the first few
paragraphs of a leader in the <i>Times</i>, which appeared
shortly after the declaration of peace.&nbsp; It may be taken to
epitomize the saner public opinion of England upon the meaning
and lessons of the episode.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;In all this miserable business,&rdquo; said
the writer, &ldquo;which has cost us the loss of a considerable
portion of our merchant fleet and more than <!-- page 47--><a
name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>fifty
thousand civilian lives, there is just one consolation to be
found.&nbsp; It lies in the fact that our temporary conqueror is
a Power which is not strong enough to reap the fruits of her
victory.&nbsp; Had we endured this humiliation at the hands of
any of the first-class Powers it would certainly have entailed
the loss of all our Crown Colonies and tropical possessions,
besides the payment of a huge indemnity.&nbsp; We were absolutely
at the feet of our conqueror and had no possible alternative but
to submit to her terms, however onerous.&nbsp; Norland has had
the good sense to understand that she must not abuse her
temporary advantage, and has been generous in her dealings.&nbsp;
In the grip of any other Power we should have ceased to exist as
an Empire.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Even now we are not out of the wood.&nbsp; Some one may
maliciously pick a quarrel with us before we get our house in
order, and use the easy weapon which has been demonstrated.&nbsp;
It is to meet such a contingency that the Government has rushed
enormous stores of food at the public expense into the
country.&nbsp; In a very few months the new harvest will have
appeared.&nbsp; On the whole we can face the immediate future
without undue depression, though there remain some causes for
anxiety.&nbsp; These will no doubt be energetically handled by
this new and efficient Government, which has taken the place of
those discredited politicians who led us into a war without
having foreseen how helpless we were against an obvious form of
attack.</p>
<p><!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
48</span>&ldquo;Already the lines of our reconstruction are
evident.&nbsp; The first and most important is that our Party men
realize that there is something more vital than their academic
disputes about Free Trade or Protection, and that all theory must
give way to the fact that a country is in an artificial and
dangerous condition if she does not produce within her own
borders sufficient food to at least keep life in her
population.&nbsp; Whether this should be brought about by a tax
upon foreign foodstuffs, or by a bounty upon home products, or by
a combination of the two, is now under discussion.&nbsp; But all
Parties are combined upon the principle, and, though it will
undoubtedly entail either a rise in prices or a deterioration in
quality in the food of the working-classes, they will at least be
insured against so terrible a visitation as that which is fresh
in our memories.&nbsp; At any rate, we have got past the stage of
argument.&nbsp; It <i>must</i> be so.&nbsp; The increased
prosperity of the farming interest, and, as we will hope, the
cessation of agricultural emigration, will be benefits to be
counted against the obvious disadvantages.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The second lesson is the immediate construction of not
one but two double-lined railways under the Channel.&nbsp; We
stand in a white sheet over the matter, since the project has
always been discouraged in these columns, but we are prepared to
admit that had such railway communication been combined with
adequate arrangements for forwarding supplies from Marseilles, we
should have avoided our recent <!-- page 49--><a
name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
49</span>surrender.&nbsp; We still insist that we cannot trust
entirely to a tunnel, since our enemy might have allies in the
Mediterranean; but in a single contest with any Power of the
North of Europe it would certainly be of inestimable
benefit.&nbsp; There may be dangers attendant upon the existence
of a tunnel, but it must now be admitted that they are trivial
compared to those which come from its absence.&nbsp; As to the
building of large fleets of merchant submarines for the carriage
of food, that is a new departure which will be an additional
insurance against the danger which has left so dark a page in the
history of our country.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
50</span>II.&nbsp; ONE CROWDED HOUR</h2>
<p>The place was the Eastbourne-Tunbridge road, not very far from
the Cross in Hand&mdash;a lonely stretch, with a heath running
upon either side.&nbsp; The time was half-past eleven upon a
Sunday night in the late summer.&nbsp; A motor was passing slowly
down the road.</p>
<p>It was a long, lean Rolls-Royce, running smoothly with a
gentle purring of the engine.&nbsp; Through the two vivid circles
cast by the electric head-lights the waving grass fringes and
clumps of heather streamed swiftly like some golden
cinematograph, leaving a blacker darkness behind and around
them.&nbsp; One ruby-red spot shone upon the road, but no
number-plate was visible within the dim ruddy halo of the
tail-lamp which cast it.&nbsp; The car was open and of a tourist
type, but even in that obscure light, for the night was moonless,
an observer could hardly fail to have noticed a curious
indefiniteness in its lines.&nbsp; As it slid into and across the
broad stream of light from <!-- page 51--><a
name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>an open
cottage door the reason could be seen.&nbsp; The body was hung
with a singular loose arrangement of brown holland.&nbsp; Even
the long black bonnet was banded with some close-drawn
drapery.</p>
<p>The solitary man who drove this curious car was broad and
burly.&nbsp; He sat hunched up over his steering-wheel, with the
brim of a Tyrolean hat drawn down over his eyes.&nbsp; The red
end of a cigarette smouldered under the black shadow thrown by
the headgear.&nbsp; A dark ulster of some frieze-like material
was turned up in the collar until it covered his ears.&nbsp; His
neck was pushed forward from his rounded shoulders, and he
seemed, as the car now slid noiselessly down the long, sloping
road, with the clutch disengaged and the engine running free, to
be peering ahead of him through the darkness in search of some
eagerly-expected object.</p>
<p>The distant toot of a motor-horn came faintly from some point
far to the south of him.&nbsp; On such a night, at such a place,
all traffic must be from south to north when the current of
London week-enders sweeps back from the watering-place to the
capital&mdash;from pleasure to duty.&nbsp; The man sat straight
and listened intently.&nbsp; Yes, there it was again, and
certainly to the south of him.&nbsp; His face was over the wheel
and his eyes strained through the darkness.&nbsp; <!-- page
52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>Then
suddenly he spat out his cigarette and gave a sharp intake of the
breath.&nbsp; Far away down the road two little yellow points had
rounded a curve.&nbsp; They vanished into a dip, shot upwards
once more, and then vanished again.&nbsp; The inert man in the
draped car woke suddenly into intense life.&nbsp; From his pocket
he pulled a mask of dark cloth, which he fastened securely across
his face, adjusting it carefully that his sight might be
unimpeded.&nbsp; For an instant he uncovered an acetylene
hand-lantern, took a hasty glance at his own preparations, and
laid it beside a Mauser pistol upon the seat alongside him.&nbsp;
Then, twitching his hat down lower than ever, he released his
clutch and slid downward his gear-lever.&nbsp; With a chuckle and
shudder the long, black machine sprang forward, and shot with a
soft sigh from her powerful engines down the sloping
gradient.&nbsp; The driver stooped and switched off his electric
head-lights.&nbsp; Only a dim grey swathe cut through the black
heath indicated the line of his road.&nbsp; From in front there
came presently a confused puffing and rattling and clanging as
the oncoming car breasted the slope.&nbsp; It coughed and
spluttered on a powerful, old-fashioned low gear, while its
engine throbbed like a weary heart.&nbsp; The yellow, glaring
lights dipped for the last time into a switchback curve.&nbsp;
When they reappeared over the crest the two cars were within <!--
page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
53</span>thirty yards of each other.&nbsp; The dark one darted
across the road and barred the other&rsquo;s passage, while a
warning acetylene lamp was waved in the air.&nbsp; With a jarring
of brakes the noisy new-comer was brought to a halt.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; cried an aggrieved voice,
&ldquo;&rsquo;pon my soul, you know, we might have had an
accident.&nbsp; Why the devil don&rsquo;t you keep your
head-lights on?&nbsp; I never saw you till I nearly burst my
radiators on you!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The acetylene lamp, held forward, discovered a very angry
young man, blue-eyed, yellow-moustached, and florid, sitting
alone at the wheel of an antiquated twelve-horse Wolseley.&nbsp;
Suddenly the aggrieved look upon his flushed face changed to one
of absolute bewilderment.&nbsp; The driver in the dark car had
sprung out of the seat, a black, long-barrelled, wicked-looking
pistol was poked in the traveller&rsquo;s face, and behind the
further sights of it was a circle of black cloth with two deadly
eyes looking from as many slits.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo; said a quick, stern voice.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Hands up! or, by the Lord&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>The young man was as brave as his neighbours, but the hands
went up all the same.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Get down!&rdquo; said his assailant, curtly.</p>
<p>The young man stepped forth into the road, followed closely by
the covering lantern and pistol.&nbsp; Once he made as if he
would drop his <!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 54</span>hands, but a short, stern word jerked
them up again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I say, look here, this is rather out o&rsquo; date,
ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; said the traveller.&nbsp; &ldquo;I expect
you&rsquo;re joking&mdash;what?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Your watch,&rdquo; said the man behind the Mauser
pistol.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t really mean it!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Your watch, I say!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, take it, if you must.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s only
plated, anyhow.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re two centuries out in time, or
a few thousand miles longitude.&nbsp; The bush is your
mark&mdash;or America.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t seem in the picture
on a Sussex road.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Purse,&rdquo; said the man.&nbsp; There was something
very compelling in his voice and methods.&nbsp; The purse was
handed over.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Any rings?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t wear &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Stand there!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t move!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The highwayman passed his victim and threw open the bonnet of
the Wolseley.&nbsp; His hand, with a pair of steel pliers, was
thrust deep into the works.&nbsp; There was the snap of a parting
wire.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hang it all, don&rsquo;t crock my car!&rdquo; cried the
traveller.</p>
<p>He turned, but quick as a flash the pistol was at his head
once more.&nbsp; And yet even in that flash, whilst the robber
whisked round from the broken circuit, something had caught the
young <!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 55</span>man&rsquo;s eye which made him gasp
and start.&nbsp; He opened his mouth as if about to shout some
words.&nbsp; Then with an evident effort he restrained
himself.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Get in,&rdquo; said the highwayman.</p>
<p>The traveller climbed back to his seat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What is your name?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ronald Barker.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s yours?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The masked man ignored the impertinence.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where do you live?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My cards are in my purse.&nbsp; Take one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The highwayman sprang into his car, the engine of which had
hissed and whispered in gentle accompaniment to the
interview.&nbsp; With a clash he threw back his side-brake, flung
in his gears, twirled the wheel hard round, and cleared the
motionless Wolseley.&nbsp; A minute later he was gliding swiftly,
with all his lights&rsquo; gleaming, some half-mile southward on
the road, while Mr. Ronald Barker, a side-lamp in his hand, was
rummaging furiously among the odds and ends of his repair-box for
a strand of wire which would connect up his electricity and set
him on his way once more.</p>
<p>When he had placed a safe distance between himself and his
victim, the adventurer eased up, took his booty from his pocket,
replaced the watch, opened the purse, and counted out the
money.&nbsp; Seven shillings constituted the miserable
spoil.&nbsp; The poor result of his efforts seemed to amuse
rather than annoy him, for <!-- page 56--><a
name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>he chuckled
as he held the two half-crowns and the florin in the glare of his
lantern.&nbsp; Then suddenly his manner changed.&nbsp; He thrust
the thin purse back into his pocket, released his brake, and shot
onwards with the same tense bearing with which he had started
upon his adventure.&nbsp; The lights of another car were coming
down the road.</p>
<p>On this occasion the methods of the highwayman were less
furtive.&nbsp; Experience had clearly given him confidence.&nbsp;
With lights still blazing, he ran towards the new-comers, and,
halting in the middle of the road, summoned them to stop.&nbsp;
From the point of view of the astonished travellers the result
was sufficiently impressive.&nbsp; They saw in the glare of their
own head-lights two glowing discs on either side of the long,
black-muzzled snout of a high-power car, and above the masked
face and menacing figure of its solitary driver.&nbsp; In the
golden circle thrown by the rover there stood an elegant,
open-topped, twenty-horse Humber, with an undersized and very
astonished chauffeur blinking from under his peaked cap.&nbsp;
From behind the wind-screen the veil-bound hats and wondering
faces of two very pretty young women protruded, one upon either
side, and a little crescendo of frightened squeaks announced the
acute emotion of one of them.&nbsp; The other was cooler and more
critical.</p>
<p><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
57</span>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t give it away, Hilda,&rdquo; she
whispered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do shut up, and don&rsquo;t be such a
silly.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s Bertie or one of the boys playing it on
us.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s the real thing, Flossie.&nbsp;
It&rsquo;s a robber, sure enough.&nbsp; Oh, my goodness, whatever
shall we do?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What an &lsquo;ad.&rsquo;!&rdquo; cried the
other.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, what a glorious &lsquo;ad.&rsquo;!&nbsp;
Too late now for the mornings, but they&rsquo;ll have it in every
evening paper, sure.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s it going to cost?&rdquo; groaned the
other.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, Flossie, Flossie, I&rsquo;m sure
I&rsquo;m going to faint!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you think if we both
screamed together we could do some good?&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t he too
awful with that black thing over his face?&nbsp; Oh, dear, oh,
dear!&nbsp; He&rsquo;s killing poor little Alf!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The proceedings of the robber were indeed somewhat
alarming.&nbsp; Springing down from his car, he had pulled the
chauffeur out of his seat by the scruff of his neck.&nbsp; The
sight of the Mauser had cut short all remonstrance, and under its
compulsion the little man had pulled open the bonnet and
extracted the sparking plugs.&nbsp; Having thus secured the
immobility of his capture, the masked man walked forward, lantern
in hand, to the side of the car.&nbsp; He had laid aside the
gruff sternness with which he had treated Mr. Ronald Barker, and
his voice and manner were gentle, though determined.&nbsp; <!--
page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
58</span>He even raised his hat as a prelude to his address.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am sorry to inconvenience you, ladies,&rdquo; said
he, and his voice had gone up several notes since the previous
interview.&nbsp; &ldquo;May I ask who you are?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Miss Hilda was beyond coherent speech, but Miss Flossie was of
a sterner mould.</p>
<p>&ldquo;This is a pretty business,&rdquo; said she.&nbsp;
&ldquo;What right have you to stop us on the public road, I
should like to know?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;My time is short,&rdquo; said the robber, in a sterner
voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;I must ask you to answer my
question.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tell him, Flossie!&nbsp; For goodness&rsquo; sake be
nice to him!&rdquo; cried Hilda.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, we&rsquo;re from the Gaiety Theatre, London, if
you want to know,&rdquo; said the young lady.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Perhaps you&rsquo;ve heard of Miss Flossie Thornton and
Miss Hilda Mannering?&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve been playing a week at
the Royal at Eastbourne, and took a Sunday off to
ourselves.&nbsp; So now you know!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I must ask you for your purses and for your
jewellery.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Both ladies set up shrill expostulations, but they found, as
Mr. Ronald Barker had done, that there was something quietly
compelling in this man&rsquo;s methods.&nbsp; In a very few
minutes they had handed over their purses, and a pile of
glittering rings, bangles, brooches, and chains <!-- page 59--><a
name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>was lying
upon the front seat of the car.&nbsp; The diamonds glowed and
shimmered like little electric points in the light of the
lantern.&nbsp; He picked up the glittering tangle and weighed it
in his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Anything you particularly value?&rdquo; he asked the
ladies; but Miss Flossie was in no humour for concessions.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t come the Claude Duval over us,&rdquo; said
she.&nbsp; &ldquo;Take the lot or leave the lot.&nbsp; We
don&rsquo;t want bits of our own given back to us.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Except just Billy&rsquo;s necklace!&rdquo; cried Hilda,
and snatched at a little rope of pearls.&nbsp; The robber bowed,
and released his hold of it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Anything else?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The valiant Flossie began suddenly to cry.&nbsp; Hilda did the
same.&nbsp; The effect upon the robber was surprising.&nbsp; He
threw the whole heap of jewellery into the nearest lap.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There! there!&nbsp; Take it!&rdquo; he said.&nbsp;
&ldquo;It&rsquo;s trumpery stuff, anyhow.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s worth
something to you, and nothing to me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Tears changed in a moment to smiles.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re welcome to the purses.&nbsp; The
&lsquo;ad.&rsquo; is worth ten times the money.&nbsp; But what a
funny way of getting a living nowadays!&nbsp; Aren&rsquo;t you
afraid of being caught?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s all so wonderful, like a
scene from a comedy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It may be a tragedy,&rdquo; said the robber.</p>
<p><!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
60</span>&ldquo;Oh, I hope not&mdash;I&rsquo;m sure I hope
not!&rdquo; cried the two ladies of the drama.</p>
<p>But the robber was in no mood for further conversation.&nbsp;
Far away down the road tiny points of light had appeared.&nbsp;
Fresh business was coming to him, and he must not mix his
cases.&nbsp; Disengaging his machine, he raised his hat, and
slipped off to meet this new arrival, while Miss Flossie and Miss
Hilda leaned out of their derelict car, still palpitating from
their adventure, and watched the red gleam of the tail-light
until it merged into the darkness.</p>
<p>This time there was every sign of a rich prize.&nbsp; Behind
its four grand lamps set in a broad frame of glittering brasswork
the magnificent sixty-horse Daimler breasted the slope with the
low, deep, even snore which proclaimed its enormous latent
strength.&nbsp; Like some rich-laden, high-pooped Spanish
galleon, she kept her course until the prowling craft ahead of
her swept across her bows and brought her to a sudden halt.&nbsp;
An angry face, red, blotched, and evil, shot out of the open
window of the closed limousine.&nbsp; The robber was aware of a
high, bald forehead, gross pendulous cheeks, and two little
crafty eyes which gleamed between creases of fat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Out of my way, sir!&nbsp; Out of my way this
instant!&rdquo; cried a rasping voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;Drive over
him, Hearn!&nbsp; Get down and pull him off <!-- page 61--><a
name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>the
seat.&nbsp; The fellow&rsquo;s drunk&mdash;he&rsquo;s drunk I
say!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Up to this point the proceedings of the modern highwayman
might have passed as gentle.&nbsp; Now they turned in an instant
to savagery.&nbsp; The chauffeur, a burly, capable fellow,
incited by that raucous voice behind him, sprang from the car and
seized the advancing robber by the throat.&nbsp; The latter hit
out with the butt-end of his pistol, and the man dropped groaning
on the road.&nbsp; Stepping over his prostrate body the
adventurer pulled open the door, seized the stout occupant
savagely by the ear, and dragged him bellowing on to the
highway.&nbsp; Then, very deliberately, he struck him twice
across the face with his open hand.&nbsp; The blows rang out like
pistol-shots in the silence of the night.&nbsp; The fat traveller
turned a ghastly colour and fell back half senseless against the
side of the limousine.&nbsp; The robber dragged open his coat,
wrenched away the heavy gold watch-chain with all that it held,
plucked out the great diamond pin that sparkled in the black
satin tie, dragged off four rings&mdash;not one of which could
have cost less than three figures and finally tore from his inner
pocket a bulky leather note-book.&nbsp; All this property he
transferred to his own black overcoat, and added to it the
man&rsquo;s pearl cuff-links, and even the golden stud which held
his collar.&nbsp; Having made sure <!-- page 62--><a
name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>that there
was nothing else to take, the robber flashed his lantern upon the
prostrate chauffeur, and satisfied himself that he was stunned
and not dead.&nbsp; Then, returning to the master, he proceeded
very deliberately to tear all his clothes from his body with a
ferocious energy which set his victim whimpering and writhing in
imminent expectation of murder.</p>
<p>Whatever his tormentor&rsquo;s intention may have been, it was
very effectually frustrated.&nbsp; A sound made him turn his
head, and there, no very great distance off, were the lights of a
car coming swiftly from the north.&nbsp; Such a car must have
already passed the wreckage which this pirate had left behind
him.&nbsp; It was following his track with a deliberate purpose,
and might be crammed with every county constable of the
district.</p>
<p>The adventurer had no time to lose.&nbsp; He darted from his
bedraggled victim, sprang into his own seat, and with his foot on
the accelerator shot swiftly off down the road.&nbsp; Some way
down there was a narrow side lane, and into this the fugitive
turned, cracking on his high speed and leaving a good five miles
between him and any pursuer before he ventured to stop.&nbsp;
Then, in a quiet corner, he counted over his booty of the
evening&mdash;the paltry plunder of Mr. Ronald Barker, the rather
better-furnished purses of the actresses, which contained four
pounds <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 63</span>between them, and, finally, the
gorgeous jewellery and well-filled note-book of the plutocrat
upon the Daimler.&nbsp; Five notes of fifty pounds, four of ten,
fifteen sovereigns, and a number of valuable papers made up a
most noble haul.&nbsp; It was clearly enough for one
night&rsquo;s work.&nbsp; The adventurer replaced all his
ill-gotten gains in his pocket, and, lighting a cigarette, set
forth upon his way with the air of a man who has no further care
upon his mind.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>It was on the Monday morning following upon this eventful
evening that Sir Henry Hailworthy, of Walcot Old Place, having
finished his breakfast in a leisurely fashion, strolled down to
his study with the intention of writing a few letters before
setting forth to take his place upon the county bench.&nbsp; Sir
Henry was a Deputy-Lieutenant of the county; he was a baronet of
ancient blood; he was a magistrate of ten years&rsquo; standing;
and he was famous above all as the breeder of many a good horse
and the most desperate rider in all the Weald country.&nbsp; A
tall, upstanding man, with a strong, clean-shaven face, heavy
black eyebrows, and a square, resolute jaw, he was one whom it
was better to call friend than foe.&nbsp; Though nearly fifty
years of age, he bore no sign of having passed his youth, save
that Nature, in one of her freakish moods, had planted one little
feather <!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 64</span>of white hair above his right ear,
making the rest of his thick black curls the darker by
contrast.&nbsp; He was in thoughtful mood this morning, for
having lit his pipe he sat at his desk with his blank note-paper
in front of him, lost in a deep reverie.</p>
<p>Suddenly his thoughts were brought back to the present.&nbsp;
From behind the laurels of the curving drive there came a low,
clanking sound, which swelled into the clatter and jingle of an
ancient car.&nbsp; Then from round the corner there swung an
old-fashioned Wolseley, with a fresh-complexioned,
yellow-moustached young man at the wheel.&nbsp; Sir Henry sprang
to his feet at the sight, and then sat down once more.&nbsp; He
rose again as a minute later the footman announced Mr. Ronald
Barker.&nbsp; It was an early visit, but Barker was Sir
Henry&rsquo;s intimate friend.&nbsp; As each was a fine shot,
horseman, and billiard-player, there was much in common between
the two men, and the younger (and poorer) was in the habit of
spending at least two evenings a week at Walcot Old Place.&nbsp;
Therefore, Sir Henry advanced cordially with outstretched hand to
welcome him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re an early bird this morning,&rdquo; said
he.&nbsp; &ldquo;What&rsquo;s up?&nbsp; If you are going over to
Lewes we could motor together.&rdquo;</p>
<p>But the younger man&rsquo;s demeanour was peculiar and
ungracious.&nbsp; He disregarded the hand which <!-- page 65--><a
name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>was held out
to him, and he stood pulling at his own long moustache and
staring with troubled, questioning eyes at the county
magistrate.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, what&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo; asked the
latter.</p>
<p>Still the young man did not speak.&nbsp; He was clearly on the
edge of an interview which he found it most difficult to
open.&nbsp; His host grew impatient.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t seem yourself this morning.&nbsp; What
on earth is the matter?&nbsp; Anything upset you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Ronald Barker, with emphasis.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What has?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;<i>You</i> have.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Henry smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;Sit down, my dear fellow.&nbsp;
If you have any grievance against me, let me hear it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Barker sat down.&nbsp; He seemed to be gathering himself for a
reproach.&nbsp; When it did come it was like a bullet from a
gun.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why did you rob me last night?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The magistrate was a man of iron nerve.&nbsp; He showed
neither surprise nor resentment.&nbsp; Not a muscle twitched upon
his calm, set face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why do you say that I robbed you last night?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A big, tall fellow in a motor-car stopped me on the
Mayfield road.&nbsp; He poked a pistol <!-- page 66--><a
name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>in my face
and took my purse and my watch.&nbsp; Sir Henry, that man was
you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The magistrate smiled.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Am I the only big, tall man in the district?&nbsp; Am I
the only man with a motor-car?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you think I couldn&rsquo;t tell a Rolls-Royce when I
see it&mdash;I, who spend half my life on a car and the other
half under it?&nbsp; Who has a Rolls-Royce about here except
you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;My dear Barker, don&rsquo;t you think that such a
modern highwayman as you describe would be more likely to operate
outside his own district?&nbsp; How many hundred Rolls-Royces are
there in the South of England?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, it won&rsquo;t do, Sir Henry&mdash;it won&rsquo;t
do!&nbsp; Even your voice, though you sunk it a few notes, was
familiar enough to me.&nbsp; But hang it, man!&nbsp; What did you
do it <i>for</i>?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what gets over me.&nbsp;
That you should stick up me, one of your closest friends, a man
that worked himself to the bone when you stood for the
division&mdash;and all for the sake of a Brummagem watch and a
few shillings&mdash;is simply incredible.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Simply incredible,&rdquo; repeated the magistrate, with
a smile.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And then those actresses, poor little devils, who have
to earn all they get.&nbsp; I followed you down the road, you
see.&nbsp; That was a dirty trick, if ever I heard one.&nbsp; The
City shark was different.&nbsp; <!-- page 67--><a
name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>If a chap
must go a-robbing, that sort of fellow is fair game.&nbsp; But
your friend, and then the girls&mdash;well, I say again, I
couldn&rsquo;t have believed it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then why believe it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because it <i>is</i> so.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, you seem to have persuaded yourself to that
effect.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t seem to have much evidence to lay
before any one else.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I could swear to you in a police-court.&nbsp; What put
the lid on it was that when you were cutting my wire&mdash;and an
infernal liberty it was!&mdash;I saw that white tuft of yours
sticking out from behind your mask.&rdquo;</p>
<p>For the first time an acute observer might have seen some
slight sign of emotion upon the face of the baronet.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You seem to have a fairly vivid imagination,&rdquo;
said he.</p>
<p>His visitor flushed with anger.</p>
<p>&ldquo;See here, Hailworthy,&rdquo; said he, opening his hand
and showing a small, jagged triangle of black cloth.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Do you see that?&nbsp; It was on the ground near the car
of the young women.&nbsp; You must have ripped it off as you
jumped out from your seat.&nbsp; Now send for that heavy black
driving-coat of yours.&nbsp; If you don&rsquo;t ring the bell
I&rsquo;ll ring it myself, and we shall have it in.&nbsp;
I&rsquo;m going to see this thing through, and don&rsquo;t you
make any mistake about that.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
68</span>The baronet&rsquo;s answer was a surprising one.&nbsp;
He rose, passed Barker&rsquo;s chair, and, walking over to the
door, he locked it and placed the key in his pocket.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You <i>are</i> going to see it through,&rdquo; said
he.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll lock you in until you do.&nbsp; Now
we must have a straight talk, Barker, as man to man, and whether
it ends in tragedy or not depends on you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He had half-opened one of the drawers in his desk as he
spoke.&nbsp; His visitor frowned in anger.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t make matters any better by threatening
me, Hailworthy.&nbsp; I am going to do my duty, and you
won&rsquo;t bluff me out of it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have no wish to bluff you.&nbsp; When I spoke of a
tragedy I did not mean to you.&nbsp; What I meant was that there
are some turns which this affair cannot be allowed to take.&nbsp;
I have neither kith nor kin, but there is the family honour, and
some things are impossible.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is late to talk like that.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, perhaps it is; but not too late.&nbsp; And now I
have a good deal to say to you.&nbsp; First of all, you are quite
right, and it was I who held you up last night on the Mayfield
road.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But why on earth&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;All right.&nbsp; Let me tell it my own way.&nbsp; First
I want you to look at these.&rdquo;&nbsp; He unlocked a drawer
and he took out two small packages.&nbsp; &ldquo;These were to be
posted in London <!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 69</span>to-night.&nbsp; This one is addressed
to you, and I may as well hand it over to you at once.&nbsp; It
contains your watch and your purse.&nbsp; So, you see, bar your
cut wire you would have been none the worse for your
adventure.&nbsp; This other packet is addressed to the young
ladies of the Gaiety Theatre, and their properties are
enclosed.&nbsp; I hope I have convinced you that I had intended
full reparation in each case before you came to accuse
me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; asked Barker.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, we will now deal with Sir George Wilde, who is,
as you may not know, the senior partner of Wilde and Guggendorf,
the founders of the Ludgate Bank of infamous memory.&nbsp; His
chauffeur is a case apart.&nbsp; You may take it from me, upon my
word of honour, that I had plans for the chauffeur.&nbsp; But it
is the master that I want to speak of.&nbsp; You know that I am
not a rich man myself.&nbsp; I expect all the county knows
that.&nbsp; When Black Tulip lost the Derby I was hard hit.&nbsp;
And other things as well.&nbsp; Then I had a legacy of a
thousand.&nbsp; This infernal bank was paying 7 per cent. on
deposits.&nbsp; I knew Wilde.&nbsp; I saw him.&nbsp; I asked him
if it was safe.&nbsp; He said it was.&nbsp; I paid it in, and
within forty-eight hours the whole thing went to bits.&nbsp; It
came out before the Official Receiver that Wilde had known for
three months that nothing could save him.&nbsp; And yet he took
all <!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
70</span>my cargo aboard his sinking vessel.&nbsp; He was all
right&mdash;confound him!&nbsp; He had plenty besides.&nbsp; But
I had lost all my money and no law could help me.&nbsp; Yet he
had robbed me as clearly as one man could rob another.&nbsp; I
saw him and he laughed in my face.&nbsp; Told me to stick to
Consols, and that the lesson was cheap at the price.&nbsp; So I
just swore that, by hook or by crook, I would get level with
him.&nbsp; I knew his habits, for I had made it my business to do
so.&nbsp; I knew that he came back from Eastbourne on Sunday
nights.&nbsp; I knew that he carried a good sum with him in his
pocket-book.&nbsp; Well it&rsquo;s <i>my</i> pocket-book
now.&nbsp; Do you mean to tell me that I&rsquo;m not morally
justified in what I have done?&nbsp; By the Lord, I&rsquo;d have
left the devil as bare as he left many a widow and orphan, if
I&rsquo;d had the time!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all very well.&nbsp; But what about
me?&nbsp; What about the girls?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have some common sense, Barker.&nbsp; Do you suppose
that I could go and stick up this one personal enemy of mine and
escape detection?&nbsp; It was impossible.&nbsp; I was bound to
make myself out to be just a common robber who had run up against
him by accident.&nbsp; So I turned myself loose on the high road
and took my chance.&nbsp; As the devil would have it, the first
man I met was yourself.&nbsp; I was a fool not to recognise that
old ironmonger&rsquo;s store of yours <!-- page 71--><a
name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>by the row it
made coming up the hill.&nbsp; When I saw you I could hardly
speak for laughing.&nbsp; But I was bound to carry it
through.&nbsp; The same with the actresses.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
afraid I gave myself away, for I couldn&rsquo;t take their little
fal-lals, but I had to keep up a show.&nbsp; Then came my man
himself.&nbsp; There was no bluff about that.&nbsp; I was out to
skin him, and I did.&nbsp; Now, Barker, what do you think of it
all?&nbsp; I had a pistol at your head last night, and, by
George! whether you believe it or not, you have one at mine this
morning!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The young man rose slowly, and with a broad smile he wrung the
magistrate by the hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do it again.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s too
risky,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;The swine would score heavily
if you were taken.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a good chap, Barker,&rdquo; said the
magistrate.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, I won&rsquo;t do it again.&nbsp;
Who&rsquo;s the fellow who talks of &lsquo;one crowded hour of
glorious life&rsquo;?&nbsp; By George! it&rsquo;s too
fascinating.&nbsp; I had the time of my life!&nbsp; Talk of
fox-hunting!&nbsp; No, I&rsquo;ll never touch it again, for it
might get a grip of me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A telephone rang sharply upon the table, and the baronet put
the receiver to his ear.&nbsp; As he listened he smiled across at
his companion.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m rather late this morning,&rdquo; said he,
&ldquo;and they are waiting for me to try some petty larcenies on
the county bench.&rdquo;</p>
<h2><!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
72</span>III.&nbsp; A POINT OF VIEW</h2>
<p>It was an American journalist who was writing up
England&mdash;or writing her down as the mood seized him.&nbsp;
Sometimes he blamed and sometimes he praised, and the
case-hardened old country actually went its way all the time
quite oblivious of his approval or of his disfavour&mdash;being
ready at all times, through some queer mental twist, to say more
bitter things and more unjust ones about herself than any critic
could ever venture upon.&nbsp; However, in the course of his many
columns in the <i>New York Clarion</i> our journalist did at last
get through somebody&rsquo;s skin in the way that is here
narrated.</p>
<p>It was a kindly enough article upon English country-house life
in which he had described a visit paid for a week-end to Sir
Henry Trustall&rsquo;s.&nbsp; There was only a single critical
passage in it, and it was one which he had written with a sense
both of journalistic and of democratic satisfaction.&nbsp; In it
he had sketched off the <!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 73</span>lofty obsequiousness of the flunkey
who had ministered to his needs.&nbsp; &ldquo;He seemed to take a
smug satisfaction in his own degradation,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Surely the last spark of manhood must have gone from the
man who has so entirely lost his own individuality.&nbsp; He
revelled in humility.&nbsp; He was an instrument of
service&mdash;nothing more.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Some months had passed and our American Pressman had recorded
impressions from St. Petersburg to Madrid.&nbsp; He was on his
homeward way when once again he found himself the guest of Sir
Henry.&nbsp; He had returned from an afternoon&rsquo;s shooting,
and had finished dressing when there was a knock at the door and
the footman entered.&nbsp; He was a large cleanly-built man, as
is proper to a class who are chosen with a keener eye to physique
than any crack regiment.&nbsp; The American supposed that the man
had entered to perform some menial service, but to his surprise
he softly closed the door behind him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Might I have a word with you, sir, if you can kindly
give me a moment?&rdquo; he said in the velvety voice which
always got upon the visitor&rsquo;s republican nerves.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo; the journalist asked
sharply.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s this, sir.&rdquo;&nbsp; The footman drew
from his breast-pocket the copy of the <i>Clarion</i>.&nbsp;
&ldquo;A <!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 74</span>friend over the water chanced to see
this, sir, and he thought it would be of interest to me.&nbsp; So
he sent it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You wrote it, sir, I fancy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What if I did.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And this &rsquo;ere footman is your idea of
me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The American glanced at the passage and approved his own
phrases.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s you,&rdquo; he admitted.</p>
<p>The footman folded up his document once more and replaced it
in his pocket.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to &rsquo;ave a word or two with you
over that, sir,&rdquo; he said in the same suave imperturbable
voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think, sir, that you quite see
the thing from our point of view.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to put it
to you as I see it myself.&nbsp; Maybe it would strike you
different then.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The American became interested.&nbsp; There was
&ldquo;copy&rdquo; in the air.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir, begging your pardon, sir, I&rsquo;d very much
rather stand.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, do as you please.&nbsp; If you&rsquo;ve got
anything to say, get ahead with it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You see, sir, it&rsquo;s like this: There&rsquo;s a
tradition&mdash;what you might call a standard&mdash;among the
best servants, and it&rsquo;s &rsquo;anded down from one to the
other.&nbsp; When I joined I was a third, <!-- page 75--><a
name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>and my chief
and the butler were both old men who had been trained by the
best.&nbsp; I took after them just as they took after those that
went before them.&nbsp; It goes back away further than you can
tell.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can understand that.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But what perhaps you don&rsquo;t so well understand,
sir, is the spirit that&rsquo;s lying behind it.&nbsp;
There&rsquo;s a man&rsquo;s own private self-respect to which you
allude, sir, in this &rsquo;ere article.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s his
own.&nbsp; But he can&rsquo;t keep it, so far as I can see,
unless he returns good service for the good money that he
takes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, he can do that
without&mdash;without&mdash;crawling.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The footman&rsquo;s florid face paled a little at the
word.&nbsp; Apparently he was not quite the automatic machine
that he appeared.</p>
<p>&ldquo;By your leave, sir, we&rsquo;ll come to that
later,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;But I want you to understand
what we are trying to do even when you don&rsquo;t approve of our
way of doing it.&nbsp; We are trying to make life smooth and easy
for our master and for our master&rsquo;s guests.&nbsp; We do it
in the way that&rsquo;s been &rsquo;anded down to us as the best
way.&nbsp; If our master could suggest any better way, then it
would be our place either to leave his service if we disapproved
it, or else to try and do it as he wanted.&nbsp; It would hurt
the self-respect of any good servant to take a man&rsquo;s <!--
page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
76</span>money and not give him the very best he can in return
for it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the American, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s not
quite as we see it in America.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right, sir.&nbsp; I was over there last
year with Sir Henry&mdash;in New York, sir, and I saw something
of the men-servants and their ways.&nbsp; They were paid for
service, sir, and they did not give what they were paid
for.&nbsp; You talk about self-respect, sir, in this
article.&nbsp; Well now, my self-respect wouldn&rsquo;t let me
treat a master as I&rsquo;ve seen them do over there.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t even like the word
&lsquo;master,&rsquo;&rdquo; said the American.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s neither &rsquo;ere nor there, sir,
if I may be so bold as to say so.&nbsp; If you&rsquo;re serving a
gentleman he&rsquo;s your master for the time being and any name
you may choose to call it by don&rsquo;t make no
difference.&nbsp; But you can&rsquo;t eat your cake and
&rsquo;ave it, sir.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t sell your independence
and &rsquo;ave it, too.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Maybe not,&rdquo; said the American.&nbsp; &ldquo;All
the same, the fact remains that your manhood is the worse for
it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;There I don&rsquo;t &rsquo;old with you,
sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;If it were not, you wouldn&rsquo;t be standing there
arguing so quietly.&nbsp; You&rsquo;d speak to me in another
tone, I guess.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You must remember, sir, that you are my master&rsquo;s
guest, and that I am paid to wait upon <!-- page 77--><a
name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>you and make
your visit a pleasant one.&nbsp; So long as you are &rsquo;ere,
sir, that is &rsquo;ow I regard it.&nbsp; Now in
London&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, what about London?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, in London if you would have the goodness to let
me have a word with you I could make you understand a little
clearer what I am trying to explain to you.&nbsp; &rsquo;Arding
is my name, sir.&nbsp; If you get a call from &rsquo;Enery
&rsquo;Arding, you&rsquo;ll know that I &rsquo;ave a word to say
to you.&rdquo;</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>So it happened about three days later that our American
journalist in his London hotel received a letter that a Mr. Henry
Harding desired to speak with him.&nbsp; The man was waiting in
the hall dressed in quiet tweeds.&nbsp; He had cast his manner
with his uniform and was firmly deliberate in all he said and
did.&nbsp; The professional silkiness was gone, and his bearing
was all that the most democratic could desire.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s courteous of you to see me, sir,&rdquo; said
he.&nbsp; &ldquo;There&rsquo;s that matter of the article still
open between us, and I would like to have a word or two more
about it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I can give you just ten minutes,&rdquo; said the
American journalist.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I understand that you are a busy man, sir, so
I&rsquo;ll cut it as short as I can.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a public
<!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
78</span>garden opposite if you would be so good as talk it over
in the open air.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Pressman took his hat and accompanied the footman.&nbsp;
They walked together down the winding gravelled path among the
rhododendron bushes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like this, sir,&rdquo; said the footman,
halting when they had arrived at a quiet nook.&nbsp; &ldquo;I was
hoping that you would see it in our light and understand me when
I told you that the servant who was trying to give honest service
for his master&rsquo;s money, and the man who is free born and as
good as his neighbour are two separate folk.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
the duty man and there&rsquo;s the natural man, and they are
different men.&nbsp; To say that I have no life of my own, or
self-respect of my own, because there are days when I give myself
to the service of another, is not fair treatment.&nbsp; I was
hoping, sir, that when I made this clear to you, you would have
met me like a man and taken it back.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, you have not convinced me,&rdquo; said the
American.&nbsp; &ldquo;A man&rsquo;s a man, and he&rsquo;s
responsible for all his actions.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then you won&rsquo;t take back what you said of
me&mdash;the degradation and the rest?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t see why I should.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The man&rsquo;s comely face darkened.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You <i>will</i> take it back,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll smash your blasted head if you
don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
79</span>The American was suddenly aware that he was in the
presence of a very ugly proposition.&nbsp; The man was large,
strong, and evidently most earnest and determined.&nbsp; His
brows were knotted, his eyes flashing, and his fists
clenched.&nbsp; On neutral ground he struck the journalist as
really being a very different person to the obsequious and silken
footman of Trustall Old Manor.&nbsp; The American had all the
courage, both of his race and of his profession, but he realised
suddenly that he was very much in the wrong.&nbsp; He was man
enough to say so.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, this once,&rdquo; said the footman, as they
shook hands.&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t approve of the
mixin&rsquo; of classes&mdash;none of the best servants do.&nbsp;
But I&rsquo;m on my own to-day, so we&rsquo;ll let it pass.&nbsp;
But I wish you&rsquo;d set it right with your people, sir.&nbsp;
I wish you would make them understand that an English servant can
give good and proper service and yet that he&rsquo;s a human
bein&rsquo; I after all.&rdquo;</p>
<h2><!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
80</span>IV.&nbsp; THE FALL OF LORD BARRYMORE</h2>
<p>These are few social historians of those days who have not
told of the long and fierce struggle between those two famous
bucks, Sir Charles Tregellis and Lord Barrymore, for the Lordship
of the Kingdom of St. James, a struggle which divided the whole
of fashionable London into two opposing camps.&nbsp; It has been
chronicled also how the peer retired suddenly and the commoner
resumed his great career without a rival.&nbsp; Only here,
however, one can read the real and remarkable reason for this
sudden eclipse of a star.</p>
<p>It was one morning in the days of this famous struggle that
Sir Charles Tregellis was performing his very complicated toilet,
and Ambrose, his valet, was helping him to attain that pitch of
perfection which had long gained him the reputation of being the
best-dressed man in town.&nbsp; Suddenly Sir Charles paused, his
<i>coup d&rsquo;archet</i> half-executed, the final beauty of his
neck-cloth half-achieved, while he listened with <!-- page
81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
81</span>surprise and indignation upon his large, comely,
fresh-complexioned face.&nbsp; Below, the decorous hum of Jermyn
Street had been broken by the sharp, staccato, metallic beating
of a doorknocker.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I begin to think that this uproar must be at our
door,&rdquo; said Sir Charles, as one who thinks aloud.&nbsp;
&ldquo;For five minutes it has come and gone; yet Perkins has his
orders.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At a gesture from his master Ambrose stepped out upon the
balcony and craned his discreet head over it.&nbsp; From the
street below came a voice, drawling but clear.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You would oblige me vastly, fellow, if you would do me
the favour to open this door,&rdquo; said the voice.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who is it?&nbsp; What is it?&rdquo; asked the
scandalised Sir Charles, with his arrested elbow still pointing
upwards.</p>
<p>Ambrose had returned with as much surprise upon his dark face
as the etiquette of his position would allow him to show.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is a young gentleman, Sir Charles.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A young gentleman?&nbsp; There is no one in London who
is not aware that I do not show before midday.&nbsp; Do you know
the person?&nbsp; Have you seen him before?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have not seen him, sir, but he is very like some one
I could name.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Like some one?&nbsp; Like whom?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
82</span>&ldquo;With all respect, Sir Charles, I could for a
moment have believed that it was yourself when I looked
down.&nbsp; A smaller man, sir, and a youth; but the voice, the
face, the bearing&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It must be that young cub Vereker, my brother&rsquo;s
ne&rsquo;er-do-weel,&rdquo; muttered Sir Charles, continuing his
toilet.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have heard that there are points in which
he resembles me.&nbsp; He wrote from Oxford that he would come,
and I answered that I would not see him.&nbsp; Yet he ventures to
insist.&nbsp; The fellow needs a lesson!&nbsp; Ambrose, ring for
Perkins.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A large footman entered with an outraged expression upon his
face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I cannot have this uproar at the door,
Perkins!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you please, the young gentleman won&rsquo;t go away,
sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t go away?&nbsp; It is your duty to see that
he goes away.&nbsp; Have you not your orders?&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t
you tell him that I am not seen before midday?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I said so, sir.&nbsp; He would have pushed his way in,
for all I could say, so I slammed the door in his
face.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Very right, Perkins.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But now, sir, he is making such a din that all the folk
are at the windows.&nbsp; There is a crowd gathering in the
street, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
83</span>From below came the crack-crack-crack of the knocker,
ever rising in insistence, with a chorus of laughter and
encouraging comments from the spectators.&nbsp; Sir Charles
flushed with anger.&nbsp; There must be some limit to such
impertinence.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My clouded amber cane is in the corner,&rdquo; said
he.&nbsp; &ldquo;Take it with you, Perkins.&nbsp; I give you a
free hand.&nbsp; A stripe or two may bring the young rascal to
reason.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The large Perkins smiled and departed.&nbsp; The door was
heard to open below and the knocker was at rest.&nbsp; A few
moments later there followed a prolonged howl and a noise as of a
beaten carpet.&nbsp; Sir Charles listened with a smile which
gradually faded from his good-humoured face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The fellow must not overdo it,&rdquo; he
muttered.&nbsp; &ldquo;I would not do the lad an injury, whatever
his deserts may be.&nbsp; Ambrose, run out on the balcony and
call him off.&nbsp; This has gone far enough.&rdquo;</p>
<p>But before the valet could move there came the swift patter of
agile feet upon the stairs, and a handsome youth, dressed in the
height of fashion, was standing framed in the open doorway.&nbsp;
The pose, the face, above all the curious, mischievous, dancing
light in the large blue eyes, all spoke of the famous Tregellis
blood.&nbsp; Even such was Sir Charles when, twenty <!-- page
84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>years
before, he had, by virtue of his spirit and audacity, in one
short season taken a place in London from which Brummell himself
had afterwards vainly struggled to depose him.&nbsp; The youth
faced the angry features of his uncle with an air of debonair
amusement, and he held towards him, upon his outstretched palms,
the broken fragments of an amber cane.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I much fear, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that in
correcting your fellow I have had the misfortune to injure what
can only have been your property.&nbsp; I am vastly concerned
that it should have occurred.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles stared with intolerant eyes at this impertinent
apparition.&nbsp; The other looked back in a laughable parody of
his senior&rsquo;s manner.&nbsp; As Ambrose had remarked after
his inspection from the balcony, the two were very alike, save
that the younger was smaller, finer cut, and the more nervously
alive of the two.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are my nephew, Vereker Tregellis?&rdquo; asked Sir
Charles.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yours to command, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I hear bad reports of you from Oxford.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir, I understand that the reports <i>are</i>
bad.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nothing could be worse.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;So I have been told.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why are you here, sir?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That I might see my famous uncle.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
85</span>&ldquo;So you made a tumult in his street, forced his
door, and beat his footman?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You had my letter?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You were told that I was not receiving?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can remember no such exhibition of
impertinence.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The young man smiled and rubbed his hands in satisfaction.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There is an impertinence which is redeemed by
wit,&rdquo; said Sir Charles, severely.&nbsp; &ldquo;There is
another which is the mere boorishness of the clodhopper.&nbsp; As
you grow older and wiser you may discern the
difference.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are very right, sir,&rdquo; said the young man,
warmly.&nbsp; &ldquo;The finer shades of impertinence are
infinitely subtle, and only experience and the society of one who
is a recognised master&rdquo;&mdash;here he bowed to his
uncle&mdash;&ldquo;can enable one to excel.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles was notoriously touchy in temper for the first
hour after his morning chocolate.&nbsp; He allowed himself to
show it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I cannot congratulate my brother upon his son,&rdquo;
said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;I had hoped for something more worthy of
our traditions.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Perhaps, sir, upon a longer
acquaintance&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
86</span>&ldquo;The chance is too small to justify the very
irksome experience.&nbsp; I must ask you, sir, to bring to a
close a visit which never should have been made.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The young man smiled affably, but gave no sign of
departure.</p>
<p>&ldquo;May I ask, sir,&rdquo; said he, in an easy
conversational fashion, &ldquo;whether you can recall Principal
Munro, of my college?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir, I cannot,&rdquo; his uncle answered,
sharply.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Naturally you would not burden your memory to such an
extent, but he still remembers you.&nbsp; In some conversation
with him yesterday he did me the honour to say that I brought you
back to his recollection by what he was pleased to call the
mingled levity and obstinacy of my character.&nbsp; The levity
seems to have already impressed you.&nbsp; I am now reduced to
showing you the obstinacy.&rdquo;&nbsp; He sat down in a chair
near the door and folded his arms, still beaming pleasantly at
his uncle.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, you won&rsquo;t go?&rdquo; asked Sir Charles,
grimly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir; I will stay.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ambrose, step down and call a couple of
chairmen.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I should not advise it, sir.&nbsp; They will be
hurt.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I will put you out with my own hands.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
87</span>&ldquo;That, sir, you can always do.&nbsp; As my uncle,
I could scarce resist you.&nbsp; But, short of throwing me down
the stair, I do not see how you can avoid giving me half an hour
of your attention.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles smiled.&nbsp; He could not help it.&nbsp; There
was so much that was reminiscent of his own arrogant and eventful
youth in the bearing of this youngster.&nbsp; He was mollified,
too, by the defiance of menials and quick submission to
himself.&nbsp; He turned to the glass and signed to Ambrose to
continue his duties.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I must ask you to await the conclusion of my
toilet,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;Then we shall see how far
you can justify such an intrusion.&rdquo;</p>
<p>When the valet had at last left the room Sir Charles turned
his attention once more to his scapegrace nephew, who had viewed
the details of the famous buck&rsquo;s toilet with the face of an
acolyte assisting at a mystery.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Now, sir,&rdquo; said the older man, &ldquo;speak, and
speak to the point, for I can assure you that I have many more
important matters which claim my attention.&nbsp; The Prince is
waiting for me at the present instant at Carlton House.&nbsp; Be
as brief as you can.&nbsp; What is it that you want?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A thousand pounds.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Really!&nbsp; Nothing more?&rdquo; Sir Charles had
turned acid again.</p>
<p><!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
88</span>&ldquo;Yes, sir; an introduction to Mr. Brinsley
Sheridan, whom I know to be your friend.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And why to him?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because I am told that he controls Drury Lane Theatre,
and I have a fancy to be an actor.&nbsp; My friends assure me
that I have a pretty talent that way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can see you clearly, sir, in Charles Surface, or any
other part where a foppish insolence is the essential.&nbsp; The
less you acted, the better you would be.&nbsp; But it is absurd
to suppose that I could help you to such a career.&nbsp; I could
not justify it to your father.&nbsp; Return to Oxford at once,
and continue your studies.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And pray, sir, what is the impediment?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I think I may have mentioned to you that I had an
interview yesterday with the Principal.&nbsp; He ended it by
remarking that the authorities of the University could tolerate
me no more.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sent down?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And this is the fruit, no doubt, of a long series of
rascalities.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Something of the sort, sir, I admit.&rdquo;</p>
<p>In spite of himself, Sir Charles began once more to relax in
his severity towards this handsome young scapegrace.&nbsp; His
absolute frankness disarmed criticism.&nbsp; It was in a more
<!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
89</span>gracious voice that the older man continued the
conversation.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why do you want this large sum of money?&rdquo; he
asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;To pay my college debts before I go, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Your father is not a rich man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir.&nbsp; I could not apply to him for that
reason.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;So you come to me, who am a stranger!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir, no!&nbsp; You are my uncle, and, if I may say
so, my ideal and my model.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You flatter me, my good Vereker.&nbsp; But if you think
you can flatter me out of a thousand pounds, you mistake your
man.&nbsp; I will give you no money.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course, sir, if you can&rsquo;t&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I did not say I can&rsquo;t.&nbsp; I say I
won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you can, sir, I think you will.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles smiled, and flicked his sleeve with his lace
handkerchief.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I find you vastly entertaining,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Pray continue your conversation.&nbsp; Why do you think
that I will give you so large a sum of money?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The reason that I think so,&rdquo; continued the
younger man, &ldquo;is that I can do you a service which will
seem to you worth a thousand pounds.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is this blackmail?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
<p><!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
90</span>Vereker Tregellis flushed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said he, with a pleasing sternness,
&ldquo;you surprise me.&nbsp; You should know the blood of which
I come too well to suppose that I would attempt such a
thing.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am relieved to hear that there are limits to what you
consider to be justifiable.&nbsp; I must confess that I had seen
none in your conduct up to now.&nbsp; But you say that you can do
me a service which will be worth a thousand pounds to
me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And pray, sir, what may this service be?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;To make Lord Barrymore the laughing-stock of the
town.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles, in spite of himself, lost for an instant the
absolute serenity of his self-control.&nbsp; He started, and his
face expressed his surprise.&nbsp; By what devilish instinct did
this raw undergraduate find the one chink in his armour?&nbsp;
Deep in his heart, unacknowledged to any one, there was the will
to pay many a thousand pounds to the man who would bring ridicule
upon this his most dangerous rival, who was challenging his
supremacy in fashionable London.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you come from Oxford with this precious
project?&rdquo; he asked, after a pause.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir.&nbsp; I chanced to see the man himself last
night, and I conceived an ill-will to him, and would do him a
mischief.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
91</span>&ldquo;Where did you see him?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I spent the evening, sir, at the Vauxhall
Gardens.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No doubt you would,&rdquo; interpolated his uncle.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My Lord Barrymore was there.&nbsp; He was attended by
one who was dressed as a clergyman, but who was, as I am told,
none other than Hooper the Tinman, who acts as his bully and
thrashes all who may offend him.&nbsp; Together they passed down
the central path, insulting the women and browbeating the
men.&nbsp; They actually hustled me.&nbsp; I was offended,
sir&mdash;so much so that I nearly took the matter in hand then
and there.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is as well that you did not.&nbsp; The prizefighter
would have beaten you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Perhaps so, sir&mdash;and also, perhaps not.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, you add pugilism to your elegant
accomplishments?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The young man laughed pleasantly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;William Ball is the only professor of my Alma Mater who
has ever had occasion to compliment me, sir.&nbsp; He is better
known as the Oxford Pet.&nbsp; I think, with all modesty, that I
could hold him for a dozen rounds.&nbsp; But last night I
suffered the annoyance without protest, for since it is said that
the same scene is enacted every evening, there is always time to
act.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
92</span>&ldquo;And how would you act, may I ask?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That, sir, I should prefer to keep to myself; but my
aim, as I say, would be to make Lord Barrymore a laughing-stock
to all London.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles cogitated for a moment.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Pray, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;why did you imagine
that any humiliation to Lord Barrymore would be pleasing to
me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Even in the provinces we know something of what passes
in polite circles.&nbsp; Your antagonism to this man is to be
found in every column of fashionable gossip.&nbsp; The town is
divided between you.&nbsp; It is impossible that any public
slight upon him should be unpleasing to you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sir Charles smiled.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are a shrewd reasoner,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;We will suppose for the instant that you are right.&nbsp;
Can you give me no hint what means you would adopt to attain this
very desirable end?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I would merely make the remark, sir, that many women
have been wronged by this fellow.&nbsp; That is a matter of
common knowledge.&nbsp; If one of these damsels were to upbraid
him in public in such a fashion that the sympathy of the
bystanders should be with her, then I can imagine, if she were
sufficiently persistent, that his lordship&rsquo;s position might
become an unenviable one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And you know such a woman?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
93</span>&ldquo;I think, sir, that I do.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, my good Vereker, if any such attempt is in your
mind, I see no reason why I should stand between Lord Barrymore
and the angry fair.&nbsp; As to whether the result is worth a
thousand pounds, I can make no promise.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You shall yourself be the judge, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I will be an exacting judge, nephew.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Very good, sir; I should not desire otherwise.&nbsp; If
things go as I hope, his lordship will not show face in St.
James&rsquo;s Street for a year to come.&nbsp; I will now, if I
may, give you your instructions.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;My instructions!&nbsp; What do you mean?&nbsp; I have
nothing to do with the matter.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are the judge, sir, and therefore must be
present.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can play no part.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, sir.&nbsp; I would not ask you to do more than be a
witness.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What, then, are my instructions, as you are pleased to
call them?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You will come to the Gardens to-night, uncle, at nine
o&rsquo;clock precisely.&nbsp; You will walk down the centre
path, and you will seat yourself upon one of the rustic seats
which are beside the statue of Aphrodite.&nbsp; You will wait and
you will observe.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Very good; I will do so.&nbsp; I begin to perceive,
nephew, that the breed of Tregellis has <!-- page 94--><a
name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>not yet lost
some of the points which have made it famous.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was at the stroke of nine that night when Sir Charles,
throwing his reins to the groom, descended from his high yellow
phaeton, which forthwith turned to take its place in the long
line of fashionable carriages waiting for their owners.&nbsp; As
he entered the gate of the Gardens, the centre at that time of
the dissipation and revelry of London, he turned up the collar of
his driving-cape and drew his hat over his eyes, for he had no
desire to be personally associated with what might well prove to
be a public scandal.&nbsp; In spite of his attempted disguise,
however, there was that in his walk and his carriage which caused
many an eye to be turned after him as he passed and many a hand
to be raised in salute.&nbsp; Sir Charles walked on, and, seating
himself upon the rustic bench in front of the famous statue,
which was in the very middle of the Gardens, he waited in amused
suspense to see the next act in this comedy.</p>
<p>From the pavilion, whence the paths radiated, there came the
strains of the band of the Foot Guards, and by the many-coloured
lamps twinkling from every tree Sir Charles could see the
confused whirl of the dancers.&nbsp; Suddenly the music
stopped.&nbsp; The quadrilles were at an end.</p>
<p>An instant afterwards the central path by <!-- page 95--><a
name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>which he sat
was thronged by the revellers.&nbsp; In a many-coloured crowd,
stocked and cravated with all the bravery of buff and plum-colour
and blue, the bucks of the town passed and repassed with their
high-waisted, straight-skirted, be-bonneted ladies upon their
arms.</p>
<p>It was not a decorous assembly.&nbsp; Many of the men, flushed
and noisy, had come straight from their potations.&nbsp; The
women, too, were loud and aggressive.&nbsp; Now and then, with a
rush and a swirl, amid a chorus of screams from the girls and
good-humoured laughter from their escorts, some band of
high-blooded, noisy youths would break their way across the
moving throng.&nbsp; It was no place for the prim or demure, and
there was a spirit of good-nature and merriment among the crowd
which condoned the wildest liberty.</p>
<p>And yet there were some limits to what could be tolerated even
by so Bohemian an assembly.&nbsp; A murmur of anger followed in
the wake of two roisterers who were making their way down the
path.&nbsp; It would, perhaps, be fairer to say one roisterer;
for of the two it was only the first who carried himself with
such insolence, although it was the second who ensured that he
could do it with impunity.</p>
<p>The leader was a very tall, hatchet-faced man, dressed in the
very height of fashion, whose evil, handsome features were
flushed <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 96</span>with wine and arrogance.&nbsp; He
shouldered his way roughly through the crowd, peering with an
abominable smile into the faces of the women, and occasionally,
where the weakness of the escort invited an insult, stretching
out his hand and caressing the cheek or neck of some passing
girl, laughing loudly as she winced away from his touch.</p>
<p>Close at his heels walked his hired attendant, whom, out of
insolent caprice and with a desire to show his contempt for the
prejudices of others, he had dressed as a rough country
clergyman.&nbsp; This fellow slouched along with frowning brows
and surly, challenging eyes, like some faithful, hideous human
bulldog, his knotted hands protruding from his rusty cassock, his
great underhung jaw turning slowly from right to left as he
menaced the crowd with his sinister gaze.&nbsp; Already a close
observer might have marked upon his face a heaviness and
looseness of feature, the first signs of that physical decay
which in a very few years was to stretch him, a helpless wreck,
too weak to utter his own name, upon the causeway of the London
streets.&nbsp; At present, however, he was still an unbeaten man,
the terror of the Ring, and as his ill-omened face was seen
behind his infamous master many a half-raised cane was lowered
and many a hot word was checked, while the whisper of
&ldquo;Hooper!&nbsp; &rsquo;Ware Bully <!-- page 97--><a
name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
97</span>Hooper!&rdquo; warned all who were aggrieved that it
might be best to pocket their injuries lest some even worse thing
should befall them.&nbsp; Many a maimed and disfigured man had
carried away from Vauxhall the handiwork of the Tinman and his
patron.</p>
<p>Moving in insolent slowness through the crowd, the bully and
his master had just come opposite to the bench upon which sat Sir
Charles Tregellis.&nbsp; At this place the path opened up into a
circular space, brilliantly illuminated and surrounded by rustic
seats.&nbsp; From one of these an elderly, ringleted woman,
deeply veiled, rose suddenly and barred the path of the
swaggering nobleman.&nbsp; Her voice sounded clear and strident
above the babel of tongues, which hushed suddenly that their
owners might hear it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Marry her, my lord!&nbsp; I entreat you to marry
her!&nbsp; Oh, surely you will marry my poor Amelia!&rdquo; said
the voice.</p>
<p>Lord Barrymore stood aghast.&nbsp; From all sides folk were
closing in and heads were peering over shoulders.&nbsp; He tried
to push on, but the lady barred his way and two palms pressed
upon his beruffled front.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Surely, surely you would not desert her!&nbsp; Take the
advice of that good, kind clergyman behind you!&rdquo; wailed the
voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, be a man of honour and marry
her!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The elderly lady thrust out her hand and <!-- page 98--><a
name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>drew forward
a lumpish-looking young woman, who sobbed and mopped her eyes
with her handkerchief.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The plague take you!&rdquo; roared his lordship, in a
fury.&nbsp; &ldquo;Who is the wench?&nbsp; I vow that I never
clapped eyes on either of you in my life!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is my niece Amelia,&rdquo; cried the lady,
&ldquo;your own loving Amelia!&nbsp; Oh, my lord, can you pretend
that you have forgotten poor, trusting Amelia, of Woodbine
Cottage at Lichfield.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I never set foot in Lichfield in my life!&rdquo; cried
the peer.&nbsp; &ldquo;You are two impostors who should be
whipped at the cart&rsquo;s tail.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, wicked!&nbsp; Oh, Amelia!&rdquo; screamed the lady,
in a voice that resounded through the Gardens.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh,
my darling, try to soften his hard heart; pray him that he make
an honest woman of you at last.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With a lurch the stout young woman fell forward and embraced
Lord Barrymore with the hug of a bear.&nbsp; He would have raised
his cane, but his arms were pinned to his sides.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hooper!&nbsp; Hooper!&rdquo; screamed the furious peer,
craning his neck in horror, for the girl seemed to be trying to
kiss him.</p>
<p>But the bruiser, as he ran forward, found himself entangled
with the old lady.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Out o&rsquo; the way, marm!&rdquo; he cried.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Out <!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 99</span>o&rsquo; the way, I say!&rdquo; and
pushed her violently aside.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, you rude, rude man!&rdquo; she shrieked, springing
back in front of him.&nbsp; &ldquo;He hustled me, good people;
you saw him hustle me!&nbsp; A clergyman, but no gentleman!&nbsp;
What! you would treat a lady so&mdash;you would do it
again?&nbsp; Oh, I could slap, slap, slap you!&rdquo;</p>
<p>And with each repetition of the word, with extraordinary
swiftness, her open palm rang upon the prizefighter&rsquo;s
cheek.</p>
<p>The crowd buzzed with amazement and delight.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hooper!&nbsp; Hooper!&rdquo; cried Lord Barrymore once
more, for he was still struggling in the ever-closer embrace of
the unwieldy and amorous Amelia.</p>
<p>The bully again pushed forward to the aid of his patron, but
again the elderly lady confronted him, her head back, her left
arm extended, her whole attitude, to his amazement, that of an
expert boxer.</p>
<p>The prizefighter&rsquo;s brutal nature was roused.&nbsp; Woman
or no woman, he would show the murmuring crowd what it meant to
cross the path of the Tinman.&nbsp; She had struck him.&nbsp; She
must take the consequence.&nbsp; No one should square up to him
with impunity.&nbsp; He swung his right with a curse.&nbsp; The
bonnet instantly ducked under his arm, and a line of razor-like
knuckles left an open cut under his eye.</p>
<p><!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
100</span>Amid wild cries of delight and encouragement from the
dense circle of spectators, the lady danced round the sham
clergyman, dodging his ponderous blows, slipping under his arms,
and smacking back at him most successfully.&nbsp; Once she
tripped and fell over her own skirt, but was up and at him again
in an instant.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You vulgar fellow!&rdquo; she shrieked.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Would you strike a helpless woman!&nbsp; Take that!&nbsp;
Oh, you rude and ill-bred man!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Bully Hooper was cowed for the first time in his life by the
extraordinary thing that he was fighting.&nbsp; The creature was
as elusive as a shadow, and yet the blood was dripping down his
chin from the effects of the blows.&nbsp; He shrank back with an
amazed face from so uncanny an antagonist.&nbsp; And in the
moment that he did so his spell was for ever broken.&nbsp; Only
success could hold it.&nbsp; A check was fatal.&nbsp; In all the
crowd there was scarce one who was not nursing some grievance
against master or man, and waiting for that moment of weakness in
which to revenge it.</p>
<p>With a growl of rage the circle closed in.&nbsp; There was an
eddy of furious, struggling men, with Lord Barrymore&rsquo;s
thin, flushed face and Hooper&rsquo;s bulldog jowl in the centre
of it.&nbsp; A moment after they were both upon the ground, and a
dozen sticks were rising and falling above them.</p>
<p><!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
101</span>&ldquo;Let me up!&nbsp; You&rsquo;re killing me!&nbsp;
For God&rsquo;s sake let me up!&rdquo; cried a crackling
voice.</p>
<p>Hooper fought mute, like the bulldog he was, till his senses
were beaten out of him.</p>
<p>Bruised, kicked, and mauled, never did their worst victim come
so badly from the Gardens as the bully and his patron that
night.&nbsp; But worse than the ache of wounds for Lord Barrymore
was the smart of the mind as he thought how every club and
drawing-room in London would laugh for a week to come at the tale
of his Amelia and her aunt.</p>
<p>Sir Charles had stood, rocking with laughter, upon the bench
which overlooked the scene.&nbsp; When at last he made his way
back through the crowds to his yellow phaeton, he was not
entirely surprised to find that the back seat was already
occupied by two giggling females, who were exchanging most
unladylike repartees with the attendant grooms.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You young rascals!&rdquo; he remarked, over his
shoulder, as he gathered up his reins.</p>
<p>The two females tittered loudly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Uncle Charles!&rdquo; cried the elder, &ldquo;may I
present Mr. Jack Jarvis, of Brasenose College?&nbsp; I think,
uncle, you should take us somewhere to sup, for it has been a
vastly fatiguing performance.&nbsp; To-morrow I will do myself
the honour to call, at your convenience, and will venture to
bring with me the receipt for one thousand pounds.&rdquo;</p>
<h2><!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 102</span>V.&nbsp; THE HORROR OF THE
HEIGHTS<br />
(WHICH INCLUDES THE MANUSCRIPT KNOWN AS THE JOYCE-ARMSTRONG
FRAGMENT)</h2>
<p>The idea that the extraordinary narrative which has been
called the Joyce-Armstrong Fragment is an elaborate practical
joke evolved by some unknown person, cursed by a perverted and
sinister sense of humour, has now been abandoned by all who have
examined the matter.&nbsp; The most <i>macabre</i> and
imaginative of plotters would hesitate before linking his morbid
fancies with the unquestioned and tragic facts which reinforce
the statement.&nbsp; Though the assertions contained in it are
amazing and even monstrous, it is none the less forcing itself
upon the general intelligence that they are true, and that we
must readjust our ideas to the new situation.&nbsp; This world of
ours appears to be separated by a slight and precarious margin of
safety from a most singular and unexpected danger.&nbsp; I will
endeavour in this narrative, which reproduces the original
document in its <!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 103</span>necessarily somewhat fragmentary
form, to lay before the reader the whole of the facts up to date,
prefacing my statement by saying that, if there be any who doubt
the narrative of Joyce-Armstrong, there can be no question at all
as to the facts concerning Lieutenant Myrtle, R.N., and Mr. Hay
Connor, who undoubtedly met their end in the manner
described.</p>
<p>The Joyce-Armstrong Fragment was found in the field which is
called Lower Haycock, lying one mile to the westward of the
village of Withyham, upon the Kent and Sussex border.&nbsp; It
was on the fifteenth of September last that an agricultural
labourer, James Flynn, in the employment of Mathew Dodd, farmer,
of the Chauntry Farm, Withyham, perceived a briar pipe lying near
the footpath which skirts the hedge in Lower Haycock.&nbsp; A few
paces farther on he picked up a pair of broken binocular
glasses.&nbsp; Finally, among some nettles in the ditch, he
caught sight of a flat, canvas-backed book, which proved to be a
note-book with detachable leaves, some of which had come loose
and were fluttering along the base of the hedge.&nbsp; These he
collected, but some, including the first, were never recovered,
and leave a deplorable hiatus in this all-important
statement.&nbsp; The notebook was taken by the labourer to his
master, who in turn showed it to Dr. J. H. Atherton, of
Hartfield.&nbsp; This gentleman at once recognised <!-- page
104--><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
104</span>the need for an expert examination, and the manuscript
was forwarded to the Aero Club in London, where it now lies.</p>
<p>The first two pages of the manuscript are missing.&nbsp; There
is also one torn away at the end of the narrative, though none of
these affect the general coherence of the story.&nbsp; It is
conjectured that the missing opening is concerned with the record
of Mr. Joyce-Armstrong&rsquo;s qualifications as an aeronaut,
which can be gathered from other sources and are admitted to be
unsurpassed among the air-pilots of England.&nbsp; For many years
he has been looked upon as among the most daring and the most
intellectual of flying men, a combination which has enabled him
to both invent and test several new devices, including the common
gyroscopic attachment which is known by his name.&nbsp; The main
body of the manuscript is written neatly in ink, but the last few
lines are in pencil and are so ragged as to be hardly
legible&mdash;exactly, in fact, as they might be expected to
appear if they were scribbled off hurriedly from the seat of a
moving aeroplane.&nbsp; There are, it may be added, several
stains, both on the last page and on the outside cover, which
have been pronounced by the Home Office experts to be
blood&mdash;probably human and certainly mammalian.&nbsp; The
fact that something closely resembling the organism of malaria
<!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
105</span>was discovered in this blood, and that Joyce-Armstrong
is known to have suffered from intermittent fever, is a
remarkable example of the new weapons which modern science has
placed in the hands of our detectives.</p>
<p>And now a word as to the personality of the author of this
epoch-making statement.&nbsp; Joyce-Armstrong, according to the
few friends who really knew something of the man, was a poet and
a dreamer, as well as a mechanic and an inventor.&nbsp; He was a
man of considerable wealth, much of which he had spent in the
pursuit of his aeronautical hobby.&nbsp; He had four private
aeroplanes in his hangars near Devizes, and is said to have made
no fewer than one hundred and seventy ascents in the course of
last year.&nbsp; He was a retiring man with dark moods, in which
he would avoid the society of his fellows.&nbsp; Captain
Dangerfield, who knew him better than any one, says that there
were times when his eccentricity threatened to develop into
something more serious.&nbsp; His habit of carrying a shot-gun
with him in his aeroplane was one manifestation of it.</p>
<p>Another was the morbid effect which the fall of Lieutenant
Myrtle had upon his mind.&nbsp; Myrtle, who was attempting the
height record, fell from an altitude of something over thirty
thousand feet.&nbsp; Horrible to narrate, his head was entirely
obliterated, though his body and <!-- page 106--><a
name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>limbs
preserved their configuration.&nbsp; At every gathering of
airmen, Joyce-Armstrong, according to Dangerfield, would ask,
with an enigmatic smile: &ldquo;And where, pray, is
Myrtle&rsquo;s head?&rdquo;</p>
<p>On another occasion after dinner, at the mess of the Flying
School on Salisbury Plain, he started a debate as to what will be
the most permanent danger which airmen will have to
encounter.&nbsp; Having listened to successive opinions as to
air-pockets, faulty construction, and over-banking, he ended by
shrugging his shoulders and refusing to put forward his own
views, though he gave the impression that they differed from any
advanced by his companions.</p>
<p>It is worth remarking that after his own complete
disappearance it was found that his private affairs were arranged
with a precision which may show that he had a strong premonition
of disaster.&nbsp; With these essential explanations I will now
give the narrative exactly as it stands, beginning at page three
of the blood-soaked note-book:&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nevertheless, when I dined at Rheims with Coselli and
Gustav Raymond I found that neither of them was aware of any
particular danger in the higher layers of the atmosphere.&nbsp; I
did not actually say what was in my thoughts, but I got so near
to it that if they had any corresponding idea they could not have
failed to express it.&nbsp; But then they are two empty, <!--
page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
107</span>vainglorious fellows with no thought beyond seeing
their silly names in the newspaper.&nbsp; It is interesting to
note that neither of them had ever been much beyond the
twenty-thousand-foot level.&nbsp; Of course, men have been higher
than this both in balloons and in the ascent of mountains.&nbsp;
It must be well above that point that the aeroplane enters the
danger zone&mdash;always presuming that my premonitions are
correct.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Aeroplaning has been with us now for more than twenty
years, and one might well ask: Why should this peril be only
revealing itself in our day?&nbsp; The answer is obvious.&nbsp;
In the old days of weak engines, when a hundred horse-power Gnome
or Green was considered ample for every need, the flights were
very restricted.&nbsp; Now that three hundred horse-power is the
rule rather than the exception, visits to the upper layers have
become easier and more common.&nbsp; Some of us can remember how,
in our youth, Garros made a world-wide reputation by attaining
nineteen thousand feet, and it was considered a remarkable
achievement to fly over the Alps.&nbsp; Our standard now has been
immeasurably raised, and there are twenty high flights for one in
former years.&nbsp; Many of them have been undertaken with
impunity.&nbsp; The thirty-thousand-foot level has been reached
time after time with no discomfort beyond cold and asthma.&nbsp;
What does this prove?&nbsp; A visitor might descend upon this
planet a thousand times and never see a tiger.&nbsp; Yet tigers
exist, and if he chanced to come down into a jungle he might be
devoured.&nbsp; There are jungles of the <!-- page 108--><a
name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>upper air,
and there are worse things than tigers which inhabit them.&nbsp;
I believe in time they will map these jungles accurately
out.&nbsp; Even at the present moment I could name two of
them.&nbsp; One of them lies over the Pau-Biarritz district of
France.&nbsp; Another is just over my head as I write here in my
house in Wiltshire.&nbsp; I rather think there is a third in the
Homburg-Wiesbaden district.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was the disappearance of the airmen that first set
me thinking.&nbsp; Of course, every one said that they had fallen
into the sea, but that did not satisfy me at all.&nbsp; First,
there was Verrier in France; his machine was found near Bayonne,
but they never got his body.&nbsp; There was the case of Baxter
also, who vanished, though his engine and some of the iron
fixings were found in a wood in Leicestershire.&nbsp; In that
case, Dr. Middleton, of Amesbury, who was watching the flight
with a telescope, declares that just before the clouds obscured
the view he saw the machine, which was at an enormous height,
suddenly rise perpendicularly upwards in a succession of jerks in
a manner that he would have thought to be impossible.&nbsp; That
was the last seen of Baxter.&nbsp; There was a correspondence in
the papers, but it never led to anything.&nbsp; There were
several other similar cases, and then there was the death of Hay
Connor.&nbsp; What a cackle there was about an unsolved mystery
of the air, and what columns in the halfpenny papers, and yet how
little was ever done to get to the bottom of the business!&nbsp;
He came down in a tremendous vol-plan&eacute; from <!-- page
109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>an
unknown height.&nbsp; He never got off his machine and died in
his pilot&rsquo;s seat.&nbsp; Died of what?&nbsp; &lsquo;Heart
disease,&rsquo; said the doctors.&nbsp; Rubbish!&nbsp; Hay
Connor&rsquo;s heart was as sound as mine is.&nbsp; What did
Venables say?&nbsp; Venables was the only man who was at his side
when he died.&nbsp; He said that he was shivering and looked like
a man who had been badly scared.&nbsp; &lsquo;Died of
fright,&rsquo; said Venables, but could not imagine what he was
frightened about.&nbsp; Only said one word to Venables, which
sounded like &lsquo;Monstrous.&rsquo;&nbsp; They could make
nothing of that at the inquest.&nbsp; But I could make something
of it.&nbsp; Monsters!&nbsp; That was the last word of poor Harry
Hay Connor.&nbsp; And he <i>did</i> die of fright, just as
Venables thought.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And then there was Myrtle&rsquo;s head.&nbsp; Do you
really believe&mdash;does anybody really believe&mdash;that a
man&rsquo;s head could be driven clean into his body by the force
of a fall?&nbsp; Well, perhaps it may be possible, but I, for
one, have never believed that it was so with Myrtle.&nbsp; And
the grease upon his clothes&mdash;&lsquo;all slimy with
grease,&rsquo; said somebody at the inquest.&nbsp; Queer that
nobody got thinking after that!&nbsp; I did&mdash;but, then, I
had been thinking for a good long time.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve made
three ascents&mdash;how Dangerfield used to chaff me about my
shot-gun!&mdash;but I&rsquo;ve never been high enough.&nbsp; Now,
with this new light Paul Veroner machine and its one hundred and
seventy-five Robur, I should easily touch the thirty thousand
to-morrow.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have a shot at the record.&nbsp;
Maybe I shall have a shot at something else as well.&nbsp; Of
course, it&rsquo;s <!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 110</span>dangerous.&nbsp; If a fellow wants
to avoid danger he had best keep out of flying altogether and
subside finally into flannel slippers and a dressing-gown.&nbsp;
But I&rsquo;ll visit the air-jungle to-morrow&mdash;and if
there&rsquo;s anything there I shall know it.&nbsp; If I return,
I&rsquo;ll find myself a bit of a celebrity.&nbsp; If I
don&rsquo;t, this note-book may explain what I am trying to do,
and how I lost my life in doing it.&nbsp; But no drivel about
accidents or mysteries, if <i>you</i> please.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I chose my Paul Veroner monoplane for the job.&nbsp;
There&rsquo;s nothing like a monoplane when real work is to be
done.&nbsp; Beaumont found that out in very early days.&nbsp; For
one thing, it doesn&rsquo;t mind damp, and the weather looks as
if we should be in the clouds all the time.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a
bonny little model and answers my hand like a tender-mouthed
horse.&nbsp; The engine is a ten-cylinder rotary Robur working up
to one hundred and seventy-five.&nbsp; It has all the modern
improvements&mdash;enclosed fuselage, high-curved landing skids,
brakes, gyroscopic steadiers, and three speeds, worked by an
alteration of the angle of the planes upon the Venetian-blind
principle.&nbsp; I took a shot-gun with me and a dozen cartridges
filled with buck-shot.&nbsp; You should have seen the face of
Perkins, my old mechanic, when I directed him to put them
in.&nbsp; I was dressed like an Arctic explorer, with two jerseys
under my overalls, thick socks inside my padded boots, a
storm-cap with flaps, and my talc goggles.&nbsp; It was stifling
outside the hangars, but I was going for the summit of the
Himalayas, and had to dress for the part.&nbsp; <!-- page
111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
111</span>Perkins knew there was something on and implored me to
take him with me.&nbsp; Perhaps I should if I were using the
biplane, but a monoplane is a one-man show&mdash;if you want to
get the last foot of lift out of it.&nbsp; Of course, I took an
oxygen bag; the man who goes for the altitude record without one
will either be frozen or smothered&mdash;or both.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I had a good look at the planes, the rudder-bar, and
the elevating lever before I got in.&nbsp; Everything was in
order so far as I could see.&nbsp; Then I switched on my engine
and found that she was running sweetly.&nbsp; When they let her
go she rose almost at once upon the lowest speed.&nbsp; I circled
my home field once or twice just to warm her up, and then, with a
wave to Perkins and the others, I flattened out my planes and put
her on her highest.&nbsp; She skimmed like a swallow down wind
for eight or ten miles until I turned her nose up a little and
she began to climb in a great spiral for the cloud-bank above
me.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s all-important to rise slowly and adapt
yourself to the pressure as you go.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was a close, warm day for an English September, and
there was the hush and heaviness of impending rain.&nbsp; Now and
then there came sudden puffs of wind from the
south-west&mdash;one of them so gusty and unexpected that it
caught me napping and turned me half-round for an instant.&nbsp;
I remember the time when gusts and whirls and air-pockets used to
be things of danger&mdash;before we learned to put an
overmastering power into our engines.&nbsp; Just as I reached the
cloud-banks, with the altimeter <!-- page 112--><a
name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>marking
three thousand, down came the rain.&nbsp; My word, how it
poured!&nbsp; It drummed upon my wings and lashed against my
face, blurring my glasses so that I could hardly see.&nbsp; I got
down on to a low speed, for it was painful to travel against
it.&nbsp; As I got higher it became hail, and I had to turn tail
to it.&nbsp; One of my cylinders was out of action&mdash;a dirty
plug, I should imagine, but still I was rising steadily with
plenty of power.&nbsp; After a bit the trouble passed, whatever
it was, and I heard the full, deep-throated purr&mdash;the ten
singing as one.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s where the beauty of our modern
silencers comes in.&nbsp; We can at last control our engines by
ear.&nbsp; How they squeal and squeak and sob when they are in
trouble!&nbsp; All those cries for help were wasted in the old
days, when every sound was swallowed up by the monstrous racket
of the machine.&nbsp; If only the early aviators could come back
to see the beauty and perfection of the mechanism which have been
bought at the cost of their lives!</p>
<p>&ldquo;About nine-thirty I was nearing the clouds.&nbsp; Down
below me, all blurred and shadowed with rain, lay the vast
expanse of Salisbury Plain.&nbsp; Half-a-dozen flying machines
were doing hackwork at the thousand-foot level, looking like
little black swallows against the green background.&nbsp; I dare
say they were wondering what I was doing up in cloud-land.&nbsp;
Suddenly a grey curtain drew across beneath me and the wet folds
of vapour were swirling round my face.&nbsp; It was clammily cold
and miserable.&nbsp; But I was above the hail-storm, and that was
something <!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 113</span>gained.&nbsp; The cloud was as dark
and thick as a London fog.&nbsp; In my anxiety to get clear, I
cocked her nose up until the automatic alarm-bell rang, and I
actually began to slide backwards.&nbsp; My sopped and dripping
wings had made me heavier than I thought, but presently I was in
lighter cloud, and soon had cleared the first layer.&nbsp; There
was a second&mdash;opal-coloured and fleecy&mdash;at a great
height above my head, a white unbroken ceiling above, and a dark
unbroken floor below, with the monoplane labouring upwards upon a
vast spiral between them.&nbsp; It is deadly lonely in these
cloud-spaces.&nbsp; Once a great flight of some small water-birds
went past me, flying very fast to the westwards.&nbsp; The quick
whirr of their wings and their musical cry were cheery to my
ear.&nbsp; I fancy that they were teal, but I am a wretched
zoologist.&nbsp; Now that we humans have become birds we must
really learn to know our brethren by sight.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The wind down beneath me whirled and swayed the broad
cloud-plain.&nbsp; Once a great eddy formed in it, a whirlpool of
vapour, and through it, as down a funnel, I caught sight of the
distant world.&nbsp; A large white biplane was passing at a vast
depth beneath me.&nbsp; I fancy it was the morning mail service
betwixt Bristol and London.&nbsp; Then the drift swirled inwards
again and the great solitude was unbroken.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Just after ten I touched the lower edge of the upper
cloud-stratum.&nbsp; It consisted of fine diaphanous vapour
drifting swiftly from the westward.&nbsp; The wind had been
steadily rising <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 114</span>all this time and it was now blowing
a sharp breeze&mdash;twenty-eight an hour by my gauge.&nbsp;
Already it was very cold, though my altimeter only marked nine
thousand.&nbsp; The engines were working beautifully, and we went
droning steadily upwards.&nbsp; The cloud-bank was thicker than I
had expected, but at last it thinned out into a golden mist
before me, and then in an instant I had shot out from it, and
there was an unclouded sky and a brilliant sun above my
head&mdash;all blue and gold above, all shining silver below, one
vast glimmering plain as far as my eyes could reach.&nbsp; It was
a quarter past ten o&rsquo;clock, and the barograph needle
pointed to twelve thousand eight hundred.&nbsp; Up I went and up,
my ears concentrated upon the deep purring of my motor, my eyes
busy always with the watch, the revolution indicator, the petrol
lever, and the oil pump.&nbsp; No wonder aviators are said to be
a fearless race.&nbsp; With so many things to think of there is
no time to trouble about oneself.&nbsp; About this time I noted
how unreliable is the compass when above a certain height from
earth.&nbsp; At fifteen thousand feet mine was pointing east and
a point south.&nbsp; The sun and the wind gave me my true
bearings.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I had hoped to reach an eternal stillness in these high
altitudes, but with every thousand feet of ascent the gale grew
stronger.&nbsp; My machine groaned and trembled in every joint
and rivet as she faced it, and swept away like a sheet of paper
when I banked her on the turn, skimming down wind at a greater
pace, perhaps, than ever mortal man has moved.&nbsp; Yet I had
<!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
115</span>always to turn again and tack up in the wind&rsquo;s
eye, for it was not merely a height record that I was
after.&nbsp; By all my calculations it was above little Wiltshire
that my air-jungle lay, and all my labour might be lost if I
struck the outer layers at some farther point.</p>
<p>&ldquo;When I reached the nineteen-thousand-foot level, which
was about midday, the wind was so severe that I looked with some
anxiety to the stays of my wings, expecting momentarily to see
them snap or slacken.&nbsp; I even cast loose the parachute
behind me, and fastened its hook into the ring of my leathern
belt, so as to be ready for the worst.&nbsp; Now was the time
when a bit of scamped work by the mechanic is paid for by the
life of the aeronaut.&nbsp; But she held together bravely.&nbsp;
Every cord and strut was humming and vibrating like so many
harp-strings, but it was glorious to see how, for all the beating
and the buffeting, she was still the conqueror of Nature and the
mistress of the sky.&nbsp; There is surely something divine in
man himself that he should rise so superior to the limitations
which Creation seemed to impose&mdash;rise, too, by such
unselfish, heroic devotion as this air-conquest has shown.&nbsp;
Talk of human degeneration!&nbsp; When has such a story as this
been written in the annals of our race?</p>
<p>&ldquo;These were the thoughts in my head as I climbed that
monstrous inclined plane with the wind sometimes beating in my
face and sometimes whistling behind my ears, while the cloud-land
beneath me fell away to such a distance that the folds and
hummocks of silver had <!-- page 116--><a
name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>all
smoothed out into one flat, shining plain.&nbsp; But suddenly I
had a horrible and unprecedented experience.&nbsp; I have known
before what it is to be in what our neighbours have called a
<i>tourbillon</i>, but never on such a scale as this.&nbsp; That
huge, sweeping river of wind of which I have spoken had, as it
appears, whirlpools within it which were as monstrous as
itself.&nbsp; Without a moment&rsquo;s warning I was dragged
suddenly into the heart of one.&nbsp; I spun round for a minute
or two with such velocity that I almost lost my senses, and then
fell suddenly, left wing foremost, down the vacuum funnel in the
centre.&nbsp; I dropped like a stone, and lost nearly a thousand
feet.&nbsp; It was only my belt that kept me in my seat, and the
shock and breathlessness left me hanging half-insensible over the
side of the fuselage.&nbsp; But I am always capable of a supreme
effort&mdash;it is my one great merit as an aviator.&nbsp; I was
conscious that the descent was slower.&nbsp; The whirlpool was a
cone rather than a funnel, and I had come to the apex.&nbsp; With
a terrific wrench, throwing my weight all to one side, I levelled
my planes and brought her head away from the wind.&nbsp; In an
instant I had shot out of the eddies and was skimming down the
sky.&nbsp; Then, shaken but victorious, I turned her nose up and
began once more my steady grind on the upward spiral.&nbsp; I
took a large sweep to avoid the danger-spot of the whirlpool, and
soon I was safely above it.&nbsp; Just after one o&rsquo;clock I
was twenty-one thousand feet above the sea-level.&nbsp; To my
great joy I had topped the gale, and with every hundred feet of
ascent the air grew stiller.&nbsp; <!-- page 117--><a
name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>On the
other hand, it was very cold, and I was conscious of that
peculiar nausea which goes with rarefaction of the air.&nbsp; For
the first time I unscrewed the mouth of my oxygen bag and took an
occasional whiff of the glorious gas.&nbsp; I could feel it
running like a cordial through my veins, and I was exhilarated
almost to the point of drunkenness.&nbsp; I shouted and sang as I
soared upwards into the cold, still outer world.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is very clear to me that the insensibility which
came upon Glaisher, and in a lesser degree upon Coxwell, when, in
1862, they ascended in a balloon to the height of thirty thousand
feet, was due to the extreme speed with which a perpendicular
ascent is made.&nbsp; Doing it at an easy gradient and
accustoming oneself to the lessened barometric pressure by slow
degrees, there are no such dreadful symptoms.&nbsp; At the same
great height I found that even without my oxygen inhaler I could
breathe without undue distress.&nbsp; It was bitterly cold,
however, and my thermometer was at zero Fahrenheit.&nbsp; At
one-thirty I was nearly seven miles above the surface of the
earth, and still ascending steadily.&nbsp; I found, however, that
the rarefied air was giving markedly less support to my planes,
and that my angle of ascent had to be considerably lowered in
consequence.&nbsp; It was already clear that even with my light
weight and strong engine-power there was a point in front of me
where I should be held.&nbsp; To make matters worse, one of my
sparking-plugs was in trouble again and there was intermittent
<!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
118</span>missfiring in the engine.&nbsp; My heart was heavy with
the fear of failure.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was about that time that I had a most extraordinary
experience.&nbsp; Something whizzed past me in a trail of smoke
and exploded with a loud, hissing sound, sending forth a cloud of
steam.&nbsp; For the instant I could not imagine what had
happened.&nbsp; Then I remembered that the earth is for ever
being bombarded by meteor stones, and would be hardly inhabitable
were they not in nearly every case turned to vapour in the outer
layers of the atmosphere.&nbsp; Here is a new danger for the
high-altitude man, for two others passed me when I was nearing
the forty-thousand-foot mark.&nbsp; I cannot doubt that at the
edge of the earth&rsquo;s envelope the risk would be a very real
one.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My barograph needle marked forty-one thousand three
hundred when I became aware that I could go no farther.&nbsp;
Physically, the strain was not as yet greater than I could bear,
but my machine had reached its limit.&nbsp; The attenuated air
gave no firm support to the wings, and the least tilt developed
into side-slip, while she seemed sluggish on her controls.&nbsp;
Possibly, had the engine been at its best, another thousand feet
might have been within our capacity, but it was still missfiring,
and two out of the ten cylinders appeared to be out of
action.&nbsp; If I had not already reached the zone for which I
was searching then I should never see it upon this journey.&nbsp;
But was it not possible that I had attained it?&nbsp; Soaring in
circles like a monstrous hawk upon the forty-thousand-foot level
<!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
119</span>I let the monoplane guide herself, and with my Mannheim
glass I made a careful observation of my surroundings.&nbsp; The
heavens were perfectly clear; there was no indication of those
dangers which I had imagined.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have said that I was soaring in circles.&nbsp; It
struck me suddenly that I would do well to take a wider sweep and
open up a new air-tract.&nbsp; If the hunter entered an
earth-jungle he would drive through it if he wished to find his
game.&nbsp; My reasoning had led me to believe that the
air-jungle which I had imagined lay somewhere over
Wiltshire.&nbsp; This should be to the south and west of
me.&nbsp; I took my bearings from the sun, for the compass was
hopeless and no trace of earth was to be seen&mdash;nothing but
the distant silver cloud-plain.&nbsp; However, I got my direction
as best I might and kept her head straight to the mark.&nbsp; I
reckoned that my petrol supply would not last for more than
another hour or so, but I could afford to use it to the last
drop, since a single magnificent vol-plan&eacute; could at any
time take me to the earth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Suddenly I was aware of something new.&nbsp; The air in
front of me had lost its crystal clearness.&nbsp; It was full of
long, ragged wisps of something which I can only compare to very
fine cigarette-smoke.&nbsp; It hung about in wreaths and coils,
turning and twisting slowly in the sunlight.&nbsp; As the
monoplane shot through it, I was aware of a faint taste of oil
upon my lips, and there was a greasy scum upon the woodwork of
the machine.&nbsp; Some infinitely fine organic matter appeared
to be suspended in the <!-- page 120--><a
name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
120</span>atmosphere.&nbsp; There was no life there.&nbsp; It was
inchoate and diffuse, extending for many square acres and then
fringing off into the void.&nbsp; No, it was not life.&nbsp; But
might it not be the remains of life?&nbsp; Above all, might it
not be the food of life, of monstrous life, even as the humble
grease of the ocean is the food for the mighty whale?&nbsp; The
thought was in my mind when my eyes looked upwards and I saw the
most wonderful vision that ever man has seen.&nbsp; Can I hope to
convey it to you even as I saw it myself last Thursday?</p>
<p>&ldquo;Conceive a jelly-fish such as sails in our summer seas,
bell-shaped and of enormous size&mdash;far larger, I should
judge, than the dome of St. Paul&rsquo;s.&nbsp; It was of a light
pink colour veined with a delicate green, but the whole huge
fabric so tenuous that it was but a fairy outline against the
dark blue sky.&nbsp; It pulsated with a delicate and regular
rhythm.&nbsp; From it there depended two long, drooping green
tentacles, which swayed slowly backwards and forwards.&nbsp; This
gorgeous vision passed gently with noiseless dignity over my
head, as light and fragile as a soap-bubble, and drifted upon its
stately way.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I had half-turned my monoplane, that I might look after
this beautiful creature, when, in a moment, I found myself amidst
a perfect fleet of them, of all sizes, but none so large as the
first.&nbsp; Some were quite small, but the majority about as big
as an average balloon, and with much the same curvature at the
top.&nbsp; There was in them a delicacy of texture and colouring
which reminded me of the finest <!-- page 121--><a
name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>Venetian
glass.&nbsp; Pale shades of pink and green were the prevailing
tints, but all had a lovely iridescence where the sun shimmered
through their dainty forms.&nbsp; Some hundreds of them drifted
past me, a wonderful fairy squadron of strange, unknown argosies
of the sky&mdash;creatures whose forms and substance were so
attuned to these pure heights that one could not conceive
anything so delicate within actual sight or sound of earth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But soon my attention was drawn to a new
phenomenon&mdash;the serpents of the outer air.&nbsp; These were
long, thin, fantastic coils of vapour-like material, which turned
and twisted with great speed, flying round and round at such a
pace that the eyes could hardly follow them.&nbsp; Some of these
ghost-like creatures were twenty or thirty feet long, but it was
difficult to tell their girth, for their outline was so hazy that
it seemed to fade away into the air around them.&nbsp; These
air-snakes were of a very light grey or smoke colour, with some
darker lines within, which gave the impression of a definite
organism.&nbsp; One of them whisked past my very face, and I was
conscious of a cold, clammy contact, but their composition was so
unsubstantial that I could not connect them with any thought of
physical danger, any more than the beautiful bell-like creatures
which had preceded them.&nbsp; There was no more solidity in
their frames than in the floating spume from a broken wave.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But a more terrible experience was in store for
me.&nbsp; Floating downwards from a great height there came a
purplish patch of vapour, <!-- page 122--><a
name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>small as I
saw it first, but rapidly enlarging as it approached me, until it
appeared to be hundreds of square feet in size.&nbsp; Though
fashioned of some transparent, jelly-like substance, it was none
the less of much more definite outline and solid consistence than
anything which I had seen before.&nbsp; There were more traces,
too, of a physical organization, especially two vast shadowy,
circular plates upon either side, which may have been eyes, and a
perfectly solid white projection between them which was as curved
and cruel as the beak of a vulture.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The whole aspect of this monster was formidable and
threatening, and it kept changing its colour from a very light
mauve to a dark, angry purple so thick that it cast a shadow as
it drifted between my monoplane and the sun.&nbsp; On the upper
curve of its huge body there were three great projections which I
can only describe as enormous bubbles, and I was convinced as I
looked at them that they were charged with some extremely light
gas which served to buoy-up the misshapen and semi-solid mass in
the rarefied air.&nbsp; The creature moved swiftly along, keeping
pace easily with the monoplane, and for twenty miles or more it
formed my horrible escort, hovering over me like a bird of prey
which is waiting to pounce.&nbsp; Its method of
progression&mdash;done so swiftly that it was not easy to
follow&mdash;was to throw out a long, glutinous streamer in front
of it, which in turn seemed to draw forward the rest of the
writhing body.&nbsp; So elastic and gelatinous was it that never
for two successive minutes was it the same shape, <!-- page
123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
123</span>and yet each change made it more threatening and
loathsome than the last.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I knew that it meant mischief.&nbsp; Every purple flush
of its hideous body told me so.&nbsp; The vague, goggling eyes
which were turned always upon me were cold and merciless in their
viscid hatred.&nbsp; I dipped the nose of my monoplane downwards
to escape it.&nbsp; As I did so, as quick as a flash there shot
out a long tentacle from this mass of floating blubber, and it
fell as light and sinuous as a whip-lash across the front of my
machine.&nbsp; There was a loud hiss as it lay for a moment
across the hot engine, and it whisked itself into the air again,
while the huge flat body drew itself together as if in sudden
pain.&nbsp; I dipped to a vol-piqu&eacute;, but again a tentacle
fell over the monoplane and was shorn off by the propeller as
easily as it might have cut through a smoke wreath.&nbsp; A long,
gliding, sticky, serpent-like coil came from behind and caught me
round the waist, dragging me out of the fuselage.&nbsp; I tore at
it, my fingers sinking into the smooth, glue-like surface, and
for an instant I disengaged myself, but only to be caught round
the boot by another coil, which gave me a jerk that tilted me
almost on to my back.</p>
<p>&ldquo;As I fell over I blazed off both barrels of my gun,
though, indeed, it was like attacking an elephant with a
pea-shooter to imagine that any human weapon could cripple that
mighty bulk.&nbsp; And yet I aimed better than I knew, for, with
a loud report, one of the great blisters upon the
creature&rsquo;s back exploded with <!-- page 124--><a
name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>the
puncture of the buck-shot.&nbsp; It was very clear that my
conjecture was right, and that these vast clear bladders were
distended with some lifting gas, for in an instant the huge
cloud-like body turned sideways, writhing desperately to find its
balance, while the white beak snapped and gaped in horrible
fury.&nbsp; But already I had shot away on the steepest glide
that I dared to attempt, my engine still full on, the flying
propeller and the force of gravity shooting me downwards like an
aerolite.&nbsp; Far behind me I saw a dull, purplish smudge
growing swiftly smaller and merging into the blue sky behind
it.&nbsp; I was safe out of the deadly jungle of the outer
air.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Once out of danger I throttled my engine, for nothing
tears a machine to pieces quicker than running on full power from
a height.&nbsp; It was a glorious spiral vol-plan&eacute; from
nearly eight miles of altitude&mdash;first, to the level of the
silver cloud-bank, then to that of the storm-cloud beneath it,
and finally, in beating rain, to the surface of the earth.&nbsp;
I saw the Bristol Channel beneath me as I broke from the clouds,
but, having still some petrol in my tank, I got twenty miles
inland before I found myself stranded in a field half a mile from
the village of Ashcombe.&nbsp; There I got three tins of petrol
from a passing motor-car, and at ten minutes past six that
evening I alighted gently in my own home meadow at Devizes, after
such a journey as no mortal upon earth has ever yet taken and
lived to tell the tale.&nbsp; I have seen the beauty and I have
seen the horror of the <!-- page 125--><a
name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
125</span>heights&mdash;and greater beauty or greater horror than
that is not within the ken of man.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And now it is my plan to go once again before I give my
results to the world.&nbsp; My reason for this is that I must
surely have something to show by way of proof before I lay such a
tale before my fellow-men.&nbsp; It is true that others will soon
follow and will confirm what I have said, and yet I should wish
to carry conviction from the first.&nbsp; Those lovely iridescent
bubbles of the air should not be hard to capture.&nbsp; They
drift slowly upon their way, and the swift monoplane could
intercept their leisurely course.&nbsp; It is likely enough that
they would dissolve in the heavier layers of the atmosphere, and
that some small heap of amorphous jelly might be all that I
should bring to earth with me.&nbsp; And yet something there
would surely be by which I could substantiate my story.&nbsp;
Yes, I will go, even if I run a risk by doing so.&nbsp; These
purple horrors would not seem to be numerous.&nbsp; It is
probable that I shall not see one.&nbsp; If I do I shall dive at
once.&nbsp; At the worst there is always the shot-gun and my
knowledge of . . .&rdquo;</p>
<p>Here a page of the manuscript is unfortunately missing.&nbsp;
On the next page is written, in large, straggling
writing:&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Forty-three thousand feet.&nbsp; I shall never see
earth again.&nbsp; They are beneath me, three of them.&nbsp; God
help me; it is a dreadful death to die!&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
126</span>Such in its entirety is the Joyce-Armstrong
Statement.&nbsp; Of the man nothing has since been seen.&nbsp;
Pieces of his shattered monoplane have been picked up in the
preserves of Mr. Budd-Lushington upon the borders of Kent and
Sussex, within a few miles of the spot where the note-book was
discovered.&nbsp; If the unfortunate aviator&rsquo;s theory is
correct that this air-jungle, as he called it, existed only over
the south-west of England, then it would seem that he had fled
from it at the full speed of his monoplane, but had been
overtaken and devoured by these horrible creatures at some spot
in the outer atmosphere above the place where the grim relics
were found.&nbsp; The picture of that monoplane skimming down the
sky, with the nameless terrors flying as swiftly beneath it and
cutting it off always from the earth while they gradually closed
in upon their victim, is one upon which a man who valued his
sanity would prefer not to dwell.&nbsp; There are many, as I am
aware, who still jeer at the facts which I have here set down,
but even they must admit that Joyce-Armstrong has disappeared,
and I would commend to them his own words: &ldquo;This note-book
may explain what I am trying to do, and how I lost my life in
doing it.&nbsp; But no drivel about accidents or mysteries, if
<i>you</i> please.&rdquo;</p>
<h2><!-- page 127--><a name="page127"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 127</span>VI.&nbsp; BORROWED SCENES</h2>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;It cannot be done.&nbsp; People really
would not stand it.&nbsp; I know because I have
tried.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Extract from an unpublished paper upon
George Borrow and his writings</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Yes, I tried and my experience may interest other
people.&nbsp; You must imagine, then, that I am soaked in George
Borrow, especially in his <i>Lavengro</i> and his <i>Romany
Rye</i>, that I have modelled both my thoughts, my speech and my
style very carefully upon those of the master, and that finally I
set forth one summer day actually to lead the life of which I had
read.&nbsp; Behold me, then, upon the country road which leads
from the railway-station to the Sussex village of Swinehurst.</p>
<p>As I walked, I entertained myself by recollections of the
founders of Sussex, of Cerdic that mighty sea-rover, and of Ella
his son, said by the bard to be taller by the length of a
spear-head than the tallest of his fellows.&nbsp; I mentioned the
matter twice to peasants whom I met upon the road.&nbsp; One, a
tallish man with a freckled face, sidled past me and ran swiftly
towards the <!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 128</span>station.&nbsp; The other, a smaller
and older man, stood entranced while I recited to him that
passage of the Saxon Chronicle which begins, &ldquo;Then came
Leija with longships forty-four, and the fyrd went out against
him.&rdquo;&nbsp; I was pointing out to him that the Chronicle
had been written partly by the monks of Saint Albans and
afterwards by those of Peterborough, but the fellow sprang
suddenly over a gate and disappeared.</p>
<p>The village of Swinehurst is a straggling line of
half-timbered houses of the early English pattern.&nbsp; One of
these houses stood, as I observed, somewhat taller than the rest,
and seeing by its appearance and by the sign which hung before it
that it was the village inn, I approached it, for indeed I had
not broken my fast since I had left London.&nbsp; A stoutish man,
five foot eight perhaps in height, with black coat and trousers
of a greyish shade, stood outside, and to him I talked in the
fashion of the master.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why a rose and why a crown?&rdquo; I asked as I pointed
upwards.</p>
<p>He looked at me in a strange manner.&nbsp; The man&rsquo;s
whole appearance was strange.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; he
answered, and shrank a little backwards.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The sign of a king,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;What else should
we understand from a crown?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
129</span>&ldquo;And which king?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You will excuse me,&rdquo; said he, and tried to
pass.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Which king?&rdquo; I repeated.</p>
<p>&ldquo;How should I know?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You should know by the rose,&rdquo; said I,
&ldquo;which is the symbol of that Tudor-ap-Tudor, who, coming
from the mountains of Wales, yet seated his posterity upon the
English throne.&nbsp; Tudor,&rdquo; I continued, getting between
the stranger and the door of the inn, through which he appeared
to be desirous of passing, &ldquo;was of the same blood as Owen
Glendower, the famous chieftain, who is by no means to be
confused with Owen Gwynedd, the father of Madoc of the Sea, of
whom the bard made the famous cnylyn, which runs in the Welsh as
follows:&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was about to repeat the famous stanza of Dafydd-ap-Gwilyn
when the man, who had looked very fixedly and strangely at me as
I spoke, pushed past me and entered the inn.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Truly,&rdquo; said I aloud, &ldquo;it is surely Swinehurst
to which I have come, since the same means the grove of the
hogs.&rdquo;&nbsp; So saying I followed the fellow into the bar
parlour, where I perceived him seated in a corner with a large
chair in front of him.&nbsp; Four persons of various degrees were
drinking beer at a central table, whilst a small man of active
build, in a black, shiny suit, which seemed to have seen much
service, stood <!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 130</span>before the empty fireplace.&nbsp;
Him I took to be the landlord, and I asked him what I should have
for my dinner.</p>
<p>He smiled, and said that he could not tell.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But surely, my friend,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;you can
tell me what is ready?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Even that I cannot do,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;but I
doubt not that the landlord can inform us.&rdquo;&nbsp; On this
he rang the bell, and a fellow answered, to whom I put the same
question.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What would you have?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>I thought of the master, and I ordered a cold leg of pork to
be washed down with tea and beer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you say tea <i>and</i> beer?&rdquo; asked the
landlord.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I did.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;For twenty-five years have I been in business,&rdquo;
said the landlord, &ldquo;and never before have I been asked for
tea and beer.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The gentleman is joking,&rdquo; said the man with the
shining coat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Or else&mdash;&rdquo; said the elderly man in the
corner.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Or what, sir?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said
he&mdash;&ldquo;nothing.&rdquo;&nbsp; There was something very
strange in this man in the corner&mdash;him to whom I had spoken
of Dafydd-ap-Gwilyn.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then you are joking,&rdquo; said the landlord.</p>
<p>I asked him if he had read the works of my <!-- page 131--><a
name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>master,
George Borrow.&nbsp; He said that he had not.&nbsp; I told him
that in those five volumes he would not, from cover to cover,
find one trace of any sort of a joke.&nbsp; He would also find
that my master drank tea and beer together.&nbsp; Now it happens
that about tea I have read nothing either in the sagas or in the
bardic cnylynions, but, whilst the landlord had departed to
prepare my meal, I recited to the company those Icelandic stanzas
which praise the beer of Gunnar, the long-haired son of Harold
the Bear.&nbsp; Then, lest the language should be unknown to some
of them, I recited my own translation, ending with the
line&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>If the beer be small, then let the mug be
large.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I then asked the company whether they went to church or to
chapel.&nbsp; The question surprised them, and especially the
strange man in the corner, upon whom I now fixed my eye.&nbsp; I
had read his secret, and as I looked at him he tried to shrink
behind the clock-case.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The church or the chapel?&rdquo; I asked him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The church,&rdquo; he gasped.</p>
<p>&ldquo;<i>Which</i> church?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>He shrank farther behind the clock.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have never
been so questioned,&rdquo; he cried.</p>
<p>I showed him that I knew his secret, &ldquo;Rome was not built
in a day,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p><!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
132</span>&ldquo;He! He!&rdquo; he cried.&nbsp; Then, as I turned
away, he put his head from behind the clock-case and tapped his
forehead with his forefinger.&nbsp; So also did the man with the
shiny coat, who stood before the empty fireplace.</p>
<p>Having eaten the cold leg of pork&mdash;where is there a
better dish, save only boiled mutton with capers?&mdash;and
having drunk both the tea and the beer, I told the company that
such a meal had been called &ldquo;to box Harry&rdquo; by the
master, who had observed it to be in great favour with commercial
gentlemen out of Liverpool.&nbsp; With this information and a
stanza or two from Lopez de Vega I left the Inn of the Rose and
Crown behind me, having first paid my reckoning.&nbsp; At the
door the landlord asked me for my name and address.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And why?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Lest there should be inquiry for you,&rdquo; said the
landlord.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But why should they inquire for me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, who knows?&rdquo; said the landlord, musing.&nbsp;
And so I left him at the door of the Inn of the Rose and Crown,
whence came, I observed, a great tumult of laughter.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Assuredly,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;Rome was not built in
a day.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Having walked down the main street of Swinehurst, which, as I
have observed, consists of half-timbered buildings in the ancient
style, I came out upon the country road, and proceeded <!-- page
133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>to
look for those wayside adventures, which are, according to the
master, as thick as blackberries for those who seek them upon an
English highway.&nbsp; I had already received some boxing lessons
before leaving London, so it seemed to me that if I should chance
to meet some traveller whose size and age seemed such as to
encourage the venture I would ask him to strip off his coat and
settle any differences which we could find in the old English
fashion.&nbsp; I waited, therefore, by a stile for any one who
should chance to pass, and it was while I stood there that the
screaming horror came upon me, even as it came upon the master in
the dingle.&nbsp; I gripped the bar of the stile, which was of
good British oak.&nbsp; Oh, who can tell the terrors of the
screaming horror!&nbsp; That was what I thought as I grasped the
oaken bar of the stile.&nbsp; Was it the beer&mdash;or was it the
tea?&nbsp; Or was it that the landlord was right and that other,
the man with the black, shiny coat, he who had answered the sign
of the strange man in the corner?&nbsp; But the master drank tea
with beer.&nbsp; Yes, but the master also had the screaming
horror.&nbsp; All this I thought as I grasped the bar of British
oak, which was the top of the stile.&nbsp; For half an hour the
horror was upon me.&nbsp; Then it passed, and I was left feeling
very weak and still grasping the oaken bar.</p>
<p>I had not moved from the stile, where I had <!-- page 134--><a
name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>been seized
by the screaming horror, when I heard the sound of steps behind
me, and turning round I perceived that a pathway led across the
field upon the farther side of the stile.&nbsp; A woman was
coming towards me along this pathway, and it was evident to me
that she was one of those gipsy Rias, of whom the master has said
so much.&nbsp; Looking beyond her, I could see the smoke of a
fire from a small dingle, which showed where her tribe were
camping.&nbsp; The woman herself was of a moderate height,
neither tall nor short, with a face which was much sunburned and
freckled.&nbsp; I must confess that she was not beautiful, but I
do not think that anyone, save the master, has found very
beautiful women walking about upon the high-roads of
England.&nbsp; Such as she was I must make the best of her, and
well I knew how to address her, for many times had I admired the
mixture of politeness and audacity which should be used in such a
case.&nbsp; Therefore, when the woman had come to the stile, I
held out my hand and helped her over.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What says the Spanish poet Calderon?&rdquo; said
I.&nbsp; &ldquo;I doubt not that you have read the couplet which
has been thus Englished:</p>
<blockquote><p>Oh, maiden, may I humbly pray<br />
That I may help you on your way.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The woman blushed, but said nothing.</p>
<p><!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
135</span>&ldquo;Where,&rdquo; I asked, &ldquo;are the Romany
chals and the Romany chis?&rdquo;</p>
<p>She turned her head away and was silent.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Though I am a gorgio,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I know
something of the Romany lil,&rdquo; and to prove it I sang the
stanza&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>Coliko, coliko saulo wer<br />
Apopli to the farming ker<br />
Will wel and mang him mullo,<br />
Will wel and mang his truppo.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The girl laughed, but said nothing.&nbsp; It appeared to me
from her appearance that she might be one of those who make a
living at telling fortunes or &ldquo;dukkering,&rdquo; as the
master calls it, at racecourses and other gatherings of the
sort.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you dukker?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>She slapped me on the arm.&nbsp; &ldquo;Well, you <i>are</i> a
pot of ginger!&rdquo; said she.</p>
<p>I was pleased at the slap, for it put me in mind of the
peerless Belle.&nbsp; &ldquo;You can use Long Melford,&rdquo;
said I, an expression which, with the master, meant fighting.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Get along with your sauce!&rdquo; said she, and struck
me again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are a very fine young woman,&rdquo; said I,
&ldquo;and remind me of Grunelda, the daughter of Hjalmar, who
stole the golden bowl from the King of the Islands.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
136</span>She seemed annoyed at this.&nbsp; &ldquo;You keep a
civil tongue, young man,&rdquo; said she.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I meant no harm, Belle.&nbsp; I was but comparing you
to one of whom the saga says her eyes were like the shine of sun
upon icebergs.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This seemed to please her, for she smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;My
name ain&rsquo;t Belle,&rdquo; she said at last.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What is your name?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Henrietta.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The name of a queen,&rdquo; I said aloud.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; said the girl.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of Charles&rsquo;s queen,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;of whom
Waller the poet (for the English also have their poets, though in
this respect far inferior to the Basques)&mdash;of whom, I say,
Waller the poet said:</p>
<blockquote><p>That she was Queen was the Creator&rsquo;s act,<br
/>
Belated man could but endorse the fact.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>&ldquo;I say!&rdquo; cried the girl.&nbsp; &ldquo;How you do
go on!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;So now,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;since I have shown you
that you are a queen you will surely give me a
choomer&rdquo;&mdash;this being a kiss in Romany talk.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you one on the ear-hole,&rdquo; she
cried.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then I will wrestle with you,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp;
&ldquo;If you should chance to put me down, I will do penance by
teaching you the Armenian alphabet&mdash;the very word alphabet,
as you will perceive, shows us that our letters came from <!--
page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
137</span>Greece.&nbsp; If, on the other hand, I should chance to
put you down, you will give me a choomer.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I had got so far, and she was climbing the stile with some
pretence of getting away from me, when there came a van along the
road, belonging, as I discovered, to a baker in Swinehurst.&nbsp;
The horse, which was of a brown colour, was such as is bred in
the New Forest, being somewhat under fifteen hands and of a
hairy, ill-kempt variety.&nbsp; As I know less than the master
about horses, I will say no more of this horse, save to repeat
that its colour was brown&mdash;nor indeed had the horse or the
horse&rsquo;s colour anything to do with my narrative.&nbsp; I
might add, however, that it could either be taken as a small
horse or as a large pony, being somewhat tall for the one, but
undersized for the other.&nbsp; I have now said enough about this
horse, which has nothing to do with my story, and I will turn my
attention to the driver.</p>
<p>This was a man with a broad, florid face and brown
side-whiskers.&nbsp; He was of a stout build and had rounded
shoulders, with a small mole of a reddish colour over his left
eyebrow.&nbsp; His jacket was of velveteen, and he had large,
iron-shod boots, which were perched upon the splashboard in front
of him.&nbsp; He pulled up the van as he came up to the stile
near which I was standing with the maiden who had come from the
dingle, and in a civil fashion he asked me if <!-- page 138--><a
name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>I could
oblige him with a light for his pipe.&nbsp; Then, as I drew a
matchbox from my pocket, he threw his reins over the splashboard,
and removing his large, iron-shod boots he descended on to the
road.&nbsp; He was a burly man, but inclined to fat and scant of
breath.&nbsp; It seemed to me that it was a chance for one of
those wayside boxing adventures which were so common in the olden
times.&nbsp; It was my intention that I should fight the man, and
that the maiden from the dingle standing by me should tell me
when to use my right or my left, as the case might be, picking me
up also in case I should be so unfortunate as to be knocked down
by the man with the iron-shod boots and the small mole of a
reddish colour over his left eyebrow.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you use Long Melford?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>He looked at me in some surprise, and said that any mixture
was good enough for him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;By Long Melford,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I do not mean,
as you seem to think, some form of tobacco, but I mean that art
and science of boxing which was held in such high esteem by our
ancestors, that some famous professors of it, such as the great
Gully, have been elected to the highest offices of the
State.&nbsp; There were men of the highest character amongst the
bruisers of England, of whom I would particularly mention Tom of
Hereford, better known as Tom Spring, <!-- page 139--><a
name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>though his
father&rsquo;s name, as I have been given to understand, was
Winter.&nbsp; This, however, has nothing to do with the matter in
hand, which is that you must fight me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The man with the florid face seemed very much surprised at my
words, so that I cannot think that adventures of this sort were
as common as I had been led by the master to expect.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Fight!&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;What
about?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is a good old English custom,&rdquo; said I,
&ldquo;by which we may determine which is the better
man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve nothing against you,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nor I against you,&rdquo; I answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;So
that we will fight for love, which was an expression much used in
olden days.&nbsp; It is narrated by Harold Sygvynson that among
the Danes it was usual to do so even with battle-axes, as is told
in his second set of runes.&nbsp; Therefore you will take off
your coat and fight.&rdquo;&nbsp; As I spoke, I stripped off my
own.</p>
<p>The man&rsquo;s face was less florid than before.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going to fight,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Indeed you are,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;and this
young woman will doubtless do you the service to hold your
coat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re clean balmy,&rdquo; said Henrietta.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;if you will not fight me
for love, perhaps you will fight me for this,&rdquo; <!-- page
140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
140</span>and I held out a sovereign.&nbsp; &ldquo;Will you hold
his coat?&rdquo; I said to Henrietta.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll hold the thick &rsquo;un,&rdquo; said
she.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, you don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said the man, and put the
sovereign into the pocket of his trousers, which were of a
corduroy material.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what
am I to do to earn this?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Fight,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;How do you do it?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Put up your hands,&rdquo; I answered.</p>
<p>He put them up as I had said, and stood there in a sheepish
manner with no idea of anything further.&nbsp; It seemed to me
that if I could make him angry he would do better, so I knocked
off his hat, which was black and hard, of the kind which is
called billy-cock.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Heh, guv&rsquo;nor!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;what are
you up to?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That was to make you angry,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I am angry,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then here is your hat,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;and
afterwards we shall fight.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I turned as I spoke to pick up his hat, which had rolled
behind where I was standing.&nbsp; As I stooped to reach it, I
received such a blow that I could neither rise erect nor yet sit
down.&nbsp; This blow which I received as I stooped for his
billy-cock hat was not from his fist, but from his iron-shod
boot, the same which I had observed upon the splashboard.&nbsp;
Being unable either to <!-- page 141--><a
name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>rise erect
or yet to sit down, I leaned upon the oaken bar of the stile and
groaned loudly on account of the pain of the blow which I had
received.&nbsp; Even the screaming horror had given me less pain
than this blow from the iron-shod boot.&nbsp; When at last I was
able to stand erect, I found that the florid-faced man had driven
away with his cart, which could no longer be seen.&nbsp; The
maiden from the dingle was standing at the other side of the
stile, and a ragged man was running across the field from the
direction of the fire.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why did you not warn me, Henrietta?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t time,&rdquo; said she.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why
were you such a chump as to turn your back on him like
that?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The ragged man had reached us, where I stood talking to
Henrietta by the stile.&nbsp; I will not try to write his
conversation as he said it, because I have observed that the
master never condescends to dialect, but prefers by a word
introduced here and there to show the fashion of a man&rsquo;s
speech.&nbsp; I will only say that the man from the dingle spoke
as did the Anglo-Saxons, who were wont, as is clearly shown by
the venerable Bede, to call their leaders &rsquo;Enjist and
&rsquo;Orsa, two words which in their proper meaning signify a
horse and a mare.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What did he hit you for?&rdquo; asked the man <!-- page
142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
142</span>from the dingle.&nbsp; He was exceedingly ragged, with
a powerful frame, a lean brown face, and an oaken cudgel in his
hand.&nbsp; His voice was very hoarse and rough, as is the case
with those who live in the open air.&nbsp; &ldquo;The bloke hit
you,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;What did the bloke hit you
for?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He asked him to,&rdquo; said Henrietta.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Asked him to&mdash;asked him what?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, he asked him to hit him.&nbsp; Gave him a thick
&rsquo;un to do it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The ragged man seemed surprised.&nbsp; &ldquo;See here,
gov&rsquo;nor,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;If you&rsquo;re
collectin&rsquo;, I could let you have one half-price.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He took me unawares,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What else would the bloke do when you bashed his
hat?&rdquo; said the maiden from the dingle.</p>
<p>By this time I was able to straighten myself up by the aid of
the oaken bar which formed the top of the stile.&nbsp; Having
quoted a few lines of the Chinese poet Lo-tun-an to the effect
that, however hard a knock might be, it might always conceivably
be harder, I looked about for my coat, but could by no means find
it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Henrietta,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;what have you done
with my coat?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look here, gov&rsquo;nor,&rdquo; said the man from the
dingle, &ldquo;not so much Henrietta, if it&rsquo;s the same to
you.&nbsp; This woman&rsquo;s my wife.&nbsp; Who are you to call
her Henrietta?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
143</span>I assured the man from the dingle that I had meant no
disrespect to his wife.&nbsp; &ldquo;I had thought she was a
mort,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;but the ria of a Romany chal is
always sacred to me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Clean balmy,&rdquo; said the woman.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Some other day,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I may visit you
in your camp in the dingle and read you the master&rsquo;s book
about the Romanys.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s Romanys?&rdquo; asked the man.</p>
<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Romanys are gipsies.</p>
<p><i>The Man</i>.&nbsp; We ain&rsquo;t gipsies.</p>
<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; What are you then?</p>
<p><i>The Man</i>.&nbsp; We are hoppers.</p>
<p><i>Myself</i> (to Henrietta).&nbsp; Then how did you
understand all I have said to you about gipsies?</p>
<p><i>Henrietta</i>.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t.</p>
<p>I again asked for my coat, but it was clear now that before
offering to fight the florid-faced man with the mole over his
left eyebrow I must have hung my coat upon the splashboard of his
van.&nbsp; I therefore recited a verse from Ferideddin-Atar, the
Persian poet, which signifies that it is more important to
preserve your skin than your clothes, and bidding farewell to the
man from the dingle and his wife I returned into the old English
village of Swinehurst, where I was able to buy a second-hand
coat, which enabled me to make my way to the station, where I
should start for London.&nbsp; I could not but remark with some
surprise that I was followed to the station <!-- page 144--><a
name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>by many of
the villagers, together with the man with the shiny coat, and
that other, the strange man, he who had slunk behind the
clock-case.&nbsp; From time to time I turned and approached them,
hoping to fall into conversation with them; but as I did so they
would break and hasten down the road.&nbsp; Only the village
constable came on, and he walked by my side and listened while I
told him the history of Hunyadi Janos and the events which
occurred during the wars between that hero, known also as
Corvinus or the crow-like, and Mahommed the second, he who
captured Constantinople, better known as Byzantium, before the
Christian epoch.&nbsp; Together with the constable I entered the
station, and seating myself in a carriage I took paper from my
pocket and I began to write upon the paper all that had occurred
to me, in order that I might show that it was not easy in these
days to follow the example of the master.&nbsp; As I wrote, I
heard the constable talk to the station-master, a stout,
middle-sized man with a red neck-tie, and tell him of my own
adventures in the old English village of Swinehurst.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He is a gentleman too,&rdquo; said the constable,
&ldquo;and I doubt not that he lives in a big house in London
town.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A very big house if every man had his rights,&rdquo;
said the station-master, and waving his hand he signalled that
the train should proceed.</p>
<h2><!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 145</span>VII.&nbsp; THE SURGEON OF GASTER
FELL</h2>
<h3>I&mdash;HOW THE WOMAN CAME TO KIRKBY-MALHOUSE</h3>
<p>Bleak and wind-swept is the little town of Kirkby-Malhouse,
harsh and forbidding are the fells upon which it stands.&nbsp; It
stretches in a single line of grey-stone, slate-roofed houses,
dotted down the furze-clad slope of the rolling moor.</p>
<p>In this lonely and secluded village, I, James Upperton, found
myself in the summer of &rsquo;85.&nbsp; Little as the hamlet had
to offer, it contained that for which I yearned above all
things&mdash;seclusion and freedom from all which might distract
my mind from the high and weighty subjects which engaged
it.&nbsp; But the inquisitiveness of my landlady made my lodgings
undesirable and I determined to seek new quarters.</p>
<p>As it chanced, I had in one of my rambles come upon an
isolated dwelling in the very heart of these lonely moors, which
I at once determined should be my own.&nbsp; It was a two-roomed
cottage, which had once belonged to some shepherd, but <!-- page
146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
146</span>had long been deserted, and was crumbling rapidly to
ruin.&nbsp; In the winter floods, the Gaster Beck, which runs
down Gaster Fell, where the little dwelling stood, had overswept
its banks and torn away a part of the wall.&nbsp; The roof was in
ill case, and the scattered slates lay thick amongst the
grass.&nbsp; Yet the main shell of the house stood firm and true;
and it was no great task for me to have all that was amiss set
right.</p>
<p>The two rooms I laid out in a widely different manner&mdash;my
own tastes are of a Spartan turn, and the outer chamber was so
planned as to accord with them.&nbsp; An oil-stove by Rippingille
of Birmingham furnished me with the means of cooking; while two
great bags, the one of flour, and the other of potatoes, made me
independent of all supplies from without.&nbsp; In diet I had
long been a Pythagorean, so that the scraggy, long-limbed sheep
which browsed upon the wiry grass by the Gaster Beck had little
to fear from their new companion.&nbsp; A nine-gallon cask of oil
served me as a sideboard; while a square table, a deal chair and
a truckle-bed completed the list of my domestic fittings.&nbsp;
At the head of my couch hung two unpainted shelves&mdash;the
lower for my dishes and cooking utensils, the upper for the few
portraits which took me back to the little that was pleasant in
the long, wearisome toiling for wealth and for pleasure which had
marked the life I had left behind.</p>
<p><!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
147</span>If this dwelling-room of mine were plain even to
squalor, its poverty was more than atoned for by the luxury of
the chamber which was destined to serve me as my study.&nbsp; I
had ever held that it was best for my mind to be surrounded by
such objects as would be in harmony with the studies which
occupied it, and that the loftiest and most ethereal conditions
of thought are only possible amid surroundings which please the
eye and gratify the senses.&nbsp; The room which I had set apart
for my mystic studies was set forth in a style as gloomy and
majestic as the thoughts and aspirations with which it was to
harmonise.&nbsp; Both walls and ceilings were covered with a
paper of the richest and glossiest black, on which was traced a
lurid and arabesque pattern of dead gold.&nbsp; A black velvet
curtain covered the single diamond-paned window; while a thick,
yielding carpet of the same material prevented the sound of my
own footfalls, as I paced backward and forward, from breaking the
current of my thought.&nbsp; Along the cornices ran gold rods,
from which depended six pictures, all of the sombre and
imaginative caste, which chimed best with my fancy.</p>
<p>And yet it was destined that ere ever I reached this quiet
harbour I should learn that I was still one of humankind, and
that it is an ill thing to strive to break the bond which binds
us to our fellows.&nbsp; It was but two nights before the date
<!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
148</span>I had fixed upon for my change of dwelling, when I was
conscious of a bustle in the house beneath, with the bearing of
heavy burdens up the creaking stair, and the harsh voice of my
landlady, loud in welcome and protestations of joy.&nbsp; From
time to time, amid the whirl of words, I could hear a gentle and
softly modulated voice, which struck pleasantly upon my ear after
the long weeks during which I had listened only to the rude
dialect of the dalesmen.&nbsp; For an hour I could hear the
dialogue beneath&mdash;the high voice and the low, with clatter
of cup and clink of spoon, until at last a light, quick step
passed my study door, and I knew that my new fellow lodger had
sought her room.</p>
<p>On the morning after this incident I was up betimes, as is my
wont; but I was surprised, on glancing from my window, to see
that our new inmate was earlier still.&nbsp; She was walking down
the narrow pathway, which zigzags over the fell&mdash;a tall
woman, slender, her head sunk upon her breast, her arms filled
with a bristle of wild flowers, which she had gathered in her
morning rambles.&nbsp; The white and pink of her dress, and the
touch of deep red ribbon in her broad drooping hat, formed a
pleasant dash of colour against the dun-tinted landscape.&nbsp;
She was some distance off when I first set eyes upon her, yet I
knew that this wandering woman could be none other than our
arrival of last night, for there was a grace <!-- page 149--><a
name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>and
refinement in her bearing which marked her from the dwellers of
the fells.&nbsp; Even as I watched, she passed swiftly and
lightly down the pathway, and turning through the wicket gate, at
the further end of our cottage garden, she seated herself upon
the green bank which faced my window, and strewing her flowers in
front of her, set herself to arrange them.</p>
<p>As she sat there, with the rising sun at her back, and the
glow of the morning spreading like an aureole around her stately
and well-poised head, I could see that she was a woman of
extraordinary personal beauty.&nbsp; Her face was Spanish rather
than English in its type&mdash;oval, olive, with black, sparkling
eyes, and a sweetly sensitive mouth.&nbsp; From under the broad
straw hat two thick coils of blue-black hair curved down on
either side of her graceful, queenly neck.&nbsp; I was surprised,
as I watched her, to see that her shoes and skirt bore witness to
a journey rather than to a mere morning ramble.&nbsp; Her light
dress was stained, wet and bedraggled; while her boots were thick
with the yellow soil of the fells.&nbsp; Her face, too, wore a
weary expression, and her young beauty seemed to be clouded over
by the shadow of inward trouble.&nbsp; Even as I watched her, she
burst suddenly into wild weeping, and throwing down her bundle of
flowers ran swiftly into the house.</p>
<p>Distrait as I was and weary of the ways of the <!-- page
150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
150</span>world, I was conscious of a sudden pang of sympathy and
grief as I looked upon the spasm of despair which, seemed to
convulse this strange and beautiful woman.&nbsp; I bent to my
books, and yet my thoughts would ever turn to her proud clear-cut
face, her weather-stained dress, her drooping head, and the
sorrow which lay in each line and feature of her pensive
face.</p>
<p>Mrs. Adams, my landlady, was wont to carry up my frugal
breakfast; yet it was very rarely that I allowed her to break the
current of my thoughts, or to draw my mind by her idle chatter
from weightier things.&nbsp; This morning, however, for once, she
found me in a listening mood, and with little prompting,
proceeded to pour into my ears all that she knew of our beautiful
visitor.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Miss Eva Cameron be her name, sir,&rdquo; she said:
&ldquo;but who she be, or where she came fra, I know little more
than yoursel&rsquo;.&nbsp; Maybe it was the same reason that
brought her to Kirkby-Malhouse as fetched you there
yoursel&rsquo;, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Possibly,&rdquo; said I, ignoring the covert question;
&ldquo;but I should hardly have thought that Kirkby-Malhouse was
a place which offered any great attractions to a young
lady.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Heh, sir!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s the
wonder of it.&nbsp; The leddy has just come fra France; and how
her folk come to learn of me is just a wonder.&nbsp; A week ago,
up comes a man to my door&mdash;a fine man, sir, and a gentleman,
as one <!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 151</span>could see with half an eye.&nbsp;
&lsquo;You are Mrs. Adams,&rsquo; says he.&nbsp; &lsquo;I engage
your rooms for Miss Cameron,&rsquo; says he.&nbsp; &lsquo;She
will be here in a week,&rsquo; says he; and then off without a
word of terms.&nbsp; Last night there comes the young leddy
hersel&rsquo;&mdash;soft-spoken and downcast, with a touch of the
French in her speech.&nbsp; But my sakes, sir!&nbsp; I must away
and mak&rsquo; her some tea, for she&rsquo;ll feel lonesome-like,
poor lamb, when she wakes under a strange roof.&rdquo;</p>
<h3>II&mdash;HOW I WENT FORTH TO GASTER FELL</h3>
<p>I was still engaged upon my breakfast when I heard the clatter
of dishes and the landlady&rsquo;s footfall as she passed toward
her new lodger&rsquo;s room.&nbsp; An instant afterward she had
rushed down the passage and burst in upon me with uplifted hand
and startled eyes.&nbsp; &ldquo;Lord &rsquo;a mercy, sir!&rdquo;
she cried, &ldquo;and asking your pardon for troubling you, but
I&rsquo;m feared o&rsquo; the young leddy, sir; she is not in her
room.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, there she is,&rdquo; said I, standing up and
glancing through the casement.&nbsp; &ldquo;She has gone back for
the flowers she left upon the bank.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, sir, see her boots and her dress!&rdquo; cried the
landlady, wildly.&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish her mother was here,
sir&mdash;I do.&nbsp; Where she has been is more than I ken, but
her bed has not been lain on this night.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;She has felt restless, doubtless, and went for <!--
page 152--><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
152</span>a walk, though the hour was certainly a strange
one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Mrs. Adams pursed her lip and shook her head.&nbsp; But then
as she stood at the casement, the girl beneath looked smilingly
up at her and beckoned to her with a merry gesture to open the
window.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you my tea there?&rdquo; she asked in a rich,
clear voice, with a touch of the mincing French accent.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is in your room, miss.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look at my boots, Mrs. Adams!&rdquo; she cried,
thrusting them out from under her skirt.&nbsp; &ldquo;These fells
of yours are dreadful places&mdash;effroyable&mdash;one inch, two
inch; never have I seen such mud!&nbsp; My dress,
too&mdash;<i>voil&agrave;</i>!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Eh, miss, but you are in a pickle,&rdquo; cried the
landlady, as she gazed down at the bedraggled gown.&nbsp;
&ldquo;But you must be main weary and heavy for sleep.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she answered, laughingly, &ldquo;I care
not for sleep.&nbsp; What is sleep? it is a little
death&mdash;<i>voil&agrave; tout</i>.&nbsp; But for me to walk,
to run, to beathe the air&mdash;that is to live.&nbsp; I was not
tired, and so all night I have explored these fells of
Yorkshire.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Lord &rsquo;a mercy, miss, and where did you go?&rdquo;
asked Mrs. Adams.</p>
<p>She waved her hand round in a sweeping gesture which included
the whole western horizon.&nbsp; &ldquo;There,&rdquo; she
cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;O comme elles sont tristes <!-- page 153--><a
name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>et
sauvages, ces collines!&nbsp; But I have flowers here.&nbsp; You
will give me water, will you not?&nbsp; They will wither
else.&rdquo;&nbsp; She gathered her treasures in her lap, and a
moment later we heard her light, springy footfall upon the
stair.</p>
<p>So she had been out all night, this strange woman.&nbsp; What
motive could have taken her from her snug room on to the bleak,
wind-swept hills?&nbsp; Could it be merely the restlessness, the
love of adventure of a young girl?&nbsp; Or was there, possibly,
some deeper meaning in this nocturnal journey?</p>
<p>Deep as were the mysteries which my studies had taught me to
solve, here was a human problem which for the moment at least was
beyond my comprehension.&nbsp; I had walked out on the moor in
the forenoon, and on my return, as I topped the brow that
overlooks the little town, I saw my fellow-lodger some little
distance off among the gorse.&nbsp; She had raised a light easel
in front of her, and with papered board laid across it, was
preparing to paint the magnificent landscape of rock and moor
which stretched away in front of her.&nbsp; As I watched her I
saw that she was looking anxiously to right and left.&nbsp; Close
by me a pool of water had formed in a hollow.&nbsp; Dipping the
cup of my pocket-flask into it, I carried it across to her.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Miss Cameron, I believe,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
am your fellow-lodger.&nbsp; Upperton is my name.&nbsp; <!-- page
154--><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>We
must introduce ourselves in these wilds if we are not to be for
ever strangers.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, then, you live also with Mrs. Adams!&rdquo; she
cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;I had thought that there were none but
peasants in this strange place.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am a visitor, like yourself,&rdquo; I answered.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I am a student, and have come for quiet and repose, which
my studies demand.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Quiet, indeed!&rdquo; said she, glancing round at the
vast circle of silent moors, with the one tiny line of grey
cottages which sloped down beneath us.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And yet not quiet enough,&rdquo; I answered, laughing,
&ldquo;for I have been forced to move further into the fells for
the absolute peace which I require.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you, then, built a house upon the fells?&rdquo;
she asked, arching her eyebrows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have, and hope within a few days to occupy
it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, but that is <i>triste</i>,&rdquo; she cried.&nbsp;
&ldquo;And where is it, then, this house which you have
built?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is over yonder,&rdquo; I answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;See
that stream which lies like a silver band upon the distant
moor?&nbsp; It is the Gaster Beck, and it runs through Gaster
Fell.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She started, and turned upon me her great dark, questioning
eyes with a look in which surprise, incredulity, and something
akin to horror seemed to be struggling for mastery.</p>
<p><!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
155</span>&ldquo;And you will live on the Gaster Fell?&rdquo; she
cried.</p>
<p>&ldquo;So I have planned.&nbsp; But what do you know of Gaster
Fell, Miss Cameron?&rdquo; I asked.&nbsp; &ldquo;I had thought
that you were a stranger in these parts.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Indeed, I have never been here before,&rdquo; she
answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;But I have heard my brother talk of these
Yorkshire moors; and, if I mistake not, I have heard him name
this very one as the wildest and most savage of them
all.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Very likely,&rdquo; said I, carelessly.&nbsp; &ldquo;It
is indeed a dreary place.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then why live there?&rdquo; she cried, eagerly.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Consider the loneliness, the barrenness, the want of all
comfort and of all aid, should aid be needed.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Aid!&nbsp; What aid should be needed on Gaster
Fell?&rdquo;</p>
<p>She looked down and shrugged her shoulders.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Sickness may come in all places,&rdquo; said she.&nbsp;
&ldquo;If I were a man I do not think I would live alone on
Gaster Fell.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have braved worse dangers than that,&rdquo; said I,
laughing; &ldquo;but I fear that your picture will be spoiled,
for the clouds are banking up, and already I feel a few
raindrops.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Indeed, it was high time we were on our way to shelter, for
even as I spoke there came the sudden, steady swish of the
shower.&nbsp; Laughing <!-- page 156--><a
name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>merrily, my
companion threw her light shawl over her head, and, seizing
picture and easel, ran with the lithe grace of a young fawn down
the furze-clad slope, while I followed after with camp-stool and
paint-box.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>It was the eve of my departure from Kirkby-Malhouse that we
sat upon the green bank in the garden, she with dark dreamy eyes
looking sadly out over the sombre fells; while I, with a book
upon my knee, glanced covertly at her lovely profile and
marvelled to myself how twenty years of life could have stamped
so sad and wistful an expression upon it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have read much,&rdquo; I remarked at last.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Women have opportunities now such as their mothers never
knew.&nbsp; Have you ever thought of going further&mdash;or
seeking a course of college or even a learned
profession?&rdquo;</p>
<p>She smiled wearily at the thought.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have no aim, no ambition,&rdquo; she said.&nbsp;
&ldquo;My future is black&mdash;confused&mdash;a chaos.&nbsp; My
life is like to one of these paths upon the fells.&nbsp; You have
seen them, Monsieur Upperton.&nbsp; They are smooth and straight
and clear where they begin; but soon they wind to left and wind
to right, and so mid rocks and crags until they lose themselves
in some quagmire.&nbsp; At Brussels my path was straight; but
now, <i>mon Dieu</i>! who is there can tell me where it
leads?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
157</span>&ldquo;It might take no prophet to do that, Miss
Cameron,&rdquo; quoth I, with the fatherly manner which twoscore
years may show toward one.&nbsp; &ldquo;If I may read your life,
I would venture to say that you were destined to fulfil the lot
of women&mdash;to make some good man happy, and to shed around,
in some wider circle, the pleasure which your society has given
me since first I knew you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I will never marry,&rdquo; said she, with a sharp
decision, which surprised and somewhat amused me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not marry&mdash;and why?&rdquo;</p>
<p>A strange look passed over her sensitive features, and she
plucked nervously at the grass on the bank beside her.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I dare not,&rdquo; said she in a voice that quivered
with emotion.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dare not?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is not for me.&nbsp; I have other things to
do.&nbsp; That path of which I spoke is one which I must tread
alone.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But this is morbid,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why
should your lot, Miss Cameron, be separate from that of my own
sisters, or the thousand other young ladies whom every season
brings out into the world?&nbsp; But perhaps it is that you have
a fear and distrust of mankind.&nbsp; Marriage brings a risk as
well as a happiness.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The risk would be with the man who married me,&rdquo;
she cried.&nbsp; And then in an instant, as <!-- page 158--><a
name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>though she
had said too much, she sprang to her feet and drew her mantle
round her.&nbsp; &ldquo;The night air is chill, Mr.
Upperton,&rdquo; said she, and so swept swiftly away, leaving me
to muse over the strange words which had fallen from her
lips.</p>
<p>Clearly, it was time that I should go.&nbsp; I set my teeth
and vowed that another day should not have passed before I should
have snapped this newly formed tie and sought the lonely retreat
which awaited me upon the moors.&nbsp; Breakfast was hardly over
in the morning before a peasant dragged up to the door the rude
hand-cart which was to convey my few personal belongings to my
new dwelling.&nbsp; My fellow-lodger had kept her room; and,
steeled as my mind was against her influence, I was yet conscious
of a little throb of disappointment that she should allow me to
depart without a word of farewell.&nbsp; My hand-cart with its
load of books had already started, and I, having shaken hands
with Mrs. Adams, was about to follow it, when there was a quick
scurry of feet on the stair, and there she was beside me all
panting with her own haste.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then you go&mdash;you really go?&rdquo; said she.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My studies call me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And to Gaster Fell?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes; to the cottage which I have built
there.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And you will live alone there?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;With my hundred companions who lie in that
cart.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
159</span>&ldquo;Ah, books!&rdquo; she cried, with a pretty shrug
of her graceful shoulders.&nbsp; &ldquo;But you will make me a
promise?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; I asked, in surprise.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is a small thing.&nbsp; You will not refuse
me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have but to ask it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She bent forward her beautiful face with an expression of the
most intense earnestness.&nbsp; &ldquo;You will bolt your door at
night?&rdquo; said she; and was gone ere I could say a word in
answer to her extraordinary request.</p>
<p>It was a strange thing for me to find myself at last duly
installed in my lonely dwelling.&nbsp; For me, now, the horizon
was bounded by the barren circle of wiry, unprofitable grass,
patched over with furze bushes and scarred by the profusion of
Nature&rsquo;s gaunt and granite ribs.&nbsp; A duller, wearier
waste I have never seen; but its dullness was its very charm.</p>
<p>And yet the very first night which I spent at Gaster Fell
there came a strange incident to lead my thoughts back once more
to the world which I had left behind me.</p>
<p>It had been a sullen and sultry evening, with great livid
cloud-banks mustering in the west.&nbsp; As the night wore on,
the air within my little cabin became closer and more
oppressive.&nbsp; A weight seemed to rest upon my brow and my
chest.&nbsp; From far away the low rumble of thunder came moaning
over the moor.&nbsp; Unable to sleep, <!-- page 160--><a
name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>I dressed,
and standing at my cottage door, looked on the black solitude
which surrounded me.</p>
<p>Taking the narrow sheep path which ran by this stream, I
strolled along it for some hundred yards, and had turned to
retrace my steps, when the moon was finally buried beneath an
ink-black cloud, and the darkness deepened so suddenly that I
could see neither the path at my feet, the stream upon my right,
nor the rocks upon my left.&nbsp; I was standing groping about in
the thick gloom, when there came a crash of thunder with a flash
of lightning which lighted up the whole vast fell, so that every
bush and rock stood out clear and hard in the vivid light.&nbsp;
It was but for an instant, and yet that momentary view struck a
thrill of fear and astonishment through me, for in my very path,
not twenty yards before me, there stood a woman, the livid light
beating upon her face and showing up every detail of her dress
and features.</p>
<p>There was no mistaking those dark eyes, that tall, graceful
figure.&nbsp; It was she&mdash;Eva Cameron, the woman whom I
thought I had for ever left.&nbsp; For an instant I stood
petrified, marvelling whether this could indeed be she, or
whether it was some figment conjured up by my excited
brain.&nbsp; Then I ran swiftly forward in the direction where I
had seen her, calling loudly upon her, but without reply.&nbsp;
Again I called, and again no answer came back, save the
melancholy <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 161</span>wail of the owl.&nbsp; A second
flash illuminated the landscape, and the moon burst out from
behind its cloud.&nbsp; But I could not, though I climbed upon a
knoll which overlooked the whole moor, see any sign of this
strange midnight wanderer.&nbsp; For an hour or more I traversed
the fell, and at last found myself back at my little cabin, still
uncertain as to whether it had been a woman or a shadow upon
which I gazed.</p>
<h3>III&mdash;OF THE GREY COTTAGE IN THE GLEN</h3>
<p>It was either on the fourth or the fifth day after I had taken
possession of my cottage that I was astonished to hear footsteps
upon the grass outside, quickly followed by a crack, as from a
stick upon the door.&nbsp; The explosion of an infernal machine
would hardly have surprised or discomfited me more.&nbsp; I had
hoped to have shaken off all intrusion for ever, yet here was
somebody beating at my door with as little ceremony as if it had
been a village ale-house.&nbsp; Hot with anger, I flung down my
book and withdrew the bolt just as my visitor had raised his
stick to renew his rough application for admittance.&nbsp; He was
a tall, powerful man, tawny-bearded and deep-chested, clad in a
loose-fitting suit of tweed, cut for comfort rather than
elegance.&nbsp; As he stood in the shimmering sunlight, I took in
every feature of his face.&nbsp; The large, fleshy nose; the
steady blue eyes, with their thick thatch of <!-- page 162--><a
name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>overhanging
brows; the broad forehead, all knitted and lined with furrows,
which were strangely at variance with his youthful bearing.&nbsp;
In spite of his weather-stained felt hat, and the coloured
handkerchief slung round his muscular brown neck, I could see at
a glance he was a man of breeding and education.&nbsp; I had been
prepared for some wandering shepherd or uncouth tramp, but this
apparition fairly disconcerted me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You look astonished,&rdquo; said he, with a
smile.&nbsp; &ldquo;Did you think, then, that you were the only
man in the world with a taste for solitude?&nbsp; You see that
there are other hermits in the wilderness besides
yourself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you mean to say that you live here?&rdquo; I asked
in no conciliatory voice.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Up yonder,&rdquo; he answered, tossing his head
backward.&nbsp; &ldquo;I thought as we were neighbours, Mr.
Upperton, that I could not do less than look in and see if I
could assist you in any way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; I said coldly, standing with my hand
upon the latch of the door.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am a man of simple
tastes, and you can do nothing for me.&nbsp; You have the
advantage of me in knowing my name.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He appeared to be chilled by my ungracious manner.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I learned it from the masons who were at work
here,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp; &ldquo;As for me, I am a surgeon, the
surgeon of Gaster Fell.&nbsp; That is the name <!-- page 163--><a
name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>I have gone
by in these parts, and it serves as well as another.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not much room for practice here?&rdquo; I observed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not a soul except yourself for miles on either
side.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You appear to have had need of some assistance
yourself,&rdquo; I remarked, glancing at a broad white splash, as
from the recent action of some powerful acid, upon his sunburnt
cheek.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That is nothing,&rdquo; he answered, curtly, turning
his face half round to hide the mark.&nbsp; &ldquo;I must get
back, for I have a companion who is waiting for me.&nbsp; If I
can ever do anything for you, pray let me know.&nbsp; You have
only to follow the beck upward for a mile or so to find my
place.&nbsp; Have you a bolt on the inside of your
door?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, rather startled at this
question.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Keep it bolted, then,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp; &ldquo;The
fell is a strange place.&nbsp; You never know who may be
about.&nbsp; It is as well to be on the safe side.&nbsp;
Goodbye.&rdquo;&nbsp; He raised his hat, turned on his heel and
lounged away along the bank of the little stream.</p>
<p>I was still standing with my hand upon the latch, gazing after
my unexpected visitor, when I became aware of yet another dweller
in the wilderness.&nbsp; Some distance along the path which the
stranger was taking there lay a great grey boulder, and leaning
against this was a small, <!-- page 164--><a
name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>wizened
man, who stood erect as the other approached, and advanced to
meet him.&nbsp; The two talked for a minute or more, the taller
man nodding his head frequently in my direction, as though
describing what had passed between us.&nbsp; Then they walked on
together, and disappeared in a dip of the fell.&nbsp; Presently I
saw them ascending once more some rising ground farther on.&nbsp;
My acquaintance had thrown his arm round his elderly friend,
either from affection or from a desire to aid him up the steep
incline.&nbsp; The square burly figure and its shrivelled, meagre
companion stood out against the sky-line, and turning their
faces, they looked back at me.&nbsp; At the sight, I slammed the
door, lest they should be encouraged to return.&nbsp; But when I
peeped from the window some minutes afterward, I perceived that
they were gone.</p>
<p>All day I bent over the Egyptian papyrus upon which I was
engaged; but neither the subtle reasonings of the ancient
philosopher of Memphis, nor the mystic meaning which lay in his
pages, could raise my mind from the things of earth.&nbsp;
Evening was drawing in before I threw my work aside in
despair.&nbsp; My heart was bitter against this man for his
intrusion.&nbsp; Standing by the beck which purled past the door
of my cabin, I cooled my heated brow, and thought the matter
over.&nbsp; Clearly it was the small mystery hanging over these
neighbours of mine which had <!-- page 165--><a
name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>caused my
mind to run so persistently on them.&nbsp; That cleared up, they
would no longer cause an obstacle to my studies.&nbsp; What was
to hinder me, then, from walking in the direction of their
dwelling, and observing for myself, without permitting them to
suspect my presence, what manner of men they might be?&nbsp;
Doubtless, their mode of life would be found to admit of some
simple and prosaic explanation.&nbsp; In any case, the evening
was fine, and a walk would be bracing for mind and body.&nbsp;
Lighting my pipe, I set off over the moors in the direction which
they had taken.</p>
<p>About half-way down a wild glen there stood a small clump of
gnarled and stunted oak trees.&nbsp; From behind these, a thin
dark column of smoke rose into the still evening air.&nbsp;
Clearly this marked the position of my neighbour&rsquo;s
house.&nbsp; Trending away to the left, I was able to gain the
shelter of a line of rocks, and so reach a spot from which I
could command a view of the building without exposing myself to
any risk of being observed.&nbsp; It was a small, slate-covered
cottage, hardly larger than the boulders among which it
lay.&nbsp; Like my own cabin, it showed signs of having been
constructed for the use of some shepherd; but, unlike mine, no
pains had been taken by the tenants to improve and enlarge
it.&nbsp; Two little peeping windows, a cracked and
weather-beaten door, and a discoloured barrel for catching the
rain water, were the only external <!-- page 166--><a
name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>objects
from which I might draw deductions as to the dwellers
within.&nbsp; Yet even in these there was food for thought, for
as I drew nearer, still concealing myself behind the ridge, I saw
that thick bars of iron covered the windows, while the old door
was slashed and plated with the same metal.&nbsp; These strange
precautions, together with the wild surroundings and unbroken
solitude, gave an indescribably ill omen and fearsome character
to the solitary building.&nbsp; Thrusting my pipe into my pocket,
I crawled upon my hands and knees through the gorse and ferns
until I was within a hundred yards of my neighbour&rsquo;s
door.&nbsp; There, finding that I could not approach nearer
without fear of detection, I crouched down, and set myself to
watch.</p>
<p>I had hardly settled into my hiding place, when the door of
the cottage swung open, and the man who had introduced himself to
me as the surgeon of Gaster Fell came out, bareheaded, with a
spade in his hands.&nbsp; In front of the door there was a small
cultivated patch containing potatoes, peas and other forms of
green stuff, and here he proceeded to busy himself, trimming,
weeding and arranging, singing the while in a powerful though not
very musical voice.&nbsp; He was all engrossed in his work, with
his back to the cottage, when there emerged from the half-open
door the same attenuated creature whom I had seen in the
morning.&nbsp; I could perceive now <!-- page 167--><a
name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>that he was
a man of sixty, wrinkled, bent, and feeble, with sparse, grizzled
hair, and long, colourless face.&nbsp; With a cringing, sidelong
gait, he shuffled toward his companion, who was unconscious of
his approach until he was close upon him.&nbsp; His light
footfall or his breathing may have finally given notice of his
proximity, for the worker sprang round and faced him.&nbsp; Each
made a quick step toward the other, as though in greeting, and
then&mdash;even now I feel the horror of the instant&mdash;the
tall man rushed upon and knocked his companion to the earth, then
whipping up his body, ran with great speed over the intervening
ground and disappeared with his burden into the house.</p>
<p>Case hardened as I was by my varied life, the suddenness and
violence of the thing made me shudder.&nbsp; The man&rsquo;s age,
his feeble frame, his humble and deprecating manner, all cried
shame against the deed.&nbsp; So hot was my anger, that I was on
the point of striding up to the cabin, unarmed as I was, when the
sound of voices from within showed me that the victim had
recovered.&nbsp; The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and all
was grey, save a red feather in the cap of Pennigent.&nbsp;
Secure in the failing light, I approached near and strained my
ears to catch what was passing.&nbsp; I could hear the high,
querulous voice of the elder man and the deep, rough monotone of
his assailant, mixed with a strange metallic <!-- page 168--><a
name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>jangling
and clanking.&nbsp; Presently the surgeon came out, locked the
door behind him and stamped up and down in the twilight, pulling
at his hair and brandishing his arms, like a man demented.&nbsp;
Then he set off, walking rapidly up the valley, and I soon lost
sight of him among the rocks.</p>
<p>When his footsteps had died away in the distance, I drew
nearer to the cottage.&nbsp; The prisoner within was still
pouring forth a stream of words, and moaning from time to time
like a man in pain.&nbsp; These words resolved themselves, as I
approached, into prayers&mdash;shrill, voluble prayers, pattered
forth with the intense earnestness of one who sees impending an
imminent danger.&nbsp; There was to me something inexpressibly
awesome in this gush of solemn entreaty from the lonely sufferer,
meant for no human ear, and jarring upon the silence of the
night.&nbsp; I was still pondering whether I should mix myself in
the affair or not, when I heard in the distance the sound of the
surgeon&rsquo;s returning footfall.&nbsp; At that I drew myself
up quickly by the iron bars and glanced in through the
diamond-paned window.&nbsp; The interior of the cottage was
lighted up by a lurid glow, coming from what I afterward
discovered to be a chemical furnace.&nbsp; By its rich light I
could distinguish a great litter of retorts, test tubes and
condensers, which sparkled over the table, and threw strange,
grotesque shadows on the wall.&nbsp; On the further side of the
<!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
169</span>room was a wooden framework resembling a hencoop, and
in this, still absorbed in prayer, knelt the man whose voice I
heard.&nbsp; The red glow beating upon his upturned face made it
stand out from the shadow like a painting from Rembrandt, showing
up every wrinkle upon the parchment-like skin.&nbsp; I had but
time for a fleeting glance; then, dropping from the window, I
made off through the rocks and the heather, nor slackened my pace
until I found myself back in my cabin once more.&nbsp; There I
threw myself upon my couch, more disturbed and shaken than I had
ever thought to feel again.</p>
<p>Such doubts as I might have had as to whether I had indeed
seen my former fellow-lodger upon the night of the thunderstorm
were resolved the next morning.&nbsp; Strolling along down the
path which led to the fell, I saw in one spot where the ground
was soft the impressions of a foot&mdash;the small, dainty foot
of a well-booted woman.&nbsp; That tiny heel and high instep
could have belonged to none other than my companion of
Kirkby-Malhouse.&nbsp; I followed her trail for some distance,
till it still pointed, as far as I could discern it, to the
lonely and ill-omened cottage.&nbsp; What power could there be to
draw this tender girl, through wind and rain and darkness, across
the fearsome moors to that strange rendezvous?</p>
<p>I have said that a little beck flowed down the valley and past
my very door.&nbsp; A week or so <!-- page 170--><a
name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>after the
doings which I have described, I was seated by my window when I
perceived something white drifting slowly down the stream.&nbsp;
My first thought was that it was a drowning sheep; but picking up
my stick, I strolled to the bank and hooked it ashore.&nbsp; On
examination it proved to be a large sheet, torn and tattered,
with the initials J. C. in the corner.&nbsp; What gave it its
sinister significance, however, was that from hem to hem it was
all dabbled and discoloured.</p>
<p>Shutting the door of my cabin, I set off up the glen in the
direction of the surgeon&rsquo;s cabin.&nbsp; I had not gone far
before I perceived the very man himself.&nbsp; He was walking
rapidly along the hillside, beating the furze bushes with a
cudgel and bellowing like a madman.&nbsp; Indeed, at the sight of
him, the doubts as to his sanity which had arisen in my mind were
strengthened and confirmed.</p>
<p>As he approached I noticed that his left arm was suspended in
a sling.&nbsp; On perceiving me he stood irresolute, as though
uncertain whether to come over to me or not.&nbsp; I had no
desire for an interview with him, however, so I hurried past him,
on which he continued on his way, still shouting and striking
about with his club.&nbsp; When he had disappeared over the
fells, I made my way down to his cottage, determined to find some
clue to what had occurred.&nbsp; I was surprised, on reaching it,
to find the iron-plated door flung wide open.&nbsp; The ground
immediately outside <!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 171</span>it was marked with the signs of a
struggle.&nbsp; The chemical apparatus within and the furniture
were all dashed about and shattered.&nbsp; Most suggestive of
all, the sinister wooden cage was stained with blood-marks, and
its unfortunate occupant had disappeared.&nbsp; My heart was
heavy for the little man, for I was assured I should never see
him in this world more.</p>
<p>There was nothing in the cabin to throw any light upon the
identity of my neighbours.&nbsp; The room was stuffed with
chemical instruments.&nbsp; In one corner a small bookcase
contained a choice selection of works of science.&nbsp; In
another was a pile of geological specimens collected from the
limestone.</p>
<p>I caught no glimpse of the surgeon upon my homeward journey;
but when I reached my cottage I was astonished and indignant to
find that somebody had entered it in my absence.&nbsp; Boxes had
been pulled out from under the bed, the curtains disarranged, the
chairs drawn out from the wall.&nbsp; Even my study had not been
safe from this rough intruder, for the prints of a heavy boot
were plainly visible on the ebony-black carpet.</p>
<h3>IV&mdash;OF THE MAN WHO CAME IN THE NIGHT</h3>
<p>The night set in gusty and tempestuous, and the moon was all
girt with ragged clouds.&nbsp; The wind blew in melancholy gusts,
sobbing and sighing over the moor, and setting all the gorse <!--
page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
172</span>bushes agroaning.&nbsp; From time to time a little
sputter of rain pattered up against the window-pane.&nbsp; I sat
until near midnight, glancing over the fragment on immortality by
Iamblichus, the Alexandrian platonist, of whom the Emperor Julian
said that he was posterior to Plato in time but not in
genius.&nbsp; At last, shutting up my book, I opened my door and
took a last look at the dreary fell and still more dreary
sky.&nbsp; As I protruded my head, a swoop of wind caught me and
sent the red ashes of my pipe sparkling and dancing through the
darkness.&nbsp; At the same moment the moon shone brilliantly out
from between two clouds, and I saw, sitting on the hillside, not
two hundred yards from my door, the man who called himself the
surgeon of Gaster Fell.&nbsp; He was squatted among the heather,
his elbows upon his knees, and his chin resting upon his hands,
as motionless as a stone, with his gaze fixed steadily upon the
door of my dwelling.</p>
<p>At the sight of this ill-omened sentinel, a chill of horror
and of fear shot through me, for his gloomy and mysterious
associations had cast a glamour round the man, and the hour and
place were in keeping with his sinister presence.&nbsp; In a
moment, however, a manly glow of resentment and self-confidence
drove this petty emotion from my mind, and I strode fearlessly in
his direction.&nbsp; He rose as I approached and faced me, with
the moon shining on his grave, bearded <!-- page 173--><a
name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>face and
glittering on his eyeballs.&nbsp; &ldquo;What is the meaning of
this?&rdquo; I cried, as I came upon him.&nbsp; &ldquo;What right
have you to play the spy on me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I could see the flush of anger rise on his face.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Your stay in the country has made you forget your
manners,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp; &ldquo;The moor is free to
all.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You will say next that my house is free to all,&rdquo;
I said, hotly.&nbsp; &ldquo;You have had the impertience to
ransack it in my absence this afternoon.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He started, and his features showed the most intense
excitement.&nbsp; &ldquo;I swear to you that I had no hand in
it!&rdquo; he cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have never set foot in your
house in my life.&nbsp; Oh, sir, sir, if you will but believe me,
there is a danger hanging over you, and you would do well to be
careful.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have had enough of you,&rdquo; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
saw that cowardly blow you struck when you thought no human eye
rested upon you.&nbsp; I have been to your cottage, too, and know
all that it has to tell.&nbsp; If there is a law in England, you
shall hang for what you have done.&nbsp; As to me, I am an old
soldier, sir, and I am armed.&nbsp; I shall not fasten my
door.&nbsp; But if you or any other villain attempt to cross my
threshold it shall be at your own risk.&rdquo;&nbsp; With these
words, I swung round upon my heel and strode into my cabin.</p>
<p>For two days the wind freshened and increased, with constant
squalls of rain until on the third night the most furious storm
was <!-- page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 174</span>raging which I can ever recollect in
England.&nbsp; I felt that it was positively useless to go to
bed, nor could I concentrate my mind sufficiently to read a
book.&nbsp; I turned my lamp half down to moderate the glare, and
leaning back in my chair, I gave myself up to reverie.&nbsp; I
must have lost all perception of time, for I have no recollection
how long I sat there on the borderland betwixt thought and
slumber.&nbsp; At last, about 3 or possibly 4 o&rsquo;clock, I
came to myself with a start&mdash;not only came to myself, but
with every sense and nerve upon the strain.&nbsp; Looking round
my chamber in the dim light, I could not see anything to justify
my sudden trepidation.&nbsp; The homely room, the rain-blurred
window and the rude wooden door were all as they had been.&nbsp;
I had begun to persuade myself that some half-formed dream had
sent that vague thrill through my nerves, when in a moment I
became conscious of what it was.&nbsp; It was a sound&mdash;the
sound of a human step outside my solitary cottage.</p>
<p>Amid the thunder and the rain and the wind I could hear
it&mdash;a dull, stealthy footfall, now on the grass, now on the
stones&mdash;occasionally stopping entirely, then resumed, and
ever drawing nearer.&nbsp; I sat breathlessly, listening to the
eerie sound.&nbsp; It had stopped now at my very door, and was
replaced by a panting and gasping, as of one who has travelled
fast and far.</p>
<p>By the flickering light of the expiring lamp <!-- page
175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>I
could see that the latch of my door was twitching, as though a
gentle pressure was exerted on it from without.&nbsp; Slowly,
slowly, it rose, until it was free of the catch, and then there
was a pause of a quarter minute or more, while I still eat silent
with dilated eyes and drawn sabre.&nbsp; Then, very slowly, the
door began to revolve upon its hinges, and the keen air of the
night came whistling through the slit.&nbsp; Very cautiously it
was pushed open, so that never a sound came from the rusty
hinges.&nbsp; As the aperture enlarged, I became aware of a dark,
shadowy figure upon my threshold, and of a pale face that looked
in at me.&nbsp; The features were human, but the eyes were
not.&nbsp; They seemed to burn through the darkness with a
greenish brilliancy of their own; and in their baleful, shifty
glare I was conscious of the very spirit of murder.&nbsp;
Springing from my chair, I had raised my naked sword, when, with
a wild shouting, a second figure dashed up to my door.&nbsp; At
its approach my shadowy visitant uttered a shrill cry, and fled
away across the fells, yelping like a beaten hound.</p>
<p>Tingling with my recent fear, I stood at my door, peering
through the night with the discordant cry of the fugitives still
ringing in my ears.&nbsp; At that moment a vivid flash of
lightning illuminated the whole landscape and made it as clear as
day.&nbsp; By its light I saw far away upon the hillside two dark
figures pursuing each other <!-- page 176--><a
name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>with
extreme rapidity across the fells.&nbsp; Even at that distance
the contrast between them forbid all doubt as to their
identity.&nbsp; The first was the small, elderly man, whom I had
supposed to be dead; the second was my neighbour, the
surgeon.&nbsp; For an instant they stood out clear and hard in
the unearthly light; in the next, the darkness had closed over
them, and they were gone.&nbsp; As I turned to re-enter my
chamber, my foot rattled against something on my threshold.&nbsp;
Stooping, I found it was a straight knife, fashioned entirely of
lead, and so soft and brittle that it was a strange choice for a
weapon.&nbsp; To render it more harmless, the top had been cut
square off.&nbsp; The edge, however, had been assiduously
sharpened against a stone, as was evident from the markings upon
it, so that it was still a dangerous implement in the grasp of a
determined man.</p>
<p>And what was the meaning of it all? you ask.&nbsp; Many a
drama which I have come across in my wandering life, some as
strange and as striking as this one, has lacked the ultimate
explanation which you demand.&nbsp; Fate is a grand weaver of
tales; but she ends them, as a rule, in defiance of all artistic
laws, and with an unbecoming want of regard for literary
propriety.&nbsp; As it happens, however, I have a letter before
me as I write which I may add without comment, and which will
clear all that may remain dark.</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 177--><a
name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
177</span>&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Kirkby Lunatic
Asylum</span>,<br />
&ldquo;<i>September</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1885.</p>
<p>&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,&mdash;I am deeply
conscious that some apology and explanation is due to you for the
very startling and, in your eyes, mysterious events which have
recently occurred, and which have so seriously interfered with
the retired existence which you desire to lead.&nbsp; I should
have called upon you on the morning after the recapture of my
father, but my knowledge of your dislike to visitors and also
of&mdash;you will excuse my saying it&mdash;your very violent
temper, led me to think that it was better to communicate with
you by letter.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My poor father was a hard-working general practitioner
in Birmingham, where his name is still remembered and
respected.&nbsp; About ten years ago he began to show signs of
mental aberration, which we were inclined to put down to overwork
and the effects of a sunstroke.&nbsp; Feeling my own incompetence
to pronounce upon a case of such importance, I at once sought the
highest advice in Birmingham and London.&nbsp; Among others we
consulted the eminent alienist, Mr. Fraser Brown, who pronounced
my father&rsquo;s case to be intermittent in its nature, but
dangerous during the paroxysms.&nbsp; &lsquo;It may take a
homicidal, or it may take a religious turn,&rsquo; he said;
&lsquo;or it may prove to be a mixture of both.&nbsp; For months
he may be as well as you or me, and then in a moment he may break
out.&nbsp; You will incur a great responsibility if you leave him
without supervision.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I need say no more, sir.&nbsp; You will understand the
terrible task which has fallen upon my poor sister and me in
endeavouring to save my father from the asylum which in his sane
moments filled him with horror.&nbsp; I can only regret that your
peace has been disturbed by our misfortunes, and I offer you in
my sister&rsquo;s name and my own our apologies.&rdquo;</p>
<p style="text-align: right">&ldquo;Yours truly,<br />
&ldquo;<span class="smcap">J. Cameron</span>.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 178</span>VIII.&nbsp; HOW IT HAPPENED</h2>
<p>She was a writing medium.&nbsp; This is what she
wrote:&mdash;</p>
<p>I can remember some things upon that evening most distinctly,
and others are like some vague, broken dreams.&nbsp; That is what
makes it so difficult to tell a connected story.&nbsp; I have no
idea now what it was that had taken me to London and brought me
back so late.&nbsp; It just merges into all my other visits to
London.&nbsp; But from the time that I got out at the little
country station everything is extraordinarily clear.&nbsp; I can
live it again&mdash;every instant of it.</p>
<p>I remember so well walking down the platform and looking at
the illuminated clock at the end which told me that it was
half-past eleven.&nbsp; I remember also my wondering whether I
could get home before midnight.&nbsp; Then I remember the big
motor, with its glaring head-lights and glitter of polished
brass, waiting for me outside.&nbsp; It was my new
thirty-horse-power Robur, which had only been delivered that
day.&nbsp; I remember also asking Perkins, my chauffeur, how she
had <!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 179</span>gone, and his saying that he thought
she was excellent.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try her myself,&rdquo; said I, and I climbed
into the driver&rsquo;s seat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The gears are not the same,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Perhaps, sir, I had better drive.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No; I should like to try her,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>And so we started on the five-mile drive for home.</p>
<p>My old car had the gears as they used always to be in notches
on a bar.&nbsp; In this car you passed the gear-lever through a
gate to get on the higher ones.&nbsp; It was not difficult to
master, and soon I thought that I understood it.&nbsp; It was
foolish, no doubt, to begin to learn a new system in the dark,
but one often does foolish things, and one has not always to pay
the full price for them.&nbsp; I got along very well until I came
to Claystall Hill.&nbsp; It is one of the worst hills in England,
a mile and a half long and one in six in places, with three
fairly sharp curves.&nbsp; My park gates stand at the very foot
of it upon the main London road.</p>
<p>We were just over the brow of this hill, where the grade is
steepest, when the trouble began.&nbsp; I had been on the top
speed, and wanted to get her on the free; but she stuck between
gears, and I had to get her back on the top again.&nbsp; By this
time she was going at a great rate, so I clapped on both brakes,
and one after the other <!-- page 180--><a
name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>they gave
way.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t mind so much when I felt my footbrake
snap, but when I put all my weight on my side-brake, and the
lever clanged to its full limit without a catch, it brought a
cold sweat out of me.&nbsp; By this time we were fairly tearing
down the slope.&nbsp; The lights were brilliant, and I brought
her round the first curve all right.&nbsp; Then we did the second
one, though it was a close shave for the ditch.&nbsp; There was a
mile of straight then with the third curve beneath it, and after
that the gate of the park.&nbsp; If I could shoot into that
harbour all would be well, for the slope up to the house would
bring her to a stand.</p>
<p>Perkins behaved splendidly.&nbsp; I should like that to be
known.&nbsp; He was perfectly cool and alert.&nbsp; I had thought
at the very beginning of taking the bank, and he read my
intention.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t do it, sir,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
&ldquo;At this pace it must go over and we should have it on the
top of us.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Of course he was right.&nbsp; He got to the electric switch
and had it off, so we were in the free; but we were still running
at a fearful pace.&nbsp; He laid his hands on the wheel.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll keep her steady,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;if
you care to jump and chance it.&nbsp; We can never get round that
curve.&nbsp; Better jump, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll stick it
out.&nbsp; You can jump if you like.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
181</span>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll stick it with you, sir,&rdquo; said
he.</p>
<p>If it had been the old car I should have jammed the gear-lever
into the reverse, and seen what would happen.&nbsp; I expect she
would have stripped her gears or smashed up somehow, but it would
have been a chance.&nbsp; As it was, I was helpless.&nbsp;
Perkins tried to climb across, but you couldn&rsquo;t do it going
at that pace.&nbsp; The wheels were whirring like a high wind and
the big body creaking and groaning with the strain.&nbsp; But the
lights were brilliant, and one could steer to an inch.&nbsp; I
remember thinking what an awful and yet majestic sight we should
appear to any one who met us.&nbsp; It was a narrow road, and we
were just a great, roaring, golden death to any one who came in
our path.</p>
<p>We got round the corner with one wheel three feet high upon
the bank.&nbsp; I thought we were surely over, but after
staggering for a moment she righted and darted onwards.&nbsp;
That was the third corner and the last one.&nbsp; There was only
the park gate now.&nbsp; It was facing us, but, as luck would
have it, not facing us directly.&nbsp; It was about twenty yards
to the left up the main road into which we ran.&nbsp; Perhaps I
could have done it, but I expect that the steering-gear had been
jarred when we ran on the bank.&nbsp; The wheel did not turn
easily.&nbsp; We shot out of the lane.&nbsp; I saw the open gate
on the left.&nbsp; I whirled round my wheel with all the strength
of my wrists.&nbsp; <!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 182</span>Perkins and I threw our bodies
across, and then the next instant, going at fifty miles an hour,
my right front wheel struck full on the right-hand pillar of my
own gate.&nbsp; I heard the crash.&nbsp; I was conscious of
flying through the air, and then&mdash;and then&mdash;!</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>When I became aware of my own existence once more I was among
some brushwood in the shadow of the oaks upon the lodge side of
the drive.&nbsp; A man was standing beside me.&nbsp; I imagined
at first that it was Perkins, but when I looked again I saw that
it was Stanley, a man whom I had known at college some years
before, and for whom I had a really genuine affection.&nbsp;
There was always something peculiarly sympathetic to me in
Stanley&rsquo;s personality; and I was proud to think that I had
some similar influence upon him.&nbsp; At the present moment I
was surprised to see him, but I was like a man in a dream, giddy
and shaken and quite prepared to take things as I found them
without questioning them.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What a smash!&rdquo; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;Good Lord,
what an awful smash!&rdquo;</p>
<p>He nodded his head, and even in the gloom I could see that he
was smiling the gentle, wistful smile which I connected with
him.</p>
<p>I was quite unable to move.&nbsp; Indeed, I had not any desire
to try to move.&nbsp; But my senses <!-- page 183--><a
name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>were
exceedingly alert.&nbsp; I saw the wreck of the motor lit up by
the moving lanterns.&nbsp; I saw the little group of people and
heard the hushed voices.&nbsp; There were the lodge-keeper and
his wife, and one or two more.&nbsp; They were taking no notice
of me, but were very busy round the car.&nbsp; Then suddenly I
heard a cry of pain.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The weight is on him.&nbsp; Lift it easy,&rdquo; cried
a voice.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only my leg!&rdquo; said another one, which
I recognized as Perkins&rsquo;s.&nbsp; &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s
master?&rdquo; he cried.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here I am,&rdquo; I answered, but they did not seem to
hear me.&nbsp; They were all bending over something which lay in
front of the car.</p>
<p>Stanley laid his hand upon my shoulder, and his touch was
inexpressibly soothing.&nbsp; I felt light and happy, in spite of
all.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No pain, of course?&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;None,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There never is,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>And then suddenly a wave of amazement passed over me.&nbsp;
Stanley!&nbsp; Stanley!&nbsp; Why, Stanley had surely died of
enteric at Bloemfontein in the Boer War!</p>
<p>&ldquo;Stanley!&rdquo; I cried, and the words seemed to choke
my throat&mdash;&ldquo;Stanley, you are dead.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He looked at me with the same old gentle, wistful smile.</p>
<p>&ldquo;So are you,&rdquo; he answered.</p>
<h2><!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 184</span>IX.&nbsp; THE PRISONER&rsquo;S
DEFENCE</h2>
<p>The circumstances, so far as they were known to the public,
concerning the death of the beautiful Miss Ena Garnier, and the
fact that Captain John Fowler, the accused officer, had refused
to defend himself on the occasion of the proceedings at the
police-court, had roused very general interest.&nbsp; This was
increased by the statement that, though he withheld his defence,
it would be found to be of a very novel and convincing
character.&nbsp; The assertion of the prisoner&rsquo;s lawyer at
the police-court, to the effect that the answer to the charge was
such that it could not yet be given, but would be available
before the Assizes, also caused much speculation.&nbsp; A final
touch was given to the curiosity of the public when it was
learned that the prisoner had refused all offers of legal
assistance from counsel and was determined to conduct his own
defence.&nbsp; The case for the Crown was ably presented, and was
generally considered to be a very damning one, since it showed
very clearly that the accused was subject to fits of jealousy,
and that he had already been guilty of some violence owing to
<!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
185</span>this cause.&nbsp; The prisoner listened to the evidence
without emotion, and neither interrupted nor cross-questioned the
witnesses.&nbsp; Finally, on being informed that the time had
come when he might address the jury, he stepped to the front of
the dock.&nbsp; He was a man of striking appearance, swarthy,
black-moustached, nervous, and virile, with a quietly confident
manner.&nbsp; Taking a paper from his pocket he read the
following statement, which made the deepest impression upon the
crowded court:&mdash;</p>
<p>I would wish to say, in the first place, gentlemen of the
jury, that, owing to the generosity of my brother
officers&mdash;for my own means are limited&mdash;I might have
been defended to-day by the first talent of the Bar.&nbsp; The
reason I have declined their assistance and have determined to
fight my own case is not that I have any confidence in my own
abilities or eloquence, but it is because I am convinced that a
plain, straightforward tale, coming direct from the man who has
been the tragic actor in this dreadful affair, will impress you
more than any indirect statement could do.&nbsp; If I had felt
that I were guilty I should have asked for help.&nbsp; Since, in
my own heart, I believe that I am innocent, I am pleading my own
cause, feeling that my plain words of truth and reason will have
more weight with you than the most learned and eloquent
advocate.&nbsp; <!-- page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 186</span>By the indulgence of the Court I
have been permitted to put my remarks upon paper, so that I may
reproduce certain conversations and be assured of saying neither
more nor less than I mean.</p>
<p>It will be remembered that at the trial at the police-court
two months ago I refused to defend myself.&nbsp; This has been
referred to to-day as a proof of my guilt.&nbsp; I said that it
would be some days before I could open my mouth.&nbsp; This was
taken at the time as a subterfuge.&nbsp; Well, the days are over,
and I am now able to make clear to you not only what took place,
but also why it was impossible for me to give any
explanation.&nbsp; I will tell you now exactly what I did and why
it was that I did it.&nbsp; If you, my fellow-countrymen, think
that I did wrong, I will make no complaint, but will suffer in
silence any penalty which you may impose upon me.</p>
<p>I am a soldier of fifteen years&rsquo; standing, a captain in
the Second Breconshire Battalion.&nbsp; I have served in the
South African Campaign and was mentioned in despatches after the
battle of Diamond Hill.&nbsp; When the war broke out with Germany
I was seconded from my regiment, and I was appointed as adjutant
to the First Scottish Scouts, newly raised.&nbsp; The regiment
was quartered at Radchurch, in Essex, where the men were placed
partly in huts and were partly billeted upon the
inhabitants.&nbsp; All the officers <!-- page 187--><a
name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>were
billeted out, and my quarters were with Mr. Murreyfield, the
local squire.&nbsp; It was there that I first met Miss Ena
Garnier.</p>
<p>It may not seem proper at such a time and place as this that I
should describe that lady.&nbsp; And yet her personality is the
very essence of my case.&nbsp; Let me only say that I cannot
believe that Nature ever put into female form a more exquisite
combination of beauty and intelligence.&nbsp; She was twenty-five
years of age, blonde and tall, with a peculiar delicacy of
features and of expression.&nbsp; I have read of people falling
in love at first sight, and had always looked upon it as an
expression of the novelist.&nbsp; And yet from the moment that I
saw Ena Garnier life held for me but the one ambition&mdash;that
she should be mine.&nbsp; I had never dreamed before of the
possibilities of passion that were within me.&nbsp; I will not
enlarge upon the subject, but to make you understand my
action&mdash;for I wish you to comprehend it, however much you
may condemn it&mdash;you must realize that I was in the grip of a
frantic elementary passion which made, for a time, the world and
all that was in it seem a small thing if I could but gain the
love of this one girl.&nbsp; And yet, in justice to myself, I
will say that there was always one thing which I placed above
her.&nbsp; That was my honour as a soldier and a gentleman.&nbsp;
You will find it hard to believe this when I tell you what
occurred, <!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 188</span>and yet&mdash;though for one moment
I forgot myself&mdash;my whole legal offence consists in my
desperate endeavour to retrieve what I had done.</p>
<p>I soon found that the lady was not insensible to the advances
which I made to her.&nbsp; Her position in the household was a
curious one.&nbsp; She had come a year before from Montpellier,
in the South of France, in answer to an advertisement from the
Murreyfields in order to teach French to their three young
children.&nbsp; She was, however, unpaid, so that she was rather
a friendly guest than an <i>employ&eacute;e</i>.&nbsp; She had
always, as I gathered, been fond of the English and desirous to
live in England, but the outbreak of the war had quickened her
feelings into passionate attachment, for the ruling emotion of
her soul was her hatred of the Germans.&nbsp; Her grandfather, as
she told me, had been killed under very tragic circumstances in
the campaign of 1870, and her two brothers were both in the
French army.&nbsp; Her voice vibrated with passion when she spoke
of the infamies of Belgium, and more than once I have seen her
kissing my sword and my revolver because she hoped they would be
used upon the enemy.&nbsp; With such feelings in her heart it can
be imagined that my wooing was not a difficult one.&nbsp; I
should have been glad to marry her at once, but to this she would
not consent.&nbsp; Everything was to come after the war, for it
was necessary, <!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 189</span>she said, that I should go to
Montpellier and meet her people, so that the French proprieties
should be properly observed.</p>
<p>She had one accomplishment which was rare for a lady; she was
a skilled motor-cyclist.&nbsp; She had been fond of long,
solitary rides, but after our engagement I was occasionally
allowed to accompany her.&nbsp; She was a woman, however, of
strange moods and fancies, which added in my feelings to the
charm of her character.&nbsp; She could be tenderness itself, and
she could be aloof and even harsh in her manner.&nbsp; More than
once she had refused my company with no reason given, and with a
quick, angry flash of her eyes when I asked for one.&nbsp; Then,
perhaps, her mood would change and she would make up for this
unkindness by some exquisite attention which would in an instant
soothe all my ruffled feelings.&nbsp; It was the same in the
house.&nbsp; My military duties were so exacting that it was only
in the evenings that I could hope to see her, and yet very often
she remained in the little study which was used during the day
for the children&rsquo;s lessons, and would tell me plainly that
she wished to be alone.&nbsp; Then, when she saw that I was hurt
by her caprice, she would laugh and apologize so sweetly for her
rudeness that I was more her slave than ever.</p>
<p>Mention has been made of my jealous disposition, and it has
been asserted at the trial <!-- page 190--><a
name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>that there
were scenes owing to my jealousy, and that once Mrs. Murreyfield
had to interfere.&nbsp; I admit that I was jealous.&nbsp; When a
man loves with the whole strength of his soul it is impossible, I
think, that he should be clear of jealousy.&nbsp; The girl was of
a very independent spirit.&nbsp; I found that she knew many
officers at Chelmsford and Colchester.&nbsp; She would disappear
for hours together upon her motor-cycle.&nbsp; There were
questions about her past life which she would only answer with a
smile unless they were closely pressed.&nbsp; Then the smile
would become a frown.&nbsp; Is it any wonder that I, with my
whole nature vibrating with passionate, whole-hearted love, was
often torn by jealousy when I came upon those closed doors of her
life which she was so determined not to open?&nbsp; Reason came
at times and whispered how foolish it was that I should stake my
whole life and soul upon one of whom I really knew nothing.&nbsp;
Then came a wave of passion once more and reason was
submerged.</p>
<p>I have spoken of the closed doors of her life.&nbsp; I was
aware that a young, unmarried Frenchwoman has usually less
liberty than her English sister.&nbsp; And yet in the case of
this lady it continually came out in her conversation that she
had seen and known much of the world.&nbsp; It was the more
distressing to me as whenever she had made an observation which
pointed to this she would afterwards, as I could plainly <!--
page 191--><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
191</span>see, be annoyed by her own indiscretion, and endeavour
to remove the impression by every means in her power.&nbsp; We
had several small quarrels on this account, when I asked
questions to which I could get no answers, but they have been
exaggerated in the address for the prosecution.&nbsp; Too much
has been made also of the intervention of Mrs. Murreyfield,
though I admit that the quarrel was more serious upon that
occasion.&nbsp; It arose from my finding the photograph of a man
upon her table, and her evident confusion when I asked her for
some particulars about him.&nbsp; The name &ldquo;H.
Vardin&rdquo; was written underneath&mdash;evidently an
autograph.&nbsp; I was worried by the fact that this photograph
had the frayed appearance of one which has been carried secretly
about, as a girl might conceal the picture of her lover in her
dress.&nbsp; She absolutely refused to give me any information
about him, save to make a statement which I found incredible,
that it was a man whom she had never seen in her life.&nbsp; It
was then that I forgot myself.&nbsp; I raised my voice and
declared that I should know more about her life or that I should
break with her, even if my own heart should be broken in the
parting.&nbsp; I was not violent, but Mrs. Murreyfield heard me
from the passage, and came into the room to remonstrate.&nbsp;
She was a kind, motherly person who took a sympathetic interest
in our romance, <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 192</span>and I remember that on this occasion
she reproved me for my jealousy and finally persuaded me that I
had been unreasonable, so that we became reconciled once
more.&nbsp; Ena was so madly fascinating and I so hopelessly her
slave that she could always draw me back, however much prudence
and reason warned me to escape from her control.&nbsp; I tried
again and again to find out about this man Vardin, but was always
met by the same assurance, which she repeated with every kind of
solemn oath, that she had never seen the man in her life.&nbsp;
Why she should carry about the photograph of a man&mdash;a young,
somewhat sinister man, for I had observed him closely before she
snatched the picture from my hand&mdash;was what she either could
not, or would not, explain.</p>
<p>Then came the time for my leaving Radchurch.&nbsp; I had been
appointed to a junior but very responsible post at the War
Office, which, of course, entailed my living in London.&nbsp;
Even my week-ends found me engrossed with my work, but at last I
had a few days&rsquo; leave of absence.&nbsp; It is those few
days which have ruined my life, which have brought me the most
horrible experience that ever a man had to undergo, and have
finally placed me here in the dock, pleading as I plead to-day
for my life and my honour.</p>
<p>It is nearly five miles from the station to <!-- page 193--><a
name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
193</span>Radchurch.&nbsp; She was there to meet me.&nbsp; It was
the first time that we had been reunited since I had put all my
heart and my soul upon her.&nbsp; I cannot enlarge upon these
matters, gentlemen.&nbsp; You will either be able to sympathize
with and understand the emotions which overbalance a man at such
a time, or you will not.&nbsp; If you have imagination, you
will.&nbsp; If you have not, I can never hope to make you see
more than the bare fact.&nbsp; That bare fact, placed in the
baldest language, is that during this drive from Radchurch
Junction to the village I was led into the greatest
indiscretion&mdash;the greatest dishonour, if you will&mdash;of
my life.&nbsp; I told the woman a secret, an enormously important
secret, which might affect the fate of the war and the lives of
many thousands of men.</p>
<p>It was done before I knew it&mdash;before I grasped the way in
which her quick brain could place various scattered hints
together and weave them into one idea.&nbsp; She was wailing,
almost weeping, over the fact that the allied armies were held up
by the iron line of the Germans.&nbsp; I explained that it was
more correct to say that our iron line was holding them up, since
they were the invaders.&nbsp; &ldquo;But is France, is Belgium,
<i>never</i> to be rid of them?&rdquo; she cried.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Are we simply to sit in front of their trenches and be
content to let them do what they will with ten provinces of
France?&nbsp; Oh, Jack, Jack, <!-- page 194--><a
name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>for
God&rsquo;s sake, say something to bring a little hope to my
heart, for sometimes I think that it is breaking!&nbsp; You
English are stolid.&nbsp; You can bear these things.&nbsp; But we
others, we have more nerve, more soul!&nbsp; It is death to
us.&nbsp; Tell me!&nbsp; Do tell me that there is hope!&nbsp; And
yet it is foolish of me to ask, for, of course, you are only a
subordinate at the War Office, and how should you know what is in
the mind of your chiefs?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, as it happens, I know a good deal,&rdquo; I
answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t fret, for we shall certainly
get a move on soon.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Soon!&nbsp; Next year may seem soon to some
people.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not next year.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Must we wait another month?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not even that.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She squeezed my hand in hers.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, my darling boy,
you have brought such joy to my heart!&nbsp; What suspense I
shall live in now!&nbsp; I think a week of it would kill
me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, perhaps it won&rsquo;t even be a week.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And tell me,&rdquo; she went on, in her coaxing voice,
&ldquo;tell me just one thing, Jack.&nbsp; Just one, and I will
trouble you no more.&nbsp; Is it our brave French soldiers who
advance?&nbsp; Or is it your splendid Tommies?&nbsp; With whom
will the honour lie?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;With both.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
195</span>&ldquo;Glorious!&rdquo; she cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;I see
it all.&nbsp; The attack will be at the point where the French
and British lines join.&nbsp; Together they will rush forward in
one glorious advance.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;They will not be
together.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But I understood you to say&mdash;of course, women know
nothing of such matters, but I understood you to say that it
would be a joint advance.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, if the French advanced, we will say, at Verdun,
and the British advanced at Ypres, even if they were hundreds of
miles apart it would still be a joint advance.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, I see,&rdquo; she cried, clapping her hands with
delight.&nbsp; &ldquo;They would advance at both ends of the
line, so that the Boches would not know which way to send their
reserves.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That is exactly the idea&mdash;a real advance at
Verdun, and an enormous feint at Ypres.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Then suddenly a chill of doubt seized me.&nbsp; I can remember
how I sprang back from her and looked hard into her face.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve told you too much!&rdquo; I cried.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Can I trust you?&nbsp; I have been mad to say so
much.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She was bitterly hurt by my words.&nbsp; That I should for a
moment doubt her was more than she could bear.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
would cut my tongue out, Jack, before I would tell any human
being one word of what you have said.&rdquo;&nbsp; So earnest was
she that my fears died away.&nbsp; I felt that I could <!-- page
196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
196</span>trust her utterly.&nbsp; Before we had reached
Radchurch I had put the matter from my mind, and we were lost in
our joy of the present and in our plans for the future.</p>
<p>I had a business message to deliver to Colonel Worral, who
commanded a small camp at Pedley-Woodrow.&nbsp; I went there and
was away for about two hours.&nbsp; When I returned I inquired
for Miss Garnier, and was told by the maid that she had gone to
her bedroom, and that she had asked the groom to bring her
motor-bicycle to the door.&nbsp; It seemed to me strange that she
should arrange to go out alone when my visit was such a short
one.&nbsp; I had gone into her little study to seek her, and here
it was that I waited, for it opened on to the hall passage, and
she could not pass without my seeing her.</p>
<p>There was a small table in the window of this room at which
she used to write.&nbsp; I had seated myself beside this when my
eyes fell upon a name written in her large, bold
hand-writing.&nbsp; It was a reversed impression upon the
blotting-paper which she had used, but there could be no
difficulty in reading it.&nbsp; The name was Hubert Vardin.&nbsp;
Apparently it was part of the address of an envelope, for
underneath I was able to distinguish the initials S.W., referring
to a postal division of London, though the actual name of the
street had not been clearly reproduced.</p>
<p>Then I knew for the first time that she was <!-- page 197--><a
name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>actually
corresponding with this man whose vile, voluptuous face I had
seen in the photograph with the frayed edges.&nbsp; She had
clearly lied to me, too, for was it conceivable that she should
correspond with a man whom she had never seen?&nbsp; I
don&rsquo;t desire to condone my conduct.&nbsp; Put yourself in
my place.&nbsp; Imagine that you had my desperately fervid and
jealous nature.&nbsp; You would have done what I did, for you
could have done nothing else.&nbsp; A wave of fury passed over
me.&nbsp; I laid my hands upon the wooden writing-desk.&nbsp; If
it had been an iron safe I should have opened it.&nbsp; As it
was, it literally flew to pieces before me.&nbsp; There lay the
letter itself, placed under lock and key for safety, while the
writer prepared to take it from the house.&nbsp; I had no
hesitation or scruple, I tore it open.&nbsp; Dishonourable, you
will say, but when a man is frenzied with jealousy he hardly
knows what he does.&nbsp; This woman, for whom I was ready to
give everything, was either faithful to me or she was not.&nbsp;
At any cost I would know which.</p>
<p>A thrill of joy passed through me as my eyes fell upon the
first words.&nbsp; I had wronged her.&nbsp; &ldquo;Cher Monsieur
Vardin.&rdquo;&nbsp; So the letter began.&nbsp; It was clearly a
business letter, nothing else.&nbsp; I was about to replace it in
the envelope with a thousand regrets in my mind for my want of
faith when a single word at the bottom of the <!-- page 198--><a
name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>page caught
my eyes, and I started as if I had been stung by an adder.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Verdun&rdquo;&mdash;that was the word.&nbsp; I looked
again.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ypres&rdquo; was immediately below it.&nbsp;
I sat down, horror-stricken, by the broken desk, and I read this
letter, a translation of which I have in my hand:&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><span
class="smcap">Murreyfield House</span>, <span
class="smcap">Radchurch</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear M. Vardin</span>,&mdash;Stringer has
told me that he has kept you sufficiently informed as to
Chelmsford and Colchester, so I have not troubled to write.&nbsp;
They have moved the Midland Territorial Brigade and the heavy
guns towards the coast near Cromer, but only for a time.&nbsp; It
is for training, not embarkation.</p>
<p>And now for my great news, which I have straight from the War
Office itself.&nbsp; Within a week there is to be a very severe
attack from Verdun, which is to be supported by a holding attack
at Ypres.&nbsp; It is all on a very large scale, and you must
send off a special Dutch messenger to Von Starmer by the first
boat.&nbsp; I hope to get the exact date and some further
particulars from my informant to-night, but meanwhile you must
act with energy.</p>
<p>I dare not post this here&mdash;you know what village
postmasters are, so I am taking it into Colchester, where
Stringer will include it with his own report which goes by
hand.&mdash;Yours faithfully, <span class="smcap">Sophia
Heffner</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I was stunned at first as I read this letter, and then a kind
of cold, concentrated rage came over me.&nbsp; So this woman was
a German and a <!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 199</span>spy!&nbsp; I thought of her
hypocrisy and her treachery towards me, but, above all, I thought
of the danger to the Army and the State.&nbsp; A great defeat,
the death of thousands of men, might spring from my misplaced
confidence.&nbsp; There was still time, by judgment and energy,
to stop this frightful evil.&nbsp; I heard her step upon the
stairs outside, and an instant later she had come through the
doorway.&nbsp; She started, and her face was bloodless as she saw
me seated there with the open letter in my hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;How did you get that?&rdquo; she gasped.&nbsp;
&ldquo;How dared you break my desk and steal my
letter?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I said nothing.&nbsp; I simply sat and looked at her and
pondered what I should do.&nbsp; She suddenly sprang forward and
tried to snatch the letter.&nbsp; I caught her wrist and pushed
her down on to the sofa, where she lay, collapsed.&nbsp; Then I
rang the bell, and told the maid that I must see Mr. Murreyfield
at once.</p>
<p>He was a genial, elderly man, who had treated this woman with
as much kindness as if she were his daughter.&nbsp; He was
horrified at what I said.&nbsp; I could not show him the letter
on account of the secret that it contained, but I made him
understand that it was of desperate importance.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What are we to do?&rdquo; he asked.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
never could have imagined anything so dreadful.&nbsp; What would
you advise us to do?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;There is only one thing that we can do,&rdquo; <!--
page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
200</span>I answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;This woman must be arrested,
and in the meanwhile we must so arrange matters that she cannot
possibly communicate with any one.&nbsp; For all we know, she has
confederates in this very village.&nbsp; Can you undertake to
hold her securely while I go to Colonel Worral at Pedley and get
a warrant and a guard?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;We can lock her in her bedroom.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You need not trouble,&rdquo; said she.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
give you my word that I will stay where I am.&nbsp; I advise you
to be careful, Captain Fowler.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve shown once
before that you are liable to do things before you have thought
of the consequence.&nbsp; If I am arrested all the world will
know that you have given away the secrets that were confided to
you.&nbsp; There is an end of your career, my friend.&nbsp; You
can punish me, no doubt.&nbsp; What about yourself?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;you had best take her to
her bedroom.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Very good, if you wish it,&rdquo; said she, and
followed us to the door.&nbsp; When we reached the hall she
suddenly broke away, dashed through the entrance, and made for
her motor-bicycle, which was standing there.&nbsp; Before she
could start we had both seized her.&nbsp; She stooped and made
her teeth meet in Murreyfield&rsquo;s hand.&nbsp; With flashing
eyes and tearing fingers she was as fierce as a wild cat at
bay.&nbsp; It was with some difficulty that we mastered her, and
dragged her&mdash;<!-- page 201--><a name="page201"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 201</span>almost carried her&mdash;up the
stairs.&nbsp; We thrust her into her room and turned the key,
while she screamed out abuse and beat upon the door inside.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a forty-foot drop into the garden,&rdquo;
said Murreyfield, tying up his bleeding hand.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait here till you come back.&nbsp; I think we
have the lady fairly safe.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have a revolver here,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;You
should be armed.&rdquo;&nbsp; I slipped a couple of cartridges
into it and held it out to him.&nbsp; &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t
afford to take chances.&nbsp; How do you know what friends she
may have?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have a stick
here, and the gardener is within call.&nbsp; Do you hurry off for
the guard, and I will answer for the prisoner.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Having taken, as it seemed to me, every possible precaution, I
ran to give the alarm.&nbsp; It was two miles to Pedley, and the
colonel was out, which occasioned some delay.&nbsp; Then there
were formalities and a magistrate&rsquo;s signature to be
obtained.&nbsp; A policeman was to serve the warrant, but a
military escort was to be sent in to bring back the
prisoner.&nbsp; I was so filled with anxiety and impatience that
I could not wait, but I hurried back alone with the promise that
they would follow.</p>
<p>The Pedley-Woodrow Road opens into the high-road to Colchester
at a point about half a mile from the village of Radchurch.&nbsp;
It was <!-- page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 202</span>evening now and the light was such
that one could not see more than twenty or thirty yards
ahead.&nbsp; I had proceeded only a very short way from the point
of junction when I heard, coming towards me, the roar of a
motor-cycle being ridden at a furious pace.&nbsp; It was without
lights, and close upon me.&nbsp; I sprang aside in order to avoid
being ridden down, and in that instant, as the machine flashed
by, I saw clearly the face of the rider.&nbsp; It was
she&mdash;the woman whom I had loved.&nbsp; She was hatless, her
hair streaming in the wind, her face glimmering white in the
twilight, flying through the night like one of the Valkyries of
her native land.&nbsp; She was past me like a flash and tore on
down the Colchester Road.&nbsp; In that instant I saw all that it
would mean if she could reach the town.&nbsp; If she once was
allowed to see her agent we might arrest him or her, but it would
be too late.&nbsp; The news would have been passed on.&nbsp; The
victory of the Allies and the lives of thousands of our soldiers
were at stake.&nbsp; Next instant I had pulled out the loaded
revolver and fired two shots after the vanishing figure, already
only a dark blur in the dusk.&nbsp; I heard a scream, the
crashing of the breaking cycle, and all was still.</p>
<p>I need not tell you more, gentlemen.&nbsp; You know the
rest.&nbsp; When I ran forward I found her lying in the
ditch.&nbsp; Both of my bullets had struck her.&nbsp; One of them
had penetrated her <!-- page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 203</span>brain.&nbsp; I was still standing
beside her body when Murreyfield arrived, running breathlessly
down the road.&nbsp; She had, it seemed, with great courage and
activity scrambled down the ivy of the wall; only when he heard
the whirr of the cycle did he realize what had occurred.&nbsp; He
was explaining it to my dazed brain when the police and soldiers
arrived to arrest her.&nbsp; By the irony of fate it was me whom
they arrested instead.</p>
<p>It was urged at the trial in the police-court that jealousy
was the cause of the crime.&nbsp; I did not deny it, nor did I
put forward any witnesses to deny it.&nbsp; It was my desire that
they should believe it.&nbsp; The hour of the French advance had
not yet come, and I could not defend myself without producing the
letter which would reveal it.&nbsp; But now it is
over&mdash;gloriously over&mdash;and so my lips are unsealed at
last.&nbsp; I confess my fault&mdash;my very grievous
fault.&nbsp; But it is not that for which you are trying
me.&nbsp; It is for murder.&nbsp; I should have thought myself
the murderer of my own countrymen if I had let the woman
pass.&nbsp; These are the facts, gentlemen.&nbsp; I leave my
future in your hands.&nbsp; If you should absolve me I may say
that I have hopes of serving my country in a fashion which will
atone for this one great indiscretion, and will also, as I hope,
end for ever those terrible recollections which weigh me
down.&nbsp; If you condemn me, I am ready to face whatever you
may think fit to inflict.</p>
<h2><!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 204</span>X.&nbsp; THREE OF THEM</h2>
<h3>I&mdash;A CHAT ABOUT CHILDREN, SNAKES, AND ZEBUS</h3>
<p>These little sketches are called &ldquo;Three of Them,&rdquo;
but there are really five, on and off the stage.&nbsp; There is
Daddy, a lumpish person with some gift for playing Indian games
when he is in the mood.&nbsp; He is then known as &ldquo;The
Great Chief of the Leatherskin Tribe.&rdquo;&nbsp; Then there is
my Lady Sunshine.&nbsp; These are the grown-ups, and don&rsquo;t
really count.&nbsp; There remain the three, who need some
differentiating upon paper, though their little spirits are as
different in reality as spirits could be&mdash;all beautiful and
all quite different.&nbsp; The eldest is a boy of eight whom we
shall call &ldquo;Laddie.&rdquo;&nbsp; If ever there was a little
cavalier sent down ready-made it is he.&nbsp; His soul is the
most gallant, unselfish, innocent thing that ever God sent out to
get an extra polish upon earth.&nbsp; It dwells in a tall,
slight, well-formed body, graceful and agile, with a head and
face as clean-cut as if an old Greek cameo had come to life, and
a pair of innocent and yet wise grey <!-- page 205--><a
name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>eyes that
read and win the heart.&nbsp; He is shy and does not shine before
strangers.&nbsp; I have said that he is unselfish and
brave.&nbsp; When there is the usual wrangle about going to bed,
up he gets in his sedate way.&nbsp; &ldquo;I will go
first,&rdquo; says he, and off he goes, the eldest, that the
others may have the few extra minutes while he is in his
bath.&nbsp; As to his courage, he is absolutely lion-hearted
where he can help or defend any one else.&nbsp; On one occasion
Daddy lost his temper with Dimples (Boy Number 2), and, not
without very good provocation, gave him a tap on the side of the
head.&nbsp; Next instant he felt a butt down somewhere in the
region of his waist-belt, and there was an angry little red face
looking up at him, which turned suddenly to a brown mop of hair
as the butt was repeated.&nbsp; No one, not even Daddy, should
hit his little brother.&nbsp; Such was Laddie, the gentle and the
fearless.</p>
<p>Then there is Dimples.&nbsp; Dimples is nearly seven, and you
never saw a rounder, softer, dimplier face, with two great
roguish, mischievous eyes of wood-pigeon grey, which are
sparkling with fun for the most part, though they can look sad
and solemn enough at times.&nbsp; Dimples has the making of a big
man in him.&nbsp; He has depth and reserves in his tiny
soul.&nbsp; But on the surface he is a boy of boys, always in
innocent mischief.&nbsp; &ldquo;I will now do mischuff,&rdquo; he
occasionally announces, and is usually as good as <!-- page
206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
206</span>his word.&nbsp; He has a love and understanding of all
living creatures, the uglier and more slimy the better, treating
them all in a tender, fairylike fashion which seems to come from
some inner knowledge.&nbsp; He has been found holding a buttercup
under the mouth of a slug &ldquo;to see if he likes
butter.&rdquo;&nbsp; He finds creatures in an astonishing
way.&nbsp; Put him in the fairest garden, and presently he will
approach you with a newt, a toad, or a huge snail in his
custody.&nbsp; Nothing would ever induce him to hurt them, but he
gives them what he imagines to be a little treat and then
restores them to their homes.&nbsp; He has been known to speak
bitterly to the Lady when she has given orders that caterpillars
be killed if found upon the cabbages, and even the explanation
that the caterpillars were doing the work of what he calls
&ldquo;the Jarmans&rdquo; did not reconcile him to their
fate.</p>
<p>He has an advantage over Laddie, in that he suffers from no
trace of shyness and is perfectly friendly in an instant with any
one of every class of life, plunging straight into conversation
with some such remark as &ldquo;Can your Daddy give a
war-whoop?&rdquo; or &ldquo;Were you ever chased by a
bear?&rdquo;&nbsp; He is a sunny creature but combative
sometimes, when he draws down his brows, sets his eyes, his
chubby cheeks flush, and his lips go back from his almond-white
teeth.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am Swankie the Berserker,&rdquo; says he,
quoting out of <!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 207</span>his favourite &ldquo;Erling the
Bold,&rdquo; which Daddy reads aloud at bed-time.&nbsp; When he
is in this fighting mood he can even drive back Laddie, chiefly
because the elder is far too chivalrous to hurt him.&nbsp; If you
want to see what Laddie can really do, put the small gloves on
him and let him go for Daddy.&nbsp; Some of those hurricane
rallies of his would stop Daddy grinning if they could get home,
and he has to fall back off his stool in order to get away from
them.</p>
<p>If that latent power of Dimples should ever come out, how will
it be manifest?&nbsp; Surely in his imagination.&nbsp; Tell him a
story and the boy is lost.&nbsp; He sits with his little round,
rosy face immovable and fixed, while his eyes never budge from
those of the speaker.&nbsp; He sucks in everything that is weird
or adventurous or wild.&nbsp; Laddie is a rather restless soul,
eager to be up and doing; but Dimples is absorbed in the present
if there be something worth hearing to be heard.&nbsp; In height
he is half a head shorter than his brother, but rather more
sturdy in build.&nbsp; The power of his voice is one of his
noticeable characteristics.&nbsp; If Dimples is coming you know
it well in advance.&nbsp; With that physical gift upon the top of
his audacity, and his loquacity, he fairly takes command of any
place in which he may find himself, while Laddie, his soul too
noble for jealousy, becomes one of the laughing and admiring
audience.</p>
<p><!-- page 208--><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
208</span>Then there is Baby, a dainty elfin Dresden-china little
creature of five, as fair as an angel and as deep as a
well.&nbsp; The boys are but shallow, sparkling pools compared
with this little girl with her self-repression and dainty
aloofness.&nbsp; You know the boys, you never feel that you quite
know the girl.&nbsp; Something very strong and forceful seems to
be at the back of that wee body.&nbsp; Her will is
tremendous.&nbsp; Nothing can break or even bend it.&nbsp; Only
kind guidance and friendly reasoning can mould it.&nbsp; The boys
are helpless if she has really made up her mind.&nbsp; But this
is only when she asserts herself, and those are rare
occasions.&nbsp; As a rule she sits quiet, aloof, affable, keenly
alive to all that passes and yet taking no part in it save for
some subtle smile or glance.&nbsp; And then suddenly the
wonderful grey-blue eyes under the long black lashes will gleam
like coy diamonds, and such a hearty little chuckle will come
from her that every one else is bound to laugh out of
sympathy.&nbsp; She and Dimples are great allies and yet have
continual lovers&rsquo; quarrels.&nbsp; One night she would not
even include his name in her prayers.&nbsp; &ldquo;God
bless&mdash;&rdquo; every one else, but not a word of
Dimples.&nbsp; &ldquo;Come, come, darling!&rdquo; urged the
Lady.&nbsp; &ldquo;Well, then, God bless horrid Dimples!&rdquo;
said she at last, after she had named the cat, the goat, her
dolls, and her Wriggly.</p>
<p>That is a strange trait, the love for the Wriggly.&nbsp; <!--
page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
209</span>It would repay thought from some scientific
brain.&nbsp; It is an old, faded, disused downy from her
cot.&nbsp; Yet go where she will, she must take Wriggly with
her.&nbsp; All her toys put together would not console her for
the absence of Wriggly.&nbsp; If the family go to the seaside,
Wriggly must come too.&nbsp; She will not sleep without the
absurd bundle in her arms.&nbsp; If she goes to a party she
insists upon dragging its disreputable folds along with her, one
end always projecting &ldquo;to give it fresh air.&rdquo;&nbsp;
Every phase of childhood represents to the philosopher something
in the history of the race.&nbsp; From the new-born baby which
can hang easily by one hand from a broomstick with its legs drawn
up under it, the whole evolution of mankind is re-enacted.&nbsp;
You can trace clearly the cave-dweller, the hunter, the
scout.&nbsp; What, then, does Wriggly represent?&nbsp; Fetish
worship&mdash;nothing else.&nbsp; The savage chooses some most
unlikely thing and adores it.&nbsp; This dear little savage
adores her Wriggly.</p>
<p>So now we have our three little figures drawn as clearly as a
clumsy pen can follow such subtle elusive creatures of mood and
fancy.&nbsp; We will suppose now that it is a summer evening,
that Daddy is seated smoking in his chair, that the Lady is
listening somewhere near, and that the three are in a tumbled
heap upon the bear-skin before the empty fireplace trying to
puzzle out the little problems of their tiny lives.&nbsp; When
<!-- page 210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
210</span>three children play with a new thought it is like three
kittens with a ball, one giving it a pat and another a pat, as
they chase it from point to point.&nbsp; Daddy would interfere as
little as possible, save when he was called upon to explain or to
deny.&nbsp; It was usually wiser for him to pretend to be doing
something else.&nbsp; Then their talk was the more natural.&nbsp;
On this occasion, however, he was directly appealed to.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy!&rdquo; asked Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, boy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you fink that the roses know us?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Dimples, in spite of his impish naughtiness, had a way of
looking such a perfectly innocent and delightfully kissable
little person that one felt he really might be a good deal nearer
to the sweet secrets of Nature than his elders.&nbsp; However,
Daddy was in a material mood.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy; how could the roses know us?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The big yellow rose at the corner of the gate knows
<i>me</i>.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;How do you know that?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Cause it nodded to me yesterday.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Laddie roared with laughter.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That was just the wind, Dimples.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, it was not,&rdquo; said Dimples, with
conviction.&nbsp; &ldquo;There was none wind.&nbsp; Baby was
there.&nbsp; Weren&rsquo;t you, Baby?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The wose knew us,&rdquo; said Baby, gravely.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Beasts know us,&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;But
them <!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 211</span>beasts run round and make
noises.&nbsp; Roses don&rsquo;t make noises.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, they do.&nbsp; They rustle.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Woses wustle,&rdquo; said Baby.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not a living noise.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s an
all-the-same noise.&nbsp; Different to Roy, who barks and makes
different noises all the time.&nbsp; Fancy the roses all
barkin&rsquo; at you.&nbsp; Daddy, will you tell us about
animals?&rdquo;</p>
<p>That is one of the child stages which takes us back to the old
tribe life&mdash;their inexhaustible interest in animals, some
distant echo of those long nights when wild men sat round the
fires and peered out into the darkness, and whispered about all
the strange and deadly creatures who fought with them for the
lordship of the earth.&nbsp; Children love caves, and they love
fires and meals out of doors, and they love animal talk&mdash;all
relics of the far distant past.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What is the biggest animal in South America,
Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy, wearily: &ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I s&rsquo;pose an elephant would be the
biggest?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy; there are none in South America.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, then, a rhinoceros?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, there are none.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, what is there, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, dear, there are jaguars.&nbsp; I suppose a jaguar
is the biggest.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then it must be thirty-six feet long.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
212</span>&ldquo;Oh, no, boy; about eight or nine feet with his
tail.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But there are boa-constrictors in South America
thirty-six feet long.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s different.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you fink,&rdquo; asked Dimples, with his big,
solemn, grey eyes wide open, &ldquo;there was ever a
boa-&rsquo;strictor forty-five feet long?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, dear; I never heard of one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Perhaps there was one, but you never heard of it.&nbsp;
Do you fink you would have heard of a boa-&rsquo;strictor
forty-five feet long if there was one in South
America?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, there may have been one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; said Laddie, carrying on the
cross-examination with the intense earnestness of a child,
&ldquo;could a boa-constrictor swallow any small
animal?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, of course he could.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Could he swallow a jaguar?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t know about that.&nbsp; A jaguar is
a very large animal.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; asked Dimples, &ldquo;could a jaguar
swallow a boa-&rsquo;strictor?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Silly ass,&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;If a jaguar
was only nine feet long and the boa-constrictor was thirty-five
feet long, then there would be a lot sticking out of the
jaguar&rsquo;s mouth.&nbsp; How could he swallow that?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;d bite it off,&rdquo; said Dimples.&nbsp;
&ldquo;And then <!-- page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 213</span>another slice for supper and another
for breakfast&mdash;but, I say, Daddy, a &rsquo;stricter
couldn&rsquo;t swallow a porkpine, could he?&nbsp; He would have
a sore throat all the way down.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Shrieks of laughter and a welcome rest for Daddy, who turned
to his paper.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy!&rdquo;</p>
<p>He put down his paper with an air of conscious virtue and lit
his pipe.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, dear?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the biggest snake you ever saw?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, bother the snakes!&nbsp; I am tired of
them.&rdquo;</p>
<p>But the children were never tired of them.&nbsp; Heredity
again, for the snake was the worst enemy of arboreal man.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy made soup out of a snake,&rdquo; said
Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;Tell us about that snake, Daddy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Children like a story best the fourth or fifth time, so it is
never any use to tell them that they know all about it.&nbsp; The
story which they can check and correct is their favourite.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, dear, we got a viper and we killed it.&nbsp; Then
we wanted the skeleton to keep and we didn&rsquo;t know how to
get it.&nbsp; At first we thought we would bury it, but that
seemed too slow.&nbsp; Then I had the idea to boil all the
viper&rsquo;s flesh off its bones, and I got an old meat-tin and
we put the viper and some water into it and put it above the
fire.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You hung it on a hook, Daddy.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 214--><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
214</span>&ldquo;Yes, we hung it on the hook that they put the
porridge pot on in Scotland.&nbsp; Then just as it was turning
brown in came the farmer&rsquo;s wife, and ran up to see what we
were cooking.&nbsp; When she saw the viper she thought we were
going to eat it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh, you dirty divils!&rsquo; she
cried, and caught up the tin in her apron and threw it out of the
window.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Fresh shrieks of laughter from the children, and Dimples
repeated &ldquo;You dirty divil!&rdquo; until Daddy had to clump
him playfully on the head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tell us some more about snakes,&rdquo; cried
Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;Did you ever see a really dreadful
snake?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;One that would turn you black and dead you in five
minutes?&rdquo; said Dimples.&nbsp; It was always the most awful
thing that appealed to Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, I have seen some beastly creatures.&nbsp; Once in
the Sudan I was dozing on the sand when I opened my eyes and
there was a horrid creature like a big slug with horns, short and
thick, about a foot long, moving away in front of me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What was it, Daddy?&rdquo;&nbsp; Six eager eyes were
turned up to him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was a death-adder.&nbsp; I expect that would dead
you in five minutes, Dimples, if it got a bite at you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you kill it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No; it was gone before I could get to it.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 215--><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
215</span>&ldquo;Which is the horridest, Daddy&mdash;a snake or a
shark?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not very fond of either!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you ever see a man eaten by sharks?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, dear, but I was not so far off being eaten
myself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo; from all three of them.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I did a silly thing, for I swam round the ship in water
where there are many sharks.&nbsp; As I was drying myself on the
deck I saw the high fin of a shark above the water a little way
off.&nbsp; It had heard the splashing and come up to look for
me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weren&rsquo;t you frightened, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes.&nbsp; It made me feel rather cold.&rdquo;&nbsp;
There was silence while Daddy saw once more the golden sand of
the African beach and the snow-white roaring surf, with the long,
smooth swell of the bar.</p>
<p>Children don&rsquo;t like silences.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do zebus
bite?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Zebus!&nbsp; Why, they are cows.&nbsp; No, of course
not.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But a zebu could butt with its horns.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, it could butt.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you think a zebu could fight a crocodile?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I should back the crocodile.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, dear, the crocodile has great teeth and would eat
the zebu.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
216</span>&ldquo;But suppose the zebu came up when the crocodile
was not looking and butted it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, that would be one up for the zebu.&nbsp; But one
butt wouldn&rsquo;t hurt a crocodile.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, one wouldn&rsquo;t, would it?&nbsp; But the zebu
would keep on.&nbsp; Crocodiles live on sand-banks, don&rsquo;t
they?&nbsp; Well, then, the zebu would come and live near the
sandbank too&mdash;just so far as the crocodile would never see
him.&nbsp; Then every time the crocodile wasn&rsquo;t looking the
zebu would butt him.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you think he would beat
the crocodile?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, perhaps he would.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;How long do you think it would take the zebu to beat
the crocodile?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, it would depend upon how often he got in his
butt.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, suppose he butted him once every three hours,
don&rsquo;t you think&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, bother the zebu!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what the crocodile would say,&rdquo; cried
Laddie, clapping his hands.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I agree with the crocodile,&rdquo; said
Daddy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And it&rsquo;s time all good children were in
bed,&rdquo; said the Lady as the glimmer of the nurse&rsquo;s
apron was seen in the gloom.</p>
<h3>II&mdash;ABOUT CRICKET</h3>
<p>Supper was going on down below and all good children should
have been long ago in the land <!-- page 217--><a
name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>of
dreams.&nbsp; Yet a curious noise came from above.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What on earth&mdash;?&rdquo; asked Daddy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Laddie practising cricket,&rdquo; said the Lady, with
the curious clairvoyance of motherhood.&nbsp; &ldquo;He gets out
of bed to bowl.&nbsp; I do wish you would go up and speak
seriously to him about it, for it takes quite an hour off his
rest.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy departed upon his mission intending to be gruff, and my
word, he can be quite gruff when he likes!&nbsp; When he reached
the top of the stairs, however, and heard the noise still
continue, he walked softly down the landing and peeped in through
the half-opened door.</p>
<p>The room was dark save for a night-light.&nbsp; In the dim
glimmer he saw a little white-clad figure, slight and supple,
taking short steps and swinging its arm in the middle of the
room.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Halloa!&rdquo; said Daddy.</p>
<p>The white-clad figure turned and ran forward to him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, Daddy, how jolly of you to come up!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy felt that gruffness was not quite so easy as it had
seemed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look here!&nbsp; You get into bed!&rdquo; he said, with
the best imitation he could manage.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, Daddy.&nbsp; But before I go, how is
this?&rdquo;&nbsp; He sprang forward and the arm swung round
again in a swift and graceful gesture.</p>
<p><!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
218</span>Daddy was a moth-eaten cricketer of sorts, and he took
it in with a critical eye.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Good, Laddie.&nbsp; I like a high action.&nbsp;
That&rsquo;s the real Spofforth swing.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, Daddy, come and talk about cricket!&rdquo;&nbsp; He
was pulled on the side of the bed, and the white figure dived
between the sheets.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes; tell us about cwicket!&rdquo; came a cooing voice
from the corner.&nbsp; Dimples was sitting up in his cot.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You naughty boy!&nbsp; I thought one of you was asleep,
anyhow.&nbsp; I mustn&rsquo;t stay.&nbsp; I keep you
awake.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who was Popoff?&rdquo; cried Laddie, clutching at his
father&rsquo;s sleeve.&nbsp; &ldquo;Was he a very good
bowler?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Spofforth was the best bowler that ever walked on to a
cricket-field.&nbsp; He was the great Australian Bowler and he
taught us a great deal.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did he ever kill a dog?&rdquo; from Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy.&nbsp; Why?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because Laddie said there was a bowler so fast that his
ball went frue a coat and killed a dog.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s an old yarn.&nbsp; I heard that when I
was a little boy about some bowler whose name, I think, was
Jackson.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Was it a big dog?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no, son; it wasn&rsquo;t a dog at all.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
219</span>&ldquo;It was a cat,&rdquo; said Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No; I tell you it never happened.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But tell us about Spofforth,&rdquo; cried Laddie.&nbsp;
Dimples, with his imaginative mind, usually wandered, while the
elder came eagerly back to the point.&nbsp; &ldquo;Was he very
fast?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He could be very fast.&nbsp; I have heard cricketers
who had played against him say that his yorker&mdash;that is a
ball which is just short of a full pitch&mdash;was the fastest
ball in England.&nbsp; I have myself seen his long arm swing
round and the wicket go down before ever the batsman had time to
ground his bat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo; from both beds.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He was a tall, thin man, and they called him the
Fiend.&nbsp; That means the Devil, you know.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And <i>was</i> he the Devil?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, Dimples, no.&nbsp; They called him that because he
did such wonderful things with the ball.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Can the Devil do wonderful things with a
ball?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy felt that he was propagating devil-worship and hastened
to get to safer ground.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Spofforth taught us how to bowl and Blackham taught us
how to keep wicket.&nbsp; When I was young we always had another
fielder, called the long-stop, who stood behind the
wicket-keeper.&nbsp; I used to be a thick, solid boy, so <!--
page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
220</span>they put me as long-stop, and the balls used to bounce
off me, I remember, as if I had been a mattress.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Delighted laughter.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But after Blackham came wicket-keepers had to learn
that they were there to stop the ball.&nbsp; Even in good
second-class cricket there were no more long-stops.&nbsp; We soon
found plenty of good wicket-keeps&mdash;like Alfred Lyttelton and
MacGregor&mdash;but it was Blackham who showed us how.&nbsp; To
see Spofforth, all india-rubber and ginger, at one end bowling,
and Blackham, with his black beard over the bails waiting for the
ball at the other end, was worth living for, I can tell
you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Silence while the boys pondered over this.&nbsp; But Laddie
feared Daddy would go, so he quickly got in a question.&nbsp; If
Daddy&rsquo;s memory could only be kept going there was no saying
how long they might keep him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Was there no good bowler until Spofforth
came?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, plenty, my boy.&nbsp; But he brought something new
with him.&nbsp; Especially change of pace&mdash;you could never
tell by his action up to the last moment whether you were going
to get a ball like a flash of lightning, or one that came slow
but full of devil and spin.&nbsp; But for mere command of the
pitch of a ball I should think Alfred Shaw, of Nottingham, was
the greatest bowler <!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 221</span>I can remember.&nbsp; It was said
that he could pitch a ball twice in three times upon a
half-crown!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo;&nbsp; And then from Dimples:&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Whose half-crown?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, anybody&rsquo;s half-crown.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did he get the half-crown?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no; why should he?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because he put the ball on it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The half-crown was kept there always for people to aim
at,&rdquo; explained Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no, there never was a half-crown.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Murmurs of remonstrance from both boys.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I only meant that he could pitch the ball on
anything&mdash;a half-crown or anything else.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; with the energy of one who has a happy
idea, &ldquo;could he have pitched it on the batsman&rsquo;s
toe?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, boy, I think so.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, then, suppose he <i>always</i> pitched it on the
batsman&rsquo;s toe!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy laughed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Perhaps that is why dear old W. G. always stood with
his left toe cocked up in the air.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;On one leg?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no, Dimples.&nbsp; With his heel down and his toe
up.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you know W. G., Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, I knew him quite well.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Was he nice?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 222--><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
222</span>&ldquo;Yes, he was splendid.&nbsp; He was always like a
great jolly schoolboy who was hiding behind a huge black
beard.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Whose beard?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I meant that he had a great bushy beard.&nbsp; He
looked like the pirate chief in your picture-books, but he had as
kind a heart as a child.&nbsp; I have been told that it was the
terrible things in this war that really killed him.&nbsp; Grand
old W. G.!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Was he the best bat in the world, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course he was,&rdquo; said Daddy, beginning to
enthuse to the delight of the clever little plotter in the
bed.&nbsp; &ldquo;There never was such a bat&mdash;never in the
world&mdash;and I don&rsquo;t believe there ever could be
again.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t play on smooth wickets, as they do
now.&nbsp; He played where the wickets were all patchy, and you
had to watch the ball right on to the bat.&nbsp; You
couldn&rsquo;t look at it before it hit the ground and think,
&lsquo;That&rsquo;s all right.&nbsp; I know where that one will
be!&rsquo;&nbsp; My word, that was cricket.&nbsp; What you got
you earned.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you ever see W. G. make a hundred,
Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;See him!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve fielded out for him and
melted on a hot August day while he made a hundred and
fifty.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a pound or two of your Daddy somewhere
on that field yet.&nbsp; But I loved to see it, and I was always
sorry when he got out <!-- page 223--><a name="page223"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 223</span>for nothing, even if I were playing
against him.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did he ever get out for nothing?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear; the first time I ever played in his company
he was given out leg-before-wicket before he made a run.&nbsp;
And all the way to the pavilion&mdash;that&rsquo;s where people
go when they are out&mdash;he was walking forward, but his big
black beard was backward over his shoulder as he told the umpire
what he thought.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And what <i>did</i> he think?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;More than I can tell you, Dimples.&nbsp; But I dare say
he was right to be annoyed, for it was a left-handed bowler,
bowling round the wicket, and it is very hard to get leg-before
to that.&nbsp; However, that&rsquo;s all Greek to you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s Gweek?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I mean you can&rsquo;t understand that.&nbsp; Now
I am going.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no, Daddy; wait a moment!&nbsp; Tell us about
Bonner and the big catch.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, you know about that!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Two little coaxing voices came out of the darkness.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, please!&nbsp; Please!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what your mother will say!&nbsp;
What was it you asked?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Bonner!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, Bonner!&rdquo;&nbsp; Daddy looked out in the gloom
and saw green fields and golden sunlight, <!-- page 224--><a
name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>and great
sportsmen long gone to their rest.&nbsp; &ldquo;Bonner was a
wonderful man.&nbsp; He was a giant in size.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;As big as you, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy seized his elder boy and shook him playfully.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I heard what you said to Miss Cregan the other day.&nbsp;
When she asked you what an acre was you said &lsquo;About the
size of Daddy.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>Both boys gurgled.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But Bonner was five inches taller than I.&nbsp; He was
a giant, I tell you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did nobody kill him?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no, Dimples.&nbsp; Not a story-book giant.&nbsp;
But a great, strong man.&nbsp; He had a splendid figure and blue
eyes and a golden beard, and altogether he was the finest man I
have ever seen&mdash;except perhaps one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who was the one, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, it was the Emperor Frederick of
Germany.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A Jarman!&rdquo; cried Dimples, in horror.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, a German.&nbsp; Mind you, boys, a man may be a
very noble man and be a German&mdash;though what has become of
the noble ones these last three years is more than I can
guess.&nbsp; But Frederick was noble and good, as you could see
on his face.&nbsp; How he ever came to be the father of such a
blasphemous braggart&rdquo;&mdash;Daddy sank into reverie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Bonner, Daddy!&rdquo; said Laddie, and Daddy came back
from politics with a start.</p>
<p><!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
225</span>&ldquo;Oh, yes, Bonner.&nbsp; Bonner in white flannels
on the green sward with an English June sun upon him.&nbsp; That
was a picture of a man!&nbsp; But you asked me about the
catch.&nbsp; It was in a test match at the Oval&mdash;England
against Australia.&nbsp; Bonner said before he went in that he
would hit Alfred Shaw into the next county, and he set out to do
it.&nbsp; Shaw, as I have told you, could keep a very good
length, so for some time Bonner could not get the ball he wanted,
but at last he saw his chance, and he jumped out and hit that
ball the most awful ker-wallop that ever was seen in a
cricket-field.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo; from both boys: and then, &ldquo;Did it go
into the next county, Daddy?&rdquo; from Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m telling you!&rdquo; said Daddy, who was
always testy when one of his stories was interrupted.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Bonner thought he had made the ball a
half-volley&mdash;that is the best ball to hit&mdash;but Shaw had
deceived him and the ball was really on the short side.&nbsp; So
when Bonner hit it, up and up it went, until it looked as if it
were going out of sight into the sky.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;At first everybody thought it was going far outside the
ground.&nbsp; But soon they saw that all the giant&rsquo;s
strength had been wasted in hitting the ball so high, and that
there was a chance that it would fall within the ropes.&nbsp; The
batsmen had run three runs and it was still in the air.&nbsp;
Then it <!-- page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 226</span>was seen that an English fielder was
standing on the very edge of the field with his back on the
ropes, a white figure against the black line of the people.&nbsp;
He stood watching the mighty curve of the ball, and twice he
raised his hands together above his head as he did so.&nbsp; Then
a third time he raised his hands above his head, and the ball was
in them and Bonner was out.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why did he raise his hands twice?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&nbsp; He did so.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And who was the fielder, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The fielder was G. F. Grace, the younger brother of W.
G.&nbsp; Only a few months afterwards he was a dead man.&nbsp;
But he had one grand moment in his life, with twenty thousand
people all just mad with excitement.&nbsp; Poor G. F.!&nbsp; He
died too soon.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you ever catch a catch like that, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy.&nbsp; I was never a particularly good
fielder.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you never catch a good catch?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I won&rsquo;t say that.&nbsp; You see, the best
catches are very often flukes, and I remember one awful fluke of
that sort.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do tell us, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, dear, I was fielding at slip.&nbsp; That is very
near the wicket, you know.&nbsp; Woodcock was bowling, and he had
the name of being the fastest bowler of England at that
time.&nbsp; It was just the beginning of the match and the ball
was quite <!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 227</span>red.&nbsp; Suddenly I saw something
like a red flash and there was the ball stuck in my left
hand.&nbsp; I had not time to move it.&nbsp; It simply came and
stuck.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I saw another catch like that.&nbsp; It was done by
Ulyett, a fine Yorkshire player&mdash;such a big, upstanding
fellow.&nbsp; He was bowling, and the batsman&mdash;it was an
Australian in a test match&mdash;hit as hard as ever he
could.&nbsp; Ulyett could not have seen it, but he just stuck out
his hand and there was the ball.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Suppose it had hit his body?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, it would have hurt him.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Would he have cried?&rdquo; from Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy.&nbsp; That is what games are for, to teach you
to take a knock and never show it.&nbsp; Supposing
that&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>A step was heard coming along the passage.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Good gracious, boys, here&rsquo;s Mumty.&nbsp; Shut
your eyes this moment.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s all right, dear.&nbsp; I
spoke to them very severely and I think they are nearly
asleep.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What have you been talking about?&rdquo; asked the
Lady.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Cwicket!&rdquo; cried Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s natural enough,&rdquo; said Daddy; &ldquo;of
course when two boys&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Three,&rdquo; said the Lady, as she tucked up the
little beds.</p>
<h3><!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 228</span>III&mdash;SPECULATIONS</h3>
<p>The three children were sitting together in a bunch upon the
rug in the gloaming.&nbsp; Baby was talking so Daddy behind his
newspaper pricked up his ears, for the young lady was silent as a
rule, and every glimpse of her little mind was of interest.&nbsp;
She was nursing the disreputable little downy quilt which she
called Wriggly and much preferred to any of her dolls.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I wonder if they will let Wriggly into heaven,&rdquo;
she said.</p>
<p>The boys laughed.&nbsp; They generally laughed at what Baby
said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If they won&rsquo;t I won&rsquo;t go in, either,&rdquo;
she added.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nor me, neither, if they don&rsquo;t let in my
Teddy-bear,&rdquo; said Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell them it is a nice, clean, blue
Wriggly,&rdquo; said Baby.&nbsp; &ldquo;I love my
Wriggly.&rdquo;&nbsp; She cooed over it and hugged it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What about that, Daddy?&rdquo; asked Laddie, in his
earnest fashion.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are there toys in heaven, do you
think?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course there are.&nbsp; Everything that can make
children happy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;As many toys as in Hamley&rsquo;s shop?&rdquo; asked
Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;More,&rdquo; said Daddy, stoutly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo; from all three.</p>
<p><!-- page 229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
229</span>&ldquo;Daddy, dear,&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp;
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been wondering about the deluge.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear.&nbsp; What was it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, the story about the Ark.&nbsp; All those animals
were in the Ark, just two of each, for forty days.&nbsp;
Wasn&rsquo;t that so?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That is the story.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, then, what did the carnivorous animals
eat?&rdquo;</p>
<p>One should be honest with children and not put them off with
ridiculous explanations.&nbsp; Their questions about such matters
are generally much more sensible than their parents&rsquo;
replies.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, dear,&rdquo; said Daddy, weighing his words,
&ldquo;these stories are very, very old.&nbsp; The Jews put them
in the Bible, but they got them from the people in Babylon, and
the people in Babylon probably got them from some one else away
back in the beginning of things.&nbsp; If a story gets passed
down like that, one person adds a little and another adds a
little, and so you never get things quite as they happened.&nbsp;
The Jews put it in the Bible exactly as they heard it, but it had
been going about for thousands of years before then.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;So it was not true?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, I think it was true.&nbsp; I think there was a
great flood, and I think that some people did escape, and that
they saved their beasts, just as we should try to save Nigger and
the Monkstown cocks and hens if we were flooded <!-- page
230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
230</span>out.&nbsp; Then they were able to start again when the
waters went down, and they were naturally very grateful to God
for their escape.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What did the people who didn&rsquo;t escape think about
it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, we can&rsquo;t tell that.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;They wouldn&rsquo;t be very grateful, would
they?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Their time was come,&rdquo; said Daddy, who was a bit
of a Fatalist.&nbsp; &ldquo;I expect it was the best
thing.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was jolly hard luck on Noah being swallowed by a
fish after all his trouble,&rdquo; said Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Silly ass!&nbsp; It was Jonah that was swallowed.&nbsp;
Was it a whale, Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A whale!&nbsp; Why, a whale couldn&rsquo;t swallow a
herring!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A shark, then?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, there again you have an old story which has got
twisted and turned a good deal.&nbsp; No doubt he was a holy man
who had some great escape at sea, and then the sailors and others
who admired him invented this wonder.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; said Dimples, suddenly, &ldquo;should we
do just the same as Jesus did?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear; He was the noblest Person that ever
lived.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, did Jesus lie down every day from twelve to
one?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know that He did.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
231</span>&ldquo;Well, then, I won&rsquo;t lie down from twelve
to one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;If Jesus had been a growing boy and had been ordered to
lie down by His Mumty and the doctor, I am sure He would have
done so.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did He take malt extract?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He did what He was told, my son&mdash;I am sure of
that.&nbsp; He was a good man, so He must have been a good
boy&mdash;perfect in all He did.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Baby saw God yesterday,&rdquo; remarked Laddie,
casually.</p>
<p>Daddy dropped his paper.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, we made up our minds we would all lie on our backs
and stare at the sky until we saw God.&nbsp; So we put the big
rug on the lawn and then we all lay down side by side, and stared
and stared.&nbsp; I saw nothing, and Dimples saw nothing, but
Baby says she saw God.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Baby nodded in her wise way.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I saw Him,&rdquo; she said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What was He like, then?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, just God.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She would say no more, but hugged her Wriggly.</p>
<p>The Lady had entered and listened with some trepidation to the
frank audacity of the children&rsquo;s views.&nbsp; Yet the very
essence of faith was in that audacity.&nbsp; It was all so
unquestionably real.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Which is strongest, Daddy, God or the
Devil?&rdquo;&nbsp; It was Laddie who was speculating now.</p>
<p><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
232</span>&ldquo;Why, God rules everything, of course.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then why doesn&rsquo;t He kill the Devil?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And scalp him?&rdquo; added Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That would stop all trouble, wouldn&rsquo;t it,
Daddy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Poor Daddy was rather floored.&nbsp; The Lady came to his
help.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If everything was good and easy in this world, then
there would be nothing to fight against, and so, Laddie, our
characters would never improve.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It would be like a football match with all the players
on one side,&rdquo; said Daddy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If there was nothing bad, then, nothing would be good,
for you would have nothing to compare by,&rdquo; added the
Lady.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; said Laddie, with the remorseless
logic of childhood, &ldquo;if that is so, then the Devil is very
useful; so he can&rsquo;t be so very bad, after all.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t see that,&rdquo; Daddy
answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Our Army can only show how brave it is by
fighting the German Emperor, but that does not prove that the
German Emperor is a very nice person, does it now?</p>
<p>&ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; Daddy continued, improving the
occasion, &ldquo;you must not think of the Devil as a
person.&nbsp; You must think of all the mean things one could do,
and all the dirty things, and all the cruel things, and that is
really the <!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 233</span>Devil you are fighting
against.&nbsp; You couldn&rsquo;t call them useful, could
you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The children thought over this for a little.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; said Laddie, &ldquo;have <i>you</i> ever
seen God?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, my boy.&nbsp; But I see His works.&nbsp; I expect
that is as near as we can get in this world.&nbsp; Look at all
the stars at night, and think of the Power that made them and
keeps each in its proper place.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He couldn&rsquo;t keep the shooting stars in their
proper place,&rdquo; said Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I expect He meant them to shoot,&rdquo; said
Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Suppose they all shot, what jolly nights we should
have!&rdquo; cried Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Laddie; &ldquo;but after one night
they would all have gone, and a nice thing then!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, there&rsquo;s always the moon,&rdquo; remarked
Dimples.&nbsp; &ldquo;But, Daddy, is it true that God listens to
all we say?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know about that,&rdquo; Daddy answered,
cautiously.&nbsp; You never know into what trap those quick
little wits may lead you.&nbsp; The Lady was more rash, or more
orthodox.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear, He does hear all you say.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is He listenin&rsquo; now?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I call it vewy rude of Him!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy smiled, and the Lady gasped.</p>
<p><!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
234</span>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t rude,&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp;
&ldquo;It is His duty, and He <i>has</i> to notice what you are
doing and saying.&nbsp; Daddy, did you ever see a
fairy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I saw one once.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Laddie is the very soul of truth, quite painfully truthful in
details, so that his quiet remark caused attention.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tell us about it, dear.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He described it with as little emotion as if it were a Persian
cat.&nbsp; Perhaps his perfect faith had indeed opened something
to his vision.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was in the day nursery.&nbsp; There was a stool by
the window.&nbsp; The fairy jumped on the stool and then down,
and went across the room.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What was it dressed like?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;All in grey, with a long cloak.&nbsp; It was about as
big as Baby&rsquo;s doll.&nbsp; I could not see its arms, for
they were under the cloak.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did he look at you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, he was sideways, and I never really saw his
face.&nbsp; He had a little cap.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s the only
fairy I ever saw.&nbsp; Of course, there was Father Christmas, if
you call him a fairy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy, was Father Christmas killed in the
war?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, boy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because he has never come since the war began.&nbsp; I
expect he is fightin&rsquo; the Jarmans.&rdquo;&nbsp; It was
Dimples who was talking.</p>
<p><!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
235</span>&ldquo;Last time he came,&rdquo; said Laddie,
&ldquo;Daddy said one of his reindeers had hurt its leg in the
ruts of the Monkstown Lane.&nbsp; Perhaps that&rsquo;s why he
never comes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll come all right after the war,&rdquo; said
Daddy, &ldquo;and he&rsquo;ll be redder and whiter and jollier
than ever.&rdquo;&nbsp; Then Daddy clouded suddenly, for he
thought of all those who would be missing when Father Christmas
came again.&nbsp; Ten loved ones were dead from that one
household.&nbsp; The Lady put out her hand, for she always knew
what Daddy was thinking.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They will be there in spirit, dear.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, and the jolliest of the lot,&rdquo; said Daddy,
stoutly.&nbsp; &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have our Father Christmas back
and all will be well in England.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But what do they do in India?&rdquo; asked Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, what&rsquo;s wrong with them?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;How do the sledge and the reindeer get across the
sea?&nbsp; All the parcels must get wet.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear, there <i>have</i> been several
complaints,&rdquo; said Daddy, gravely.&nbsp; &ldquo;Halloa,
here&rsquo;s nurse!&nbsp; Time&rsquo;s up!&nbsp; Off to
bed!&rdquo;</p>
<p>They got up resignedly, for they were really very good
children.&nbsp; &ldquo;Say your prayers here before you
go,&rdquo; said the Lady.&nbsp; The three little figures all
knelt on the rug, Baby still cuddling her Wriggly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You pray, Laddie, and the rest can join in.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
236</span>&ldquo;God bless every one I love,&rdquo; said the
high, clear child-voice.&nbsp; &ldquo;And make me a good boy, and
thank You so much for all the blessings of to-day.&nbsp; And
please take care of Alleyne, who is fighting the Germans, and
Uncle Cosmo, who is fighting the Germans, and Uncle Woodie, who
is fighting the Germans, and all the others who are fighting the
Germans, and the men on the ships on the sea, and Grandma and
Grandpa, and Uncle Pat, and don&rsquo;t ever let Daddy and Mumty
die.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And please send plenty sugar for the poor
people,&rdquo; said Baby, in her unexpected way.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And a little petrol for Daddy,&rdquo; said Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Amen!&rdquo; said Daddy.&nbsp; And the little figures
rose for the good-night kiss.</p>
<h3>IV&mdash;THE LEATHERSKIN TRIBE</h3>
<p>&ldquo;Daddy!&rdquo; said the elder boy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Have you
seen wild Indians?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, boy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you ever scalped one?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Good gracious, no.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Has one ever scalped you?&rdquo; asked Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Silly!&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;If Daddy had
been scalped he wouldn&rsquo;t have all that hair on his
head&mdash;unless perhaps it grew again!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He has none hair on the very top,&rdquo; said Dimples,
hovering over the low chair in which Daddy was sitting.</p>
<p><!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
237</span>&ldquo;They didn&rsquo;t scalp you, did they,
Daddy?&rdquo; asked Laddie, with some anxiety.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I expect Nature will scalp me some of these
days.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Both boys were keenly interested.&nbsp; Nature presented
itself as some rival chief.</p>
<p>&ldquo;When?&rdquo; asked Dimples, eagerly, with the evident
intention of being present.</p>
<p>Daddy passed his fingers ruefully through his thinning
locks.&nbsp; &ldquo;Pretty soon, I expect,&rdquo; said he.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oo!&rdquo; said the three children.&nbsp; Laddie was
resentful and defiant, but the two younger ones were obviously
delighted.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But I say, Daddy, you said we should have an Indian
game after tea.&nbsp; You said it when you wanted us to be so
quiet after breakfast.&nbsp; You promised, you know.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It doesn&rsquo;t do to break a promise to children.&nbsp;
Daddy rose somewhat wearily from his comfortable chair and put
his pipe on the mantelpiece.&nbsp; First he held a conference in
secret with Uncle Pat, the most ingenious of playmates.&nbsp;
Then he returned to the children.&nbsp; &ldquo;Collect the
tribe,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;There is a Council in a
quarter of an hour in the big room.&nbsp; Put on your Indian
dresses and arm yourselves.&nbsp; The great Chief will be
there!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sure enough when he entered the big room a quarter of an hour
later the tribe of the Leatherskins had assembled.&nbsp; There
were four of them, <!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 238</span>for little rosy Cousin John from
next door always came in for an Indian game.&nbsp; They had all
Indian dresses with high feathers and wooden clubs or
tomahawks.&nbsp; Daddy was in his usual untidy tweeds, but
carried a rifle.&nbsp; He was very serious when he entered the
room, for one should be very serious in a real good Indian
game.&nbsp; Then he raised his rifle slowly over his head in
greeting and the four childish voices rang out in the
war-cry.&nbsp; It was a prolonged wolfish howl which Dimples had
been known to offer to teach elderly ladies in hotel
corridors.&nbsp; &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t be in our tribe without
it, you know.&nbsp; There is none body about.&nbsp; Now just try
once if you can do it.&rdquo;&nbsp; At this moment there are
half-a-dozen elderly people wandering about England who have been
made children once more by Laddie and Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hail to the tribe!&rdquo; cried Daddy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hail, Chief!&rdquo; answered the voices.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Red Buffalo!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here!&rdquo; cried Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Black Bear!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here!&rdquo; cried Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;White Butterfly!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Go on, you silly squaw!&rdquo; growled Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; said Baby.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Prairie Wolf!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; said little four-year-old John.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The muster is complete.&nbsp; Make a circle <!-- page
239--><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
239</span>round the camp-fire and we shall drink the firewater of
the Palefaces and smoke the pipe of peace.&rdquo;</p>
<p>That was a fearsome joy.&nbsp; The fire-water was ginger-ale
drunk out of the bottle, which was gravely passed from hand to
hand.&nbsp; At no other time had they ever drunk like that, and
it made an occasion of it which was increased by the owlish
gravity of Daddy.&nbsp; Then he lit his pipe and it was passed
also from one tiny hand to another, Laddie taking a hearty suck
at it, which set him coughing, while Baby only touched the end of
the amber with her little pink lips.&nbsp; There was dead silence
until it had gone round and returned to its owner.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Warriors of the Leatherskins, why have we come
here?&rdquo; asked Daddy, fingering his rifle.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Humpty Dumpty,&rdquo; said little John, and the
children all began to laugh, but the portentous gravity of Daddy
brought them back to the warrior mood.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Prairie Wolf has spoken truly,&rdquo; said
Daddy.&nbsp; &ldquo;A wicked Paleface called Humpty Dumpty has
taken the prairies which once belonged to the Leatherskins and is
now camped upon them and hunting our buffaloes.&nbsp; What shall
be his fate?&nbsp; Let each warrior speak in turn.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tell him he has jolly well got to clear out,&rdquo;
said Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not Indian talk,&rdquo; cried Dimples,
<!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
240</span>with all his soul in the game.&nbsp; &ldquo;Kill him,
great Chief&mdash;him and his squaw, too.&rdquo;&nbsp; The two
younger warriors merely laughed and little John repeated
&ldquo;Humpty Dumpty!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Quite right!&nbsp; Remember the villain&rsquo;s
name!&rdquo; said Daddy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now, then, the whole tribe
follows me on the war-trail and we shall teach this Paleface to
shoot our buffaloes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look here, we don&rsquo;t want squaws,&rdquo; cried
Dimples, as Baby toddled at the rear of the procession.&nbsp;
&ldquo;You stay in the wigwam and cook.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A piteous cry greeted the suggestion.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The White Butterfly will come with us and bind up the
wounds,&rdquo; said Daddy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The squaws are jolly good as torturers,&rdquo; remarked
Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Really, Daddy, this strikes me as a most immoral
game,&rdquo; said the Lady, who had been a sympathetic spectator
from a corner, doubtful of the ginger-ale, horrified at the pipe,
and delighted at the complete absorption of the children.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo; said the great Chief, with a sad relapse
into the normal.&nbsp; &ldquo;I suppose that is why they love it
so.&nbsp; Now, then, warriors, we go forth on the
war-trail.&nbsp; One whoop all together before we start.&nbsp;
Capital!&nbsp; Follow me, now, one behind the other.&nbsp; Not a
sound!&nbsp; If one gets separated from the others let him give
the cry of a night owl and the others will answer with the squeak
of the prairie lizard.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
241</span>&ldquo;What sort of a squeak, please?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, any old squeak will do.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t
walk.&nbsp; Indians trot on the war-path.&nbsp; If you see any
man hiding in a bush kill him at once, but don&rsquo;t stop to
scalp him&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Really, dear!&rdquo; from the corner.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The great Queen would rather that you scalp him.&nbsp;
Now, then!&nbsp; All ready!&nbsp; Start!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Away went the line of figures, Daddy stooping with his rifle
at the trail, Laddie and Dimples armed with axes and toy pistols,
as tense and serious as any Redskins could be.&nbsp; The other
two rather more irresponsible but very much absorbed all the
same.&nbsp; The little line of absurd figures wound in and out of
the furniture, and out on to the lawn, and round the laurel
bushes, and into the yard, and back to the clump of trees.&nbsp;
There Daddy stopped and held up his hand with a face that froze
the children.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Are all here?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hush, warriors!&nbsp; No sound.&nbsp; There is an enemy
scout in the bushes ahead.&nbsp; Stay with me, you two.&nbsp;
You, Red Buffalo, and you, Black Bear, crawl forward and settle
him.&nbsp; See that he makes no sound.&nbsp; What you do must be
quick and sudden.&nbsp; When all is clear give the cry of the
wood-pigeon, and we will join you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The two warriors crawled off in most desperate earnest.&nbsp;
Daddy leaned on his gun and winked <!-- page 242--><a
name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>at the
Lady, who still hovered fearfully in the background like a dear
hen whose chickens were doing wonderful and unaccountable
things.&nbsp; The two younger Indians slapped each other and
giggled.&nbsp; Presently there came the &ldquo;coo&rdquo; of a
wood-pigeon from in front.&nbsp; Daddy and the tribe moved
forward to where the advance guard were waiting in the
bushes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Great Chief, we could find no scout,&rdquo; said
Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There was none person to kill,&rdquo; added
Dimples.</p>
<p>The Chief was not surprised, since the scout had been entirely
of his own invention.&nbsp; It would not do to admit it,
however.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you found his trail?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, Chief.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let me look.&rdquo;&nbsp; Daddy hunted about with a
look of preternatural sagacity about him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Before the
snows fell a man passed here with a red head, grey clothes, and a
squint in his left eye.&nbsp; His trail shows that his brother
has a grocer&rsquo;s shop and his wife smokes cigarettes on the
sly.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, Daddy, how could you read all that?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s easy enough, my son, when you get the knack
of it.&nbsp; But look here, we are Indians on the war-trail, and
don&rsquo;t you forget it if you value your scalp!&nbsp; Aha,
here is Humpty Dumpty&rsquo;s trail!&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 243--><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
243</span>Uncle Pat had laid down a paper trail from this point,
as Daddy well knew; so now the children were off like a little
pack of eager harriers, following in and out among the
bushes.&nbsp; Presently they had a rest.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Great Chief, why does a wicked Paleface leave paper
wherever he goes?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Daddy made a great effort.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He tears up the wicked letters he has written.&nbsp;
Then he writes others even wickeder and tears them up in
turn.&nbsp; You can see for yourself that he leaves them wherever
he goes.&nbsp; Now, warriors, come along!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Uncle Pat had dodged all over the limited garden, and the
tribe followed his trail.&nbsp; Finally they stopped at a gap in
the hedge which leads into the field.&nbsp; There was a little
wooden hut in the field, where Daddy used to go and put up a
printed cardboard: &ldquo;WORKING.&rdquo;&nbsp; He found it a
very good dodge when he wanted a quiet smoke and a nap.&nbsp;
Usually there was nothing else in the field, but this time the
Chief pushed the whole tribe hurriedly behind the hedge, and
whispered to them to look carefully out between the branches.</p>
<p>In the middle of the field a tripod of sticks supported a
kettle.&nbsp; At each side of it was a hunched-up figure in a
coloured blanket.&nbsp; Uncle Pat had done his work skilfully and
well.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You must get them before they can reach <!-- page
244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
244</span>their rifles,&rdquo; said the Chief.&nbsp; &ldquo;What
about their horses?&nbsp; Black Bear, move down the hedge and
bring back word about their horses.&nbsp; If you see none give
three whistles.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The whistles were soon heard, and the warrior returned.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If the horses had been there, what would you have
done?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Scalped them!&rdquo; said Dimples.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Silly ass!&rdquo; said Laddie.&nbsp; &ldquo;Who ever
heard of a horse&rsquo;s scalp?&nbsp; You would stampede
them.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said the Chief.&nbsp; &ldquo;If ever
you see a horse grazing, you crawl up to it, spring on its back
and then gallop away with your head looking under its neck and
only your foot to be seen.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you forget it.&nbsp;
But we must scupper these rascals on our
hunting-grounds.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Shall we crawl up to them?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, crawl up.&nbsp; Then when I give a whoop rush
them.&nbsp; Take them alive.&nbsp; I wish to have a word with
them first.&nbsp; Carry them into the hut.&nbsp; Go!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Away went the eager little figures, the chubby babes and the
two lithe, active boys.&nbsp; Daddy stood behind the bush
watching them.&nbsp; They kept a line and tip-toed along to the
camp of the strangers.&nbsp; Then on the Chief&rsquo;s signal
they burst into a cry and rushed wildly with waving weapons into
the camp of the Palefaces.&nbsp; A moment later the two
pillow-made trappers <!-- page 245--><a name="page245"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 245</span>were being dragged off into the hut
by the whooping warriors.&nbsp; They were up-ended in one corner
when the Chief entered, and the victorious Indians were dancing
about in front of them.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Anybody wounded?&rdquo; asked the Chief.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you tied their hands?&rdquo;</p>
<p>With perfect gravity Red Buffalo made movements behind each of
the pillows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They are tied, great Chief.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What shall we do with them?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Cut off their heads!&rdquo; shrieked Dimples, who was
always the most bloodthirsty of the tribe, though in private life
he had been known to weep bitterly over a squashed
caterpillar.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The proper thing is to tie them to a stake,&rdquo; said
Laddie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What do you mean by killing our buffaloes?&rdquo; asked
Daddy, severely.</p>
<p>The prisoners preserved a sulky silence.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Shall I shoot the green one?&rdquo; asked Dimples,
presenting his wooden pistol.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wait a bit!&rdquo; said the Chief.&nbsp; &ldquo;We had
best keep one as a hostage and send the other back to say that
unless the Chief of the Palefaces pays a ransom within three
days&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>But at that moment, as a great romancer used to say, a strange
thing happened.&nbsp; There was the sound of a turning key and
the whole tribe of the Leatherskins was locked into the <!-- page
246--><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
246</span>hut.&nbsp; A moment later a dreadful face appeared at
the window, a face daubed with mud and overhung with grass, which
drooped down from under a soft cap.&nbsp; The weird creature
danced in triumph, and then stooped to set a light to some paper
and shavings near the window.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; cried the Chief.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is
Yellow Snake, the ferocious Chief of the Bottlenoses!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Flame and smoke were rising outside.&nbsp; It was excellently
done and perfectly safe, but too much for the younger
warriors.&nbsp; The key turned, the door opened, and two tearful
babes were in the arms of the kneeling Lady.&nbsp; Red Buffalo
and Black Bear were of sterner stuff.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not frightened, Daddy,&rdquo; said Laddie,
though he looked a little pale.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nor me,&rdquo; cried Dimples, hurrying to get out of
the hut.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll lock the prisoners up with no food and have
a council of war upon them in the morning,&rdquo; said the
Chief.&nbsp; &ldquo;Perhaps we&rsquo;ve done enough
to-day.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I rather think you have,&rdquo; said the Lady, as she
soothed the poor little sobbing figures.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the worst of having kids to play,&rdquo;
said Dimples.&nbsp; &ldquo;Fancy having a squaw in a
war-party!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Never mind, we&rsquo;ve had a jolly good Indian
game,&rdquo; said Laddie, as the sound of a distant bell called
them all to the nursery tea.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed by Hazell</i>, <i>Watson
&amp; Viney</i>, <i>Ld.</i>, <i>London and Aylesbury</i>,
<i>England</i>.</p>
<h2>Footnotes:</h2>
<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1"
class="footnote">[1]</a> The reader is referred to the Preface in
connection with this story.&mdash;A. C. D.</p>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGER! AND OTHER STORIES***</p>
<pre>


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