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    <title>
      The Captain of the Polestar, and Others by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
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<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Captain of the Pole-Star and Other Tales, by Arthur Conan Doyle</p>
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<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Captain of the Pole-Star and Other Tales</p>
<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Arthur Conan Doyle</p>
<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date:  July 10, 2008 [EBook #294]<br />
[Last updated: April 30, 2022]</p>
<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Mike Lough and David Widger</p>
<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAPTAIN OF THE POLE-STAR AND OTHER TALES ***</div>
    <h1>
      THE CAPTAIN OF THE POLESTAR
    </h1>
    <h2>
      AND OTHER TALES. <br /><br /> <br /> By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

                                      TO
                                  MY FRIEND
                         MAJOR-GENERAL A. W. DRAYSON
                               AS A SLIGHT TOKEN
                                      OF
                         MY ADMIRATION FOR HIS GREAT
                 AND AS YET UNRECOGNISED SERVICES TO ASTRONOMY
                              This little Volume
                                    IS
                                 DEDICATED


</pre>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      PREFACE
    </h2>
    <p>
      For the use of some of the following Tales I am indebted to the courtesy
      of the Proprietors of &ldquo;Cornhill,&rdquo; &ldquo;Temple Bar,&rdquo; &ldquo;Belgravia,&rdquo; &ldquo;London
      Society,&rdquo; &ldquo;Cassell&rsquo;s,&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Boys&rsquo; Own Paper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <h4>
      A. CONAN DOYLE, M.D.
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      Contents
    </h2>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE CAPTAIN OF THE &ldquo;POLE-STAR.&rdquo; </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> J. HABAKUK JEPHSON&rsquo;S STATEMENT. </a> </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE GREAT KEINPLATZ EXPERIMENT. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> JOHN HUXFORD&rsquo;S HIATUS. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> CYPRIAN OVERBECK WELLS&mdash;A LITERARY
            MOSAIC. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> JOHN BARRINGTON COWLES. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART II. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ELIAS B. HOPKINS, THE PARSON OF JACKMAN&rsquo;S
            GULCH. </a>
          </p>
          <p class="toc">
            <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE RING OF THOTH. </a>
          </p>
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      THE CAPTAIN OF THE &ldquo;POLE-STAR.&rdquo;
     </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     [Being an extract from the singular journal of JOHN
     M&rsquo;ALISTER RAY, student of medicine.]
</pre>
    <p>
      September 11th.&mdash;Lat. 81 degrees 40&rsquo; N.; long. 2 degrees E. Still
      lying-to amid enormous ice fields. The one which stretches away to the
      north of us, and to which our ice-anchor is attached, cannot be smaller
      than an English county. To the right and left unbroken sheets extend to
      the horizon. This morning the mate reported that there were signs of pack
      ice to the southward. Should this form of sufficient thickness to bar our
      return, we shall be in a position of danger, as the food, I hear, is
      already running somewhat short. It is late in the season, and the nights
      are beginning to reappear.
    </p>
    <p>
      This morning I saw a star twinkling just over the fore-yard, the first
      since the beginning of May. There is considerable discontent among the
      crew, many of whom are anxious to get back home to be in time for the
      herring season, when labour always commands a high price upon the Scotch
      coast. As yet their displeasure is only signified by sullen countenances
      and black looks, but I heard from the second mate this afternoon that they
      contemplated sending a deputation to the Captain to explain their
      grievance. I much doubt how he will receive it, as he is a man of fierce
      temper, and very sensitive about anything approaching to an infringement
      of his rights. I shall venture after dinner to say a few words to him upon
      the subject. I have always found that he will tolerate from me what he
      would resent from any other member of the crew. Amsterdam Island, at the
      north-west corner of Spitzbergen, is visible upon our starboard quarter&mdash;a
      rugged line of volcanic rocks, intersected by white seams, which represent
      glaciers. It is curious to think that at the present moment there is
      probably no human being nearer to us than the Danish settlements in the
      south of Greenland&mdash;a good nine hundred miles as the crow flies. A
      captain takes a great responsibility upon himself when he risks his vessel
      under such circumstances. No whaler has ever remained in these latitudes
      till so advanced a period of the year.
    </p>
    <p>
      9 P.M,&mdash;I have spoken to Captain Craigie, and though the result has
      been hardly satisfactory, I am bound to say that he listened to what I had
      to say very quietly and even deferentially. When I had finished he put on
      that air of iron determination which I have frequently observed upon his
      face, and paced rapidly backwards and forwards across the narrow cabin for
      some minutes. At first I feared that I had seriously offended him, but he
      dispelled the idea by sitting down again, and putting his hand upon my arm
      with a gesture which almost amounted to a caress. There was a depth of
      tenderness too in his wild dark eyes which surprised me considerably.
      &ldquo;Look here, Doctor,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry I ever took you&mdash;I am indeed&mdash;and
      I would give fifty pounds this minute to see you standing safe upon the
      Dundee quay. It&rsquo;s hit or miss with me this time. There are fish to the
      north of us. How dare you shake your head, sir, when I tell you I saw them
      blowing from the masthead?&rdquo;&mdash;this in a sudden burst of fury, though I
      was not conscious of having shown any signs of doubt. &ldquo;Two-and-twenty fish
      in as many minutes as I am a living man, and not one under ten foot.<a
      href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a>
      Now, Doctor, do you think I can leave the country when there is only one
      infernal strip of ice between me and my fortune? If it came on to blow
      from the north to-morrow we could fill the ship and be away before the
      frost could catch us. If it came on to blow from the south&mdash;well, I
      suppose the men are paid for risking their lives, and as for myself it
      matters but little to me, for I have more to bind me to the other world
      than to this one. I confess that I am sorry for you, though. I wish I had
      old Angus Tait who was with me last voyage, for he was a man that would
      never be missed, and you&mdash;you said once that you were engaged, did
      you not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ A whale is measured among
      whalers not by the length of its body, but by the length of its
      whalebone.]
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, snapping the spring of the locket which hung from my
      watch-chain, and holding up the little vignette of Flora.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Curse you!&rdquo; he yelled, springing out of his seat, with his very beard
      bristling with passion. &ldquo;What is your happiness to me? What have I to do
      with her that you must dangle her photograph before my eyes?&rdquo; I almost
      thought that he was about to strike me in the frenzy of his rage, but with
      another imprecation he dashed open the door of the cabin and rushed out
      upon deck, leaving me considerably astonished at his extraordinary
      violence. It is the first time that he has ever shown me anything but
      courtesy and kindness. I can hear him pacing excitedly up and down
      overhead as I write these lines.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should like to give a sketch of the character of this man, but it seems
      presumptuous to attempt such a thing upon paper, when the idea in my own
      mind is at best a vague and uncertain one. Several times I have thought
      that I grasped the clue which might explain it, but only to be
      disappointed by his presenting himself in some new light which would upset
      all my conclusions. It may be that no human eye but my own shall ever rest
      upon these lines, yet as a psychological study I shall attempt to leave
      some record of Captain Nicholas Craigie.
    </p>
    <p>
      A man&rsquo;s outer case generally gives some indication of the soul within. The
      Captain is tall and well-formed, with dark, handsome face, and a curious
      way of twitching his limbs, which may arise from nervousness, or be simply
      an outcome of his excessive energy. His jaw and whole cast of countenance
      is manly and resolute, but the eyes are the distinctive feature of his
      face. They are of the very darkest hazel, bright and eager, with a
      singular mixture of recklessness in their expression, and of something
      else which I have sometimes thought was more allied with horror than any
      other emotion. Generally the former predominated, but on occasions, and
      more particularly when he was thoughtfully inclined, the look of fear
      would spread and deepen until it imparted a new character to his whole
      countenance. It is at these times that he is most subject to tempestuous
      fits of anger, and he seems to be aware of it, for I have known him lock
      himself up so that no one might approach him until his dark hour was
      passed. He sleeps badly, and I have heard him shouting during the night,
      but his cabin is some little distance from mine, and I could never
      distinguish the words which he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      This is one phase of his character, and the most disagreeable one. It is
      only through my close association with him, thrown together as we are day
      after day, that I have observed it. Otherwise he is an agreeable
      companion, well-read and entertaining, and as gallant a seaman as ever
      trod a deck. I shall not easily forget the way in which he handled the
      ship when we were caught by a gale among the loose ice at the beginning of
      April. I have never seen him so cheerful, and even hilarious, as he was
      that night, as he paced backwards and forwards upon the bridge amid the
      flashing of the lightning and the howling of the wind. He has told me
      several times that the thought of death was a pleasant one to him, which
      is a sad thing for a young man to say; he cannot be much more than thirty,
      though his hair and moustache are already slightly grizzled. Some great
      sorrow must have overtaken him and blighted his whole life. Perhaps I
      should be the same if I lost my Flora&mdash;God knows! I think if it were
      not for her that I should care very little whether the wind blew from the
      north or the south to-morrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      There, I hear him come down the companion, and he has locked himself up in
      his room, which shows that he is still in an unamiable mood. And so to
      bed, as old Pepys would say, for the candle is burning down (we have to
      use them now since the nights are closing in), and the steward has turned
      in, so there are no hopes of another one.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 12th.&mdash;Calm, clear day, and still lying in the same
      position. What wind there is comes from the south-east, but it is very
      slight. Captain is in a better humour, and apologised to me at breakfast
      for his rudeness. He still looks somewhat distrait, however, and retains
      that wild look in his eyes which in a Highlander would mean that he was
      &ldquo;fey&rdquo;&mdash;at least so our chief engineer remarked to me, and he has some
      reputation among the Celtic portion of our crew as a seer and expounder of
      omens.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is strange that superstition should have obtained such mastery over
      this hard-headed and practical race. I could not have believed to what an
      extent it is carried had I not observed it for myself. We have had a
      perfect epidemic of it this voyage, until I have felt inclined to serve
      out rations of sedatives and nerve-tonics with the Saturday allowance of
      grog. The first symptom of it was that shortly after leaving Shetland the
      men at the wheel used to complain that they heard plaintive cries and
      screams in the wake of the ship, as if something were following it and
      were unable to overtake it. This fiction has been kept up during the whole
      voyage, and on dark nights at the beginning of the seal-fishing it was
      only with great difficulty that men could be induced to do their spell. No
      doubt what they heard was either the creaking of the rudder-chains, or the
      cry of some passing sea-bird. I have been fetched out of bed several times
      to listen to it, but I need hardly say that I was never able to
      distinguish anything unnatural.
    </p>
    <p>
      The men, however, are so absurdly positive upon the subject that it is
      hopeless to argue with them. I mentioned the matter to the Captain once,
      but to my surprise he took it very gravely, and indeed appeared to be
      considerably disturbed by what I told him. I should have thought that he
      at least would have been above such vulgar delusions.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this disquisition upon superstition leads me up to the fact that Mr.
      Manson, our second mate, saw a ghost last night&mdash;or, at least, says
      that he did, which of course is the same thing. It is quite refreshing to
      have some new topic of conversation after the eternal routine of bears and
      whales which has served us for so many months. Manson swears the ship is
      haunted, and that he would not stay in her a day if he had any other place
      to go to. Indeed the fellow is honestly frightened, and I had to give him
      some chloral and bromide of potassium this morning to steady him down. He
      seemed quite indignant when I suggested that he had been having an extra
      glass the night before, and I was obliged to pacify him by keeping as
      grave a countenance as possible during his story, which he certainly
      narrated in a very straight-forward and matter-of-fact way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was on the bridge,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;about four bells in the middle watch,
      just when the night was at its darkest. There was a bit of a moon, but the
      clouds were blowing across it so that you couldn&rsquo;t see far from the ship.
      John M&lsquo;Leod, the harpooner, came aft from the foc&rsquo;sle-head and reported a
      strange noise on the starboard bow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I went forrard and we both heard it, sometimes like a bairn crying and
      sometimes like a wench in pain. I&rsquo;ve been seventeen years to the country
      and I never heard seal, old or young, make a sound like that. As we were
      standing there on the foc&rsquo;sle-head the moon came out from behind a cloud,
      and we both saw a sort of white figure moving across the ice field in the
      same direction that we had heard the cries. We lost sight of it for a
      while, but it came back on the port bow, and we could just make it out
      like a shadow on the ice. I sent a hand aft for the rifles, and M&lsquo;Leod and
      I went down on to the pack, thinking that maybe it might be a bear. When
      we got on the ice I lost sight of M&lsquo;Leod, but I pushed on in the direction
      where I could still hear the cries. I followed them for a mile or maybe
      more, and then running round a hummock I came right on to the top of it
      standing and waiting for me seemingly. I don&rsquo;t know what it was. It wasn&rsquo;t
      a bear any way. It was tall and white and straight, and if it wasn&rsquo;t a man
      nor a woman, I&rsquo;ll stake my davy it was something worse. I made for the
      ship as hard as I could run, and precious glad I was to find myself
      aboard. I signed articles to do my duty by the ship, and on the ship I&rsquo;ll
      stay, but you don&rsquo;t catch me on the ice again after sundown.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That is his story, given as far as I can in his own words. I fancy what he
      saw must, in spite of his denial, have been a young bear erect upon its
      hind legs, an attitude which they often assume when alarmed. In the
      uncertain light this would bear a resemblance to a human figure,
      especially to a man whose nerves were already somewhat shaken. Whatever it
      may have been, the occurrence is unfortunate, for it has produced a most
      unpleasant effect upon the crew. Their looks are more sullen than before,
      and their discontent more open. The double grievance of being debarred
      from the herring fishing and of being detained in what they choose to call
      a haunted vessel, may lead them to do something rash. Even the harpooners,
      who are the oldest and steadiest among them, are joining in the general
      agitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Apart from this absurd outbreak of superstition, things are looking rather
      more cheerful. The pack which was forming to the south of us has partly
      cleared away, and the water is so warm as to lead me to believe that we
      are lying in one of those branches of the gulf-stream which run up between
      Greenland and Spitzbergen. There are numerous small Medusae and sealemons
      about the ship, with abundance of shrimps, so that there is every
      possibility of &ldquo;fish&rdquo; being sighted. Indeed one was seen blowing about
      dinner-time, but in such a position that it was impossible for the boats
      to follow it.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 13th.&mdash;Had an interesting conversation with the chief mate,
      Mr. Milne, upon the bridge. It seems that our Captain is as great an
      enigma to the seamen, and even to the owners of the vessel, as he has been
      to me. Mr. Milne tells me that when the ship is paid off, upon returning
      from a voyage, Captain Craigie disappears, and is not seen again until the
      approach of another season, when he walks quietly into the office of the
      company, and asks whether his services will be required. He has no friend
      in Dundee, nor does any one pretend to be acquainted with his early
      history. His position depends entirely upon his skill as a seaman, and the
      name for courage and coolness which he had earned in the capacity of mate,
      before being entrusted with a separate command. The unanimous opinion
      seems to be that he is not a Scotchman, and that his name is an assumed
      one. Mr. Milne thinks that he has devoted himself to whaling simply for
      the reason that it is the most dangerous occupation which he could select,
      and that he courts death in every possible manner. He mentioned several
      instances of this, one of which is rather curious, if true. It seems that
      on one occasion he did not put in an appearance at the office, and a
      substitute had to be selected in his place. That was at the time of the
      last Russian and Turkish war. When he turned up again next spring he had a
      puckered wound in the side of his neck which he used to endeavour to
      conceal with his cravat. Whether the mate&rsquo;s inference that he had been
      engaged in the war is true or not I cannot say. It was certainly a strange
      coincidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      The wind is veering round in an easterly direction, but is still very
      slight. I think the ice is lying closer than it did yesterday. As far as
      the eye can reach on every side there is one wide expanse of spotless
      white, only broken by an occasional rift or the dark shadow of a hummock.
      To the south there is the narrow lane of blue water which is our sole
      means of escape, and which is closing up every day. The Captain is taking
      a heavy responsibility upon himself. I hear that the tank of potatoes has
      been finished, and even the biscuits are running short, but he preserves
      the same impassible countenance, and spends the greater part of the day at
      the crow&rsquo;s nest, sweeping the horizon with his glass. His manner is very
      variable, and he seems to avoid my society, but there has been no
      repetition of the violence which he showed the other night.
    </p>
    <p>
      7.30 P.M.&mdash;My deliberate opinion is that we are commanded by a
      madman. Nothing else can account for the extraordinary vagaries of Captain
      Craigie. It is fortunate that I have kept this journal of our voyage, as
      it will serve to justify us in case we have to put him under any sort of
      restraint, a step which I should only consent to as a last resource.
      Curiously enough it was he himself who suggested lunacy and not mere
      eccentricity as the secret of his strange conduct. He was standing upon
      the bridge about an hour ago, peering as usual through his glass, while I
      was walking up and down the quarterdeck. The majority of the men were
      below at their tea, for the watches have not been regularly kept of late.
      Tired of walking, I leaned against the bulwarks, and admired the mellow
      glow cast by the sinking sun upon the great ice fields which surround us.
      I was suddenly aroused from the reverie into which I had fallen by a
      hoarse voice at my elbow, and starting round I found that the Captain had
      descended and was standing by my side. He was staring out over the ice
      with an expression in which horror, surprise, and something approaching to
      joy were contending for the mastery. In spite of the cold, great drops of
      perspiration were coursing down his forehead, and he was evidently
      fearfully excited.
    </p>
    <p>
      His limbs twitched like those of a man upon the verge of an epileptic fit,
      and the lines about his mouth were drawn and hard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he gasped, seizing me by the wrist, but still keeping his eyes
      upon the distant ice, and moving his head slowly in a horizontal
      direction, as if following some object which was moving across the field
      of vision. &ldquo;Look! There, man, there! Between the hummocks! Now coming out
      from behind the far one! You see her&mdash;you MUST see her! There still!
      Flying from me, by God, flying from me&mdash;and gone!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He uttered the last two words in a whisper of concentrated agony which
      shall never fade from my remembrance. Clinging to the ratlines he
      endeavoured to climb up upon the top of the bulwarks as if in the hope of
      obtaining a last glance at the departing object. His strength was not
      equal to the attempt, however, and he staggered back against the saloon
      skylights, where he leaned panting and exhausted. His face was so livid
      that I expected him to become unconscious, so lost no time in leading him
      down the companion, and stretching him upon one of the sofas in the cabin.
      I then poured him out some brandy, which I held to his lips, and which had
      a wonderful effect upon him, bringing the blood back into his white face
      and steadying his poor shaking limbs. He raised himself up upon his elbow,
      and looking round to see that we were alone, he beckoned to me to come and
      sit beside him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You saw it, didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; he asked, still in the same subdued awesome tone
      so foreign to the nature of the man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I saw nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His head sank back again upon the cushions. &ldquo;No, he wouldn&rsquo;t without the
      glass,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;He couldn&rsquo;t. It was the glass that showed her to me,
      and then the eyes of love&mdash;the eyes of love.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I say, Doc, don&rsquo;t let the steward in! He&rsquo;ll think I&rsquo;m mad. Just bolt the
      door, will you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I rose and did what he had commanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      He lay quiet for a while, lost in thought apparently, and then raised
      himself up upon his elbow again, and asked for some more brandy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t think I am, do you, Doc?&rdquo; he asked, as I was putting the bottle
      back into the after-locker. &ldquo;Tell me now, as man to man, do you think that
      I am mad?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you have something on your mind,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;which is exciting
      you and doing you a good deal of harm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right there, lad!&rdquo; he cried, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the
      brandy. &ldquo;Plenty on my mind&mdash;plenty! But I can work out the latitude
      and the longitude, and I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms.
      You couldn&rsquo;t prove me mad in a court of law, could you, now?&rdquo; It was
      curious to hear the man lying back and coolly arguing out the question of
      his own sanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps not,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;but still I think you would be wise to get home as
      soon as you can, and settle down to a quiet life for a while.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Get home, eh?&rdquo; he muttered, with a sneer upon his face. &ldquo;One word for me
      and two for yourself, lad. Settle down with Flora&mdash;pretty little
      Flora. Are bad dreams signs of madness?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sometimes,&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else? What would be the first symptoms?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pains in the head, noises in the ears flashes before the eyes, delusions&rdquo;&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! what about them?&rdquo; he interrupted. &ldquo;What would you call a delusion?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seeing a thing which is not there is a delusion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But she WAS there!&rdquo; he groaned to himself. &ldquo;She WAS there!&rdquo; and rising,
      he unbolted the door and walked with slow and uncertain steps to his own
      cabin, where I have no doubt that he will remain until to-morrow morning.
      His system seems to have received a terrible shock, whatever it may have
      been that he imagined himself to have seen. The man becomes a greater
      mystery every day, though I fear that the solution which he has himself
      suggested is the correct one, and that his reason is affected. I do not
      think that a guilty conscience has anything to do with his behaviour. The
      idea is a popular one among the officers, and, I believe, the crew; but I
      have seen nothing to support it. He has not the air of a guilty man, but
      of one who has had terrible usage at the hands of fortune, and who should
      be regarded as a martyr rather than a criminal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The wind is veering round to the south to-night. God help us if it blocks
      that narrow pass which is our only road to safety! Situated as we are on
      the edge of the main Arctic pack, or the &ldquo;barrier&rdquo; as it is called by the
      whalers, any wind from the north has the effect of shredding out the ice
      around us and allowing our escape, while a wind from the south blows up
      all the loose ice behind us and hems us in between two packs. God help us,
      I say again!
    </p>
    <p>
      September 14th.&mdash;Sunday, and a day of rest. My fears have been
      confirmed, and the thin strip of blue water has disappeared from the
      southward. Nothing but the great motionless ice fields around us, with
      their weird hummocks and fantastic pinnacles. There is a deathly silence
      over their wide expanse which is horrible. No lapping of the waves now, no
      cries of seagulls or straining of sails, but one deep universal silence in
      which the murmurs of the seamen, and the creak of their boots upon the
      white shining deck, seem discordant and out of place. Our only visitor was
      an Arctic fox, a rare animal upon the pack, though common enough upon the
      land. He did not come near the ship, however, but after surveying us from
      a distance fled rapidly across the ice. This was curious conduct, as they
      generally know nothing of man, and being of an inquisitive nature, become
      so familiar that they are easily captured. Incredible as it may seem, even
      this little incident produced a bad effect upon the crew. &ldquo;Yon puir
      beastie kens mair, ay, an&rsquo; sees mair nor you nor me!&rdquo; was the comment of
      one of the leading harpooners, and the others nodded their acquiescence.
      It is vain to attempt to argue against such puerile superstition. They
      have made up their minds that there is a curse upon the ship, and nothing
      will ever persuade them to the contrary.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Captain remained in seclusion all day except for about half an hour in
      the afternoon, when he came out upon the quarterdeck. I observed that he
      kept his eye fixed upon the spot where the vision of yesterday had
      appeared, and was quite prepared for another outburst, but none such came.
      He did not seem to see me although I was standing close beside him. Divine
      service was read as usual by the chief engineer. It is a curious thing
      that in whaling vessels the Church of England Prayer-book is always
      employed, although there is never a member of that Church among either
      officers or crew. Our men are all Roman Catholics or Presbyterians, the
      former predominating. Since a ritual is used which is foreign to both,
      neither can complain that the other is preferred to them, and they listen
      with all attention and devotion, so that the system has something to
      recommend it.
    </p>
    <p>
      A glorious sunset, which made the great fields of ice look like a lake of
      blood. I have never seen a finer and at the same time more weird effect.
      Wind is veering round. If it will blow twenty-four hours from the north
      all will yet be well.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 15th.&mdash;To-day is Flora&rsquo;s birthday. Dear lass! it is well
      that she cannot see her boy, as she used to call me, shut up among the ice
      fields with a crazy captain and a few weeks&rsquo; provisions. No doubt she
      scans the shipping list in the Scotsman every morning to see if we are
      reported from Shetland. I have to set an example to the men and look
      cheery and unconcerned; but God knows, my heart is very heavy at times.
    </p>
    <p>
      The thermometer is at nineteen Fahrenheit to-day. There is but little
      wind, and what there is comes from an unfavourable quarter. Captain is in
      an excellent humour; I think he imagines he has seen some other omen or
      vision, poor fellow, during the night, for he came into my room early in
      the morning, and stooping down over my bunk, whispered, &ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t a
      delusion, Doc; it&rsquo;s all right!&rdquo; After breakfast he asked me to find out
      how much food was left, which the second mate and I proceeded to do. It is
      even less than we had expected. Forward they have half a tank full of
      biscuits, three barrels of salt meat, and a very limited supply of coffee
      beans and sugar. In the after-hold and lockers there are a good many
      luxuries, such as tinned salmon, soups, haricot mutton, &amp;c., but they
      will go a very short way among a crew of fifty men. There are two barrels
      of flour in the store-room, and an unlimited supply of tobacco. Altogether
      there is about enough to keep the men on half rations for eighteen or
      twenty days&mdash;certainly not more. When we reported the state of things
      to the Captain, he ordered all hands to be piped, and addressed them from
      the quarterdeck. I never saw him to better advantage. With his tall,
      well-knit figure, and dark animated face, he seemed a man born to command,
      and he discussed the situation in a cool sailor-like way which showed that
      while appreciating the danger he had an eye for every loophole of escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lads,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;no doubt you think I brought you into this fix, if it
      is a fix, and maybe some of you feel bitter against me on account of it.
      But you must remember that for many a season no ship that comes to the
      country has brought in as much oil-money as the old Pole-Star, and every
      one of you has had his share of it. You can leave your wives behind you in
      comfort while other poor fellows come back to find their lasses on the
      parish. If you have to thank me for the one you have to thank me for the
      other, and we may call it quits. We&rsquo;ve tried a bold venture before this
      and succeeded, so now that we&rsquo;ve tried one and failed we&rsquo;ve no cause to
      cry out about it. If the worst comes to the worst, we can make the land
      across the ice, and lay in a stock of seals which will keep us alive until
      the spring. It won&rsquo;t come to that, though, for you&rsquo;ll see the Scotch coast
      again before three weeks are out. At present every man must go on half
      rations, share and share alike, and no favour to any. Keep up your hearts
      and you&rsquo;ll pull through this as you&rsquo;ve pulled through many a danger
      before.&rdquo; These few simple words of his had a wonderful effect upon the
      crew. His former unpopularity was forgotten, and the old harpooner whom I
      have already mentioned for his superstition, led off three cheers, which
      were heartily joined in by all hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 16th.&mdash;The wind has veered round to the north during the
      night, and the ice shows some symptoms of opening out. The men are in a
      good humour in spite of the short allowance upon which they have been
      placed. Steam is kept up in the engine-room, that there may be no delay
      should an opportunity for escape present itself. The Captain is in
      exuberant spirits, though he still retains that wild &ldquo;fey&rdquo; expression
      which I have already remarked upon. This burst of cheerfulness puzzles me
      more than his former gloom. I cannot understand it. I think I mentioned in
      an early part of this journal that one of his oddities is that he never
      permits any person to enter his cabin, but insists upon making his own
      bed, such as it is, and performing every other office for himself. To my
      surprise he handed me the key to-day and requested me to go down there and
      take the time by his chronometer while he measured the altitude of the sun
      at noon. It is a bare little room, containing a washing-stand and a few
      books, but little else in the way of luxury, except some pictures upon the
      walls. The majority of these are small cheap oleographs, but there was one
      water-colour sketch of the head of a young lady which arrested my
      attention. It was evidently a portrait, and not one of those fancy types
      of female beauty which sailors particularly affect. No artist could have
      evolved from his own mind such a curious mixture of character and
      weakness. The languid, dreamy eyes, with their drooping lashes, and the
      broad, low brow, unruffled by thought or care, were in strong contrast
      with the clean-cut, prominent jaw, and the resolute set of the lower lip.
      Underneath it in one of the corners was written, &ldquo;M. B., aet. 19.&rdquo; That
      any one in the short space of nineteen years of existence could develop
      such strength of will as was stamped upon her face seemed to me at the
      time to be well-nigh incredible. She must have been an extraordinary
      woman. Her features have thrown such a glamour over me that, though I had
      but a fleeting glance at them, I could, were I a draughtsman, reproduce
      them line for line upon this page of the journal. I wonder what part she
      has played in our Captain&rsquo;s life. He has hung her picture at the end of
      his berth, so that his eyes continually rest upon it. Were he a less
      reserved man I should make some remark upon the subject. Of the other
      things in his cabin there was nothing worthy of mention&mdash;uniform
      coats, a camp-stool, small looking-glass, tobacco-box, and numerous pipes,
      including an oriental hookah&mdash;which, by-the-bye, gives some colour to
      Mr. Milne&rsquo;s story about his participation in the war, though the
      connection may seem rather a distant one.
    </p>
    <p>
      11.20 P.M.&mdash;Captain just gone to bed after a long and interesting
      conversation on general topics. When he chooses he can be a most
      fascinating companion, being remarkably well-read, and having the power of
      expressing his opinion forcibly without appearing to be dogmatic. I hate
      to have my intellectual toes trod upon. He spoke about the nature of the
      soul, and sketched out the views of Aristotle and Plato upon the subject
      in a masterly manner. He seems to have a leaning for metempsychosis and
      the doctrines of Pythagoras. In discussing them we touched upon modern
      spiritualism, and I made some joking allusion to the impostures of Slade,
      upon which, to my surprise, he warned me most impressively against
      confusing the innocent with the guilty, and argued that it would be as
      logical to brand Christianity as an error because Judas, who professed
      that religion, was a villain. He shortly afterwards bade me good-night and
      retired to his room.
    </p>
    <p>
      The wind is freshening up, and blows steadily from the north. The nights
      are as dark now as they are in England. I hope to-morrow may set us free
      from our frozen fetters.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 17th.&mdash;The Bogie again. Thank Heaven that I have strong
      nerves! The superstition of these poor fellows, and the circumstantial
      accounts which they give, with the utmost earnestness and self-conviction,
      would horrify any man not accustomed to their ways. There are many
      versions of the matter, but the sum-total of them all is that something
      uncanny has been flitting round the ship all night, and that Sandie
      M&rsquo;Donald of Peterhead and &ldquo;lang&rdquo; Peter Williamson of Shetland saw it, as
      also did Mr. Milne on the bridge&mdash;so, having three witnesses, they
      can make a better case of it than the second mate did. I spoke to Milne
      after breakfast, and told him that he should be above such nonsense, and
      that as an officer he ought to set the men a better example. He shook his
      weather-beaten head ominously, but answered with characteristic caution,
      &ldquo;Mebbe aye, mebbe na, Doctor,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I didna ca&rsquo; it a ghaist. I canna&rsquo; 
      say I preen my faith in sea-bogles an&rsquo; the like, though there&rsquo;s a mony as
      claims to ha&rsquo; seen a&rsquo; that and waur. I&rsquo;m no easy feared, but maybe your
      ain bluid would run a bit cauld, mun, if instead o&rsquo; speerin&rsquo; aboot it in
      daylicht ye were wi&rsquo; me last night, an&rsquo; seed an awfu&rsquo; like shape, white
      an&rsquo; gruesome, whiles here, whiles there, an&rsquo; it greetin&rsquo; and ca&rsquo;ing in the
      darkness like a bit lambie that hae lost its mither. Ye would na&rsquo; be sae
      ready to put it a&rsquo; doon to auld wives&rsquo; clavers then, I&rsquo;m thinkin&rsquo;.&rdquo; I saw
      it was hopeless to reason with him, so contented myself with begging him
      as a personal favour to call me up the next time the spectre appeared&mdash;a
      request to which he acceded with many ejaculations expressive of his hopes
      that such an opportunity might never arise.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I had hoped, the white desert behind us has become broken by many thin
      streaks of water which intersect it in all directions. Our latitude to-day
      was 80 degrees 52&rsquo; N., which shows that there is a strong southerly drift
      upon the pack. Should the wind continue favourable it will break up as
      rapidly as it formed. At present we can do nothing but smoke and wait and
      hope for the best. I am rapidly becoming a fatalist. When dealing with
      such uncertain factors as wind and ice a man can be nothing else. Perhaps
      it was the wind and sand of the Arabian deserts which gave the minds of
      the original followers of Mahomet their tendency to bow to kismet.
    </p>
    <p>
      These spectral alarms have a very bad effect upon the Captain. I feared
      that it might excite his sensitive mind, and endeavoured to conceal the
      absurd story from him, but unfortunately he overheard one of the men
      making an allusion to it, and insisted upon being informed about it. As I
      had expected, it brought out all his latent lunacy in an exaggerated form.
      I can hardly believe that this is the same man who discoursed philosophy
      last night with the most critical acumen and coolest judgment. He is
      pacing backwards and forwards upon the quarterdeck like a caged tiger,
      stopping now and again to throw out his hands with a yearning gesture, and
      stare impatiently out over the ice. He keeps up a continual mutter to
      himself, and once he called out, &ldquo;But a little time, love&mdash;but a
      little time!&rdquo; Poor fellow, it is sad to see a gallant seaman and
      accomplished gentleman reduced to such a pass, and to think that
      imagination and delusion can cow a mind to which real danger was but the
      salt of life. Was ever a man in such a position as I, between a demented
      captain and a ghost-seeing mate? I sometimes think I am the only really
      sane man aboard the vessel&mdash;except perhaps the second engineer, who
      is a kind of ruminant, and would care nothing for all the fiends in the
      Red Sea so long as they would leave him alone and not disarrange his
      tools.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ice is still opening rapidly, and there is every probability of our
      being able to make a start to-morrow morning. They will think I am
      inventing when I tell them at home all the strange things that have
      befallen me.
    </p>
    <p>
      12 P.M.&mdash;I have been a good deal startled, though I feel steadier
      now, thanks to a stiff glass of brandy. I am hardly myself yet, however,
      as this handwriting will testify. The fact is, that I have gone through a
      very strange experience, and am beginning to doubt whether I was justified
      in branding every one on board as madmen because they professed to have
      seen things which did not seem reasonable to my understanding. Pshaw! I am
      a fool to let such a trifle unnerve me; and yet, coming as it does after
      all these alarms, it has an additional significance, for I cannot doubt
      either Mr. Manson&rsquo;s story or that of the mate, now that I have experienced
      that which I used formerly to scoff at.
    </p>
    <p>
      After all it was nothing very alarming&mdash;a mere sound, and that was
      all. I cannot expect that any one reading this, if any one ever should
      read it, will sympathise with my feelings, or realise the effect which it
      produced upon me at the time. Supper was over, and I had gone on deck to
      have a quiet pipe before turning in. The night was very dark&mdash;so dark
      that, standing under the quarter-boat, I was unable to see the officer
      upon the bridge. I think I have already mentioned the extraordinary
      silence which prevails in these frozen seas. In other parts of the world,
      be they ever so barren, there is some slight vibration of the air&mdash;some
      faint hum, be it from the distant haunts of men, or from the leaves of the
      trees, or the wings of the birds, or even the faint rustle of the grass
      that covers the ground. One may not actively perceive the sound, and yet
      if it were withdrawn it would be missed. It is only here in these Arctic
      seas that stark, unfathomable stillness obtrudes itself upon you in all
      its gruesome reality. You find your tympanum straining to catch some
      little murmur, and dwelling eagerly upon every accidental sound within the
      vessel. In this state I was leaning against the bulwarks when there arose
      from the ice almost directly underneath me a cry, sharp and shrill, upon
      the silent air of the night, beginning, as it seemed to me, at a note such
      as prima donna never reached, and mounting from that ever higher and
      higher until it culminated in a long wail of agony, which might have been
      the last cry of a lost soul. The ghastly scream is still ringing in my
      ears. Grief, unutterable grief, seemed to be expressed in it, and a great
      longing, and yet through it all there was an occasional wild note of
      exultation. It shrilled out from close beside me, and yet as I glared into
      the darkness I could discern nothing. I waited some little time, but
      without hearing any repetition of the sound, so I came below, more shaken
      than I have ever been in my life before. As I came down the companion I
      met Mr. Milne coming up to relieve the watch. &ldquo;Weel, Doctor,&rdquo; he said,
      &ldquo;maybe that&rsquo;s auld wives&rsquo; clavers tae? Did ye no hear it skirling? Maybe
      that&rsquo;s a supersteetion? What d&rsquo;ye think o&rsquo;t noo?&rdquo; I was obliged to
      apologise to the honest fellow, and acknowledge that I was as puzzled by
      it as he was. Perhaps to-morrow things may look different. At present I
      dare hardly write all that I think. Reading it again in days to come, when
      I have shaken off all these associations, I should despise myself for
      having been so weak.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 18th.&mdash;Passed a restless and uneasy night, still haunted by
      that strange sound. The Captain does not look as if he had had much repose
      either, for his face is haggard and his eyes bloodshot. I have not told
      him of my adventure of last night, nor shall I. He is already restless and
      excited, standing up, sitting down, and apparently utterly unable to keep
      still.
    </p>
    <p>
      A fine lead appeared in the pack this morning, as I had expected, and we
      were able to cast off our ice-anchor, and steam about twelve miles in a
      west-sou&rsquo;-westerly direction. We were then brought to a halt by a great
      floe as massive as any which we have left behind us. It bars our progress
      completely, so we can do nothing but anchor again and wait until it breaks
      up, which it will probably do within twenty-four hours, if the wind holds.
      Several bladder-nosed seals were seen swimming in the water, and one was
      shot, an immense creature more than eleven feet long. They are fierce,
      pugnacious animals, and are said to be more than a match for a bear.
      Fortunately they are slow and clumsy in their movements, so that there is
      little danger in attacking them upon the ice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Captain evidently does not think we have seen the last of our
      troubles, though why he should take a gloomy view of the situation is more
      than I can fathom, since every one else on board considers that we have
      had a miraculous escape, and are sure now to reach the open sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose you think it&rsquo;s all right now, Doctor?&rdquo; he said, as we sat
      together after dinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope so,&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We mustn&rsquo;t be too sure&mdash;and yet no doubt you are right. We&rsquo;ll all be
      in the arms of our own true loves before long, lad, won&rsquo;t we? But we
      mustn&rsquo;t be too sure&mdash;we mustn&rsquo;t be too sure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He sat silent a little, swinging his leg thoughtfully backwards and
      forwards. &ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he continued; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s a dangerous place this, even at
      its best&mdash;a treacherous, dangerous place. I have known men cut off
      very suddenly in a land like this. A slip would do it sometimes&mdash;a
      single slip, and down you go through a crack, and only a bubble on the
      green water to show where it was that you sank. It&rsquo;s a queer thing,&rdquo; he
      continued with a nervous laugh, &ldquo;but all the years I&rsquo;ve been in this
      country I never once thought of making a will&mdash;not that I have
      anything to leave in particular, but still when a man is exposed to danger
      he should have everything arranged and ready&mdash;don&rsquo;t you think so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; I answered, wondering what on earth he was driving at.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He feels better for knowing it&rsquo;s all settled,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;Now if
      anything should ever befall me, I hope that you will look after things for
      me. There is very little in the cabin, but such as it is I should like it
      to be sold, and the money divided in the same proportion as the oil-money
      among the crew. The chronometer I wish you to keep yourself as some slight
      remembrance of our voyage. Of course all this is a mere precaution, but I
      thought I would take the opportunity of speaking to you about it. I
      suppose I might rely upon you if there were any necessity?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most assuredly,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;and since you are taking this step, I may
      as well&rdquo;&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You! you!&rdquo; he interrupted. &ldquo;YOU&rsquo;RE all right. What the devil is the
      matter with YOU? There, I didn&rsquo;t mean to be peppery, but I don&rsquo;t like to
      hear a young fellow, that has hardly began life, speculating about death.
      Go up on deck and get some fresh air into your lungs instead of talking
      nonsense in the cabin, and encouraging me to do the same.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The more I think of this conversation of ours the less do I like it. Why
      should the man be settling his affairs at the very time when we seem to be
      emerging from all danger? There must be some method in his madness. Can it
      be that he contemplates suicide? I remember that upon one occasion he
      spoke in a deeply reverent manner of the heinousness of the crime of
      self-destruction. I shall keep my eye upon him, however, and though I
      cannot obtrude upon the privacy of his cabin, I shall at least make a
      point of remaining on deck as long as he stays up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Milne pooh-poohs my fears, and says it is only the &ldquo;skipper&rsquo;s little
      way.&rdquo; He himself takes a very rosy view of the situation. According to him
      we shall be out of the ice by the day after to-morrow, pass Jan Meyen two
      days after that, and sight Shetland in little more than a week. I hope he
      may not be too sanguine. His opinion may be fairly balanced against the
      gloomy precautions of the Captain, for he is an old and experienced
      seaman, and weighs his words well before uttering them.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      The long-impending catastrophe has come at last. I hardly know what to
      write about it. The Captain is gone. He may come back to us again alive,
      but I fear me&mdash;I fear me. It is now seven o&rsquo;clock of the morning of
      the 19th of September. I have spent the whole night traversing the great
      ice-floe in front of us with a party of seamen in the hope of coming upon
      some trace of him, but in vain. I shall try to give some account of the
      circumstances which attended upon his disappearance. Should any one ever
      chance to read the words which I put down, I trust they will remember that
      I do not write from conjecture or from hearsay, but that I, a sane and
      educated man, am describing accurately what actually occurred before my
      very eyes. My inferences are my own, but I shall be answerable for the
      facts.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Captain remained in excellent spirits after the conversation which I
      have recorded. He appeared to be nervous and impatient, however,
      frequently changing his position, and moving his limbs in an aimless
      choreic way which is characteristic of him at times. In a quarter of an
      hour he went upon deck seven times, only to descend after a few hurried
      paces. I followed him each time, for there was something about his face
      which confirmed my resolution of not letting him out of my sight. He
      seemed to observe the effect which his movements had produced, for he
      endeavoured by an over-done hilarity, laughing boisterously at the very
      smallest of jokes, to quiet my apprehensions.
    </p>
    <p>
      After supper he went on to the poop once more, and I with him. The night
      was dark and very still, save for the melancholy soughing of the wind
      among the spars. A thick cloud was coming up from the north-west, and the
      ragged tentacles which it threw out in front of it were drifting across
      the face of the moon, which only shone now and again through a rift in the
      wrack. The Captain paced rapidly backwards and forwards, and then seeing
      me still dogging him, he came across and hinted that he thought I should
      be better below&mdash;which, I need hardly say, had the effect of
      strengthening my resolution to remain on deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      I think he forgot about my presence after this, for he stood silently
      leaning over the taffrail, and peering out across the great desert of
      snow, part of which lay in shadow, while part glittered mistily in the
      moonlight. Several times I could see by his movements that he was
      referring to his watch, and once he muttered a short sentence, of which I
      could only catch the one word &ldquo;ready.&rdquo; I confess to having felt an eerie
      feeling creeping over me as I watched the loom of his tall figure through
      the darkness, and noted how completely he fulfilled the idea of a man who
      is keeping a tryst. A tryst with whom? Some vague perception began to dawn
      upon me as I pieced one fact with another, but I was utterly unprepared
      for the sequel.
    </p>
    <p>
      By the sudden intensity of his attitude I felt that he saw something. I
      crept up behind him. He was staring with an eager questioning gaze at what
      seemed to be a wreath of mist, blown swiftly in a line with the ship. It
      was a dim, nebulous body, devoid of shape, sometimes more, sometimes less
      apparent, as the light fell on it. The moon was dimmed in its brilliancy
      at the moment by a canopy of thinnest cloud, like the coating of an
      anemone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Coming, lass, coming,&rdquo; cried the skipper, in a voice of unfathomable
      tenderness and compassion, like one who soothes a beloved one by some
      favour long looked for, and as pleasant to bestow as to receive.
    </p>
    <p>
      What followed happened in an instant. I had no power to interfere.
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave one spring to the top of the bulwarks, and another which took him
      on to the ice, almost to the feet of the pale misty figure. He held out
      his hands as if to clasp it, and so ran into the darkness with
      outstretched arms and loving words. I still stood rigid and motionless,
      straining my eyes after his retreating form, until his voice died away in
      the distance. I never thought to see him again, but at that moment the
      moon shone out brilliantly through a chink in the cloudy heaven, and
      illuminated the great field of ice. Then I saw his dark figure already a
      very long way off, running with prodigious speed across the frozen plain.
      That was the last glimpse which we caught of him&mdash;perhaps the last we
      ever shall. A party was organised to follow him, and I accompanied them,
      but the men&rsquo;s hearts were not in the work, and nothing was found. Another
      will be formed within a few hours. I can hardly believe I have not been
      dreaming, or suffering from some hideous nightmare, as I write these
      things down.
    </p>
    <p>
      7.30 P.M.&mdash;Just returned dead beat and utterly tired out from a
      second unsuccessful search for the Captain. The floe is of enormous
      extent, for though we have traversed at least twenty miles of its surface,
      there has been no sign of its coming to an end. The frost has been so
      severe of late that the overlying snow is frozen as hard as granite,
      otherwise we might have had the footsteps to guide us. The crew are
      anxious that we should cast off and steam round the floe and so to the
      southward, for the ice has opened up during the night, and the sea is
      visible upon the horizon. They argue that Captain Craigie is certainly
      dead, and that we are all risking our lives to no purpose by remaining
      when we have an opportunity of escape. Mr. Milne and I have had the
      greatest difficulty in persuading them to wait until to-morrow night, and
      have been compelled to promise that we will not under any circumstances
      delay our departure longer than that. We propose therefore to take a few
      hours&rsquo; sleep, and then to start upon a final search.
    </p>
    <p>
      September 20th, evening.&mdash;I crossed the ice this morning with a party
      of men exploring the southern part of the floe, while Mr. Milne went off
      in a northerly direction. We pushed on for ten or twelve miles without
      seeing a trace of any living thing except a single bird, which fluttered a
      great way over our heads, and which by its flight I should judge to have
      been a falcon. The southern extremity of the ice field tapered away into a
      long narrow spit which projected out into the sea. When we came to the
      base of this promontory, the men halted, but I begged them to continue to
      the extreme end of it, that we might have the satisfaction of knowing that
      no possible chance had been neglected.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had hardly gone a hundred yards before M&rsquo;Donald of Peterhead cried out
      that he saw something in front of us, and began to run. We all got a
      glimpse of it and ran too. At first it was only a vague darkness against
      the white ice, but as we raced along together it took the shape of a man,
      and eventually of the man of whom we were in search. He was lying face
      downwards upon a frozen bank. Many little crystals of ice and feathers of
      snow had drifted on to him as he lay, and sparkled upon his dark seaman&rsquo;s
      jacket. As we came up some wandering puff of wind caught these tiny flakes
      in its vortex, and they whirled up into the air, partially descended
      again, and then, caught once more in the current, sped rapidly away in the
      direction of the sea. To my eyes it seemed but a snow-drift, but many of
      my companions averred that it started up in the shape of a woman, stooped
      over the corpse and kissed it, and then hurried away across the floe. I
      have learned never to ridicule any man&rsquo;s opinion, however strange it may
      seem. Sure it is that Captain Nicholas Craigie had met with no painful
      end, for there was a bright smile upon his blue pinched features, and his
      hands were still outstretched as though grasping at the strange visitor
      which had summoned him away into the dim world that lies beyond the grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      We buried him the same afternoon with the ship&rsquo;s ensign around him, and a
      thirty-two pound shot at his feet. I read the burial service, while the
      rough sailors wept like children, for there were many who owed much to his
      kind heart, and who showed now the affection which his strange ways had
      repelled during his lifetime. He went off the grating with a dull, sullen
      splash, and as I looked into the green water I saw him go down, down, down
      until he was but a little flickering patch of white hanging upon the
      outskirts of eternal darkness. Then even that faded away, and he was gone.
      There he shall lie, with his secret and his sorrows and his mystery all
      still buried in his breast, until that great day when the sea shall give
      up its dead, and Nicholas Craigie come out from among the ice with the
      smile upon his face, and his stiffened arms outstretched in greeting. I
      pray that his lot may be a happier one in that life than it has been in
      this.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall not continue my journal. Our road to home lies plain and clear
      before us, and the great ice field will soon be but a remembrance of the
      past. It will be some time before I get over the shock produced by recent
      events. When I began this record of our voyage I little thought of how I
      should be compelled to finish it. I am writing these final words in the
      lonely cabin, still starting at times and fancying I hear the quick
      nervous step of the dead man upon the deck above me. I entered his cabin
      to-night, as was my duty, to make a list of his effects in order that they
      might be entered in the official log. All was as it had been upon my
      previous visit, save that the picture which I have described as having
      hung at the end of his bed had been cut out of its frame, as with a knife,
      and was gone. With this last link in a strange chain of evidence I close
      my diary of the voyage of the Pole-Star.
    </p>
    <p>
      [NOTE by Dr. John M&rsquo;Alister Ray, senior.&mdash;I have read over the
      strange events connected with the death of the Captain of the Pole-Star,
      as narrated in the journal of my son. That everything occurred exactly as
      he describes it I have the fullest confidence, and, indeed, the most
      positive certainty, for I know him to be a strong-nerved and unimaginative
      man, with the strictest regard for veracity. Still, the story is, on the
      face of it, so vague and so improbable, that I was long opposed to its
      publication. Within the last few days, however, I have had independent
      testimony upon the subject which throws a new light upon it. I had run
      down to Edinburgh to attend a meeting of the British Medical Association,
      when I chanced to come across Dr. P&mdash;&mdash;, an old college chum of
      mine, now practising at Saltash, in Devonshire. Upon my telling him of
      this experience of my son&rsquo;s, he declared to me that he was familiar with
      the man, and proceeded, to my no small surprise, to give me a description
      of him, which tallied remarkably well with that given in the journal,
      except that he depicted him as a younger man. According to his account, he
      had been engaged to a young lady of singular beauty residing upon the
      Cornish coast. During his absence at sea his betrothed had died under
      circumstances of peculiar horror.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      J. HABAKUK JEPHSON&rsquo;S STATEMENT.
    </h2>
    <p>
      In the month of December in the year 1873, the British ship Dei Gratia
      steered into Gibraltar, having in tow the derelict brigantine Marie
      Celeste, which had been picked up in latitude 38 degrees 40&rsquo;, longitude 17
      degrees 15&rsquo; W. There were several circumstances in connection with the
      condition and appearance of this abandoned vessel which excited
      considerable comment at the time, and aroused a curiosity which has never
      been satisfied. What these circumstances were was summed up in an able
      article which appeared in the Gibraltar Gazette. The curious can find it
      in the issue for January 4, 1874, unless my memory deceives me. For the
      benefit of those, however, who may be unable to refer to the paper in
      question, I shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the leading
      features of the case.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have ourselves,&rdquo; says the anonymous writer in the Gazette, &ldquo;been over
      the derelict Marie Celeste, and have closely questioned the officers of the
      Dei Gratia on every point which might throw light on the affair. They are
      of opinion that she had been abandoned several days, or perhaps weeks,
      before being picked up. The official log, which was found in the cabin,
      states that the vessel sailed from Boston to Lisbon, starting upon October
      16. It is, however, most imperfectly kept, and affords little information.
      There is no reference to rough weather, and, indeed, the state of the
      vessel&rsquo;s paint and rigging excludes the idea that she was abandoned for
      any such reason. She is perfectly watertight. No signs of a struggle or of
      violence are to be detected, and there is absolutely nothing to account
      for the disappearance of the crew. There are several indications that a
      lady was present on board, a sewing-machine being found in the cabin and
      some articles of female attire. These probably belonged to the captain&rsquo;s
      wife, who is mentioned in the log as having accompanied her husband. As an
      instance of the mildness of the weather, it may be remarked that a bobbin
      of silk was found standing upon the sewing-machine, though the least roll
      of the vessel would have precipitated it to the floor. The boats were
      intact and slung upon the davits; and the cargo, consisting of tallow and
      American clocks, was untouched. An old-fashioned sword of curious
      workmanship was discovered among some lumber in the forecastle, and this
      weapon is said to exhibit a longitudinal striation on the steel, as if it
      had been recently wiped. It has been placed in the hands of the police,
      and submitted to Dr. Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. The result of
      his examination has not yet been published. We may remark, in conclusion,
      that Captain Dalton, of the Dei Gratia, an able and intelligent seaman, is
      of opinion that the Marie Celeste may have been abandoned a considerable
      distance from the spot at which she was picked up, since a powerful
      current runs up in that latitude from the African coast. He confesses his
      inability, however, to advance any hypothesis which can reconcile all the
      facts of the case. In the utter absence of a clue or grain of evidence, it
      is to be feared that the fate of the crew of the Marie Celeste will be
      added to those numerous mysteries of the deep which will never be solved
      until the great day when the sea shall give up its dead. If crime has been
      committed, as is much to be suspected, there is little hope of bringing
      the perpetrators to justice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I shall supplement this extract from the Gibraltar Gazette by quoting a
      telegram from Boston, which went the round of the English papers, and
      represented the total amount of information which had been collected about
      the Marie Celeste. &ldquo;She was,&rdquo; it said, &ldquo;a brigantine of 170 tons burden,
      and belonged to White, Russell &amp; White, wine importers, of this city.
      Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old servant of the firm, and was a man of known
      ability and tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, aged
      thirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. The crew consisted
      of seven hands, including two coloured seamen, and a boy. There were three
      passengers, one of whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist on
      consumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished advocate for
      Abolition in the early days of the movement, and whose pamphlet, entitled
      &ldquo;Where is thy Brother?&rdquo; exercised a strong influence on public opinion
      before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. Harton, a writer in the
      employ of the firm, and Mr. Septimius Goring, a half-caste gentleman, from
      New Orleans. All investigations have failed to throw any light upon the
      fate of these fourteen human beings. The loss of Dr. Jephson will be felt
      both in political and scientific circles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I have here epitomised, for the benefit of the public, all that has been
      hitherto known concerning the Marie Celeste and her crew, for the past ten
      years have not in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I have now
      taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I know of the
      ill-fated voyage. I consider that it is a duty which I owe to society, for
      symptoms which I am familiar with in others lead me to believe that before
      many months my tongue and hand may be alike incapable of conveying
      information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narrative, that I am Joseph
      Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of Medicine of the University of Harvard, and
      ex-Consulting Physician of the Samaritan Hospital of Brooklyn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed myself before, and
      why I have suffered so many conjectures and surmises to pass unchallenged.
      Could the ends of justice have been served in any way by my revealing the
      facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly have done so. It seemed to
      me, however, that there was no possibility of such a result; and when I
      attempted, after the occurrence, to state my case to an English official,
      I was met with such offensive incredulity that I determined never again to
      expose myself to the chance of such an indignity. I can excuse the
      discourtesy of the Liverpool magistrate, however, when I reflect upon the
      treatment which I received at the hands of my own relatives, who, though
      they knew my unimpeachable character, listened to my statement with an
      indulgent smile as if humouring the delusion of a monomaniac. This slur
      upon my veracity led to a quarrel between myself and John Vanburger, the
      brother of my wife, and confirmed me in my resolution to let the matter
      sink into oblivion&mdash;a determination which I have only altered through
      my son&rsquo;s solicitations. In order to make my narrative intelligible, I must
      run lightly over one or two incidents in my former life which throw light
      upon subsequent events.
    </p>
    <p>
      My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of the sect called Plymouth
      Brethren, and was one of the most respected citizens of Lowell. Like most
      of the other Puritans of New England, he was a determined opponent to
      slavery, and it was from his lips that I received those lessons which
      tinged every action of my life. While I was studying medicine at Harvard
      University, I had already made a mark as an advanced Abolitionist; and
      when, after taking my degree, I bought a third share of the practice of
      Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, I managed, in spite of my professional duties, to
      devote a considerable time to the cause which I had at heart, my pamphlet,
      &ldquo;Where is thy Brother?&rdquo; (Swarburgh, Lister &amp; Co., 1859) attracting
      considerable attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accompanied the 113th New York
      Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the second battle of
      Bull&rsquo;s Run and at the battle of Gettysburg. Finally, I was severely
      wounded at Antietam, and would probably have perished on the field had it
      not been for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had me carried
      to his house and provided me with every comfort. Thanks to his charity,
      and to the nursing which I received from his black domestics, I was soon
      able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. It was during
      this period of convalescence that an incident occurred which is closely
      connected with my story.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the most assiduous of the negresses who had watched my couch during
      my illness there was one old crone who appeared to exert considerable
      authority over the others. She was exceedingly attentive to me, and I
      gathered from the few words that passed between us that she had heard of
      me, and that she was grateful to me for championing her oppressed race.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day as I was sitting alone in the verandah, basking in the sun, and
      debating whether I should rejoin Grant&rsquo;s army, I was surprised to see this
      old creature hobbling towards me. After looking cautiously around to see
      that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of her dress and produced a
      small chamois leather bag which was hung round her neck by a white cord.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Massa,&rdquo; she said, bending down and croaking the words into my ear, &ldquo;me
      die soon. Me very old woman. Not stay long on Massa Murray&rsquo;s plantation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may live a long time yet, Martha,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;You know I am a
      doctor. If you feel ill let me know about it, and I will try to cure you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No wish to live&mdash;wish to die. I&rsquo;m gwine to join the heavenly host.&rdquo;
       Here she relapsed into one of those half-heathenish rhapsodies in which
      negroes indulge. &ldquo;But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind me when
      I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. That one thing very
      precious, more precious and more holy than all thing else in the world.
      Me, a poor old black woman, have this because my people, very great
      people, &lsquo;spose they was back in the old country. But you cannot understand
      this same as black folk could. My fader give it me, and his fader give it
      him, but now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab no child, no
      relation, nobody. All round I see black man very bad man. Black woman very
      stupid woman. Nobody worthy of the stone. And so I say, Here is Massa
      Jephson who write books and fight for coloured folk&mdash;he must be good
      man, and he shall have it though he is white man, and nebber can know what
      it mean or where it came from.&rdquo; Here the old woman fumbled in the chamois
      leather bag and pulled out a flattish black stone with a hole through the
      middle of it. &ldquo;Here, take it,&rdquo; she said, pressing it into my hand; &ldquo;take
      it. No harm nebber come from anything good. Keep it safe&mdash;nebber lose
      it!&rdquo; and with a warning gesture the old crone hobbled away in the same
      cautious way as she had come, looking from side to side to see if we had
      been observed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was more amused than impressed by the old woman&rsquo;s earnestness, and was
      only prevented from laughing during her oration by the fear of hurting her
      feelings. When she was gone I took a good look at the stone which she had
      given me. It was intensely black, of extreme hardness, and oval in shape&mdash;just
      such a flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore if one wished to
      throw a long way. It was about three inches long, and an inch and a half
      broad at the middle, but rounded off at the extremities. The most curious
      part about it were several well-marked ridges which ran in semicircles
      over its surface, and gave it exactly the appearance of a human ear.
      Altogether I was rather interested in my new possession, and determined to
      submit it, as a geological specimen, to my friend Professor Shroeder of
      the New York Institute, upon the earliest opportunity. In the meantime I
      thrust it into my pocket, and rising from my chair started off for a short
      stroll in the shrubbery, dismissing the incident from my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      As my wound had nearly healed by this time, I took my leave of Mr. Murray
      shortly afterwards. The Union armies were everywhere victorious and
      converging on Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary, and I
      returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, and married the second
      daughter of Josiah Vanburger, the well-known wood engraver. In the course
      of a few years I built up a good connection and acquired considerable
      reputation in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. I still kept the old
      black stone in my pocket, and frequently told the story of the dramatic
      way in which I had become possessed of it. I also kept my resolution of
      showing it to Professor Shroeder, who was much interested both by the
      anecdote and the specimen. He pronounced it to be a piece of meteoric
      stone, and drew my attention to the fact that its resemblance to an ear
      was not accidental, but that it was most carefully worked into that shape.
      A dozen little anatomical points showed that the worker had been as
      accurate as he was skilful. &ldquo;I should not wonder,&rdquo; said the Professor, &ldquo;if
      it were broken off from some larger statue, though how such hard material
      could be so perfectly worked is more than I can understand. If there is a
      statue to correspond I should like to see it!&rdquo; So I thought at the time,
      but I have changed my opinion since.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next seven or eight years of my life were quiet and uneventful.
    </p>
    <p>
      Summer followed spring, and spring followed winter, without any variation
      in my duties. As the practice increased I admitted J. S. Jackson as
      partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The continued strain had
      told upon my constitution, however, and I became at last so unwell that my
      wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who was my colleague
      at the Samaritan Hospital.
    </p>
    <p>
      That gentleman examined me, and pronounced the apex of my left lung to be
      in a state of consolidation, recommending me at the same time to go
      through a course of medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me strongly
      in favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched by my
      meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell &amp; White, who
      offered me a passage in one of his father&rsquo;s ships, the Marie Celeste,
      which was just starting from Boston. &ldquo;She is a snug little ship,&rdquo; he said,
      &ldquo;and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing like a
      sailing ship for an invalid.&rdquo; I was very much of the same opinion myself,
      so I closed with the offer on the spot.
    </p>
    <p>
      My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels. She
      has always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strong family
      reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so we
      determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or an
      effusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, I was
      easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and
      hard-working man.
    </p>
    <p>
      I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately to the
      office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As I was
      sitting in the counting-house waiting until they should be at liberty to
      see me, the words Marie Celeste suddenly attracted my attention. I looked
      round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who was leaning across the polished
      mahogany counter asking some questions of the clerk at the other side. His
      face was turned half towards me, and I could see that he had a strong dash
      of negro blood in him, being probably a quadroon or even nearer akin to
      the black. His curved aquiline nose and straight lank hair showed the
      white strain; but the dark restless eye, sensuous mouth, and gleaming
      teeth all told of his African origin. His complexion was of a sickly,
      unhealthy yellow, and as his face was deeply pitted with small-pox, the
      general impression was so unfavourable as to be almost revolting. When he
      spoke, however, it was in a soft, melodious voice, and in well-chosen
      words, and he was evidently a man of some education.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wished to ask a few questions about the Marie Celeste,&rdquo; he repeated,
      leaning across to the clerk. &ldquo;She sails the day after to-morrow, does she
      not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the young clerk, awed into unusual politeness by the
      glimmer of a large diamond in the stranger&rsquo;s shirt front.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where is she bound for?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lisbon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How many of a crew?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seven, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Passengers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, two. One of our young gentlemen, and a doctor from New York.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No gentleman from the South?&rdquo; asked the stranger eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, none, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is there room for another passenger?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Accommodation for three more,&rdquo; answered the clerk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; said the quadroon decisively; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go, I&rsquo;ll engage my passage
      at once. Put it down, will you&mdash;Mr. Septimius Goring, of New
      Orleans.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the stranger, pointing to
      a blank space at the bottom. As Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it I was
      horrified to observe that the fingers of his right hand had been lopped
      off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb and the palm. I
      have seen thousands slain in battle, and assisted at every conceivable
      surgical operation, but I cannot recall any sight which gave me such a
      thrill of disgust as that great brown sponge-like hand with the single
      member protruding from it. He used it skilfully enough, however, for,
      dashing off his signature, he nodded to the clerk and strolled out of the
      office just as Mr. White sent out word that he was ready to receive me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went down to the Marie Celeste that evening, and looked over my berth,
      which was extremely comfortable considering the small size of the vessel.
      Mr. Goring, whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the one next mine.
      Opposite was the captain&rsquo;s cabin and a small berth for Mr. John Harton, a
      gentleman who was going out in the interests of the firm. These little
      rooms were arranged on each side of the passage which led from the
      main-deck to the saloon. The latter was a comfortable room, the panelling
      tastefully done in oak and mahogany, with a rich Brussels carpet and
      luxurious settees. I was very much pleased with the accommodation, and
      also with Tibbs the captain, a bluff, sailor-like fellow, with a loud
      voice and hearty manner, who welcomed me to the ship with effusion, and
      insisted upon our splitting a bottle of wine in his cabin. He told me that
      he intended to take his wife and youngest child with him on the voyage,
      and that he hoped with good luck to make Lisbon in three weeks. We had a
      pleasant chat and parted the best of friends, he warning me to make the
      last of my preparations next morning, as he intended to make a start by
      the midday tide, having now shipped all his cargo. I went back to my
      hotel, where I found a letter from my wife awaiting me, and, after a
      refreshing night&rsquo;s sleep, returned to the boat in the morning. From this
      point I am able to quote from the journal which I kept in order to vary
      the monotony of the long sea-voyage. If it is somewhat bald in places I
      can at least rely upon its accuracy in details, as it was written
      conscientiously from day to day.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 16.&mdash;Cast off our warps at half-past two and were towed out
      into the bay, where the tug left us, and with all sail set we bowled along
      at about nine knots an hour. I stood upon the poop watching the low land
      of America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the evening haze hid
      it from my sight. A single red light, however, continued to blaze
      balefully behind us, throwing a long track like a trail of blood upon the
      water, and it is still visible as I write, though reduced to a mere speck.
      The Captain is in a bad humour, for two of his hands disappointed him at
      the last moment, and he was compelled to ship a couple of negroes who
      happened to be on the quay. The missing men were steady, reliable fellows,
      who had been with him several voyages, and their non-appearance puzzled as
      well as irritated him. Where a crew of seven men have to work a fair-sized
      ship the loss of two experienced seamen is a serious one, for though the
      negroes may take a spell at the wheel or swab the decks, they are of
      little or no use in rough weather. Our cook is also a black man, and Mr.
      Septimius Goring has a little darkie servant, so that we are rather a
      piebald community. The accountant, John Harton, promises to be an
      acquisition, for he is a cheery, amusing young fellow. Strange how little
      wealth has to do with happiness! He has all the world before him and is
      seeking his fortune in a far land, yet he is as transparently happy as a
      man can be. Goring is rich, if I am not mistaken, and so am I; but I know
      that I have a lung, and Goring has some deeper trouble still, to judge by
      his features. How poorly do we both contrast with the careless, penniless
      clerk!
    </p>
    <p>
      October 17.&mdash;Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon deck for the first time this
      morning&mdash;a cheerful, energetic woman, with a dear little child just
      able to walk and prattle. Young Harton pounced on it at once, and carried
      it away to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds of future
      dyspepsia in the child&rsquo;s stomach. Thus medicine doth make cynics of us
      all! The weather is still all that could be desired, with a fine fresh
      breeze from the west-sou&rsquo;-west. The vessel goes so steadily that you would
      hardly know that she was moving were it not for the creaking of the
      cordage, the bellying of the sails, and the long white furrow in our wake.
      Walked the quarter-deck all morning with the Captain, and I think the keen
      fresh air has already done my breathing good, for the exercise did not
      fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a remarkably intelligent man, and we had
      an interesting argument about Maury&rsquo;s observations on ocean currents,
      which we terminated by going down into his cabin to consult the original
      work. There we found Goring, rather to the Captain&rsquo;s surprise, as it is
      not usual for passengers to enter that sanctum unless specially invited.
      He apologised for his intrusion, however, pleading his ignorance of the
      usages of ship life; and the good-natured sailor simply laughed at the
      incident, begging him to remain and favour us with his company. Goring
      pointed to the chronometers, the case of which he had opened, and remarked
      that he had been admiring them. He has evidently some practical knowledge
      of mathematical instruments, as he told at a glance which was the most
      trustworthy of the three, and also named their price within a few dollars.
      He had a discussion with the Captain too upon the variation of the
      compass, and when we came back to the ocean currents he showed a thorough
      grasp of the subject. Altogether he rather improves upon acquaintance, and
      is a man of decided culture and refinement. His voice harmonises with his
      conversation, and both are the very antithesis of his face and figure.
    </p>
    <p>
      The noonday observation shows that we have run two hundred and twenty
      miles. Towards evening the breeze freshened up, and the first mate ordered
      reefs to be taken in the topsails and top-gallant sails in expectation of
      a windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen to twenty-nine. I
      trust our voyage will not be a rough one, as I am a poor sailor, and my
      health would probably derive more harm than good from a stormy trip,
      though I have the greatest confidence in the Captain&rsquo;s seamanship and in
      the soundness of the vessel. Played cribbage with Mrs. Tibbs after supper,
      and Harton gave us a couple of tunes on the violin.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 18.&mdash;The gloomy prognostications of last night were not
      fulfilled, as the wind died away again, and we are lying now in a long
      greasy swell, ruffled here and there by a fleeting catspaw which is
      insufficient to fill the sails. The air is colder than it was yesterday,
      and I have put on one of the thick woollen jerseys which my wife knitted
      for me. Harton came into my cabin in the morning, and we had a cigar
      together. He says that he remembers having seen Goring in Cleveland, Ohio,
      in &lsquo;69. He was, it appears, a mystery then as now, wandering about without
      any visible employment, and extremely reticent on his own affairs. The man
      interests me as a psychological study. At breakfast this morning I
      suddenly had that vague feeling of uneasiness which comes over some people
      when closely stared at, and, looking quickly up, I met his eyes bent upon
      me with an intensity which amounted to ferocity, though their expression
      instantly softened as he made some conventional remark upon the weather.
      Curiously enough, Harton says that he had a very similar experience
      yesterday upon deck. I observe that Goring frequently talks to the
      coloured seamen as he strolls about&mdash;a trait which I rather admire,
      as it is common to find half-breeds ignore their dark strain and treat
      their black kinsfolk with greater intolerance than a white man would do.
      His little page is devoted to him, apparently, which speaks well for his
      treatment of him. Altogether, the man is a curious mixture of incongruous
      qualities, and unless I am deceived in him will give me food for
      observation during the voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Captain is grumbling about his chronometers, which do not register
      exactly the same time. He says it is the first time that they have ever
      disagreed. We were unable to get a noonday observation on account of the
      haze. By dead reckoning, we have done about a hundred and seventy miles in
      the twenty-four hours. The dark seamen have proved, as the skipper
      prophesied, to be very inferior hands, but as they can both manage the
      wheel well they are kept steering, and so leave the more experienced men
      to work the ship. These details are trivial enough, but a small thing
      serves as food for gossip aboard ship. The appearance of a whale in the
      evening caused quite a flutter among us. From its sharp back and forked
      tail, I should pronounce it to have been a rorqual, or &ldquo;finner,&rdquo; as they
      are called by the fishermen.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 19.&mdash;Wind was cold, so I prudently remained in my cabin all
      day, only creeping out for dinner. Lying in my bunk I can, without moving,
      reach my books, pipes, or anything else I may want, which is one advantage
      of a small apartment. My old wound began to ache a little to-day, probably
      from the cold. Read &ldquo;Montaigne&rsquo;s Essays&rdquo; and nursed myself. Harton came in
      in the afternoon with Doddy, the Captain&rsquo;s child, and the skipper himself
      followed, so that I held quite a reception.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 20 and 21.&mdash;Still cold, with a continual drizzle of rain, and
      I have not been able to leave the cabin. This confinement makes me feel
      weak and depressed. Goring came in to see me, but his company did not tend
      to cheer me up much, as he hardly uttered a word, but contented himself
      with staring at me in a peculiar and rather irritating manner. He then got
      up and stole out of the cabin without saying anything. I am beginning to
      suspect that the man is a lunatic. I think I mentioned that his cabin is
      next to mine. The two are simply divided by a thin wooden partition which
      is cracked in many places, some of the cracks being so large that I can
      hardly avoid, as I lie in my bunk, observing his motions in the adjoining
      room. Without any wish to play the spy, I see him continually stooping
      over what appears to be a chart and working with a pencil and compasses. I
      have remarked the interest he displays in matters connected with
      navigation, but I am surprised that he should take the trouble to work out
      the course of the ship. However, it is a harmless amusement enough, and no
      doubt he verifies his results by those of the Captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wish the man did not run in my thoughts so much. I had a nightmare on
      the night of the 20th, in which I thought my bunk was a coffin, that I was
      laid out in it, and that Goring was endeavouring to nail up the lid, which
      I was frantically pushing away. Even when I woke up, I could hardly
      persuade myself that I was not in a coffin. As a medical man, I know that
      a nightmare is simply a vascular derangement of the cerebral hemispheres,
      and yet in my weak state I cannot shake off the morbid impression which it
      produces.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 22.&mdash;A fine day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and a fresh
      breeze from the sou&rsquo;-west which wafts us gaily on our way. There has
      evidently been some heavy weather near us, as there is a tremendous swell
      on, and the ship lurches until the end of the fore-yard nearly touches the
      water. Had a refreshing walk up and down the quarter-deck, though I have
      hardly found my sea-legs yet. Several small birds&mdash;chaffinches, I
      think&mdash;perched in the rigging.
    </p>
    <p>
      4.40 P.M.&mdash;While I was on deck this morning I heard a sudden
      explosion from the direction of my cabin, and, hurrying down, found that I
      had very nearly met with a serious accident. Goring was cleaning a
      revolver, it seems, in his cabin, when one of the barrels which he thought
      was unloaded went off. The ball passed through the side partition and
      imbedded itself in the bulwarks in the exact place where my head usually
      rests. I have been under fire too often to magnify trifles, but there is
      no doubt that if I had been in the bunk it must have killed me. Goring,
      poor fellow, did not know that I had gone on deck that day, and must
      therefore have felt terribly frightened. I never saw such emotion in a
      man&rsquo;s face as when, on rushing out of his cabin with the smoking pistol in
      his hand, he met me face to face as I came down from deck. Of course, he
      was profuse in his apologies, though I simply laughed at the incident.
    </p>
    <p>
      11 P.M.&mdash;A misfortune has occurred so unexpected and so horrible that
      my little escape of the morning dwindles into insignificance. Mrs. Tibbs
      and her child have disappeared&mdash;utterly and entirely disappeared. I
      can hardly compose myself to write the sad details.
    </p>
    <p>
      About half-past eight Tibbs rushed into my cabin with a very white face
      and asked me if I had seen his wife. I answered that I had not. He then
      ran wildly into the saloon and began groping about for any trace of her,
      while I followed him, endeavouring vainly to persuade him that his fears
      were ridiculous. We hunted over the ship for an hour and a half without
      coming on any sign of the missing woman or child. Poor Tibbs lost his
      voice completely from calling her name. Even the sailors, who are
      generally stolid enough, were deeply affected by the sight of him as he
      roamed bareheaded and dishevelled about the deck, searching with feverish
      anxiety the most impossible places, and returning to them again and again
      with a piteous pertinacity. The last time she was seen was about seven
      o&rsquo;clock, when she took Doddy on to the poop to give him a breath of fresh
      air before putting him to bed. There was no one there at the time except
      the black seaman at the wheel, who denies having seen her at all. The
      whole affair is wrapped in mystery. My own theory is that while Mrs. Tibbs
      was holding the child and standing near the bulwarks it gave a spring and
      fell overboard, and that in her convulsive attempt to catch or save it,
      she followed it. I cannot account for the double disappearance in any
      other way. It is quite feasible that such a tragedy should be enacted
      without the knowledge of the man at the wheel, since it was dark at the
      time, and the peaked skylights of the saloon screen the greater part of
      the quarter-deck. Whatever the truth may be it is a terrible catastrophe,
      and has cast the darkest gloom upon our voyage. The mate has put the ship
      about, but of course there is not the slightest hope of picking them up.
      The Captain is lying in a state of stupor in his cabin. I gave him a
      powerful dose of opium in his coffee that for a few hours at least his
      anguish may be deadened.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 23.&mdash;Woke with a vague feeling of heaviness and misfortune,
      but it was not until a few moments&rsquo; reflection that I was able to recall
      our loss of the night before. When I came on deck I saw the poor skipper
      standing gazing back at the waste of waters behind us which contains
      everything dear to him upon earth. I attempted to speak to him, but he
      turned brusquely away, and began pacing the deck with his head sunk upon
      his breast. Even now, when the truth is so clear, he cannot pass a boat or
      an unbent sail without peering under it. He looks ten years older than he
      did yesterday morning. Harton is terribly cut up, for he was fond of
      little Doddy, and Goring seems sorry too. At least he has shut himself up
      in his cabin all day, and when I got a casual glance at him his head was
      resting on his two hands as if in a melancholy reverie. I fear we are
      about as dismal a crew as ever sailed. How shocked my wife will be to hear
      of our disaster! The swell has gone down now, and we are doing about eight
      knots with all sail set and a nice little breeze. Hyson is practically in
      command of the ship, as Tibbs, though he does his best to bear up and keep
      a brave front, is incapable of applying himself to serious work.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 24.&mdash;Is the ship accursed? Was there ever a voyage which
      began so fairly and which changed so disastrously? Tibbs shot himself
      through the head during the night. I was awakened about three o&rsquo;clock in
      the morning by an explosion, and immediately sprang out of bed and rushed
      into the Captain&rsquo;s cabin to find out the cause, though with a terrible
      presentiment in my heart. Quickly as I went, Goring went more quickly
      still, for he was already in the cabin stooping over the dead body of the
      Captain. It was a hideous sight, for the whole front of his face was blown
      in, and the little room was swimming in blood. The pistol was lying beside
      him on the floor, just as it had dropped from his hand. He had evidently
      put it to his mouth before pulling the trigger. Goring and I picked him
      reverently up and laid him on his bed. The crew had all clustered into his
      cabin, and the six white men were deeply grieved, for they were old hands
      who had sailed with him many years. There were dark looks and murmurs
      among them too, and one of them openly declared that the ship was haunted.
      Harton helped to lay the poor skipper out, and we did him up in canvas
      between us. At twelve o&rsquo;clock the foreyard was hauled aback, and we
      committed his body to the deep, Goring reading the Church of England
      burial service. The breeze has freshened up, and we have done ten knots
      all day and sometimes twelve. The sooner we reach Lisbon and get away from
      this accursed ship the better pleased shall I be. I feel as though we were
      in a floating coffin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Little wonder that the poor sailors are superstitious when I, an educated
      man, feel it so strongly.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 25.&mdash;Made a good run all day. Feel listless and depressed.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 26.&mdash;Goring, Harton, and I had a chat together on deck in the
      morning. Harton tried to draw Goring out as to his profession, and his
      object in going to Europe, but the quadroon parried all his questions and
      gave us no information. Indeed, he seemed to be slightly offended by
      Harton&rsquo;s pertinacity, and went down into his cabin. I wonder why we should
      both take such an interest in this man! I suppose it is his striking
      appearance, coupled with his apparent wealth, which piques our curiosity.
      Harton has a theory that he is really a detective, that he is after some
      criminal who has got away to Portugal, and that he chooses this peculiar
      way of travelling that he may arrive unnoticed and pounce upon his quarry
      unawares. I think the supposition is rather a far-fetched one, but Harton
      bases it upon a book which Goring left on deck, and which he picked up and
      glanced over. It was a sort of scrap-book it seems, and contained a large
      number of newspaper cuttings. All these cuttings related to murders which
      had been committed at various times in the States during the last twenty
      years or so. The curious thing which Harton observed about them, however,
      was that they were invariably murders the authors of which had never been
      brought to justice. They varied in every detail, he says, as to the manner
      of execution and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly wound
      up with the same formula that the murderer was still at large, though, of
      course, the police had every reason to expect his speedy capture.
      Certainly the incident seems to support Harton&rsquo;s theory, though it may be
      a mere whim of Gorings, or, as I suggested to Harton, he may be collecting
      materials for a book which shall outvie De Quincey. In any case it is no
      business of ours.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 27, 28.&mdash;Wind still fair, and we are making good progress.
      Strange how easily a human unit may drop out of its place and be
      forgotten! Tibbs is hardly ever mentioned now; Hyson has taken possession
      of his cabin, and all goes on as before. Were it not for Mrs. Tibbs&rsquo;s
      sewing-machine upon a side-table we might forget that the unfortunate
      family had ever existed. Another accident occurred on board to-day, though
      fortunately not a very serious one. One of our white hands had gone down
      the afterhold to fetch up a spare coil of rope, when one of the hatches
      which he had removed came crashing down on the top of him. He saved his
      life by springing out of the way, but one of his feet was terribly
      crushed, and he will be of little use for the remainder of the voyage. He
      attributes the accident to the carelessness of his negro companion, who
      had helped him to shift the hatches. The latter, however, puts it down to
      the roll of the ship. Whatever be the cause, it reduces our shorthanded
      crew still further. This run of ill-luck seems to be depressing Harton,
      for he has lost his usual good spirits and joviality. Goring is the only
      one who preserves his cheerfulness. I see him still working at his chart
      in his own cabin. His nautical knowledge would be useful should anything
      happen to Hyson&mdash;which God forbid!
    </p>
    <p>
      October 29, 30.&mdash;Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. All quiet
      and nothing of note to chronicle.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 31.&mdash;My weak lungs, combined with the exciting episodes of
      the voyage, have shaken my nervous system so much that the most trivial
      incident affects me. I can hardly believe that I am the same man who tied
      the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicest precision,
      under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as nervous as a child. I was
      lying half dozing last night about four bells in the middle watch trying
      in vain to drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no light inside my
      cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in through the port-hole,
      throwing a silvery flickering circle upon the door. As I lay I kept my
      drowsy eyes upon this circle, and was conscious that it was gradually
      becoming less well-defined as my senses left me, when I was suddenly
      recalled to full wakefulness by the appearance of a small dark object in
      the very centre of the luminous disc. I lay quietly and breathlessly
      watching it. Gradually it grew larger and plainer, and then I perceived
      that it was a human hand which had been cautiously inserted through the
      chink of the half-closed door&mdash;a hand which, as I observed with a
      thrill of horror, was not provided with fingers. The door swung cautiously
      backwards, and Goring&rsquo;s head followed his hand. It appeared in the centre
      of the moonlight, and was framed as it were in a ghastly uncertain halo,
      against which his features showed out plainly. It seemed to me that I had
      never seen such an utterly fiendish and merciless expression upon a human
      face. His eyes were dilated and glaring, his lips drawn back so as to show
      his white fangs, and his straight black hair appeared to bristle over his
      low forehead like the hood of a cobra. The sudden and noiseless apparition
      had such an effect upon me that I sprang up in bed trembling in every
      limb, and held out my hand towards my revolver. I was heartily ashamed of
      my hastiness when he explained the object of his intrusion, as he
      immediately did in the most courteous language. He had been suffering from
      toothache, poor fellow! and had come in to beg some laudanum, knowing that
      I possessed a medicine chest. As to a sinister expression he is never a
      beauty, and what with my state of nervous tension and the effect of the
      shifting moonlight it was easy to conjure up something horrible. I gave
      him twenty drops, and he went off again with many expressions of
      gratitude. I can hardly say how much this trivial incident affected me. I
      have felt unstrung all day.
    </p>
    <p>
      A week&rsquo;s record of our voyage is here omitted, as nothing eventful
      occurred during the time, and my log consists merely of a few pages of
      unimportant gossip.
    </p>
    <p>
      November 7.&mdash;Harton and I sat on the poop all the morning, for the
      weather is becoming very warm as we come into southern latitudes. We
      reckon that we have done two-thirds of our voyage. How glad we shall be to
      see the green banks of the Tagus, and leave this unlucky ship for ever! I
      was endeavouring to amuse Harton to-day and to while away the time by
      telling him some of the experiences of my past life. Among others I
      related to him how I came into the possession of my black stone, and as a
      finale I rummaged in the side pocket of my old shooting coat and produced
      the identical object in question. He and I were bending over it together,
      I pointing out to him the curious ridges upon its surface, when we were
      conscious of a shadow falling between us and the sun, and looking round
      saw Goring standing behind us glaring over our shoulders at the stone. For
      some reason or other he appeared to be powerfully excited, though he was
      evidently trying to control himself and to conceal his emotion. He pointed
      once or twice at my relic with his stubby thumb before he could recover
      himself sufficiently to ask what it was and how I obtained it&mdash;a
      question put in such a brusque manner that I should have been offended had
      I not known the man to be an eccentric. I told him the story very much as
      I had told it to Harton. He listened with the deepest interest, and then
      asked me if I had any idea what the stone was. I said I had not, beyond
      that it was meteoric. He asked me if I had ever tried its effect upon a
      negro. I said I had not. &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll see what our black friend
      at the wheel thinks of it.&rdquo; He took the stone in his hand and went across
      to the sailor, and the two examined it carefully. I could see the man
      gesticulating and nodding his head excitedly as if making some assertion,
      while his face betrayed the utmost astonishment, mixed I think with some
      reverence. Goring came across the deck to us presently, still holding the
      stone in his hand. &ldquo;He says it is a worthless, useless thing,&rdquo; he said,
      &ldquo;and fit only to be chucked overboard,&rdquo; with which he raised his hand and
      would most certainly have made an end of my relic, had the black sailor
      behind him not rushed forward and seized him by the wrist. Finding himself
      secured Goring dropped the stone and turned away with a very bad grace to
      avoid my angry remonstrances at his breach of faith. The black picked up
      the stone and handed it to me with a low bow and every sign of profound
      respect. The whole affair is inexplicable. I am rapidly coming to the
      conclusion that Goring is a maniac or something very near one. When I
      compare the effect produced by the stone upon the sailor, however, with
      the respect shown to Martha on the plantation, and the surprise of Goring
      on its first production, I cannot but come to the conclusion that I have
      really got hold of some powerful talisman which appeals to the whole dark
      race. I must not trust it in Goring&rsquo;s hands again.
    </p>
    <p>
      November 8, 9.&mdash;What splendid weather we are having! Beyond one
      little blow, we have had nothing but fresh breezes the whole voyage. These
      two days we have made better runs than any hitherto.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is a pretty thing to watch the spray fly up from our prow as it cuts
      through the waves. The sun shines through it and breaks it up into a
      number of miniature rainbows&mdash;&ldquo;sun-dogs,&rdquo; the sailors call them. I
      stood on the fo&rsquo;csle-head for several hours to-day watching the effect,
      and surrounded by a halo of prismatic colours.
    </p>
    <p>
      The steersman has evidently told the other blacks about my wonderful
      stone, for I am treated by them all with the greatest respect. Talking
      about optical phenomena, we had a curious one yesterday evening which was
      pointed out to me by Hyson. This was the appearance of a triangular
      well-defined object high up in the heavens to the north of us. He
      explained that it was exactly like the Peak of Teneriffe as seen from a
      great distance&mdash;the peak was, however, at that moment at least five
      hundred miles to the south. It may have been a cloud, or it may have been
      one of those strange reflections of which one reads. The weather is very
      warm. The mate says that he never knew it so warm in these latitudes.
      Played chess with Harton in the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      November 10.&mdash;It is getting warmer and warmer. Some land birds came
      and perched in the rigging today, though we are still a considerable way
      from our destination. The heat is so great that we are too lazy to do
      anything but lounge about the decks and smoke. Goring came over to me
      to-day and asked me some more questions about my stone; but I answered him
      rather shortly, for I have not quite forgiven him yet for the cool way in
      which he attempted to deprive me of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      November 11, 12.&mdash;Still making good progress. I had no idea Portugal
      was ever as hot as this, but no doubt it is cooler on land. Hyson himself
      seemed surprised at it, and so do the men.
    </p>
    <p>
      November 13.&mdash;A most extraordinary event has happened, so
      extraordinary as to be almost inexplicable. Either Hyson has blundered
      wonderfully, or some magnetic influence has disturbed our instruments.
      Just about daybreak the watch on the fo&rsquo;csle-head shouted out that he
      heard the sound of surf ahead, and Hyson thought he saw the loom of land.
      The ship was put about, and, though no lights were seen, none of us
      doubted that we had struck the Portuguese coast a little sooner than we
      had expected. What was our surprise to see the scene which was revealed to
      us at break of day! As far as we could look on either side was one long
      line of surf, great, green billows rolling in and breaking into a cloud of
      foam. But behind the surf what was there! Not the green banks nor the high
      cliffs of the shores of Portugal, but a great sandy waste which stretched
      away and away until it blended with the skyline. To right and left, look
      where you would, there was nothing but yellow sand, heaped in some places
      into fantastic mounds, some of them several hundred feet high, while in
      other parts were long stretches as level apparently as a billiard board.
      Harton and I, who had come on deck together, looked at each other in
      astonishment, and Harton burst out laughing. Hyson is exceedingly
      mortified at the occurrence, and protests that the instruments have been
      tampered with. There is no doubt that this is the mainland of Africa, and
      that it was really the Peak of Teneriffe which we saw some days ago upon
      the northern horizon. At the time when we saw the land birds we must have
      been passing some of the Canary Islands. If we continued on the same
      course, we are now to the north of Cape Blanco, near the unexplored
      country which skirts the great Sahara. All we can do is to rectify our
      instruments as far as possible and start afresh for our destination.
    </p>
    <p>
      8.30 P.M.&mdash;Have been lying in a calm all day. The coast is now about
      a mile and a half from us. Hyson has examined the instruments, but cannot
      find any reason for their extraordinary deviation.
    </p>
    <p>
      This is the end of my private journal, and I must make the remainder of my
      statement from memory. There is little chance of my being mistaken about
      facts which have seared themselves into my recollection. That very night
      the storm which had been brewing so long burst over us, and I came to
      learn whither all those little incidents were tending which I had recorded
      so aimlessly. Blind fool that I was not to have seen it sooner! I shall
      tell what occurred as precisely as I can.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had gone into my cabin about half-past eleven, and was preparing to go
      to bed, when a tap came at my door. On opening it I saw Goring&rsquo;s little
      black page, who told me that his master would like to have a word with me
      on deck. I was rather surprised that he should want me at such a late
      hour, but I went up without hesitation. I had hardly put my foot on the
      quarter-deck before I was seized from behind, dragged down upon my back,
      and a handkerchief slipped round my mouth. I struggled as hard as I could,
      but a coil of rope was rapidly and firmly wound round me, and I found
      myself lashed to the davit of one of the boats, utterly powerless to do or
      say anything, while the point of a knife pressed to my throat warned me to
      cease my struggles. The night was so dark that I had been unable hitherto
      to recognise my assailants, but as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom,
      and the moon broke out through the clouds that obscured it, I made out
      that I was surrounded by the two negro sailors, the black cook, and my
      fellow-passenger Goring. Another man was crouching on the deck at my feet,
      but he was in the shadow and I could not recognise him.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this occurred so rapidly that a minute could hardly have elapsed from
      the time I mounted the companion until I found myself gagged and
      powerless. It was so sudden that I could scarce bring myself to realise
      it, or to comprehend what it all meant. I heard the gang round me speaking
      in short, fierce whispers to each other, and some instinct told me that my
      life was the question at issue. Goring spoke authoritatively and angrily&mdash;the
      others doggedly and all together, as if disputing his commands. Then they
      moved away in a body to the opposite side of the deck, where I could still
      hear them whispering, though they were concealed from my view by the
      saloon skylights.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this time the voices of the watch on deck chatting and laughing at the
      other end of the ship were distinctly audible, and I could see them
      gathered in a group, little dreaming of the dark doings which were going
      on within thirty yards of them. Oh! that I could have given them one word
      of warning, even though I had lost my life in doing it! but it was
      impossible. The moon was shining fitfully through the scattered clouds,
      and I could see the silvery gleam of the surge, and beyond it the vast
      weird desert with its fantastic sand-hills. Glancing down, I saw that the
      man who had been crouching on the deck was still lying there, and as I
      gazed at him, a flickering ray of moonlight fell full upon his upturned
      face. Great Heaven! even now, when more than twelve years have elapsed, my
      hand trembles as I write that, in spite of distorted features and
      projecting eyes, I recognised the face of Harton, the cheery young clerk
      who had been my companion during the voyage. It needed no medical eye to
      see that he was quite dead, while the twisted handkerchief round the neck,
      and the gag in his mouth, showed the silent way in which the hell-hounds
      had done their work. The clue which explained every event of our voyage
      came upon me like a flash of light as I gazed on poor Harton&rsquo;s corpse.
      Much was dark and unexplained, but I felt a great dim perception of the
      truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      I heard the striking of a match at the other side of the skylights, and
      then I saw the tall, gaunt figure of Goring standing up on the bulwarks
      and holding in his hands what appeared to be a dark lantern. He lowered
      this for a moment over the side of the ship, and, to my inexpressible
      astonishment, I saw it answered instantaneously by a flash among the
      sand-hills on shore, which came and went so rapidly, that unless I had
      been following the direction of Goring&rsquo;s gaze, I should never have
      detected it. Again he lowered the lantern, and again it was answered from
      the shore. He then stepped down from the bulwarks, and in doing so
      slipped, making such a noise, that for a moment my heart bounded with the
      thought that the attention of the watch would be directed to his
      proceedings. It was a vain hope. The night was calm and the ship
      motionless, so that no idea of duty kept them vigilant. Hyson, who after
      the death of Tibbs was in command of both watches, had gone below to
      snatch a few hours&rsquo; sleep, and the boatswain who was left in charge was
      standing with the other two men at the foot of the foremast. Powerless,
      speechless, with the cords cutting into my flesh and the murdered man at
      my feet, I awaited the next act in the tragedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The four ruffians were standing up now at the other side of the deck. The
      cook was armed with some sort of a cleaver, the others had knives, and
      Goring had a revolver. They were all leaning against the rail and looking
      out over the water as if watching for something. I saw one of them grasp
      another&rsquo;s arm and point as if at some object, and following the direction
      I made out the loom of a large moving mass making towards the ship. As it
      emerged from the gloom I saw that it was a great canoe crammed with men
      and propelled by at least a score of paddles. As it shot under our stern
      the watch caught sight of it also, and raising a cry hurried aft. They
      were too late, however. A swarm of gigantic negroes clambered over the
      quarter, and led by Goring swept down the deck in an irresistible torrent.
      All opposition was overpowered in a moment, the unarmed watch were knocked
      over and bound, and the sleepers dragged out of their bunks and secured in
      the same manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hyson made an attempt to defend the narrow passage leading to his cabin,
      and I heard a scuffle, and his voice shouting for assistance. There was
      none to assist, however, and he was brought on to the poop with the blood
      streaming from a deep cut in his forehead. He was gagged like the others,
      and a council was held upon our fate by the negroes. I saw our black
      seamen pointing towards me and making some statement, which was received
      with murmurs of astonishment and incredulity by the savages. One of them
      then came over to me, and plunging his hand into my pocket took out my
      black stone and held it up. He then handed it to a man who appeared to be
      a chief, who examined it as minutely as the light would permit, and
      muttering a few words passed it on to the warrior beside him, who also
      scrutinised it and passed it on until it had gone from hand to hand round
      the whole circle. The chief then said a few words to Goring in the native
      tongue, on which the quadroon addressed me in English. At this moment I
      seem to see the scene. The tall masts of the ship with the moonlight
      streaming down, silvering the yards and bringing the network of cordage
      into hard relief; the group of dusky warriors leaning on their spears; the
      dead man at my feet; the line of white-faced prisoners, and in front of me
      the loathsome half-breed, looking in his white linen and elegant clothes a
      strange contrast to his associates.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will bear me witness,&rdquo; he said in his softest accents, &ldquo;that I am no
      party to sparing your life. If it rested with me you would die as these
      other men are about to do. I have no personal grudge against either you or
      them, but I have devoted my life to the destruction of the white race, and
      you are the first that has ever been in my power and has escaped me. You
      may thank that stone of yours for your life. These poor fellows reverence
      it, and indeed if it really be what they think it is they have cause.
      Should it prove when we get ashore that they are mistaken, and that its
      shape and material is a mere chance, nothing can save your life. In the
      meantime we wish to treat you well, so if there are any of your
      possessions which you would like to take with you, you are at liberty to
      get them.&rdquo; As he finished he gave a sign, and a couple of the negroes
      unbound me, though without removing the gag. I was led down into the
      cabin, where I put a few valuables into my pockets, together with a
      pocket-compass and my journal of the voyage. They then pushed me over the
      side into a small canoe, which was lying beside the large one, and my
      guards followed me, and shoving off began paddling for the shore. We had
      got about a hundred yards or so from the ship when our steersman held up
      his hand, and the paddlers paused for a moment and listened. Then on the
      silence of the night I heard a sort of dull, moaning sound, followed by a
      succession of splashes in the water. That is all I know of the fate of my
      poor shipmates. Almost immediately afterwards the large canoe followed us,
      and the deserted ship was left drifting about&mdash;a dreary, spectre-like
      hulk. Nothing was taken from her by the savages. The whole fiendish
      transaction was carried through as decorously and temperately as though it
      were a religious rite.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first grey of daylight was visible in the east as we passed through
      the surge and reached the shore. Leaving half-a-dozen men with the canoes,
      the rest of the negroes set off through the sand-hills, leading me with
      them, but treating me very gently and respectfully. It was difficult
      walking, as we sank over our ankles into the loose, shifting sand at every
      step, and I was nearly dead beat by the time we reached the native
      village, or town rather, for it was a place of considerable dimensions.
      The houses were conical structures not unlike bee-hives, and were made of
      compressed seaweed cemented over with a rude form of mortar, there being
      neither stick nor stone upon the coast nor anywhere within many hundreds
      of miles. As we entered the town an enormous crowd of both sexes came
      swarming out to meet us, beating tom-toms and howling and screaming. On
      seeing me they redoubled their yells and assumed a threatening attitude,
      which was instantly quelled by a few words shouted by my escort. A buzz of
      wonder succeeded the war-cries and yells of the moment before, and the
      whole dense mass proceeded down the broad central street of the town,
      having my escort and myself in the centre.
    </p>
    <p>
      My statement hitherto may seem so strange as to excite doubt in the minds
      of those who do not know me, but it was the fact which I am now about to
      relate which caused my own brother-in-law to insult me by disbelief. I can
      but relate the occurrence in the simplest words, and trust to chance and
      time to prove their truth. In the centre of this main street there was a
      large building, formed in the same primitive way as the others, but
      towering high above them; a stockade of beautifully polished ebony rails
      was planted all round it, the framework of the door was formed by two
      magnificent elephant&rsquo;s tusks sunk in the ground on each side and meeting
      at the top, and the aperture was closed by a screen of native cloth richly
      embroidered with gold. We made our way to this imposing-looking structure,
      but, on reaching the opening in the stockade, the multitude stopped and
      squatted down upon their hams, while I was led through into the enclosure
      by a few of the chiefs and elders of the tribe, Goring accompanying us,
      and in fact directing the proceedings. On reaching the screen which closed
      the temple&mdash;for such it evidently was&mdash;my hat and my shoes were
      removed, and I was then led in, a venerable old negro leading the way
      carrying in his hand my stone, which had been taken from my pocket. The
      building was only lit up by a few long slits in the roof, through which
      the tropical sun poured, throwing broad golden bars upon the clay floor,
      alternating with intervals of darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      The interior was even larger than one would have imagined from the outside
      appearance. The walls were hung with native mats, shells, and other
      ornaments, but the remainder of the great space was quite empty, with the
      exception of a single object in the centre. This was the figure of a
      colossal negro, which I at first thought to be some real king or high
      priest of titanic size, but as I approached it I saw by the way in which
      the light was reflected from it that it was a statue admirably cut in
      jet-black stone. I was led up to this idol, for such it seemed to be, and
      looking at it closer I saw that though it was perfect in every other
      respect, one of its ears had been broken short off. The grey-haired negro
      who held my relic mounted upon a small stool, and stretching up his arm
      fitted Martha&rsquo;s black stone on to the jagged surface on the side of the
      statue&rsquo;s head. There could not be a doubt that the one had been broken off
      from the other. The parts dovetailed together so accurately that when the
      old man removed his hand the ear stuck in its place for a few seconds
      before dropping into his open palm. The group round me prostrated
      themselves upon the ground at the sight with a cry of reverence, while the
      crowd outside, to whom the result was communicated, set up a wild whooping
      and cheering.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a moment I found myself converted from a prisoner into a demi-god. I
      was escorted back through the town in triumph, the people pressing forward
      to touch my clothing and to gather up the dust on which my foot had trod.
      One of the largest huts was put at my disposal, and a banquet of every
      native delicacy was served me. I still felt, however, that I was not a
      free man, as several spearmen were placed as a guard at the entrance of my
      hut. All day my mind was occupied with plans of escape, but none seemed in
      any way feasible. On the one side was the great arid desert stretching
      away to Timbuctoo, on the other was a sea untraversed by vessels. The more
      I pondered over the problem the more hopeless did it seem.
    </p>
    <p>
      I little dreamed how near I was to its solution.
    </p>
    <p>
      Night had fallen, and the clamour of the negroes had died gradually away.
      I was stretched on the couch of skins which had been provided for me, and
      was still meditating over my future, when Goring walked stealthily into
      the hut. My first idea was that he had come to complete his murderous
      holocaust by making away with me, the last survivor, and I sprang up upon
      my feet, determined to defend myself to the last. He smiled when he saw
      the action, and motioned me down again while he seated himself upon the
      other end of the couch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you think of me?&rdquo; was the astonishing question with which he
      commenced our conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Think of you!&rdquo; I almost yelled. &ldquo;I think you the vilest, most unnatural
      renegade that ever polluted the earth. If we were away from these black
      devils of yours I would strangle you with my hands!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak so loud,&rdquo; he said, without the slightest appearance of
      irritation. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want our chat to be cut short. So you would strangle
      me, would you!&rdquo; he went on, with an amused smile. &ldquo;I suppose I am
      returning good for evil, for I have come to help you to escape.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You!&rdquo; I gasped incredulously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I,&rdquo; he continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, there is no credit to me in the matter. I am quite consistent. There
      is no reason why I should not be perfectly candid with you. I wish to be
      king over these fellows&mdash;not a very high ambition, certainly, but you
      know what Caesar said about being first in a village in Gaul. Well, this
      unlucky stone of yours has not only saved your life, but has turned all
      their heads so that they think you are come down from heaven, and my
      influence will be gone until you are out of the way. That is why I am
      going to help you to escape, since I cannot kill you&rdquo;&mdash;this in the
      most natural and dulcet voice, as if the desire to do so were a matter of
      course.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would give the world to ask me a few questions,&rdquo; he went on, after a
      pause; &ldquo;but you are too proud to do it. Never mind, I&rsquo;ll tell you one or
      two things, because I want your fellow white men to know them when you go
      back&mdash;if you are lucky enough to get back. About that cursed stone of
      yours, for instance. These negroes, or at least so the legend goes, were
      Mahometans originally. While Mahomet himself was still alive, there was a
      schism among his followers, and the smaller party moved away from Arabia,
      and eventually crossed Africa. They took away with them, in their exile, a
      valuable relic of their old faith in the shape of a large piece of the
      black stone of Mecca. The stone was a meteoric one, as you may have heard,
      and in its fall upon the earth it broke into two pieces. One of these
      pieces is still at Mecca. The larger piece was carried away to Barbary,
      where a skilful worker modelled it into the fashion which you saw to-day.
      These men are the descendants of the original seceders from Mahomet, and
      they have brought their relic safely through all their wanderings until
      they settled in this strange place, where the desert protects them from
      their enemies.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the ear?&rdquo; I asked, almost involuntarily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, that was the same story over again. Some of the tribe wandered away
      to the south a few hundred years ago, and one of them, wishing to have
      good luck for the enterprise, got into the temple at night and carried off
      one of the ears. There has been a tradition among the negroes ever since
      that the ear would come back some day. The fellow who carried it was
      caught by some slaver, no doubt, and that was how it got into America, and
      so into your hands&mdash;and you have had the honour of fulfilling the
      prophecy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He paused for a few minutes, resting his head upon his hands, waiting
      apparently for me to speak. When he looked up again, the whole expression
      of his face had changed. His features were firm and set, and he changed
      the air of half levity with which he had spoken before for one of
      sternness and almost ferocity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish you to carry a message back,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to the white race, the
      great dominating race whom I hate and defy. Tell them that I have battened
      on their blood for twenty years, that I have slain them until even I
      became tired of what had once been a joy, that I did this unnoticed and
      unsuspected in the face of every precaution which their civilisation could
      suggest. There is no satisfaction in revenge when your enemy does not know
      who has struck him. I am not sorry, therefore, to have you as a messenger.
      There is no need why I should tell you how this great hate became born in
      me. See this,&rdquo; and he held up his mutilated hand; &ldquo;that was done by a
      white man&rsquo;s knife. My father was white, my mother was a slave. When he
      died she was sold again, and I, a child then, saw her lashed to death to
      break her of some of the little airs and graces which her late master had
      encouraged in her. My young wife, too, oh, my young wife!&rdquo; a shudder ran
      through his whole frame. &ldquo;No matter! I swore my oath, and I kept it. From
      Maine to Florida, and from Boston to San Francisco, you could track my
      steps by sudden deaths which baffled the police. I warred against the
      whole white race as they for centuries had warred against the black one.
      At last, as I tell you, I sickened of blood. Still, the sight of a white
      face was abhorrent to me, and I determined to find some bold free black
      people and to throw in my lot with them, to cultivate their latent powers,
      and to form a nucleus for a great coloured nation. This idea possessed me,
      and I travelled over the world for two years seeking for what I desired.
      At last I almost despaired of finding it. There was no hope of
      regeneration in the slave-dealing Soudanese, the debased Fantee, or the
      Americanised negroes of Liberia. I was returning from my quest when chance
      brought me in contact with this magnificent tribe of dwellers in the
      desert, and I threw in my lot with them. Before doing so, however, my old
      instinct of revenge prompted me to make one last visit to the United
      States, and I returned from it in the Marie Celeste.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As to the voyage itself, your intelligence will have told you by this
      time that, thanks to my manipulation, both compasses and chronometers were
      entirely untrustworthy. I alone worked out the course with correct
      instruments of my own, while the steering was done by my black friends
      under my guidance. I pushed Tibbs&rsquo;s wife overboard. What! You look
      surprised and shrink away. Surely you had guessed that by this time. I
      would have shot you that day through the partition, but unfortunately you
      were not there. I tried again afterwards, but you were awake. I shot
      Tibbs. I think the idea of suicide was carried out rather neatly. Of
      course when once we got on the coast the rest was simple. I had bargained
      that all on board should die; but that stone of yours upset my plans. I
      also bargained that there should be no plunder. No one can say we are
      pirates. We have acted from principle, not from any sordid motive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I listened in amazement to the summary of his crimes which this strange
      man gave me, all in the quietest and most composed of voices, as though
      detailing incidents of every-day occurrence. I still seem to see him
      sitting like a hideous nightmare at the end of my couch, with the single
      rude lamp flickering over his cadaverous features.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;there is no difficulty about your escape. These
      stupid adopted children of mine will say that you have gone back to heaven
      from whence you came. The wind blows off the land. I have a boat all ready
      for you, well stored with provisions and water. I am anxious to be rid of
      you, so you may rely that nothing is neglected. Rise up and follow me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I did what he commanded, and he led me through the door of the hut.
    </p>
    <p>
      The guards had either been withdrawn, or Goring had arranged matters with
      them. We passed unchallenged through the town and across the sandy plain.
      Once more I heard the roar of the sea, and saw the long white line of the
      surge. Two figures were standing upon the shore arranging the gear of a
      small boat. They were the two sailors who had been with us on the voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See him safely through the surf,&rdquo; said Goring. The two men sprang in and
      pushed off, pulling me in after them. With mainsail and jib we ran out
      from the land and passed safely over the bar. Then my two companions
      without a word of farewell sprang overboard, and I saw their heads like
      black dots on the white foam as they made their way back to the shore,
      while I scudded away into the blackness of the night. Looking back I
      caught my last glimpse of Goring. He was standing upon the summit of a
      sand-hill, and the rising moon behind him threw his gaunt angular figure
      into hard relief. He was waving his arms frantically to and fro; it may
      have been to encourage me on my way, but the gestures seemed to me at the
      time to be threatening ones, and I have often thought that it was more
      likely that his old savage instinct had returned when he realised that I
      was out of his power. Be that as it may, it was the last that I ever saw
      or ever shall see of Septimius Goring.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is no need for me to dwell upon my solitary voyage. I steered as
      well as I could for the Canaries, but was picked up upon the fifth day by
      the British and African Steam Navigation Company&rsquo;s boat Monrovia. Let me
      take this opportunity of tendering my sincerest thanks to Captain
      Stornoway and his officers for the great kindness which they showed me
      from that time till they landed me in Liverpool, where I was enabled to
      take one of the Guion boats to New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the day on which I found myself once more in the bosom of my family I
      have said little of what I have undergone. The subject is still an
      intensely painful one to me, and the little which I have dropped has been
      discredited. I now put the facts before the public as they occurred,
      careless how far they may be believed, and simply writing them down
      because my lung is growing weaker, and I feel the responsibility of
      holding my peace longer. I make no vague statement. Turn to your map of
      Africa. There above Cape Blanco, where the land trends away north and
      south from the westernmost point of the continent, there it is that
      Septimius Goring still reigns over his dark subjects, unless retribution
      has overtaken him; and there, where the long green ridges run swiftly in
      to roar and hiss upon the hot yellow sand, it is there that Harton lies
      with Hyson and the other poor fellows who were done to death in the Marie
      Celeste.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE GREAT KEINPLATZ EXPERIMENT.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Of all the sciences which have puzzled the sons of men, none had such an
      attraction for the learned Professor von Baumgarten as those which relate
      to psychology and the ill-defined relations between mind and matter. A
      celebrated anatomist, a profound chemist, and one of the first
      physiologists in Europe, it was a relief for him to turn from these
      subjects and to bring his varied knowledge to bear upon the study of the
      soul and the mysterious relationship of spirits. At first, when as a young
      man he began to dip into the secrets of mesmerism, his mind seemed to be
      wandering in a strange land where all was chaos and darkness, save that
      here and there some great unexplainable and disconnected fact loomed out
      in front of him. As the years passed, however, and as the worthy
      Professor&rsquo;s stock of knowledge increased, for knowledge begets knowledge
      as money bears interest, much which had seemed strange and unaccountable
      began to take another shape in his eyes. New trains of reasoning became
      familiar to him, and he perceived connecting links where all had been
      incomprehensible and startling.
    </p>
    <p>
      By experiments which extended over twenty years, he obtained a basis of
      facts upon which it was his ambition to build up a new exact science which
      should embrace mesmerism, spiritualism, and all cognate subjects. In this
      he was much helped by his intimate knowledge of the more intricate parts
      of animal physiology which treat of nerve currents and the working of the
      brain; for Alexis von Baumgarten was Regius Professor of Physiology at the
      University of Keinplatz, and had all the resources of the laboratory to
      aid him in his profound researches.
    </p>
    <p>
      Professor von Baumgarten was tall and thin, with a hatchet face and
      steel-grey eyes, which were singularly bright and penetrating. Much
      thought had furrowed his forehead and contracted his heavy eyebrows, so
      that he appeared to wear a perpetual frown, which often misled people as
      to his character, for though austere he was tender-hearted. He was popular
      among the students, who would gather round him after his lectures and
      listen eagerly to his strange theories. Often he would call for volunteers
      from amongst them in order to conduct some experiment, so that eventually
      there was hardly a lad in the class who had not, at one time or another,
      been thrown into a mesmeric trance by his Professor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of all these young devotees of science there was none who equalled in
      enthusiasm Fritz von Hartmann. It had often seemed strange to his
      fellow-students that wild, reckless Fritz, as dashing a young fellow as
      ever hailed from the Rhinelands, should devote the time and trouble which
      he did in reading up abstruse works and in assisting the Professor in his
      strange experiments. The fact was, however, that Fritz was a knowing and
      long-headed fellow. Months before he had lost his heart to young Elise,
      the blue-eyed, yellow-haired daughter of the lecturer. Although he had
      succeeded in learning from her lips that she was not indifferent to his
      suit, he had never dared to announce himself to her family as a formal
      suitor. Hence he would have found it a difficult matter to see his young
      lady had he not adopted the expedient of making himself useful to the
      Professor. By this means he frequently was asked to the old man&rsquo;s house,
      where he willingly submitted to be experimented upon in any way as long as
      there was a chance of his receiving one bright glance from the eyes of
      Elise or one touch of her little hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Young Fritz von Hartmann was a handsome lad enough. There were broad
      acres, too, which would descend to him when his father died. To many he
      would have seemed an eligible suitor; but Madame frowned upon his presence
      in the house, and lectured the Professor at times on his allowing such a
      wolf to prowl around their lamb. To tell the truth, Fritz had an evil name
      in Keinplatz. Never was there a riot or a duel, or any other mischief
      afoot, but the young Rhinelander figured as a ringleader in it. No one
      used more free and violent language, no one drank more, no one played
      cards more habitually, no one was more idle, save in the one solitary
      subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      No wonder, then, that the good Frau Professorin gathered her Fraulein
      under her wing, and resented the attentions of such a <i>mauvais sujet</i>. As to
      the worthy lecturer, he was too much engrossed by his strange studies to
      form an opinion upon the subject one way or the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      For many years there was one question which had continually obtruded
      itself upon his thoughts. All his experiments and his theories turned upon
      a single point. A hundred times a day the Professor asked himself whether
      it was possible for the human spirit to exist apart from the body for a
      time and then to return to it once again. When the possibility first
      suggested itself to him his scientific mind had revolted from it. It
      clashed too violently with preconceived ideas and the prejudices of his
      early training. Gradually, however, as he proceeded farther and farther
      along the pathway of original research, his mind shook off its old fetters
      and became ready to face any conclusion which could reconcile the facts.
      There were many things which made him believe that it was possible for
      mind to exist apart from matter. At last it occurred to him that by a
      daring and original experiment the question might be definitely decided.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is evident,&rdquo; he remarked in his celebrated article upon invisible
      entities, which appeared in the Keinplatz wochenliche Medicalschrift about
      this time, and which surprised the whole scientific world&mdash;&ldquo;it is
      evident that under certain conditions the soul or mind does separate
      itself from the body. In the case of a mesmerised person, the body lies in
      a cataleptic condition, but the spirit has left it. Perhaps you reply that
      the soul is there, but in a dormant condition. I answer that this is not
      so, otherwise how can one account for the condition of clairvoyance, which
      has fallen into disrepute through the knavery of certain scoundrels, but
      which can easily be shown to be an undoubted fact. I have been able
      myself, with a sensitive subject, to obtain an accurate description of
      what was going on in another room or another house. How can such knowledge
      be accounted for on any hypothesis save that the soul of the subject has
      left the body and is wandering through space? For a moment it is recalled
      by the voice of the operator and says what it has seen, and then wings its
      way once more through the air. Since the spirit is by its very nature
      invisible, we cannot see these comings and goings, but we see their effect
      in the body of the subject, now rigid and inert, now struggling to narrate
      impressions which could never have come to it by natural means. There is
      only one way which I can see by which the fact can be demonstrated.
      Although we in the flesh are unable to see these spirits, yet our own
      spirits, could we separate them from the body, would be conscious of the
      presence of others. It is my intention, therefore, shortly to mesmerise
      one of my pupils. I shall then mesmerise myself in a manner which has
      become easy to me. After that, if my theory holds good, my spirit will
      have no difficulty in meeting and communing with the spirit of my pupil,
      both being separated from the body. I hope to be able to communicate the
      result of this interesting experiment in an early number of the Keinplatz
      wochenliche Medicalschrift.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When the good Professor finally fulfilled his promise, and published an
      account of what occurred, the narrative was so extraordinary that it was
      received with general incredulity. The tone of some of the papers was so
      offensive in their comments upon the matter that the angry savant declared
      that he would never open his mouth again or refer to the subject in any
      way&mdash;a promise which he has faithfully kept. This narrative has been
      compiled, however, from the most authentic sources, and the events cited
      in it may be relied upon as substantially correct.
    </p>
    <p>
      It happened, then, that shortly after the time when Professor von
      Baumgarten conceived the idea of the above-mentioned experiment, he was
      walking thoughtfully homewards after a long day in the laboratory, when he
      met a crowd of roystering students who had just streamed out from a
      beer-house. At the head of them, half-intoxicated and very noisy, was
      young Fritz von Hartmann. The Professor would have passed them, but his
      pupil ran across and intercepted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heh! my worthy master,&rdquo; he said, taking the old man by the sleeve, and
      leading him down the road with him. &ldquo;There is something that I have to say
      to you, and it is easier for me to say it now, when the good beer is
      humming in my head, than at another time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it, then, Fritz?&rdquo; the physiologist asked, looking at him in mild
      surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hear, mein herr, that you are about to do some wondrous experiment in
      which you hope to take a man&rsquo;s soul out of his body, and then to put it
      back again. Is it not so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is true, Fritz.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And have you considered, my dear sir, that you may have some difficulty
      in finding some one on whom to try this? Potztausend! Suppose that the
      soul went out and would not come back. That would be a bad business. Who
      is to take the risk?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, Fritz,&rdquo; the Professor cried, very much startled by this view of the
      matter, &ldquo;I had relied upon your assistance in the attempt. Surely you will
      not desert me. Consider the honour and glory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Consider the fiddlesticks!&rdquo; the student cried angrily. &ldquo;Am I to be paid
      always thus? Did I not stand two hours upon a glass insulator while you
      poured electricity into my body? Have you not stimulated my phrenic
      nerves, besides ruining my digestion with a galvanic current round my
      stomach? Four-and-thirty times you have mesmerised me, and what have I got
      from all this? Nothing. And now you wish to take my soul out, as you would
      take the works from a watch. It is more than flesh and blood can stand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dear, dear!&rdquo; the Professor cried in great distress. &ldquo;That is very true,
      Fritz. I never thought of it before. If you can but suggest how I can
      compensate you, you will find me ready and willing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then listen,&rdquo; said Fritz solemnly. &ldquo;If you will pledge your word that
      after this experiment I may have the hand of your daughter, then I am
      willing to assist you; but if not, I shall have nothing to do with it.
      These are my only terms.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what would my daughter say to this?&rdquo; the Professor exclaimed, after a
      pause of astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Elise would welcome it,&rdquo; the young man replied. &ldquo;We have loved each other
      long.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then she shall be yours,&rdquo; the physiologist said with decision, &ldquo;for you
      are a good-hearted young man, and one of the best neurotic subjects that I
      have ever known&mdash;that is when you are not under the influence of
      alcohol. My experiment is to be performed upon the fourth of next month.
      You will attend at the physiological laboratory at twelve o&rsquo;clock. It will
      be a great occasion, Fritz. Von Gruben is coming from Jena, and
      Hinterstein from Basle. The chief men of science of all South Germany will
      be there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall be punctual,&rdquo; the student said briefly; and so the two parted.
      The Professor plodded homeward, thinking of the great coming event, while
      the young man staggered along after his noisy companions, with his mind
      full of the blue-eyed Elise, and of the bargain which he had concluded
      with her father.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Professor did not exaggerate when he spoke of the widespread interest
      excited by his novel psychophysiological experiment. Long before the hour
      had arrived the room was filled by a galaxy of talent. Besides the
      celebrities whom he had mentioned, there had come from London the great
      Professor Lurcher, who had just established his reputation by a remarkable
      treatise upon cerebral centres. Several great lights of the Spiritualistic
      body had also come a long distance to be present, as had a Swedenborgian
      minister, who considered that the proceedings might throw some light upon
      the doctrines of the Rosy Cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was considerable applause from this eminent assembly upon the
      appearance of Professor von Baumgarten and his subject upon the platform.
      The lecturer, in a few well-chosen words, explained what his views were,
      and how he proposed to test them. &ldquo;I hold,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that when a person
      is under the influence of mesmerism, his spirit is for the time released
      from his body, and I challenge any one to put forward any other hypothesis
      which will account for the fact of clairvoyance. I therefore hope that
      upon mesmerising my young friend here, and then putting myself into a
      trance, our spirits may be able to commune together, though our bodies lie
      still and inert. After a time nature will resume her sway, our spirits
      will return into our respective bodies, and all will be as before. With
      your kind permission, we shall now proceed to attempt the experiment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The applause was renewed at this speech, and the audience settled down in
      expectant silence. With a few rapid passes the Professor mesmerised the
      young man, who sank back in his chair, pale and rigid. He then took a
      bright globe of glass from his pocket, and by concentrating his gaze upon
      it and making a strong mental effort, he succeeded in throwing himself
      into the same condition. It was a strange and impressive sight to see the
      old man and the young sitting together in the same cataleptic condition.
      Whither, then, had their souls fled? That was the question which presented
      itself to each and every one of the spectators.
    </p>
    <p>
      Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then fifteen, and then fifteen
      more, while the Professor and his pupil sat stiff and stark upon the
      platform. During that time not a sound was heard from the assembled
      savants, but every eye was bent upon the two pale faces, in search of the
      first signs of returning consciousness. Nearly an hour had elapsed before
      the patient watchers were rewarded. A faint flush came back to the cheeks
      of Professor von Baumgarten. The soul was coming back once more to its
      earthly tenement. Suddenly he stretched out his long thin arms, as one
      awaking from sleep, and rubbing his eyes, stood up from his chair and
      gazed about him as though he hardly realised where he was. &ldquo;Tausend
      Teufel!&rdquo; he exclaimed, rapping out a tremendous South German oath, to the
      great astonishment of his audience and to the disgust of the
      Swedenborgian. &ldquo;Where the Henker am I then, and what in thunder has
      occurred? Oh yes, I remember now. One of these nonsensical mesmeric
      experiments. There is no result this time, for I remember nothing at all
      since I became unconscious; so you have had all your long journeys for
      nothing, my learned friends, and a very good joke too;&rdquo; at which the
      Regius Professor of Physiology burst into a roar of laughter and slapped
      his thigh in a highly indecorous fashion. The audience were so enraged at
      this unseemly behaviour on the part of their host, that there might have
      been a considerable disturbance, had it not been for the judicious
      interference of young Fritz von Hartmann, who had now recovered from his
      lethargy. Stepping to the front of the platform, the young man apologised
      for the conduct of his companion. &ldquo;I am sorry to say,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that he
      is a harum-scarum sort of fellow, although he appeared so grave at the
      commencement of this experiment. He is still suffering from mesmeric
      reaction, and is hardly accountable for his words. As to the experiment
      itself, I do not consider it to be a failure. It is very possible that our
      spirits may have been communing in space during this hour; but,
      unfortunately, our gross bodily memory is distinct from our spirit, and we
      cannot recall what has occurred. My energies shall now be devoted to
      devising some means by which spirits may be able to recollect what occurs
      to them in their free state, and I trust that when I have worked this out,
      I may have the pleasure of meeting you all once again in this hall, and
      demonstrating to you the result.&rdquo; This address, coming from so young a
      student, caused considerable astonishment among the audience, and some
      were inclined to be offended, thinking that he assumed rather too much
      importance. The majority, however, looked upon him as a young man of great
      promise, and many comparisons were made as they left the hall between his
      dignified conduct and the levity of his professor, who during the above
      remarks was laughing heartily in a corner, by no means abashed at the
      failure of the experiment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now although all these learned men were filing out of the lecture-room
      under the impression that they had seen nothing of note, as a matter of
      fact one of the most wonderful things in the whole history of the world
      had just occurred before their very eyes Professor von Baumgarten had been
      so far correct in his theory that both his spirit and that of his pupil
      had been for a time absent from his body. But here a strange and
      unforeseen complication had occurred. In their return the spirit of Fritz
      von Hartmann had entered into the body of Alexis von Baumgarten, and that
      of Alexis von Baumgarten had taken up its abode in the frame of Fritz von
      Hartmann. Hence the slang and scurrility which issued from the lips of the
      serious Professor, and hence also the weighty words and grave statements
      which fell from the careless student. It was an unprecedented event, yet
      no one knew of it, least of all those whom it concerned.
    </p>
    <p>
      The body of the Professor, feeling conscious suddenly of a great dryness
      about the back of the throat, sallied out into the street, still chuckling
      to himself over the result of the experiment, for the soul of Fritz within
      was reckless at the thought of the bride whom he had won so easily. His
      first impulse was to go up to the house and see her, but on second
      thoughts he came to the conclusion that it would be best to stay away
      until Madame Baumgarten should be informed by her husband of the agreement
      which had been made. He therefore made his way down to the Grüner Mann,
      which was one of the favourite trysting-places of the wilder students, and
      ran, boisterously waving his cane in the air, into the little parlour,
      where sat Spiegler and Müller and half a dozen other boon companions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha, ha! my boys,&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;I knew I should find you here. Drink up,
      every one of you, and call for what you like, for I&rsquo;m going to stand treat
      to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Had the green man who is depicted upon the signpost of that well-known inn
      suddenly marched into the room and called for a bottle of wine, the
      students could not have been more amazed than they were by this unexpected
      entry of their revered professor. They were so astonished that for a
      minute or two they glared at him in utter bewilderment without being able
      to make any reply to his hearty invitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Donner und Blitzen!&rdquo; shouted the Professor angrily. &ldquo;What the deuce is
      the matter with you, then? You sit there like a set of stuck pigs staring
      at me. What is it, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the unexpected honour,&rdquo; stammered Spiegel, who was in the chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Honour&mdash;rubbish!&rdquo; said the Professor testily. &ldquo;Do you think that
      just because I happen to have been exhibiting mesmerism to a parcel of old
      fossils, I am therefore too proud to associate with dear old friends like
      you? Come out of that chair, Spiegel my boy, for I shall preside now.
      Beer, or wine, or shnapps, my lads&mdash;call for what you like, and put
      it all down to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Never was there such an afternoon in the Grüner Mann. The foaming flagons
      of lager and the green-necked bottles of Rhenish circulated merrily. By
      degrees the students lost their shyness in the presence of their
      Professor. As for him, he shouted, he sang, he roared, he balanced a long
      tobacco-pipe upon his nose, and offered to run a hundred yards against any
      member of the company. The Kellner and the barmaid whispered to each other
      outside the door their astonishment at such proceedings on the part of a
      Regius Professor of the ancient university of Kleinplatz. They had still
      more to whisper about afterwards, for the learned man cracked the
      Kellner&rsquo;s crown, and kissed the barmaid behind the kitchen door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said the Professor, standing up, albeit somewhat totteringly,
      at the end of the table, and balancing his high old-fashioned wine glass
      in his bony hand, &ldquo;I must now explain to you what is the cause of this
      festivity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hear! hear!&rdquo; roared the students, hammering their beer glasses against
      the table; &ldquo;a speech, a speech!&mdash;silence for a speech!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The fact is, my friends,&rdquo; said the Professor, beaming through his
      spectacles, &ldquo;I hope very soon to be married.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Married!&rdquo; cried a student, bolder than the others &ldquo;Is Madame dead, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madame who?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Madame von Baumgarten, of course.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha, ha!&rdquo; laughed the Professor; &ldquo;I can see, then, that you know all about
      my former difficulties. No, she is not dead, but I have reason to believe
      that she will not oppose my marriage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is very accommodating of her,&rdquo; remarked one of the company.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In fact,&rdquo; said the Professor, &ldquo;I hope that she will now be induced to aid
      me in getting a wife. She and I never took to each other very much; but
      now I hope all that may be ended, and when I marry she will come and stay
      with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What a happy family!&rdquo; exclaimed some wag.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, indeed; and I hope you will come to my wedding, all of you. I won&rsquo;t
      mention names, but here is to my little bride!&rdquo; and the Professor waved
      his glass in the air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s to his little bride!&rdquo; roared the roysterers, with shouts of
      laughter. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s her health. Sie soll leben&mdash;Hoch!&rdquo; And so the fun
      waxed still more fast and furious, while each young fellow followed the
      Professor&rsquo;s example, and drank a toast to the girl of his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      While all this festivity had been going on at the Grüner Mann, a very
      different scene had been enacted elsewhere. Young Fritz von Hartmann, with
      a solemn face and a reserved manner, had, after the experiment, consulted
      and adjusted some mathematical instruments; after which, with a few
      peremptory words to the janitors, he had walked out into the street and
      wended his way slowly in the direction of the house of the Professor. As
      he walked he saw Von Althaus, the professor of anatomy, in front of him,
      and quickening his pace he overtook him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I say, Von Althaus,&rdquo; he exclaimed, tapping him on the sleeve, &ldquo;you were
      asking me for some information the other day concerning the middle coat of
      the cerebral arteries. Now I find&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Donnerwetter!&rdquo; shouted Von Althaus, who was a peppery old fellow. &ldquo;What
      the deuce do you mean by your impertinence! I&rsquo;ll have you up before the
      Academical Senate for this, sir;&rdquo; with which threat he turned on his heel
      and hurried away. Von Hartmann was much surprised at this reception. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
      on account of this failure of my experiment,&rdquo; he said to himself, and
      continued moodily on his way.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fresh surprises were in store for him, however. He was hurrying along when
      he was overtaken by two students. These youths, instead of raising their
      caps or showing any other sign of respect, gave a wild whoop of delight
      the instant that they saw him, and rushing at him, seized him by each arm
      and commenced dragging him along with them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gott in himmel!&rdquo; roared Von Hartmann. &ldquo;What is the meaning of this
      unparalleled insult? Where are you taking me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To crack a bottle of wine with us,&rdquo; said the two students. &ldquo;Come along!
      That is an invitation which you have never refused.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never heard of such insolence in my life!&rdquo; cried Von Hartmann. &ldquo;Let go
      my arms! I shall certainly have you rusticated for this. Let me go, I
      say!&rdquo; and he kicked furiously at his captors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, if you choose to turn ill-tempered, you may go where you like,&rdquo; the
      students said, releasing him. &ldquo;We can do very well without you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know you. I&rsquo;ll pay you out,&rdquo; said Von Hartmann furiously, and continued
      in the direction which he imagined to be his own home, much incensed at
      the two episodes which had occurred to him on the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, Madame von Baumgarten, who was looking out of the window and
      wondering why her husband was late for dinner, was considerably astonished
      to see the young student come stalking down the road. As already remarked,
      she had a great antipathy to him, and if ever he ventured into the house
      it was on sufferance, and under the protection of the Professor. Still
      more astonished was she, therefore, when she beheld him undo the
      wicket-gate and stride up the garden path with the air of one who is
      master of the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      She could hardly believe her eyes, and hastened to the door with all her
      maternal instincts up in arms. From the upper windows the fair Elise had
      also observed this daring move upon the part of her lover, and her heart
      beat quick with mingled pride and consternation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good day, sir,&rdquo; Madame Baumgarten remarked to the intruder, as she stood
      in gloomy majesty in the open doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A very fine day indeed, Martha,&rdquo; returned the other. &ldquo;Now, don&rsquo;t stand
      there like a statue of Juno, but bustle about and get the dinner ready,
      for I am well-nigh starved.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Martha! Dinner!&rdquo; ejaculated the lady, falling back in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, dinner, Martha, dinner!&rdquo; howled Von Hartmann, who was becoming
      irritable. &ldquo;Is there anything wonderful in that request when a man has
      been out all day? I&rsquo;ll wait in the dining-room. Anything will do.
      Schinken, and sausage, and prunes&mdash;any little thing that happens to
      be about. There you are, standing staring again. Woman, will you or will
      you not stir your legs?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This last address, delivered with a perfect shriek of rage, had the effect
      of sending good Madame Baumgarten flying along the passage and through the
      kitchen, where she locked herself up in the scullery and went into violent
      hysterics. In the meantime Von Hartmann strode into the room and threw
      himself down upon the sofa in the worst of tempers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Elise!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Confound the girl! Elise!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus roughly summoned, the young lady came timidly downstairs and into the
      presence of her lover. &ldquo;Dearest!&rdquo; she cried, throwing her arms round him,
      &ldquo;I know this is all done for my sake! It is a _ruse_ in order to see me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Von Hartmann&rsquo;s indignation at this fresh attack upon him was so great that
      he became speechless for a minute from rage, and could only glare and
      shake his fists, while he struggled in her embrace. When he at last
      regained his utterance, he indulged in such a bellow of passion that the
      young lady dropped back, petrified with fear, into an armchair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never have I passed such a day in my life,&rdquo; Von Hartmann cried, stamping
      upon the floor. &ldquo;My experiment has failed. Von Althaus has insulted me.
      Two students have dragged me along the public road. My wife nearly faints
      when I ask her for dinner, and my daughter flies at me and hugs me like a
      grizzly bear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are ill, dear,&rdquo; the young lady cried. &ldquo;Your mind is wandering. You
      have not even kissed me once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, and I don&rsquo;t intend to either,&rdquo; Von Hartmann said with decision. &ldquo;You
      ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why don&rsquo;t you go and fetch my slippers,
      and help your mother to dish the dinner?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And is it for this,&rdquo; Elise cried, burying her face in her handkerchief&mdash;&ldquo;is
      it for this that I have loved you passionately for upwards of ten months?
      Is it for this that I have braved my mother&rsquo;s wrath? Oh, you have broken
      my heart; I am sure you have!&rdquo; and she sobbed hysterically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t stand much more of this,&rdquo; roared Von Hartmann furiously. &ldquo;What
      the deuce does the girl mean? What did I do ten months ago which inspired
      you with such a particular affection for me? If you are really so very
      fond, you would do better to run away down and find the schinken and some
      bread, instead of talking all this nonsense.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, my darling!&rdquo; cried the unhappy maiden, throwing herself into the arms
      of what she imagined to be her lover, &ldquo;you do but joke in order to
      frighten your little Elise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Now it chanced that at the moment of this unexpected embrace Von Hartmann
      was still leaning back against the end of the sofa, which, like much
      German furniture, was in a somewhat rickety condition. It also chanced
      that beneath this end of the sofa there stood a tank full of water in
      which the physiologist was conducting certain experiments upon the ova of
      fish, and which he kept in his drawing-room in order to insure an equable
      temperature. The additional weight of the maiden, combined with the
      impetus with which she hurled herself upon him, caused the precarious
      piece of furniture to give way, and the body of the unfortunate student
      was hurled backwards into the tank, in which his head and shoulders were
      firmly wedged, while his lower extremities flapped helplessly about in the
      air. This was the last straw. Extricating himself with some difficulty
      from his unpleasant position, Von Hartmann gave an inarticulate yell of
      fury, and dashing out of the room, in spite of the entreaties of Elise, he
      seized his hat and rushed off into the town, all dripping and dishevelled,
      with the intention of seeking in some inn the food and comfort which he
      could not find at home.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the spirit of Von Baumgarten encased in the body of Von Hartmann strode
      down the winding pathway which led down to the little town, brooding
      angrily over his many wrongs, he became aware that an elderly man was
      approaching him who appeared to be in an advanced state of intoxication.
      Von Hartmann waited by the side of the road and watched this individual,
      who came stumbling along, reeling from one side of the road to the other,
      and singing a student song in a very husky and drunken voice. At first his
      interest was merely excited by the fact of seeing a man of so venerable an
      appearance in such a disgraceful condition, but as he approached nearer,
      he became convinced that he knew the other well, though he could not
      recall when or where he had met him. This impression became so strong with
      him, that when the stranger came abreast of him he stepped in front of him
      and took a good look at his features.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sonny,&rdquo; said the drunken man, surveying Von Hartmann and swaying
      about in front of him, &ldquo;where the Henker have I seen you before? I know
      you as well as I know myself. Who the deuce are you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am Professor von Baumgarten,&rdquo; said the student. &ldquo;May I ask who you are?
      I am strangely familiar with your features.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You should never tell lies, young man,&rdquo; said the other. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re certainly
      not the Professor, for he is an ugly snuffy old chap, and you are a big
      broad-shouldered young fellow. As to myself, I am Fritz von Hartmann at
      your service.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That you certainly are not,&rdquo; exclaimed the body of Von Hartmann. &ldquo;You
      might very well be his father. But hullo, sir, are you aware that you are
      wearing my studs and my watch-chain?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Donnerwetter!&rdquo; hiccoughed the other. &ldquo;If those are not the trousers for
      which my tailor is about to sue me, may I never taste beer again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Now as Von Hartmann, overwhelmed by the many strange things which had
      occurred to him that day, passed his hand over his forehead and cast his
      eyes downwards, he chanced to catch the reflection of his own face in a
      pool which the rain had left upon the road. To his utter astonishment he
      perceived that his face was that of a youth, that his dress was that of a
      fashionable young student, and that in every way he was the antithesis of
      the grave and scholarly figure in which his mind was wont to dwell. In an
      instant his active brain ran over the series of events which had occurred
      and sprang to the conclusion. He fairly reeled under the blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Himmel!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I see it all. Our souls are in the wrong bodies. I am
      you and you are I. My theory is proved&mdash;but at what an expense! Is
      the most scholarly mind in Europe to go about with this frivolous
      exterior? Oh the labours of a lifetime are ruined!&rdquo; and he smote his
      breast in his despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; remarked the real Von Hartmann from the body of the Professor, &ldquo;I
      quite see the force of your remarks, but don&rsquo;t go knocking my body about
      like that. You received it in excellent condition, but I perceive that you
      have wet it and bruised it, and spilled snuff over my ruffled
      shirt-front.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It matters little,&rdquo; the other said moodily. &ldquo;Such as we are so must we
      stay. My theory is triumphantly proved, but the cost is terrible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I thought so,&rdquo; said the spirit of the student, &ldquo;it would be hard
      indeed. What could I do with these stiff old limbs, and how could I woo
      Elise and persuade her that I was not her father? No, thank Heaven, in
      spite of the beer which has upset me more than ever it could upset my real
      self, I can see a way out of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How?&rdquo; gasped the Professor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, by repeating the experiment. Liberate our souls once more, and the
      chances are that they will find their way back into their respective
      bodies.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      No drowning man could clutch more eagerly at a straw than did Von
      Baumgarten&rsquo;s spirit at this suggestion. In feverish haste he dragged his
      own frame to the side of the road and threw it into a mesmeric trance; he
      then extracted the crystal ball from the pocket, and managed to bring
      himself into the same condition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some students and peasants who chanced to pass during the next hour were
      much astonished to see the worthy Professor of Physiology and his
      favourite student both sitting upon a very muddy bank and both completely
      insensible. Before the hour was up quite a crowd had assembled, and they
      were discussing the advisability of sending for an ambulance to convey the
      pair to hospital, when the learned savant opened his eyes and gazed
      vacantly around him. For an instant he seemed to forget how he had come
      there, but next moment he astonished his audience by waving his skinny
      arms above his head and crying out in a voice of rapture, &ldquo;Gott sei
      gedanket! I am myself again. I feel I am!&rdquo; Nor was the amazement lessened
      when the student, springing to his feet, burst into the same cry, and the
      two performed a sort of <i>pas de joie</i> in the middle of the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      For some time after that people had some suspicion of the sanity of both
      the actors in this strange episode. When the Professor published his
      experiences in the Medicalschrift as he had promised, he was met by an
      intimation, even from his colleagues, that he would do well to have his
      mind cared for, and that another such publication would certainly consign
      him to a madhouse. The student also found by experience that it was wisest
      to be silent about the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the worthy lecturer returned home that night he did not receive the
      cordial welcome which he might have looked for after his strange
      adventures. On the contrary, he was roundly upbraided by both his female
      relatives for smelling of drink and tobacco, and also for being absent
      while a young scapegrace invaded the house and insulted its occupants. It
      was long before the domestic atmosphere of the lecturer&rsquo;s house resumed
      its normal quiet, and longer still before the genial face of Von Hartmann
      was seen beneath its roof. Perseverance, however, conquers every obstacle,
      and the student eventually succeeded in pacifying the enraged ladies and
      in establishing himself upon the old footing. He has now no longer any
      cause to fear the enmity of Madame, for he is Hauptmann von Hartmann of
      the Emperor&rsquo;s own Uhlans, and his loving wife Elise has already presented
      him with two little Uhlans as a visible sign and token of her affection.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL.
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the fourth day of March, in the year 1867, being at that time in my
      five-and-twentieth year, I wrote down the following words in my note-book&mdash;the
      result of much mental perturbation and conflict:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The solar system, amidst a countless number of other systems as large as
      itself, rolls ever silently through space in the direction of the
      constellation of Hercules. The great spheres of which it is composed spin
      and spin through the eternal void ceaselessly and noiselessly. Of these
      one of the smallest and most insignificant is that conglomeration of solid
      and of liquid particles which we have named the earth. It whirls onwards
      now as it has done before my birth, and will do after my death&mdash;a
      revolving mystery, coming none know whence, and going none know whither.
      Upon the outer crust of this moving mass crawl many mites, of whom I, John
      M&lsquo;Vittie, am one, helpless, impotent, being dragged aimlessly through
      space. Yet such is the state of things amongst us that the little energy
      and glimmering of reason which I possess is entirely taken up with the
      labours which are necessary in order to procure certain metallic disks,
      wherewith I may purchase the chemical elements necessary to build up my
      ever-wasting tissues, and keep a roof over me to shelter me from the
      inclemency of the weather. I thus have no thought to expend upon the vital
      questions which surround me on every side. Yet, miserable entity as I am,
      I can still at times feel some degree of happiness, and am even&mdash;save
      the mark!&mdash;puffed up occasionally with a sense of my own importance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      These words, as I have said, I wrote down in my note-book, and they
      reflected accurately the thoughts which I found rooted far down in my
      soul, ever present and unaffected by the passing emotions of the hour. At
      last, however, came a time when my uncle, M&lsquo;Vittie of Glencairn, died&mdash;the
      same who was at one time chairman of committees of the House of Commons.
      He divided his great wealth among his many nephews, and I found myself
      with sufficient to provide amply for my wants during the remainder of my
      life, and became at the same time owner of a bleak tract of land upon the
      coast of Caithness, which I think the old man must have bestowed upon me
      in derision, for it was sandy and valueless, and he had ever a grim sense
      of humour. Up to this time I had been an attorney in a midland town in
      England. Now I saw that I could put my thoughts into effect, and, leaving
      all petty and sordid aims, could elevate my mind by the study of the
      secrets of nature. My departure from my English home was somewhat
      accelerated by the fact that I had nearly slain a man in a quarrel, for my
      temper was fiery, and I was apt to forget my own strength when enraged.
      There was no legal action taken in the matter, but the papers yelped at
      me, and folk looked askance when I met them. It ended by my cursing them
      and their vile, smoke-polluted town, and hurrying to my northern
      possession, where I might at last find peace and an opportunity for
      solitary study and contemplation. I borrowed from my capital before I
      went, and so was able to take with me a choice collection of the most
      modern philosophical instruments and books, together with chemicals and
      such other things as I might need in my retirement.
    </p>
    <p>
      The land which I had inherited was a narrow strip, consisting mostly of
      sand, and extending for rather over two miles round the coast of Mansie
      Bay, in Caithness. Upon this strip there had been a rambling, grey-stone
      building&mdash;when erected or wherefore none could tell me&mdash;and this
      I had repaired, so that it made a dwelling quite good enough for one of my
      simple tastes. One room was my laboratory, another my sitting-room, and in
      a third, just under the sloping roof, I slung the hammock in which I
      always slept. There were three other rooms, but I left them vacant, except
      one which was given over to the old crone who kept house for me. Save the
      Youngs and the M&lsquo;Leods, who were fisher-folk living round at the other
      side of Fergus Ness, there were no other people for many miles in each
      direction. In front of the house was the great bay, behind it were two
      long barren hills, capped by other loftier ones beyond. There was a glen
      between the hills, and when the wind was from the land it used to sweep
      down this with a melancholy sough and whisper among the branches of the
      fir-trees beneath my attic window.
    </p>
    <p>
      I dislike my fellow-mortals. Justice compels me to add that they appear
      for the most part to dislike me. I hate their little crawling ways, their
      conventionalities, their deceits, their narrow rights and wrongs. They
      take offence at my brusque outspokenness, my disregard for their social
      laws, my impatience of all constraint. Among my books and my drugs in my
      lonely den at Mansie I could let the great drove of the human race pass
      onwards with their politics and inventions and tittle-tattle, and I
      remained behind stagnant and happy. Not stagnant either, for I was working
      in my own little groove, and making progress. I have reason to believe
      that Dalton&rsquo;s atomic theory is founded upon error, and I know that mercury
      is not an element.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the day I was busy with my distillations and analyses. Often I
      forgot my meals, and when old Madge summoned me to my tea I found my
      dinner lying untouched upon the table. At night I read Bacon, Descartes,
      Spinoza, Kant&mdash;all those who have pried into what is unknowable. They
      are all fruitless and empty, barren of result, but prodigal of
      polysyllables, reminding me of men who, while digging for gold, have
      turned up many worms, and then exhibit them exultantly as being what they
      sought. At times a restless spirit would come upon me, and I would walk
      thirty and forty miles without rest or breaking fast. On these occasions,
      when I used to stalk through the country villages, gaunt, unshaven, and
      dishevelled, the mothers would rush into the road and drag their children
      indoors, and the rustics would swarm out of their pot-houses to gaze at
      me. I believe that I was known far and wide as the &ldquo;mad laird o&rsquo; Mansie.&rdquo;
       It was rarely, however, that I made these raids into the country, for I
      usually took my exercise upon my own beach, where I soothed my spirit with
      strong black tobacco, and made the ocean my friend and my confidant.
    </p>
    <p>
      What companion is there like the great restless, throbbing sea? What human
      mood is there which it does not match and sympathise with? There are none
      so gay but that they may feel gayer when they listen to its merry turmoil,
      and see the long green surges racing in, with the glint of the sunbeams in
      their sparkling crests. But when the grey waves toss their heads in anger,
      and the wind screams above them, goading them on to madder and more
      tumultuous efforts, then the darkest-minded of men feels that there is a
      melancholy principle in Nature which is as gloomy as his own thoughts.
      When it was calm in the Bay of Mansie the surface would be as clear and
      bright as a sheet of silver, broken only at one spot some little way from
      the shore, where a long black line projected out of the water looking like
      the jagged back of some sleeping monster. This was the top of the
      dangerous ridge of rocks known to the fishermen as the &ldquo;ragged reef o&rsquo; 
      Mansie.&rdquo; When the wind blew from the east the waves would break upon it
      like thunder, and the spray would be tossed far over my house and up to
      the hills behind. The bay itself was a bold and noble one, but too much
      exposed to the northern and eastern gales, and too much dreaded for its
      reef, to be much used by mariners. There was something of romance about
      this lonely spot. I have lain in my boat upon a calm day, and peering over
      the edge I have seen far down the flickering, ghostly forms of great fish&mdash;fish,
      as it seemed to me, such as naturalist never knew, and which my
      imagination transformed into the genii of that desolate bay. Once, as I
      stood by the brink of the waters upon a quiet night, a great cry, as of a
      woman in hopeless grief, rose from the bosom of the deep, and swelled out
      upon the still air, now sinking and now rising, for a space of thirty
      seconds. This I heard with my own ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this strange spot, with the eternal hills behind me and the eternal sea
      in front, I worked and brooded for more than two years unpestered by my
      fellow men. By degrees I had trained my old servant into habits of
      silence, so that she now rarely opened her lips, though I doubt not that
      when twice a year she visited her relations in Wick, her tongue during
      those few days made up for its enforced rest. I had come almost to forget
      that I was a member of the human family, and to live entirely with the
      dead whose books I pored over, when a sudden incident occurred which threw
      all my thoughts into a new channel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three rough days in June had been succeeded by one calm and peaceful one.
      There was not a breath of air that evening. The sun sank down in the west
      behind a line of purple clouds, and the smooth surface of the bay was
      gashed with scarlet streaks. Along the beach the pools left by the tide
      showed up like gouts of blood against the yellow sand, as if some wounded
      giant had toilfully passed that way, and had left these red traces of his
      grievous hurt behind him. As the darkness closed in, certain ragged clouds
      which had lain low on the eastern horizon coalesced and formed a great
      irregular cumulus. The glass was still low, and I knew that there was
      mischief brewing. About nine o&rsquo;clock a dull moaning sound came up from the
      sea, as from a creature who, much harassed, learns that the hour of
      suffering has come round again. At ten a sharp breeze sprang up from the
      eastward. At eleven it had increased to a gale, and by midnight the most
      furious storm was raging which I ever remember upon that weather-beaten
      coast.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I went to bed the shingle and seaweed were pattering up against my
      attic window, and the wind was screaming as though every gust were a lost
      soul. By that time the sounds of the tempest had become a lullaby to me. I
      knew that the grey walls of the old house would buffet it out, and for
      what occurred in the world outside I had small concern. Old Madge was
      usually as callous to such things as I was myself. It was a surprise to me
      when, about three in the morning, I was awoke by the sound of a great
      knocking at my door and excited cries in the wheezy voice of my
      house-keeper. I sprang out of my hammock, and roughly demanded of her what
      was the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Eh, maister, maister!&rdquo; she screamed in her hateful dialect. &ldquo;Come doun,
      mun; come doun! There&rsquo;s a muckle ship gaun ashore on the reef, and the
      puir folks are a&rsquo; yammerin&rsquo; and ca&rsquo;in&rsquo; for help&mdash;and I doobt they&rsquo;ll
      a&rsquo; be drooned. Oh, Maister M&lsquo;Vittie, come doun!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold your tongue, you hag!&rdquo; I shouted back in a passion. &ldquo;What is it to
      you whether they are drowned or not? Get back to your bed and leave me
      alone.&rdquo; I turned in again and drew the blankets over me. &ldquo;Those men out
      there,&rdquo; I said to myself, &ldquo;have already gone through half the horrors of
      death. If they be saved they will but have to go through the same once
      more in the space of a few brief years. It is best therefore that they
      should pass away now, since they have suffered that anticipation which is
      more than the pain of dissolution.&rdquo; With this thought in my mind I
      endeavoured to compose myself to sleep once more, for that philosophy
      which had taught me to consider death as a small and trivial incident in
      man&rsquo;s eternal and everchanging career, had also broken me of much
      curiosity concerning worldly matters. On this occasion I found, however,
      that the old leaven still fermented strongly in my soul. I tossed from
      side to side for some minutes endeavouring to beat down the impulses of
      the moment by the rules of conduct which I had framed during months of
      thought. Then I heard a dull roar amid the wild shriek of the gale, and I
      knew that it was the sound of a signal-gun. Driven by an uncontrollable
      impulse, I rose, dressed, and having lit my pipe, walked out on to the
      beach.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was pitch dark when I came outside, and the wind blew with such
      violence that I had to put my shoulder against it and push my way along
      the shingle. My face pringled and smarted with the sting of the gravel
      which was blown against it, and the red ashes of my pipe streamed away
      behind me, dancing fantastically through the darkness. I went down to
      where the great waves were thundering in, and shading my eyes with my
      hands to keep off the salt spray, I peered out to sea. I could distinguish
      nothing, and yet it seemed to me that shouts and great inarticulate cries
      were borne to me by the blasts. Suddenly as I gazed I made out the glint
      of a light, and then the whole bay and the beach were lit up in a moment
      by a vivid blue glare. They were burning a coloured signal-light on board
      of the vessel. There she lay on her beam ends right in the centre of the
      jagged reef, hurled over to such an angle that I could see all the
      planking of her deck. She was a large two-masted schooner, of foreign rig,
      and lay perhaps a hundred and eighty or two hundred yards from the shore.
      Every spar and rope and writhing piece of cordage showed up hard and clear
      under the livid light which sputtered and flickered from the highest
      portion of the forecastle. Beyond the doomed ship out of the great
      darkness came the long rolling lines of black waves, never ending, never
      tiring, with a petulant tuft of foam here and there upon their crests.
      Each as it reached the broad circle of unnatural light appeared to gather
      strength and volume, and to hurry on more impetuously until, with a roar
      and a jarring crash, it sprang upon its victim. Clinging to the weather
      shrouds I could distinctly see some ten or twelve frightened seamen, who,
      when their light revealed my presence, turned their white faces towards me
      and waved their hands imploringly. I felt my gorge rise against these poor
      cowering worms. Why should they presume to shirk the narrow pathway along
      which all that is great and noble among mankind has travelled? There was
      one there who interested me more than they. He was a tall man, who stood
      apart from the others, balancing himself upon the swaying wreck as though
      he disdained to cling to rope or bulwark. His hands were clasped behind
      his back and his head was sunk upon his breast, but even in that
      despondent attitude there was a litheness and decision in his pose and in
      every motion which marked him as a man little likely to yield to despair.
      Indeed, I could see by his occasional rapid glances up and down and all
      around him that he was weighing every chance of safety, but though he
      often gazed across the raging surf to where he could see my dark figure
      upon the beach, his self-respect or some other reason forbade him from
      imploring my help in any way. He stood, dark, silent, and inscrutable,
      looking down on the black sea, and waiting for whatever fortune Fate might
      send him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed to me that that problem would very soon be settled. As I looked,
      an enormous billow, topping all the others, and coming after them, like a
      driver following a flock, swept over the vessel. Her foremast snapped
      short off, and the men who clung to the shrouds were brushed away like a
      swarm of flies. With a rending, riving sound the ship began to split in
      two, where the sharp back of the Mansie reef was sawing into her keel. The
      solitary man upon the forecastle ran rapidly across the deck and seized
      hold of a white bundle which I had already observed but failed to make
      out. As he lifted it up the light fell upon it, and I saw that the object
      was a woman, with a spar lashed across her body and under her arms in such
      a way that her head should always rise above water. He bore her tenderly
      to the side and seemed to speak for a minute or so to her, as though
      explaining the impossibility of remaining upon the ship. Her answer was a
      singular one. I saw her deliberately raise her hand and strike him across
      the face with it. He appeared to be silenced for a moment or so by this,
      but he addressed her again, directing her, as far as I could gather from
      his motions, how she should behave when in the water. She shrank away from
      him, but he caught her in his arms. He stooped over her for a moment and
      seemed to press his lips against her forehead. Then a great wave came
      welling up against the side of the breaking vessel, and leaning over he
      placed her upon the summit of it as gently as a child might be committed
      to its cradle. I saw her white dress flickering among the foam on the
      crest of the dark billow, and then the light sank gradually lower, and the
      riven ship and its lonely occupant were hidden from my eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I watched those things my manhood overcame my philosophy, and I felt a
      frantic impulse to be up and doing. I threw my cynicism to one side as a
      garment which I might don again at leisure, and I rushed wildly to my boat
      and my sculls. She was a leaky tub, but what then? Was I, who had cast
      many a wistful, doubtful glance at my opium bottle, to begin now to weigh
      chances and to cavil at danger. I dragged her down to the sea with the
      strength of a maniac and sprang in. For a moment or two it was a question
      whether she could live among the boiling surge, but a dozen frantic
      strokes took me through it, half full of water but still afloat. I was out
      on the unbroken waves now, at one time climbing, climbing up the broad
      black breast of one, then sinking down, down on the other side, until
      looking up I could see the gleam of the foam all around me against the
      dark heavens. Far behind me I could hear the wild wailings of old Madge,
      who, seeing me start, thought no doubt that my madness had come to a
      climax. As I rowed I peered over my shoulder, until at last on the belly
      of a great wave which was sweeping towards me I distinguished the vague
      white outline of the woman. Stooping over, I seized her as she swept by
      me, and with an effort lifted her, all sodden with water, into the boat.
      There was no need to row back, for the next billow carried us in and threw
      us upon the beach. I dragged the boat out of danger, and then lifting up
      the woman I carried her to the house, followed by my housekeeper, loud
      with congratulation and praise.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now that I had done this thing a reaction set in upon me. I felt that my
      burden lived, for I heard the faint beat of her heart as I pressed my ear
      against her side in carrying her. Knowing this, I threw her down beside
      the fire which Madge had lit, with as little sympathy as though she had
      been a bundle of fagots. I never glanced at her to see if she were fair or
      no. For many years I had cared little for the face of a woman. As I lay in
      my hammock upstairs, however, I heard the old woman as she chafed the
      warmth back into her, crooning a chorus of, &ldquo;Eh, the puir lassie! Eh, the
      bonnie lassie!&rdquo; from which I gathered that this piece of jetsam was both
      young and comely.
    </p>
    <p>
      The morning after the gale was peaceful and sunny. As I walked along the
      long sweep of sand I could hear the panting of the sea. It was heaving and
      swirling about the reef, but along the shore it rippled in gently enough.
      There was no sign of the schooner, nor was there any wreckage upon the
      beach, which did not surprise me, as I knew there was a great undertow in
      those waters. A couple of broad-winged gulls were hovering and skimming
      over the scene of the shipwreck, as though many strange things were
      visible to them beneath the waves. At times I could hear their raucous
      voices as they spoke to one another of what they saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I came back from my walk the woman was waiting at the door for me. I
      began to wish when I saw her that I had never saved her, for here was an
      end of my privacy. She was very young&mdash;at the most nineteen, with a
      pale somewhat refined face, yellow hair, merry blue eyes, and shining
      teeth. Her beauty was of an ethereal type. She looked so white and light
      and fragile that she might have been the spirit of that storm-foam from
      out of which I plucked her. She had wreathed some of Madge&rsquo;s garments
      round her in a way which was quaint and not unbecoming. As I strode
      heavily up the pathway, she put out her hands with a pretty child-like
      gesture, and ran down towards me, meaning, as I surmise, to thank me for
      having saved her, but I put her aside with a wave of my hand and passed
      her. At this she seemed somewhat hurt, and the tears sprang into her eyes,
      but she followed me into the sitting-room and watched me wistfully. &ldquo;What
      country do you come from?&rdquo; I asked her suddenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      She smiled when I spoke, but shook her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Francais?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Deutsch?&rdquo; &ldquo;Espagnol?&rdquo;&mdash;each time she shook her
      head, and then she rippled off into a long statement in some tongue of
      which I could not understand one word.
    </p>
    <p>
      After breakfast was over, however, I got a clue to her nationality.
    </p>
    <p>
      Passing along the beach once more, I saw that in a cleft of the ridge a
      piece of wood had been jammed. I rowed out to it in my boat, and brought
      it ashore. It was part of the sternpost of a boat, and on it, or rather on
      the piece of wood attached to it, was the word &ldquo;Archangel,&rdquo; painted in
      strange, quaint lettering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So,&rdquo; I thought, as I paddled slowly back, &ldquo;this pale damsel is a Russian.
      A fit subject for the White Czar and a proper dweller on the shores of the
      White Sea!&rdquo; It seemed to me strange that one of her apparent refinement
      should perform so long a journey in so frail a craft. When I came back
      into the house, I pronounced the word &ldquo;Archangel&rdquo; several times in
      different intonations, but she did not appear to recognise it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shut myself up in the laboratory all the morning, continuing a research
      which I was making upon the nature of the allotropic forms of carbon and
      of sulphur. When I came out at mid-day for some food she was sitting by
      the table with a needle and thread, mending some rents in her clothes,
      which were now dry. I resented her continued presence, but I could not
      turn her out on the beach to shift for herself. Presently she presented a
      new phase of her character. Pointing to herself and then to the scene of
      the shipwreck, she held up one finger, by which I understood her to be
      asking whether she was the only one saved. I nodded my head to indicate
      that she was. On this she sprang out of the chair with a cry of great joy,
      and holding the garment which she was mending over her head, and swaying
      it from side to side with the motion of her body, she danced as lightly as
      a feather all round the room, and then out through the open door into the
      sunshine. As she whirled round she sang in a plaintive shrill voice some
      uncouth barbarous chant, expressive of exultation. I called out to her,
      &ldquo;Come in, you young fiend, come in and be silent!&rdquo; but she went on with
      her dance. Then she suddenly ran towards me, and catching my hand before I
      could pluck it away, she kissed it. While we were at dinner she spied one
      of my pencils, and taking it up she wrote the two words &ldquo;Sophie Ramusine&rdquo;
       upon a piece of paper, and then pointed to herself as a sign that that was
      her name. She handed the pencil to me, evidently expecting that I would be
      equally communicative, but I put it in my pocket as a sign that I wished
      to hold no intercourse with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Every moment of my life now I regretted the unguarded precipitancy with
      which I had saved this woman. What was it to me whether she had lived or
      died? I was no young, hot-headed youth to do such things. It was bad
      enough to be compelled to have Madge in the house, but she was old and
      ugly, and could be ignored. This one was young and lively, and so
      fashioned as to divert attention from graver things. Where could I send
      her, and what could I do with her? If I sent information to Wick it would
      mean that officials and others would come to me and pry, and peep, and
      chatter&mdash;a hateful thought. It was better to endure her presence than
      that.
    </p>
    <p>
      I soon found that there were fresh troubles in store for me. There is no
      place safe from the swarming, restless race of which I am a member. In the
      evening, when the sun was dipping down behind the hills, casting them into
      dark shadow, but gilding the sands and casting a great glory over the sea,
      I went, as is my custom, for a stroll along the beach. Sometimes on these
      occasions I took my book with me. I did so on this night, and stretching
      myself upon a sand-dune I composed myself to read. As I lay there I
      suddenly became aware of a shadow which interposed itself between the sun
      and myself. Looking round, I saw to my great surprise a very tall,
      powerful man, who was standing a few yards off, and who, instead of
      looking at me, was ignoring my existence completely, and was gazing over
      my head with a stern set face at the bay and the black line of the Mansie
      reef. His complexion was dark, with black hair, and short, curling beard,
      a hawk-like nose, and golden earrings in his ears&mdash;the general effect
      being wild and somewhat noble. He wore a faded velveteen jacket, a
      red-flannel shirt, and high sea boots, coming half-way up his thighs. I
      recognised him at a glance as being the same man who had been left on the
      wreck the night before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; I said, in an aggrieved voice. &ldquo;You got ashore all right, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, in good English. &ldquo;It was no doing of mine. The waves
      threw me up. I wish to God I had been allowed to drown!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a slight foreign lisp in his accent which was rather pleasing.
      &ldquo;Two good fishermen, who live round yonder point, pulled me out and cared
      for me; yet I could not honestly thank them for it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ho! ho!&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;here is a man of my own kidney. Why do you wish to
      be drowned?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; he cried, throwing out his long arms with a passionate,
      despairing gesture, &ldquo;there&mdash;there in that blue smiling bay, lies my
      soul, my treasure&mdash;everything that I loved and lived for.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;People are ruined every day, but there&rsquo;s no use
      making a fuss about it. Let me inform you that this ground on which you
      walk is my ground, and that the sooner you take yourself off it the better
      pleased I shall be. One of you is quite trouble enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of us?&rdquo; he gasped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if you could take her off with you I should be still more
      grateful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He gazed at me for a moment as if hardly able to realise what I said, and
      then with a wild cry he ran away from me with prodigious speed and raced
      along the sands towards my house. Never before or since have I seen a
      human being run so fast. I followed as rapidly as I could, furious at this
      threatened invasion, but long before I reached the house he had
      disappeared through the open door. I heard a great scream from the inside,
      and as I came nearer the sound of a man&rsquo;s bass voice speaking rapidly and
      loudly. When I looked in the girl, Sophie Ramusine, was crouching in a
      corner, cowering away, with fear and loathing expressed on her averted
      face and in every line of her shrinking form. The other, with his dark
      eyes flashing, and his outstretched hands quivering with emotion, was
      pouring forth a torrent of passionate pleading words. He made a step
      forward to her as I entered, but she writhed still further away, and
      uttered a sharp cry like that of a rabbit when the weasel has him by the
      throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; I said, pulling him back from her. &ldquo;This is a pretty to-do! What
      do you mean? Do you think this is a wayside inn or place of public
      accommodation?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;excuse me. This woman is my wife, and I feared that
      she was drowned. You have brought me back to life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; I asked roughly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am a man from Archangel,&rdquo; he said simply; &ldquo;a Russian man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is your name?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ourganeff.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ourganeff!&mdash;and hers is Sophie Ramusine. She is no wife of yours.
      She has no ring.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are man and wife in the sight of Heaven,&rdquo; he said solemnly, looking
      upwards. &ldquo;We are bound by higher laws than those of earth.&rdquo; As he spoke
      the girl slipped behind me and caught me by the other hand, pressing it as
      though beseeching my protection. &ldquo;Give me up my wife, sir,&rdquo; he went on.
      &ldquo;Let me take her away from here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look here, you&mdash;whatever your name is,&rdquo; I said sternly; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
      want this wench here. I wish I had never seen her. If she died it would be
      no grief to me. But as to handing her over to you, when it is clear she
      fears and hates you, I won&rsquo;t do it. So now just clear your great body out
      of this, and leave me to my books. I hope I may never look upon your face
      again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t give her up to me?&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see you damned first!&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Suppose I take her,&rdquo; he cried, his dark face growing darker.
    </p>
    <p>
      All my tigerish blood flushed up in a moment. I picked up a billet of wood
      from beside the fireplace. &ldquo;Go,&rdquo; I said, in a low voice; &ldquo;go quick, or I
      may do you an injury.&rdquo; He looked at me irresolutely for a moment, and then
      he left the house. He came back again in a moment, however, and stood in
      the doorway looking in at us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have a heed what you do,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The woman is mine, and I shall have
      her. When it comes to blows, a Russian is as good a man as a Scotchman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We shall see that,&rdquo; I cried, springing forward, but he was already gone,
      and I could see his tall form moving away through the gathering darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a month or more after this things went smoothly with us. I never spoke
      to the Russian girl, nor did she ever address me. Sometimes when I was at
      work in my laboratory she would slip inside the door and sit silently
      there watching me with her great eyes. At first this intrusion annoyed me,
      but by degrees, finding that she made no attempt to distract my attention,
      I suffered her to remain. Encouraged by this concession, she gradually
      came to move the stool on which she sat nearer and nearer to my table,
      until after gaining a little every day during some weeks, she at last
      worked her way right up to me, and used to perch herself beside me
      whenever I worked. In this position she used, still without ever obtruding
      her presence in any way, to make herself very useful by holding my pens,
      test-tubes, or bottles, and handing me whatever I wanted, with
      never-failing sagacity. By ignoring the fact of her being a human being,
      and looking upon her as a useful automatic machine, I accustomed myself to
      her presence so far as to miss her on the few occasions when she was not
      at her post. I have a habit of talking aloud to myself at times when I
      work, so as to fix my results better in my mind. The girl must have had a
      surprising memory for sounds, for she could always repeat the words which
      I let fall in this way, without, of course, understanding in the least
      what they meant. I have often been amused at hearing her discharge a
      volley of chemical equations and algebraic symbols at old Madge, and then
      burst into a ringing laugh when the crone would shake her head, under the
      impression, no doubt, that she was being addressed in Russian.
    </p>
    <p>
      She never went more than a few yards from the house, and indeed never put
      her foot over the threshold without looking carefully out of each window
      in order to be sure that there was nobody about. By this I knew that she
      suspected that her fellow-countryman was still in the neighbourhood, and
      feared that he might attempt to carry her off. She did something else
      which was significant. I had an old revolver with some cartridges, which
      had been thrown away among the rubbish. She found this one day, and at
      once proceeded to clean it and oil it. She hung it up near the door, with
      the cartridges in a little bag beside it, and whenever I went for a walk,
      she would take it down and insist upon my carrying it with me. In my
      absence she would always bolt the door. Apart from her apprehensions she
      seemed fairly happy, busying herself in helping Madge when she was not
      attending upon me. She was wonderfully nimble-fingered and natty in all
      domestic duties.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not long before I discovered that her suspicions were well founded,
      and that this man from Archangel was still lurking in the vicinity. Being
      restless one night I rose and peered out of the window. The weather was
      somewhat cloudy, and I could barely make out the line of the sea, and the
      loom of my boat upon the beach. As I gazed, however, and my eyes became
      accustomed to the obscurity, I became aware that there was some other dark
      blur upon the sands, and that in front of my very door, where certainly
      there had been nothing of the sort the preceding night. As I stood at my
      diamond-paned lattice still peering and peeping to make out what this
      might be, a great bank of clouds rolled slowly away from the face of the
      moon, and a flood of cold, clear light was poured down upon the silent bay
      and the long sweep of its desolate shores. Then I saw what this was which
      haunted my doorstep. It was he, the Russian. He squatted there like a
      gigantic toad, with his legs doubled under him in strange Mongolian
      fashion, and his eyes fixed apparently upon the window of the room in
      which the young girl and the housekeeper slept. The light fell upon his
      upturned face, and I saw once more the hawk-like grace of his countenance,
      with the single deeply-indented line of care upon his brow, and the
      protruding beard which marks the passionate nature. My first impulse was
      to shoot him as a trespasser, but, as I gazed, my resentment changed into
      pity and contempt. &ldquo;Poor fool,&rdquo; I said to myself, &ldquo;is it then possible
      that you, whom I have seen looking open-eyed at present death, should have
      your whole thoughts and ambition centred upon this wretched slip of a girl&mdash;a
      girl, too, who flies from you and hates you. Most women would love you&mdash;were
      it but for that dark face and great handsome body of yours&mdash;and yet
      you must needs hanker after the one in a thousand who will have no traffic
      with you.&rdquo; As I returned to my bed I chuckled much to myself over this
      thought. I knew that my bars were strong and my bolts thick. It mattered
      little to me whether this strange man spent his night at my door or a
      hundred leagues off, so long as he was gone by the morning. As I expected,
      when I rose and went out there was no sign of him, nor had he left any
      trace of his midnight vigil.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not long, however, before I saw him again. I had been out for a row
      one morning, for my head was aching, partly from prolonged stooping, and
      partly from the effects of a noxious drug which I had inhaled the night
      before. I pulled along the coast some miles, and then, feeling thirsty, I
      landed at a place where I knew that a fresh water stream trickled down
      into the sea. This rivulet passed through my land, but the mouth of it,
      where I found myself that day, was beyond my boundary line. I felt
      somewhat taken aback when rising from the stream at which I had slaked my
      thirst I found myself face to face with the Russian. I was as much a
      trespasser now as he was, and I could see at a glance that he knew it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish to speak a few words to you,&rdquo; he said gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hurry up, then!&rdquo; I answered, glancing at my watch. &ldquo;I have no time to
      listen to chatter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Chatter!&rdquo; he repeated angrily. &ldquo;Ah, but there. You Scotch people are
      strange men. Your face is hard and your words rough, but so are those of
      the good fishermen with whom I stay, yet I find that beneath it all there
      lie kind honest natures. No doubt you are kind and good, too, in spite of
      your roughness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the name of the devil,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;say your say, and go your way. I am
      weary of the sight of you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can I not soften you in any way?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Ah, see&mdash;see here&rdquo;&mdash;he
      produced a small Grecian cross from inside his velvet jacket. &ldquo;Look at
      this. Our religions may differ in form, but at least we have some common
      thoughts and feelings when we see this emblem.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not so sure of that,&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at me thoughtfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are a very strange man,&rdquo; he said at last. &ldquo;I cannot understand you.
      You still stand between me and Sophie. It is a dangerous position to take,
      sir. Oh, believe me, before it is too late. If you did but know what I
      have done to gain that woman&mdash;how I have risked my body, how I have
      lost my soul! You are a small obstacle to some which I have surmounted&mdash;you,
      whom a rip with a knife, or a blow from a stone, would put out of my way
      for ever. But God preserve me from that,&rdquo; he cried wildly. &ldquo;I am deep&mdash;too
      deep&mdash;already. Anything rather than that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would do better to go back to your country,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;than to skulk
      about these sand-hills and disturb my leisure. When I have proof that you
      have gone away I shall hand this woman over to the protection of the
      Russian Consul at Edinburgh. Until then, I shall guard her myself, and not
      you, nor any Muscovite that ever breathed, shall take her from me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what is your object in keeping me from Sophie?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Do you
      imagine that I would injure her? Why, man, I would give my life freely to
      save her from the slightest harm. Why do you do this thing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do it because it is my good pleasure to act so,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I give no
      man reasons for my conduct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look here!&rdquo; he cried, suddenly blazing into fury, and advancing towards
      me with his shaggy mane bristling and his brown hands clenched. &ldquo;If I
      thought you had one dishonest thought towards this girl&mdash;if for a
      moment I had reason to believe that you had any base motive for detaining
      her&mdash;as sure as there is a God in Heaven I should drag the heart out
      of your bosom with my hands.&rdquo; The very idea seemed to have put the man in
      a frenzy, for his face was all distorted and his hands opened and shut
      convulsively. I thought that he was about to spring at my throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stand off,&rdquo; I said, putting my hand on my pistol. &ldquo;If you lay a finger on
      me I shall kill you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He put his hand into his pocket, and for a moment I thought he was about
      to produce a weapon too, but instead of that he whipped out a cigarette
      and lit it, breathing the smoke rapidly into his lungs.
    </p>
    <p>
      No doubt he had found by experience that this was the most effectual way
      of curbing his passions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I told you,&rdquo; he said in a quieter voice, &ldquo;that my name is Ourganeff&mdash;Alexis
      Ourganeff. I am a Finn by birth, but I have spent my life in every part of
      the world. I was one who could never be still, nor settle down to a quiet
      existence. After I came to own my own ship there is hardly a port from
      Archangel to Australia which I have not entered. I was rough and wild and
      free, but there was one at home, sir, who was prim and white-handed and
      soft-tongued, skilful in little fancies and conceits which women love.
      This youth by his wiles and tricks stole from me the love of the girl whom
      I had ever marked as my own, and who up to that time had seemed in some
      sort inclined to return my passion. I had been on a voyage to Hammerfest
      for ivory, and coming back unexpectedly I learned that my pride and
      treasure was to be married to this soft-skinned boy, and that the party
      had actually gone to the church. In such moments, sir, something gives way
      in my head, and I hardly know what I do. I landed with a boat&rsquo;s crew&mdash;all
      men who had sailed with me for years, and who were as true as steel. We
      went up to the church. They were standing, she and he, before the priest,
      but the thing had not been done. I dashed between them and caught her
      round the waist. My men beat back the frightened bridegroom and the
      lookers on. We bore her down to the boat and aboard our vessel, and then
      getting up anchor we sailed away across the White Sea until the spires of
      Archangel sank down behind the horizon. She had my cabin, my room, every
      comfort. I slept among the men in the forecastle. I hoped that in time her
      aversion to me would wear away, and that she would consent to marry me in
      England or in France. For days and days we sailed. We saw the North Cape
      die away behind us, and we skirted the grey Norwegian coast, but still, in
      spite of every attention, she would not forgive me for tearing her from
      that pale-faced lover of hers. Then came this cursed storm which shattered
      both my ship and my hopes, and has deprived me even of the sight of the
      woman for whom I have risked so much. Perhaps she may learn to love me
      yet. You, sir,&rdquo; he said wistfully, &ldquo;look like one who has seen much of the
      world. Do you not think that she may come to forget this man and to love
      me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am tired of your story,&rdquo; I said, turning away. &ldquo;For my part, I think
      you are a great fool. If you imagine that this love of yours will pass
      away you had best amuse yourself as best you can until it does. If, on the
      other hand, it is a fixed thing, you cannot do better than cut your
      throat, for that is the shortest way out of it. I have no more time to
      waste on the matter.&rdquo; With this I hurried away and walked down to the
      boat. I never looked round, but I heard the dull sound of his feet upon
      the sands as he followed me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have told you the beginning of my story,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and you shall know
      the end some day. You would do well to let the girl go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I never answered him, but pushed the boat off. When I had rowed some
      distance out I looked back and saw his tall figure upon the yellow sand as
      he stood gazing thoughtfully after me. When I looked again some minutes
      later he had disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a long time after this my life was as regular and as monotonous as it
      had been before the shipwreck. At times I hoped that the man from
      Archangel had gone away altogether, but certain footsteps which I saw upon
      the sand, and more particularly a little pile of cigarette ash which I
      found one day behind a hillock from which a view of the house might be
      obtained, warned me that, though invisible, he was still in the vicinity.
      My relations with the Russian girl remained the same as before. Old Madge
      had been somewhat jealous of her presence at first, and seemed to fear
      that what little authority she had would be taken away from her. By
      degrees, however, as she came to realise my utter indifference, she became
      reconciled to the situation, and, as I have said before, profited by it,
      as our visitor performed much of the domestic work.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now I am coming near the end of this narrative of mine, which I have
      written a great deal more for my own amusement than for that of any one
      else. The termination of the strange episode in which these two Russians
      had played a part was as wild and as sudden as the commencement. The
      events of one single night freed me from all my troubles, and left me once
      more alone with my books and my studies, as I had been before their
      intrusion. Let me endeavour to describe how this came about.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had had a long day of heavy and wearying work, so that in the evening I
      determined upon taking a long walk. When I emerged from the house my
      attention was attracted by the appearance of the sea. It lay like a sheet
      of glass, so that never a ripple disturbed its surface. Yet the air was
      filled with that indescribable moaning sound which I have alluded to
      before&mdash;a sound as though the spirits of all those who lay beneath
      those treacherous waters were sending a sad warning of coming troubles to
      their brethren in the flesh. The fishermen&rsquo;s wives along that coast know
      the eerie sound, and look anxiously across the waters for the brown sails
      making for the land. When I heard it I stepped back into the house and
      looked at the glass. It was down below 29 degrees. Then I knew that a wild
      night was coming upon us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Underneath the hills where I walked that evening it was dull and chill,
      but their summits were rosy-red, and the sea was brightened by the sinking
      sun. There were no clouds of importance in the sky, yet the dull groaning
      of the sea grew louder and stronger. I saw, far to the eastward, a brig
      beating up for Wick, with a reef in her topsails. It was evident that her
      captain had read the signs of nature as I had done. Behind her a long,
      lurid haze lay low upon the water, concealing the horizon. &ldquo;I had better
      push on,&rdquo; I thought to myself, &ldquo;or the wind may rise before I can get
      back.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I suppose I must have been at least half a mile from the house when I
      suddenly stopped and listened breathlessly. My ears were so accustomed to
      the noises of nature, the sighing of the breeze and the sob of the waves,
      that any other sound made itself heard at a great distance. I waited,
      listening with all my ears. Yes, there it was again&mdash;a long-drawn,
      shrill cry of despair, ringing over the sands and echoed back from the
      hills behind me&mdash;a piteous appeal for aid. It came from the direction
      of my house. I turned and ran back homewards at the top of my speed,
      ploughing through the sand, racing over the shingle. In my mind there was
      a great dim perception of what had occurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      About a quarter of a mile from the house there is a high sand-hill, from
      which the whole country round is visible. When I reached the top of this I
      paused for a moment. There was the old grey building&mdash;there the boat.
      Everything seemed to be as I had left it. Even as I gazed, however, the
      shrill scream was repeated, louder than before, and the next moment a tall
      figure emerged from my door, the figure of the Russian sailor. Over his
      shoulder was the white form of the young girl, and even in his haste he
      seemed to bear her tenderly and with gentle reverence. I could hear her
      wild cries and see her desperate struggles to break away from him. Behind
      the couple came my old housekeeper, staunch and true, as the aged dog, who
      can no longer bite, still snarls with toothless gums at the intruder. She
      staggered feebly along at the heels of the ravisher, waving her long, thin
      arms, and hurling, no doubt, volleys of Scotch curses and imprecations at
      his head. I saw at a glance that he was making for the boat. A sudden hope
      sprang up in my soul that I might be in time to intercept him. I ran for
      the beach at the top of my speed. As I ran I slipped a cartridge into my
      revolver. This I determined should be the last of these invasions.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was too late. By the time I reached the water&rsquo;s edge he was a hundred
      yards away, making the boat spring with every stroke of his powerful arms.
      I uttered a wild cry of impotent anger, and stamped up and down the sands
      like a maniac. He turned and saw me. Rising from his seat he made me a
      graceful bow, and waved his hand to me. It was not a triumphant or a
      derisive gesture. Even my furious and distempered mind recognised it as
      being a solemn and courteous leave-taking. Then he settled down to his
      oars once more, and the little skiff shot away out over the bay. The sun
      had gone down now, leaving a single dull, red streak upon the water, which
      stretched away until it blended with the purple haze on the horizon.
      Gradually the skiff grew smaller and smaller as it sped across this lurid
      band, until the shades of night gathered round it and it became a mere
      blur upon the lonely sea. Then this vague loom died away also and darkness
      settled over it&mdash;a darkness which should never more be raised.
    </p>
    <p>
      And why did I pace the solitary shore, hot and wrathful as a wolf whose
      whelp has been torn from it? Was it that I loved this Muscovite girl? No&mdash;a
      thousand times no. I am not one who, for the sake of a white skin or a
      blue eye, would belie my own life, and change the whole tenor of my
      thoughts and existence. My heart was untouched. But my pride&mdash;ah,
      there I had been cruelly wounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      To think that I had been unable to afford protection to the helpless one
      who craved it of me, and who relied on me! It was that which made my heart
      sick and sent the blood buzzing through my ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      That night a great wind rose up from the sea, and the wild waves shrieked
      upon the shore as though they would tear it back with them into the ocean.
      The turmoil and the uproar were congenial to my vexed spirit. All night I
      wandered up and down, wet with spray and rain, watching the gleam of the
      white breakers and listening to the outcry of the storm. My heart was
      bitter against the Russian. I joined my feeble pipe to the screaming of
      the gale. &ldquo;If he would but come back again!&rdquo; I cried with clenched hands;
      &ldquo;if he would but come back!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He came back. When the grey light of morning spread over the eastern sky,
      and lit up the great waste of yellow, tossing waters, with the brown
      clouds drifting swiftly over them, then I saw him once again. A few
      hundred yards off along the sand there lay a long dark object, cast up by
      the fury of the waves. It was my boat, much shattered and splintered. A
      little further on, a vague, shapeless something was washing to and fro in
      the shallow water, all mixed with shingle and with seaweed. I saw at a
      glance that it was the Russian, face downwards and dead. I rushed into the
      water and dragged him up on to the beach. It was only when I turned him
      over that I discovered that she was beneath him, his dead arms encircling
      her, his mangled body still intervening between her and the fury of the
      storm. It seemed that the fierce German Sea might beat the life from him,
      but with all its strength it was unable to tear this one-idea&rsquo;d man from
      the woman whom he loved. There were signs which led me to believe that
      during that awful night the woman&rsquo;s fickle mind had come at last to learn
      the worth of the true heart and strong arm which struggled for her and
      guarded her so tenderly. Why else should her little head be nestling so
      lovingly on his broad breast, while her yellow hair entwined itself with
      his flowing beard? Why too should there be that bright smile of ineffable
      happiness and triumph, which death itself had not had power to banish from
      his dusky face? I fancy that death had been brighter to him than life had
      ever been.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madge and I buried them there on the shores of the desolate northern sea.
      They lie in one grave deep down beneath the yellow sand. Strange things
      may happen in the world around them. Empires may rise and may fall,
      dynasties may perish, great wars may come and go, but, heedless of it all,
      those two shall embrace each other for ever and aye, in their lonely
      shrine by the side of the sounding ocean. I sometimes have thought that
      their spirits flit like shadowy sea-mews over the wild waters of the bay.
      No cross or symbol marks their resting-place, but old Madge puts wild
      flowers upon it at times, and when I pass on my daily walk and see the
      fresh blossoms scattered over the sand, I think of the strange couple who
      came from afar, and broke for a little space the dull tenor of my sombre
      life.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All aboard?&rdquo; said the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All aboard, sir!&rdquo; said the mate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then stand by to let her go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was nine o&rsquo;clock on a Wednesday morning. The good ship <i>Spartan</i> was
      lying off Boston Quay with her cargo under hatches, her passengers
      shipped, and everything prepared for a start. The warning whistle had been
      sounded twice; the final bell had been rung. Her bowsprit was turned
      towards England, and the hiss of escaping steam showed that all was ready
      for her run of three thousand miles. She strained at the warps that held
      her like a greyhound at its leash.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have the misfortune to be a very nervous man. A sedentary literary life
      has helped to increase the morbid love of solitude which, even in my
      boyhood, was one of my distinguishing characteristics. As I stood upon the
      quarter-deck of the Transatlantic steamer, I bitterly cursed the necessity
      which drove me back to the land of my forefathers. The shouts of the
      sailors, the rattle of the cordage, the farewells of my fellow-passengers,
      and the cheers of the mob, each and all jarred upon my sensitive nature. I
      felt sad too. An indescribable feeling, as of some impending calamity,
      seemed to haunt me. The sea was calm, and the breeze light. There was
      nothing to disturb the equanimity of the most confirmed of landsmen, yet I
      felt as if I stood upon the verge of a great though indefinable danger. I
      have noticed that such presentiments occur often in men of my peculiar
      temperament, and that they are not uncommonly fulfilled. There is a theory
      that it arises from a species of second-sight, a subtle spiritual
      communication with the future. I well remember that Herr Raumer, the
      eminent spiritualist, remarked on one occasion that I was the most
      sensitive subject as regards supernatural phenomena that he had ever
      encountered in the whole of his wide experience. Be that as it may, I
      certainly felt far from happy as I threaded my way among the weeping,
      cheering groups which dotted the white decks of the good ship <i>Spartan</i>. Had
      I known the experience which awaited me in the course of the next twelve
      hours I should even then at the last moment have sprung upon the shore,
      and made my escape from the accursed vessel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Time&rsquo;s up!&rdquo; said the captain, closing his chronometer with a snap, and
      replacing it in his pocket. &ldquo;Time&rsquo;s up!&rdquo; said the mate. There was a last
      wail from the whistle, a rush of friends and relatives upon the land. One
      warp was loosened, the gangway was being pushed away, when there was a
      shout from the bridge, and two men appeared, running rapidly down the
      quay. They were waving their hands and making frantic gestures, apparently
      with the intention of stopping the ship. &ldquo;Look sharp!&rdquo; shouted the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold hard!&rdquo; cried the captain. &ldquo;Ease her! stop her! Up with the gangway!&rdquo;
       and the two men sprang aboard just as the second warp parted, and a
      convulsive throb of the engine shot us clear of the shore. There was a
      cheer from the deck, another from the quay, a mighty fluttering of
      handkerchiefs, and the great vessel ploughed its way out of the harbour,
      and steamed grandly away across the placid bay.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were fairly started upon our fortnight&rsquo;s voyage. There was a general
      dive among the passengers in quest of berths and luggage, while a popping
      of corks in the saloon proved that more than one bereaved traveller was
      adopting artificial means for drowning the pangs of separation. I glanced
      round the deck and took a running inventory of my <i>compagnons de voyage</i>.
      They presented the usual types met with upon these occasions. There was no
      striking face among them. I speak as a connoisseur, for faces are a
      specialty of mine. I pounce upon a characteristic feature as a botanist
      does on a flower, and bear it away with me to analyse at my leisure, and
      classify and label it in my little anthropological museum. There was
      nothing worthy of me here. Twenty types of young America going to
      &ldquo;Yurrup,&rdquo; a few respectable middle-aged couples as an antidote, a
      sprinkling of clergymen and professional men, young ladies, bagmen,
      British exclusives, and all the <i>olla podrida</i> of an ocean-going steamer. I
      turned away from them and gazed back at the receding shores of America,
      and, as a cloud of remembrances rose before me, my heart warmed towards
      the land of my adoption. A pile of portmanteaus and luggage chanced to be
      lying on one side of the deck, awaiting their turn to be taken below. With
      my usual love for solitude I walked behind these, and sitting on a coil of
      rope between them and the vessel&rsquo;s side, I indulged in a melancholy
      reverie.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was aroused from this by a whisper behind me. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a quiet place,&rdquo;
       said the voice. &ldquo;Sit down, and we can talk it over in safety.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Glancing through a chink between two colossal chests, I saw that the
      passengers who had joined us at the last moment were standing at the other
      side of the pile. They had evidently failed to see me as I crouched in the
      shadow of the boxes. The one who had spoken was a tall and very thin man
      with a blue-black beard and a colourless face. His manner was nervous and
      excited. His companion was a short plethoric little fellow, with a brisk
      and resolute air. He had a cigar in his mouth, and a large ulster slung
      over his left arm. They both glanced round uneasily, as if to ascertain
      whether they were alone. &ldquo;This is just the place,&rdquo; I heard the other say.
      They sat down on a bale of goods with their backs turned towards me, and I
      found myself, much against my will, playing the unpleasant part of
      eavesdropper to their conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Müller,&rdquo; said the taller of the two, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ve got it aboard right
      enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; assented the man whom he had addressed as Müller, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s safe
      aboard.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was rather a near go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was that, Flannigan.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It wouldn&rsquo;t have done to have missed the ship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, it would have put our plans out.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ruined them entirely,&rdquo; said the little man, and puffed furiously at his
      cigar for some minutes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got it here,&rdquo; he said at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me see it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is no one looking?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, they are nearly all below.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t be too careful where so much is at stake,&rdquo; said Müller, as he
      uncoiled the ulster which hung over his arm, and disclosed a dark object
      which he laid upon the deck. One glance at it was enough to cause me to
      spring to my feet with an exclamation of horror. Luckily they were so
      engrossed in the matter on hand that neither of them observed me. Had they
      turned their heads they would infallibly have seen my pale face glaring at
      them over the pile of boxes.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the first moment of their conversation a horrible misgiving had come
      over me. It seemed more than confirmed as I gazed at what lay before me.
      It was a little square box made of some dark wood, and ribbed with brass.
      I suppose it was about the size of a cubic foot. It reminded me of a
      pistol-case, only it was decidedly higher. There was an appendage to it,
      however, on which my eyes were riveted, and which suggested the pistol
      itself rather than its receptacle. This was a trigger-like arrangement
      upon the lid, to which a coil of string was attached. Beside this trigger
      there was a small square aperture through the wood. The tall man,
      Flannigan, as his companion called him, applied his eye to this, and
      peered in for several minutes with an expression of intense anxiety upon
      his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It seems right enough,&rdquo; he said at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tried not to shake it,&rdquo; said his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such delicate things need delicate treatment. Put in some of the needful,
      Müller.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The shorter man fumbled in his pocket for some time, and then produced a
      small paper packet. He opened this, and took out of it half a handful of
      whitish granules, which he poured down through the hole. A curious
      clicking noise followed from the inside of the box, and both the men
      smiled in a satisfied way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing much wrong there,&rdquo; said Flannigan.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right as a trivet,&rdquo; answered his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look out! here&rsquo;s some one coming. Take it down to our berth. It wouldn&rsquo;t
      do to have any one suspecting what our game is, or, worse still, have them
      fumbling with it, and letting it off by mistake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, it would come to the same, whoever let it off,&rdquo; said Müller.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They&rsquo;d be rather astonished if they pulled the trigger,&rdquo; said the taller,
      with a sinister laugh. &ldquo;Ha, ha! fancy their faces! It&rsquo;s not a bad bit of
      workmanship, I flatter myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Müller. &ldquo;I hear it is your own design, every bit of it, isn&rsquo;t
      it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, the spring and the sliding shutter are my own.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We should take out a patent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And the two men laughed again with a cold harsh laugh, as they took up the
      little brass-bound package, and concealed it in Müller&rsquo;s voluminous
      overcoat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come down, and we&rsquo;ll stow it in our berth,&rdquo; said Flannigan. &ldquo;We won&rsquo;t
      need it until to-night, and it will be safe there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His companion assented, and the two went arm-in-arm along the deck and
      disappeared down the hatchway, bearing the mysterious little box away with
      them. The last words I heard were a muttered injunction from Flannigan to
      carry it carefully, and avoid knocking it against the bulwarks.
    </p>
    <p>
      How long I remained sitting on that coil of rope I shall never know. The
      horror of the conversation I had just overheard was aggravated by the
      first sinking qualms of sea-sickness. The long roll of the Atlantic was
      beginning to assert itself over both ship and passengers. I felt
      prostrated in mind and in body, and fell into a state of collapse, from
      which I was finally aroused by the hearty voice of our worthy
      quartermaster.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you mind moving out of that, sir?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We want to get this
      lumber cleared off the deck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His bluff manner and ruddy healthy face seemed to be a positive insult to
      me in my present condition. Had I been a courageous or a muscular man I
      could have struck him. As it was, I treated the honest sailor to a
      melodramatic scowl which seemed to cause him no small astonishment, and
      strode past him to the other side of the deck. Solitude was what I wanted&mdash;solitude
      in which I could brood over the frightful crime which was being hatched
      before my very eyes. One of the quarter-boats was hanging rather low down
      upon the davits. An idea struck me, and climbing on the bulwarks, I
      stepped into the empty boat and lay down in the bottom of it. Stretched on
      my back, with nothing but the blue sky above me, and an occasional view of
      the mizen as the vessel rolled, I was at least alone with my sickness and
      my thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      I tried to recall the words which had been spoken in the terrible dialogue
      I had overheard. Would they admit of any construction but the one which
      stared me in the face? My reason forced me to confess that they would not.
      I endeavoured to array the various facts which formed the chain of
      circumstantial evidence, and to find a flaw in it; but no, not a link was
      missing. There was the strange way in which our passengers had come
      aboard, enabling them to evade any examination of their luggage. The very
      name of &ldquo;Flannigan&rdquo; smacked of Fenianism, while &ldquo;Müller&rdquo; suggested nothing
      but socialism and murder. Then their mysterious manner; their remark that
      their plans would have been ruined had they missed the ship; their fear of
      being observed; last, but not least, the clenching evidence in the
      production of the little square box with the trigger, and their grim joke
      about the face of the man who should let it off by mistake&mdash;could
      these facts lead to any conclusion other than that they were the desperate
      emissaries of some body, political or otherwise, who intended to sacrifice
      themselves, their fellow-passengers, and the ship, in one great holocaust?
      The whitish granules which I had seen one of them pour into the box formed
      no doubt a fuse or train for exploding it. I had myself heard a sound come
      from it which might have emanated from some delicate piece of machinery.
      But what did they mean by their allusion to to-night? Could it be that
      they contemplated putting their horrible design into execution on the very
      first evening of our voyage? The mere thought of it sent a cold shudder
      over me, and made me for a moment superior even to the agonies of
      sea-sickness.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have remarked that I am a physical coward. I am a moral one also. It is
      seldom that the two defects are united to such a degree in the one
      character. I have known many men who were most sensitive to bodily danger,
      and yet were distinguished for the independence and strength of their
      minds. In my own case, however, I regret to say that my quiet and retiring
      habits had fostered a nervous dread of doing anything remarkable or making
      myself conspicuous, which exceeded, if possible, my fear of personal
      peril. An ordinary mortal placed under the circumstances in which I now
      found myself would have gone at once to the Captain, confessed his fears,
      and put the matter into his hands. To me, however, constituted as I am,
      the idea was most repugnant. The thought of becoming the observed of all
      observers, cross-questioned by a stranger, and confronted with two
      desperate conspirators in the character of a denouncer, was hateful to me.
      Might it not by some remote possibility prove that I was mistaken? What
      would be my feelings if there should turn out to be no grounds for my
      accusation? No, I would procrastinate; I would keep my eye on the two
      desperadoes and dog them at every turn. Anything was better than the
      possibility of being wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then it struck me that even at that moment some new phase of the
      conspiracy might be developing itself. The nervous excitement seemed to
      have driven away my incipient attack of sickness, for I was able to stand
      up and lower myself from the boat without experiencing any return of it. I
      staggered along the deck with the intention of descending into the cabin
      and finding how my acquaintances of the morning were occupying themselves.
      Just as I had my hand on the companion-rail, I was astonished by receiving
      a hearty slap on the back, which nearly shot me down the steps with more
      haste than dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is that you, Hammond?&rdquo; said a voice which I seemed to recognise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God bless me,&rdquo; I said, as I turned round, &ldquo;it can&rsquo;t be Dick Merton! Why,
      how are you, old man?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This was an unexpected piece of luck in the midst of my perplexities. Dick
      was just the man I wanted; kindly and shrewd in his nature, and prompt in
      his actions, I should have no difficulty in telling him my suspicions, and
      could rely upon his sound sense to point out the best course to pursue.
      Since I was a little lad in the second form at Harrow, Dick had been my
      adviser and protector. He saw at a glance that something had gone wrong
      with me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; he said, in his kindly way, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s put you about, Hammond? You
      look as white as a sheet. <i>Mal de mer</i>, eh?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, not that altogether,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Walk up and down with me, Dick; I want
      to speak to you. Give me your arm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Supporting myself on Dick&rsquo;s stalwart frame, I tottered along by his side;
      but it was some time before I could muster resolution to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have a cigar,&rdquo; said he, breaking the silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, thanks,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Dick, we shall be all corpses to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s no reason against your having a cigar now,&rdquo; said Dick, in his cool
      way, but looking hard at me from under his shaggy eyebrows as he spoke. He
      evidently thought that my intellect was a little gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s no laughing matter; and I speak in sober earnest,
      I assure you. I have discovered an infamous conspiracy, Dick, to destroy
      this ship and every soul that is in her;&rdquo; and I then proceeded
      systematically, and in order, to lay before him the chain of evidence
      which I had collected. &ldquo;There, Dick,&rdquo; I said, as I concluded, &ldquo;what do you
      think of that? and, above all, what am I to do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      To my astonishment he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;d be frightened,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if any fellow but you had told me as much.
      You always had a way, Hammond, of discovering mares&rsquo; nests. I like to see
      the old traits breaking out again. Do you remember at school how you swore
      there was a ghost in the long room, and how it turned out to be your own
      reflection in the mirror. Why, man,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;what object would any
      one have in destroying this ship? We have no great political guns aboard.
      On the contrary, the majority of the passengers are Americans. Besides, in
      this sober nineteenth century, the most wholesale murderers stop at
      including themselves among their victims. Depend upon it, you have
      misunderstood them, and have mistaken a photographic camera, or something
      equally innocent, for an infernal machine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing of the sort, sir,&rdquo; said I, rather touchily &ldquo;You will learn to
      your cost, I fear, that I have neither exaggerated nor misinterpreted a
      word. As to the box, I have certainly never before seen one like it. It
      contained delicate machinery; of that I am convinced, from the way in
      which the men handled it and spoke of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You&rsquo;d make out every packet of perishable goods to be a torpedo,&rdquo; said
      Dick, &ldquo;if that is to be your only test.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The man&rsquo;s name was Flannigan,&rdquo; I continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think that would go very far in a court of law,&rdquo; said Dick; &ldquo;but
      come, I have finished my cigar. Suppose we go down together and split a
      bottle of claret. You can point out these two Orsinis to me if they are
      still in the cabin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;I am determined not to lose sight of them all
      day. Don&rsquo;t look hard at them, though, for I don&rsquo;t want them to think that
      they are being watched.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Trust me,&rdquo; said Dick; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll look as unconscious and guileless as a lamb;&rdquo;
       and with that we passed down the companion and into the saloon.
    </p>
    <p>
      A good many passengers were scattered about the great central table, some
      wrestling with refractory carpet bags and rug-straps, some having their
      luncheon, and a few reading and otherwise amusing themselves. The objects
      of our quest were not there. We passed down the room and peered into every
      berth, but there was no sign of them. &ldquo;Heavens!&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;perhaps at
      this very moment they are beneath our feet, in the hold or engine-room,
      preparing their diabolical contrivance!&rdquo; It was better to know the worst
      than to remain in such suspense.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Steward,&rdquo; said Dick, &ldquo;are there any other gentlemen about?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s two in the smoking-room, sir,&rdquo; answered the steward.
    </p>
    <p>
      The smoking-room was a little snuggery, luxuriously fitted up, and
      adjoining the pantry. We pushed the door open and entered. A sigh of
      relief escaped from my bosom. The very first object on which my eye rested
      was the cadaverous face of Flannigan, with its hard-set mouth and
      unwinking eye. His companion sat opposite to him. They were both drinking,
      and a pile of cards lay upon the table. They were engaged in playing as we
      entered. I nudged Dick to show him that we had found our quarry, and we
      sat down beside them with as unconcerned an air as possible. The two
      conspirators seemed to take little notice of our presence. I watched them
      both narrowly. The game at which they were playing was &ldquo;Napoleon.&rdquo; Both
      were adepts at it, and I could not help admiring the consummate nerve of
      men who, with such a secret at their hearts, could devote their minds to
      the manipulating of a long suit or the finessing of a queen. Money changed
      hands rapidly; but the run of luck seemed to be all against the taller of
      the two players. At last he threw down his cards on the table with an
      oath, and refused to go on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I&rsquo;m hanged if I do,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t had more than two of a suit
      for five hands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said his comrade, as he gathered up his winnings; &ldquo;a few
      dollars one way or the other won&rsquo;t go very far after to-night&rsquo;s work.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was astonished at the rascal&rsquo;s audacity, but took care to keep my eyes
      fixed abstractedly upon the ceiling, and drank my wine in as unconscious a
      manner as possible. I felt that Flannigan was looking towards me with his
      wolfish eyes to see if I had noticed the allusion. He whispered something
      to his companion which I failed to catch. It was a caution, I suppose, for
      the other answered rather angrily&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense! Why shouldn&rsquo;t I say what I like? Over-caution is just what
      would ruin us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe you want it not to come off,&rdquo; said Flannigan.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You believe nothing of the sort,&rdquo; said the other, speaking rapidly and
      loudly. &ldquo;You know as well as I do that when I play for a stake I like to
      win it. But I won&rsquo;t have my words criticised and cut short by you or any
      other man. I have as much interest in our success as you have&mdash;more,
      I hope.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at his cigar for some
      minutes. The eyes of the other ruffian wandered alternately from Dick
      Merton to myself. I knew that I was in the presence of a desperate man,
      that a quiver of my lip might be the signal for him to plunge a weapon
      into my heart, but I betrayed more self-command than I should have given
      myself credit for under such trying circumstances. As to Dick, he was as
      immovable and apparently as unconscious as the Egyptian Sphinx.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, broken only by the
      crisp rattle of the cards, as the man Müller shuffled them up before
      replacing them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed and
      irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, he glanced
      defiantly at his companion and turned towards me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can you tell me, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when this ship will be heard of again?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They were both looking at me; but though my face may have turned a trifle
      paler, my voice was as steady as ever as I answered&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it enters Queenstown
      Harbour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha, ha!&rdquo; laughed the angry little man, &ldquo;I knew you would say that. Don&rsquo;t
      you kick me under the table, Flannigan, I won&rsquo;t stand it. I know what I am
      doing. You are wrong, sir,&rdquo; he continued, turning to me, &ldquo;utterly wrong.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some passing ship, perhaps,&rdquo; suggested Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, nor that either.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The weather is fine,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;why should we not be heard of at our
      destination.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t say we shouldn&rsquo;t be heard of at our destination. Possibly we may
      not, and in any case that is not where we shall be heard of first.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where then?&rdquo; asked Dick.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That you shall never know. Suffice it that a rapid and mysterious agency
      will signal our whereabouts, and that before the day is out. Ha, ha!&rdquo; and
      he chuckled once again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come on deck!&rdquo; growled his comrade; &ldquo;you have drunk too much of that
      confounded brandy-and-water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!&rdquo; and
      taking him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of the
      smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the companion together, and
      on to the deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what do you think now?&rdquo; I gasped, as I turned towards Dick. He was
      as imperturbable as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Think!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;why, I think what his companion thinks, that we have
      been listening to the ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of
      brandy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense, Dick I you saw how the other tried to stop his tongue.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course he did. He didn&rsquo;t want his friend to make a fool of himself
      before strangers. Maybe the short one is a lunatic, and the other his
      private keeper. It&rsquo;s quite possible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O Dick, Dick,&rdquo; I cried, &ldquo;how can you be so blind! Don&rsquo;t you see that
      every word confirmed our previous suspicion?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Humbug, man!&rdquo; said Dick; &ldquo;you&rsquo;re working yourself into a state of nervous
      excitement. Why, what the devil do you make of all that nonsense about a
      mysterious agent which would signal our whereabouts?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what he meant, Dick,&rdquo; I said, bending forward and grasping
      my friend&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;He meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far out at sea
      by some lonely fisherman off the American coast. That&rsquo;s what he meant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t think you were such a fool, Hammond,&rdquo; said Dick Merton testily.
      &ldquo;If you try to fix a literal meaning on the twaddle that every drunken man
      talks, you will come to some queer conclusions. Let us follow their
      example, and go on deck. You need fresh air, I think. Depend upon it, your
      liver is out of order. A sea-voyage will do you a world of good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If ever I see the end of this one,&rdquo; I groaned, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll promise never to
      venture on another. They are laying the cloth, so it&rsquo;s hardly worth while
      my going up. I&rsquo;ll stay below and unpack my things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant state of mind,&rdquo; said Dick;
      and he went out, leaving me to my thoughts until the clang of the great
      gong summoned us to the saloon.
    </p>
    <p>
      My appetite, I need hardly say, had not been improved by the incidents
      which had occurred during the day. I sat down, however, mechanically at
      the table, and listened to the talk which was going on around me. There
      were nearly a hundred first-class passengers, and as the wine began to
      circulate, their voices combined with the clash of the dishes to form a
      perfect Babel. I found myself seated between a very stout and nervous old
      lady and a prim little clergyman; and as neither made any advances I
      retired into my shell, and spent my time in observing the appearance of my
      fellow-voyagers. I could see Dick in the dim distance dividing his
      attentions between a jointless fowl in front of him and a self-possessed
      young lady at his side. Captain Dowie was doing the honours at my end,
      while the surgeon of the vessel was seated at the other. I was glad to
      notice that Flannigan was placed almost opposite to me. As long as I had
      him before my eyes I knew that, for the time at least, we were safe. He
      was sitting with what was meant to be a sociable smile on his grim face.
      It did not escape me that he drank largely of wine&mdash;so largely that
      even before the dessert appeared his voice had become decidedly husky. His
      friend Müller was seated a few places lower down. He ate little, and
      appeared to be nervous and restless.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, ladies,&rdquo; said our genial Captain, &ldquo;I trust that you will consider
      yourselves at home aboard my vessel. I have no fears for the gentlemen. A
      bottle of champagne, steward. Here&rsquo;s to a fresh breeze and a quick
      passage! I trust our friends in America will hear of our safe arrival in
      eight days, or in nine at the very latest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I looked up. Quick as was the glance which passed between Flannigan and
      his confederate, I was able to intercept it. There was an evil smile upon
      the former&rsquo;s thin lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea, amusements, religion, each
      was in turn discussed. I remained a silent though an interested listener.
      It struck me that no harm could be done by introducing the subject which
      was ever in my mind. It could be managed in an off-hand way, and would at
      least have the effect of turning the Captain&rsquo;s thoughts in that direction.
      I could watch, too, what effect it would have upon the faces of the
      conspirators.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The ordinary subjects of
      interest appeared to be exhausted. The opportunity was a favourable one.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I ask, Captain,&rdquo; I said, bending forward and speaking very
      distinctly, &ldquo;what you think of Fenian manifestoes?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Captain&rsquo;s ruddy face became a shade darker from honest indignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They are poor cowardly things,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;as silly as they are wicked.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The impotent threats of a set of anonymous scoundrels,&rdquo; said a
      pompous-looking old gentleman beside him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O Captain!&rdquo; said the fat lady at my side, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t really think they
      would blow up a ship?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no doubt they would if they could. But I am very sure they shall
      never blow up mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I ask what precautions are taken against them?&rdquo; asked an elderly man
      at the end of the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly examined,&rdquo; said Captain
      Dowie.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But suppose a man brought explosives aboard with him?&rdquo; I suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They are too cowardly to risk their own lives in that way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      During this conversation Flannigan had not betrayed the slightest interest
      in what was going on. He raised his head now and looked at the Captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think you are rather underrating them?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Every secret
      society has produced desperate men&mdash;why shouldn&rsquo;t the Fenians have
      them too? Many men think it a privilege to die in the service of a cause
      which seems right in their eyes, though others may think it wrong.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in anybody&rsquo;s eyes,&rdquo; said the little
      clergyman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The bombardment of Paris was nothing else,&rdquo; said Flannigan; &ldquo;yet the
      whole civilised world agreed to look on with folded arms, and change the
      ugly word &lsquo;murder&rsquo; into the more euphonious one of &lsquo;war.&rsquo; It seemed right
      enough to German eyes; why shouldn&rsquo;t dynamite seem so to the Fenian?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At any rate their empty vapourings have led to nothing as yet,&rdquo; said the
      Captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; returned Flannigan, &ldquo;but is there not some room for doubt yet
      as to the fate of the <i>Dotterel</i>? I have met men in America who asserted
      from their own personal knowledge that there was a coal torpedo aboard
      that vessel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then they lied,&rdquo; said the Captain. &ldquo;It was proved conclusively at the
      court-martial to have arisen from an explosion of coal-gas&mdash;but we
      had better change the subject, or we may cause the ladies to have a
      restless night;&rdquo; and the conversation once more drifted back into its
      original channel.
    </p>
    <p>
      During this little discussion Flannigan had argued his point with a
      gentlemanly deference and a quiet power for which I had not given him
      credit. I could not help admiring a man who, on the eve of a desperate
      enterprise, could courteously argue upon a point which must touch him so
      nearly. He had, as I have already mentioned, partaken of a considerable
      quantity of wine; but though there was a slight flush upon his pale cheek,
      his manner was as reserved as ever. He did not join in the conversation
      again, but seemed to be lost in thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      A whirl of conflicting ideas was battling in my own mind. What was I to
      do? Should I stand up now and denounce them before both passengers and
      Captain? Should I demand a few minutes&rsquo; conversation with the latter in
      his own cabin, and reveal it all? For an instant I was half resolved to do
      it, but then the old constitutional timidity came back with redoubled
      force. After all there might be some mistake. Dick had heard the evidence
      and had refused to believe in it. I determined to let things go on their
      course. A strange reckless feeling came over me. Why should I help men who
      were blind to their own danger? Surely it was the duty of the officers to
      protect us, not ours to give warning to them. I drank off a couple of
      glasses of wine, and staggered upon deck with the determination of keeping
      my secret locked in my own bosom.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a glorious evening. Even in my excited state of mind I could not
      help leaning against the bulwarks and enjoying the refreshing breeze. Away
      to the westward a solitary sail stood out as a dark speck against the
      great sheet of flame left by the setting sun. I shuddered as I looked at
      it. It was grand but appalling. A single star was twinkling faintly above
      our mainmast, but a thousand seemed to gleam in the water below with every
      stroke of our propeller. The only blot in the fair scene was the great
      trail of smoke which stretched away behind us like a black slash upon a
      crimson curtain. It was hard to believe that the great peace which hung
      over all Nature could be marred by a poor miserable mortal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After all,&rdquo; I thought, as I gazed into the blue depths beneath me, &ldquo;if
      the worst comes to the worst, it is better to die here than to linger in
      agony upon a sick-bed on land.&rdquo; A man&rsquo;s life seems a very paltry thing
      amid the great forces of Nature. All my philosophy could not prevent my
      shuddering, however, when I turned my head and saw two shadowy figures at
      the other side of the deck, which I had no difficulty in recognising. They
      seemed to be conversing earnestly, but I had no opportunity of overhearing
      what was said; so I contented myself with pacing up and down, and keeping
      a vigilant watch upon their movements.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a relief to me when Dick came on deck. Even an incredulous
      confidant is better than none at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, old man,&rdquo; he said, giving me a facetious dig in the ribs, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ve
      not been blown up yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, not yet,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;but that&rsquo;s no proof that we are not going to be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense, man!&rdquo; said Dick; &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t conceive what has put this
      extraordinary idea into your head. I have been talking to one of your
      supposed assassins, and he seems a pleasant fellow enough; quite a
      sporting character, I should think, from the way he speaks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dick,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I am as certain that those men have an infernal machine,
      and that we are on the verge of eternity, as if I saw them putting the
      match to the fuse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, if you really think so,&rdquo; said Dick, half awed for the moment by the
      earnestness of my manner, &ldquo;it is your duty to let the Captain know of your
      suspicions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;I will. My absurd timidity has prevented my
      doing so sooner. I believe our lives can only be saved by laying the whole
      matter before him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, go and do it now,&rdquo; said Dick; &ldquo;but for goodness&rsquo; sake don&rsquo;t mix me
      up in the matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll speak to him when he comes off the bridge,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;and in the
      meantime I don&rsquo;t mean to lose sight of them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me know of the result,&rdquo; said my companion; and with a nod he strolled
      away in search, I fancy, of his partner at the dinner-table.
    </p>
    <p>
      Left to myself, I bethought me of my retreat of the morning, and climbing
      on the bulwark I mounted into the quarter-boat, and lay down there. In it
      I could reconsider my course of action, and by raising my head I was able
      at any time to get a view of my disagreeable neighbours.
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour passed, and the Captain was still on the bridge. He was talking to
      one of the passengers, a retired naval officer, and the two were deep in
      debate concerning some abstruse point in navigation. I could see the red
      tips of their cigars from where I lay. It was dark now, so dark that I
      could hardly make out the figures of Flannigan and his accomplice. They
      were still standing in the position which they had taken up after dinner.
      A few of the passengers were scattered about the deck, but many had gone
      below. A strange stillness seemed to pervade the air. The voices of the
      watch and the rattle of the wheel were the only sounds which broke the
      silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another half-hour passed. The Captain was still upon the bridge. It seemed
      as if he would never come down. My nerves were in a state of unnatural
      tension, so much so that the sound of two steps upon the deck made me
      start up in a quiver of excitement. I peered over the edge of the boat,
      and saw that our suspicious passengers had crossed from the other side,
      and were standing almost directly beneath me. The light of a binnacle fell
      full upon the ghastly face of the ruffian Flannigan. Even in that short
      glance I saw that Müller had the ulster, whose use I knew so well, slung
      loosely over his arm. I sank back with a groan. It seemed that my fatal
      procrastination had sacrificed two hundred innocent lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had read of the fiendish vengeance which awaited a spy. I knew that men
      with their lives in their hands would stick at nothing. All I could do was
      to cower at the bottom of the boat and listen silently to their whispered
      talk below.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This place will do,&rdquo; said a voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, the leeward side is best.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder if the trigger will act?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sure it will.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were to let it off at ten, were we not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, at ten sharp. We have eight minutes yet.&rdquo; There was a pause. Then
      the voice began again&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll hear the drop of the trigger, won&rsquo;t they?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t matter. It will be too late for any one to prevent its going
      off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s true. There will be some excitement among those we have left
      behind, won&rsquo;t there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rather. How long do you reckon it will be before they hear of us?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The first news will get in at about midnight at earliest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That will be my doing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha, ha! we&rsquo;ll settle that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a pause here. Then I heard Müller&rsquo;s voice in a ghastly whisper,
      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s only five minutes more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      How slowly the moments seemed to pass! I could count them by the throbbing
      of my heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It&rsquo;ll make a sensation on land,&rdquo; said a voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, it will make a noise in the newspapers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I raised my head and peered over the side of the boat. There seemed no
      hope, no help. Death stared me in the face, whether I did or did not give
      the alarm. The Captain had at last left the bridge. The deck was deserted,
      save for those two dark figures crouching in the shadow of the boat.
    </p>
    <p>
      Flannigan had a watch lying open in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Three minutes more,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Put it down upon the deck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, put it here on the bulwarks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was the little square box. I knew by the sound that they had placed it
      near the davit, and almost exactly under my head.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked over again. Flannigan was pouring something out of a paper into
      his hand. It was white and granular&mdash;the same that I had seen him use
      in the morning. It was meant as a fuse, no doubt, for he shovelled it into
      the little box, and I heard the strange noise which had previously
      arrested my attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A minute and a half more,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Shall you or I pull the string?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will pull it,&rdquo; said Müller.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was kneeling down and holding the end in his hand. Flannigan stood
      behind with his arms folded, and an air of grim resolution upon his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could stand it no longer. My nervous system seemed to give way in a
      moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; I screamed, springing to my feet. &ldquo;Stop misguided and unprincipled
      men!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They both staggered backwards. I fancy they thought I was a spirit, with
      the moonlight streaming down upon my pale face.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was brave enough now. I had gone too far to retreat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cain was damned,&rdquo; I cried, &ldquo;and he slew but one; would you have the blood
      of two hundred upon your souis?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s mad!&rdquo; said Flannigan. &ldquo;Time&rsquo;s up. Let it off, Müller.&rdquo; I sprang down
      upon the deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shan&rsquo;t do it!&rdquo; I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By what right do you prevent us?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By every right, human and divine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s no business of yours. Clear out of this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Confound the fellow! There&rsquo;s too much at stake to stand on ceremony. I&rsquo;ll
      hold him, Müller, while you pull the trigger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Next moment I was struggling in the herculean grasp of the Irishman.
      Resistance was useless; I was a child in his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      He pinned me up against the side of the vessel, and held me there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;look sharp. He can&rsquo;t prevent us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I felt that I was standing on the verge of eternity. Half-strangled in the
      arms of the taller ruffian, I saw the other approach the fatal box. He
      stooped over it and seized the string. I breathed one prayer when I saw
      his grasp tighten upon it. Then came a sharp snap, a strange rasping
      noise. The trigger had fallen, the side of the box flew out, and let off&mdash;TWO
      GREY CARRIER PIGEONS!
    </p>
    <p>
      Little more need be said. It is not a subject on which I care to dwell.
      The whole thing is too utterly disgusting and absurd. Perhaps the best
      thing I can do is to retire gracefully from the scene, and let the
      sporting correspondent of the New York Herald fill my unworthy place. Here
      is an extract clipped from its columns shortly after our departure from
      America:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pigeon-flying Extraordinary.&mdash;A novel match has been brought off
      last week between the birds of John H. Flannigan, of Boston, and Jeremiah
      Müller, a well-known citizen of Lowell. Both men have devoted much time
      and attention to an improved breed of bird, and the challenge is an
      old-standing one. The pigeons were backed to a large amount, and there was
      considerable local interest in the result. The start was from the deck of
      the Transatlantic steamship <i>Spartan</i>, at ten o&rsquo;clock on the evening of the
      day of starting, the vessel being then reckoned to be about a hundred
      miles from the land. The bird which reached home first was to be declared
      the winner. Considerable caution had, we believe, to be observed, as some
      captains have a prejudice against the bringing off of sporting events
      aboard their vessels. In spite of some little difficulty at the last
      moment, the trap was sprung almost exactly at ten o&rsquo;clock.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Müller&rsquo;s bird arrived in Lowell in an extreme state of exhaustion on the
      following morning, while Flannigan&rsquo;s has not been heard of. The backers of
      the latter have the satisfaction of knowing, however, that the whole
      affair has been characterised by extreme fairness. The pigeons were
      confined in a specially invented trap, which could only be opened by the
      spring. It was thus possible to feed them through an aperture in the top,
      but any tampering with their wings was quite out of the question. A few
      such matches would go far towards popularising pigeon-flying in America,
      and form an agreeable variety to the morbid exhibitions of human endurance
      which have assumed such proportions during the last few years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      JOHN HUXFORD&rsquo;S HIATUS.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Strange it is and wonderful to mark how upon this planet of ours the
      smallest and most insignificant of events set a train of consequences in
      motion which act and react until their final results are portentous and
      incalculable. Set a force rolling, however small; and who can say where it
      shall end, or what it may lead to! Trifles develop into tragedies, and the
      bagatelle of one day ripens into the catastrophe of the next. An oyster
      throws out a secretion to surround a grain of sand, and so a pearl comes
      into being; a pearl diver fishes it up, a merchant buys it and sells it to
      a jeweller, who disposes of it to a customer. The customer is robbed of it
      by two scoundrels who quarrel over the booty. One slays the other, and
      perishes himself upon the scaffold. Here is a direct chain of events with
      a sick mollusc for its first link, and a gallows for its last one. Had
      that grain of sand not chanced to wash in between the shells of the
      bivalve, two living breathing beings with all their potentialities for
      good and for evil would not have been blotted out from among their
      fellows. Who shall undertake to judge what is really small and what is
      great?
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus when in the year 1821 Don Diego Salvador bethought him that if it
      paid the heretics in England to import the bark of his cork oaks, it would
      pay him also to found a factory by which the corks might be cut and sent
      out ready made, surely at first sight no very vital human interests would
      appear to be affected. Yet there were poor folk who would suffer, and
      suffer acutely&mdash;women who would weep, and men who would become sallow
      and hungry-looking and dangerous in places of which the Don had never
      heard, and all on account of that one idea which had flashed across him as
      he strutted, cigarettiferous, beneath the grateful shadow of his limes. So
      crowded is this old globe of ours, and so interlaced our interests, that
      one cannot think a new thought without some poor devil being the better or
      the worse for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Don Diego Salvador was a capitalist, and the abstract thought soon took
      the concrete form of a great square plastered building wherein a couple of
      hundred of his swarthy countrymen worked with deft nimble fingers at a
      rate of pay which no English artisan could have accepted. Within a few
      months the result of this new competition was an abrupt fall of prices in
      the trade, which was serious for the largest firms and disastrous for the
      smaller ones. A few old-established houses held on as they were, others
      reduced their establishments and cut down their expenses, while one or two
      put up their shutters and confessed themselves beaten. In this last
      unfortunate category was the ancient and respected firm of Fairbairn
      Brothers of Brisport.
    </p>
    <p>
      Several causes had led up to this disaster, though Don Diego&rsquo;s debut as a
      corkcutter had brought matters to a head. When a couple of generations
      back the original Fairbairn had founded the business, Brisport was a
      little fishing town with no outlet or occupation for her superfluous
      population. Men were glad to have safe and continuous work upon any terms.
      All this was altered now, for the town was expanding into the centre of a
      large district in the west, and the demand for labour and its remuneration
      had proportionately increased. Again, in the old days, when carriage was
      ruinous and communication slow, the vintners of Exeter and of Barnstaple
      were glad to buy their corks from their neighbour of Brisport; but now the
      large London houses sent down their travellers, who competed with each
      other to gain the local custom, until profits were cut down to the
      vanishing point. For a long time the firm had been in a precarious
      position, but this further drop in prices settled the matter, and
      compelled Mr. Charles Fairbairn, the acting manager, to close his
      establishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a murky, foggy Saturday afternoon in November when the hands were
      paid for the last time, and the old building was to be finally abandoned.
      Mr. Fairbairn, an anxious-faced, sorrow-worn man, stood on a raised dais
      by the cashier while he handed the little pile of hardly-earned shillings
      and coppers to each successive workman as the long procession filed past
      his table. It was usual with the employees to clatter away the instant
      that they had been paid, like so many children let out of school; but
      to-day they waited, forming little groups over the great dreary room, and
      discussing in subdued voices the misfortune which had come upon their
      employers, and the future which awaited themselves. When the last pile of
      coins had been handed across the table, and the last name checked by the
      cashier, the whole throng faced silently round to the man who had been
      their master, and waited expectantly for any words which he might have to
      say to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Charles Fairbairn had not expected this, and it embarrassed him. He
      had waited as a matter of routine duty until the wages were paid, but he
      was a taciturn, slow-witted man, and he had not foreseen this sudden call
      upon his oratorical powers. He stroked his thin cheek nervously with his
      long white fingers, and looked down with weak watery eyes at the mosaic of
      upturned serious faces.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry that we have to part, my men,&rdquo; he said at last in a crackling
      voice. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a bad day for all of us, and for Brisport too. For three
      years we have been losing money over the works. We held on in the hope of
      a change coming, but matters are going from bad to worse. There&rsquo;s nothing
      for it but to give it up before the balance of our fortune is swallowed
      up. I hope you may all be able to get work of some sort before very long.
      Good-bye, and God bless you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God bless you, sir! God bless you!&rdquo; cried a chorus of rough voices.
      &ldquo;Three cheers for Mr. Charles Fairbairn!&rdquo; shouted a bright-eyed, smart
      young fellow, springing up upon a bench and waving his peaked cap in the
      air. The crowd responded to the call, but their huzzas wanted the true
      ring which only a joyous heart can give. Then they began to flock out into
      the sunlight, looking back as they went at the long deal tables and the
      cork-strewn floor&mdash;above all at the sad-faced, solitary man, whose
      cheeks were flecked with colour at the rough cordiality of their farewell.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Huxford,&rdquo; said the cashier, touching on the shoulder the young fellow who
      had led the cheering; &ldquo;the governor wants to speak to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The workman turned back and stood swinging his cap awkwardly in front of
      his ex-employer, while the crowd pushed on until the doorway was clear,
      and the heavy fog-wreaths rolled unchecked into the deserted factory.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, John!&rdquo; said Mr. Fairbairn, coming suddenly out of his reverie and
      taking up a letter from the table. &ldquo;You have been in my service since you
      were a boy, and you have shown that you merited the trust which I have
      placed in you. From what I have heard I think I am right in saying that
      this sudden want of work will affect your plans more than it will many of
      my other hands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was to be married at Shrovetide,&rdquo; the man answered, tracing a pattern
      upon the table with his horny forefinger. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have to find work first.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And work, my poor fellow, is by no means easy to find. You see you have
      been in this groove all your life, and are unfit for anything else. It&rsquo;s
      true you&rsquo;ve been my foreman, but even that won&rsquo;t help you, for the
      factories all over England are discharging hands, and there&rsquo;s not a
      vacancy to be had. It&rsquo;s a bad outlook for you and such as you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What would you advise, then, sir?&rdquo; asked John Huxford.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I was coming to. I have a letter here from Sheridan and
      Moore, of Montreal, asking for a good hand to take charge of a workroom.
      If you think it will suit you, you can go out by the next boat. The wages
      are far in excess of anything which I have been able to give you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, sir, this is real kind of you,&rdquo; the young workman said earnestly.
      &ldquo;She&mdash;my girl&mdash;Mary, will be as grateful to you as I am. I know
      what you say is right, and that if I had to look for work I should be
      likely to spend the little that I have laid by towards housekeeping before
      I found it. But, sir, with your leave I&rsquo;d like to speak to her about it
      before I made up my mind. Could you leave it open for a few hours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The mail goes out to-morrow,&rdquo; Mr. Fairbairn answered. &ldquo;If you decide to
      accept you can write tonight. Here is their letter, which will give you
      their address.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      John Huxford took the precious paper with a grateful heart. An hour ago
      his future had been all black, but now this rift of light had broken in
      the west, giving promise of better things. He would have liked to have
      said something expressive of his feelings to his employer, but the English
      nature is not effusive, and he could not get beyond a few choking awkward
      words which were as awkwardly received by his benefactor. With a scrape
      and a bow, he turned on his heel, and plunged out into the foggy street.
    </p>
    <p>
      So thick was the vapour that the houses over the way were only a vague
      loom, but the foreman hurried on with springy steps through side streets
      and winding lanes, past walls where the fishermen&rsquo;s nets were drying, and
      over cobble-stoned alleys redolent of herring, until he reached a modest
      line of whitewashed cottages fronting the sea. At the door of one of these
      the young man tapped, and then without waiting for a response, pressed
      down the latch and walked in.
    </p>
    <p>
      An old silvery-haired woman and a young girl hardly out of her teens were
      sitting on either side of the fire, and the latter sprang to her feet as
      he entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got some good news, John,&rdquo; she cried, putting her hands upon his
      shoulders, and looking into his eyes. &ldquo;I can tell it from your step. Mr.
      Fairbairn is going to carry on after all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, dear, not so good as that,&rdquo; John Huxford answered, smoothing back her
      rich brown hair; &ldquo;but I have an offer of a place in Canada, with good
      money, and if you think as I do, I shall go out to it, and you can follow
      with the granny whenever I have made all straight for you at the other
      side. What say you to that, my lass?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, surely, John, what you think is right must be for the best,&rdquo; said
      the girl quietly, with trust and confidence in her pale plain face and
      loving hazel eyes. &ldquo;But poor granny, how is she to cross the seas?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, never mind about me,&rdquo; the old woman broke in cheerfully. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be no
      drag on you. If you want granny, granny&rsquo;s not too old to travel; and if
      you don&rsquo;t want her, why she can look after the cottage, and have an
      English home ready for you whenever you turn back to the old country.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course we shall need you, granny,&rdquo; John Huxford said, with a cheery
      laugh. &ldquo;Fancy leaving granny behind! That would never do! Mary! But if you
      both come out, and if we are married all snug and proper at Montreal,
      we&rsquo;ll look through the whole city until we find a house something like
      this one, and we&rsquo;ll have creepers on the outside just the same, and when
      the doors are shut and we sit round the fire on the winter&rsquo;s nights, I&rsquo;m
      hanged if we&rsquo;ll be able to tell that we&rsquo;re not at home. Besides, Mary,
      it&rsquo;s the same speech out there, and the same king and the same flag; it&rsquo;s
      not like a foreign country.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, of course not,&rdquo; Mary answered with conviction. She was an orphan with
      no living relation save her old grandmother, and no thought in life but to
      make a helpful and worthy wife to the man she loved. Where these two were
      she could not fail to find happiness. If John went to Canada, then Canada
      became home to her, for what had Brisport to offer when he was gone?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m to write to-night then and accept?&rdquo; the young man asked. &ldquo;I knew you
      would both be of the same mind as myself, but of course I couldn&rsquo;t close
      with the offer until we had talked it over. I can get started in a week or
      two, and then in a couple of months I&rsquo;ll have all ready for you on the
      other side.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be a weary, weary time until we hear from you, dear John,&rdquo; said
      Mary, clasping his hand; &ldquo;but it&rsquo;s God&rsquo;s will, and we must be patient.
      Here&rsquo;s pen and ink. You can sit at the table and write the letter which is
      to take the three of us across the Atlantic.&rdquo; Strange how Don Diego&rsquo;s
      thoughts were moulding human lives in the little Devon village.
    </p>
    <p>
      The acceptance was duly despatched, and John Huxford began immediately to
      prepare for his departure, for the Montreal firm had intimated that the
      vacancy was a certainty, and that the chosen man might come out without
      delay to take over his duties. In a very few days his scanty outfit was
      completed, and he started off in a coasting vessel for Liverpool, where he
      was to catch the passenger ship for Quebec.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Remember, John,&rdquo; Mary whispered, as he pressed her to his heart upon the
      Brisport quay, &ldquo;the cottage is our own, and come what may, we have always
      that to fall back upon. If things should chance to turn out badly over
      there, we have always a roof to cover us. There you will find me until you
      send word to us to come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that will be very soon, my lass,&rdquo; he answered cheerfully, with a last
      embrace. &ldquo;Good-bye, granny, good-bye.&rdquo; The ship was a mile and more from
      the land before he lost sight of the figures of the straight slim girl and
      her old companion, who stood watching and waving to him from the end of
      the grey stone quay. It was with a sinking heart and a vague feeling of
      impending disaster that he saw them at last as minute specks in the
      distance, walking townward and disappearing amid the crowd who lined the
      beach.
    </p>
    <p>
      From Liverpool the old woman and her granddaughter received a letter from
      John announcing that he was just starting in the barque St. Lawrence, and
      six weeks afterwards a second longer epistle informed them of his safe
      arrival at Quebec, and gave them his first impressions of the country.
      After that a long unbroken silence set in. Week after week and month after
      month passed by, and never a word came from across the seas. A year went
      over their heads, and yet another, but no news of the absentee. Sheridan
      and Moore were written to, and replied that though John Huxford&rsquo;s letter
      had reached them, he had never presented himself, and they had been forced
      to fill up the vacancy as best they could. Still Mary and her grandmother
      hoped against hope, and looked out for the letter-carrier every morning
      with such eagerness, that the kind-hearted man would often make a detour
      rather than pass the two pale anxious faces which peered at him from the
      cottage window. At last, three years after the young foreman&rsquo;s
      disappearance, old granny died, and Mary was left alone, a broken
      sorrowful woman, living as best she might on a small annuity which had
      descended to her, and eating her heart out as she brooded over the mystery
      which hung over the fate of her lover.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the shrewd west-country neighbours there had long, however, ceased
      to be any mystery in the matter. Huxford arrived safely in Canada&mdash;so
      much was proved by his letter. Had he met with his end in any sudden way
      during the journey between Quebec and Montreal, there must have been some
      official inquiry, and his luggage would have sufficed to have established
      his identity. Yet the Canadian police had been communicated with, and had
      returned a positive answer that no inquest had been held, or any body
      found, which could by any possibility be that of the young Englishman. The
      only alternative appeared to be that he had taken the first opportunity to
      break all the old ties, and had slipped away to the backwoods or to the
      States to commence life anew under an altered name. Why he should do this
      no one professed to know, but that he had done it appeared only too
      probable from the facts. Hence many a deep growl of righteous anger rose
      from the brawny smacksmen when Mary with her pale face and sorrow-sunken
      head passed along the quays on her way to her daily marketing; and it is
      more than likely that if the missing man had turned up in Brisport he
      might have met with some rough words or rougher usage, unless he could
      give some very good reason for his strange conduct. This popular view of
      the case never, however, occurred to the simple trusting heart of the
      lonely girl, and as the years rolled by her grief and her suspense were
      never for an instant tinged with a doubt as to the good faith of the
      missing man. From youth she grew into middle age, and from that into the
      autumn of her life, patient, long-suffering, and faithful, doing good as
      far as lay in her power, and waiting humbly until fate should restore
      either in this world or the next that which it had so mysteriously
      deprived her of.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meantime neither the opinion held by the minority that John Huxford
      was dead, nor that of the majority, which pronounced him to be faithless,
      represented the true state of the case. Still alive, and of stainless
      honour, he had yet been singled out by fortune as her victim in one of
      those strange freaks which are of such rare occurrence, and so beyond the
      general experience, that they might be put by as incredible, had we not
      the most trustworthy evidence of their occasional possibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      Landing at Quebec, with his heart full of hope and courage, John selected
      a dingy room in a back street, where the terms were less exorbitant than
      elsewhere, and conveyed thither the two boxes which contained his worldly
      goods. After taking up his quarters there he had half a mind to change
      again, for the landlady and the fellow-lodgers were by no means to his
      taste; but the Montreal coach started within a day or two, and he consoled
      himself by the thought that the discomfort would only last for that short
      time. Having written home to Mary to announce his safe arrival, he
      employed himself in seeing as much of the town as was possible, walking
      about all day, and only returning to his room at night.
    </p>
    <p>
      It happened, however, that the house on which the unfortunate youth had
      pitched was one which was notorious for the character of its inmates. He
      had been directed to it by a pimp, who found regular employment in hanging
      about the docks and decoying new-comers to this den. The fellow&rsquo;s specious
      manner and proffered civility had led the simple-hearted west-countryman
      into the toils, and though his instinct told him that he was in unsafe
      company, he refrained, unfortunately, from at once making his escape. He
      contented himself with staying out all day, and associating as little as
      possible with the other inmates. From the few words which he did let drop,
      however, the landlady gathered that he was a stranger without a single
      friend in the country to inquire after him should misfortune overtake him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The house had an evil reputation for the hocussing of sailors, which was
      done not only for the purpose of plundering them, but also to supply
      outgoing ships with crews, the men being carried on board insensible, and
      not coming to until the ship was well down the St. Lawrence. This trade
      caused the wretches who followed it to be experts in the use of stupefying
      drugs, and they determined to practise their arts upon their friendless
      lodger, so as to have an opportunity of ransacking his effects, and of
      seeing what it might be worth their while to purloin. During the day he
      invariably locked his door and carried off the key in his pocket, but if
      they could render him insensible for the night they could examine his
      boxes at their leisure, and deny afterwards that he had ever brought with
      him the articles which he missed. It happened, therefore, upon the eve of
      Huxford&rsquo;s departure from Quebec, that he found, upon returning to his
      lodgings, that his landlady and her two ill-favoured sons, who assisted
      her in her trade, were waiting up for him over a bowl of punch, which they
      cordially invited him to share. It was a bitterly cold night, and the
      fragrant steam overpowered any suspicions which the young Englishman may
      have entertained, so he drained off a bumper, and then, retiring to his
      bedroom, threw himself upon his bed without undressing, and fell straight
      into a dreamless slumber, in which he still lay when the three
      conspirators crept into his chamber, and, having opened his boxes, began
      to investigate his effects.
    </p>
    <p>
      It may have been that the speedy action of the drug caused its effect to
      be evanescent, or, perhaps, that the strong constitution of the victim
      threw it off with unusual rapidity. Whatever the cause, it is certain that
      John Huxford suddenly came to himself, and found the foul trio squatted
      round their booty, which they were dividing into the two categories of
      what was of value and should be taken, and what was valueless and might
      therefore be left. With a bound he sprang out of bed, and seizing the
      fellow nearest him by the collar, he slung him through the open doorway.
      His brother rushed at him, but the young Devonshire man met him with such
      a facer that he dropped in a heap upon the ground. Unfortunately, the
      violence of the blow caused him to overbalance himself, and, tripping over
      his prostrate antagonist, he came down heavily upon his face. Before he
      could rise, the old hag sprang upon his back and clung to him, shrieking
      to her son to bring the poker. John managed to shake himself clear of them
      both, but before he could stand on his guard he was felled from behind by
      a crashing blow from an iron bar, which stretched him senseless upon the
      floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve hit too hard, Joe,&rdquo; said the old woman, looking down at the
      prostrate figure. &ldquo;I heard the bone go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I hadn&rsquo;t fetched him down he&rsquo;d ha&rsquo; been too many for us,&rdquo; said the
      young villain sulkily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Still, you might ha&rsquo; done it without killing him, clumsy,&rdquo; said his
      mother. She had had a large experience of such scenes, and knew the
      difference between a stunning blow and a fatal one.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s still breathing,&rdquo; the other said, examining him; &ldquo;the back o&rsquo; his
      head&rsquo;s like a bag o&rsquo; dice though. The skull&rsquo;s all splintered. He can&rsquo;t
      last. What are we to do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll never come to himself again,&rdquo; the other brother remarked. &ldquo;Sarve
      him right. Look at my face! Let&rsquo;s see, mother; who&rsquo;s in the house?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Only four drunk sailors.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They wouldn&rsquo;t turn out for any noise. It&rsquo;s all quiet in the street. Let&rsquo;s
      carry him down a bit, Joe, and leave him there. He can die there, and no
      one think the worse of us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take all the papers out of his pocket, then,&rdquo; the mother suggested; &ldquo;they
      might help the police to trace him. His watch, too, and his money&mdash;&#163;3
      odd; better than nothing. Now carry him softly and don&rsquo;t slip.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Kicking off their shoes, the two brothers carried the dying man down
      stairs and along the deserted street for a couple of hundred yards. There
      they laid him among the snow, where he was found by the night patrol, who
      carried him on a shutter to the hospital. He was duly examined by the
      resident surgeon, who bound up the wounded head, but gave it as his
      opinion that the man could not possibly live for more than twelve hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      Twelve hours passed, however, and yet another twelve, but John Huxford
      still struggled hard for his life. When at the end of three days he was
      found to be still breathing, the interest of the doctors became aroused at
      his extraordinary vitality, and they bled him, as the fashion was in those
      days, and surrounded his shattered head with icebags. It may have been on
      account of these measures, or it may have been in spite of them, but at
      the end of a week&rsquo;s deep trance the nurse in charge was astonished to hear
      a gabbling noise, and to find the stranger sitting up upon the couch and
      staring about him with wistful, wondering eyes. The surgeons were summoned
      to behold the phenomenon, and warmly congratulated each other upon the
      success of their treatment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have been on the brink of the grave, my man,&rdquo; said one of them,
      pressing the bandaged head back on to the pillow; &ldquo;you must not excite
      yourself. What is your name?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      No answer, save a wild stare.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where do you come from?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again no answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is mad,&rdquo; one suggested. &ldquo;Or a foreigner,&rdquo; said another. &ldquo;There were no
      papers on him when he came in. His linen is marked &lsquo;J. H.&rsquo; Let us try him
      in French and German.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They tested him with as many tongues as they could muster among them, but
      were compelled at last to give the matter over and to leave their silent
      patient, still staring up wild-eyed at the whitewashed hospital ceiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      For many weeks John lay in the hospital, and for many weeks efforts were
      made to gain some clue as to his antecedents, but in vain. He showed, as
      the time rolled by, not only by his demeanour, but also by the
      intelligence with which he began to pick up fragments of sentences, like a
      clever child learning to talk, that his mind was strong enough in the
      present, though it was a complete blank as to the past. The man&rsquo;s memory
      of his whole life before the fatal blow was entirely and absolutely
      erased. He neither knew his name, his language, his home, his business,
      nor anything else. The doctors held learned consultations upon him, and
      discoursed upon the centre of memory and depressed tables, deranged
      nerve-cells and cerebral congestions, but all their polysyllables began
      and ended at the fact that the man&rsquo;s memory was gone, and that it was
      beyond the power of science to restore it. During the weary months of his
      convalescence he picked up reading and writing, but with the return of his
      strength came no return of his former life. England, Devonshire, Brisport,
      Mary, Granny&mdash;the words brought no recollection to his mind. All was
      absolute darkness. At last he was discharged, a friendless, tradeless,
      penniless man, without a past, and with very little to look to in the
      future. His very name was altered, for it had been necessary to invent
      one. John Huxford had passed away, and John Hardy took his place among
      mankind. Here was a strange outcome of a Spanish gentleman&rsquo;s
      tobacco-inspired meditations.
    </p>
    <p>
      John&rsquo;s case had aroused some discussion and curiosity in Quebec, so that
      he was not suffered to drift into utter helplessness upon emerging from
      the hospital. A Scotch manufacturer named M&lsquo;Kinlay found him a post as
      porter in his establishment, and for a long time he worked at seven
      dollars a week at the loading and unloading of vans. In the course of
      years it was noticed, however, that his memory, however defective as to
      the past, was extremely reliable and accurate when concerned with anything
      which had occurred since his accident. From the factory he was promoted
      into the counting-house, and the year 1835 found him a junior clerk at a
      salary of L120 a year. Steadily and surely John Hardy fought his way
      upward from post to post, with his whole heart and mind devoted to the
      business. In 1840 he was third clerk, in 1845 he was second, and in 1852
      he became manager of the whole vast establishment, and second only to Mr.
      M&lsquo;Kinlay himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were few who grudged John this rapid advancement, for it was
      obviously due to neither chance nor favouritism, but entirely to his
      marvellous powers of application and industry. From early morning until
      late in the night he laboured hard in the service of his employer,
      checking, overlooking, superintending, setting an example to all of
      cheerful devotion to duty. As he rose from one post to another his salary
      increased, but it caused no alteration in his mode of living, save that it
      enabled him to be more open-handed to the poor. He signalised his
      promotion to the managership by a donation of L1000 to the hospital in
      which he had been treated a quarter of a century before. The remainder of
      his earnings he allowed to accumulate in the business, drawing a small sum
      quarterly for his sustenance, and still residing in the humble dwelling
      which he had occupied when he was a warehouse porter. In spite of his
      success he was a sad, silent, morose man, solitary in his habits, and
      possessed always of a vague undefined yearning, a dull feeling of
      dissatisfaction and of craving which never abandoned him. Often he would
      strive with his poor crippled brain to pierce the curtain which divided
      him from the past, and to solve the enigma of his youthful existence, but
      though he sat many a time by the fire until his head throbbed with his
      efforts, John Hardy could never recall the least glimpse of John Huxford&rsquo;s
      history.
    </p>
    <p>
      On one occasion he had, in the interests of the firm, to journey to
      Quebec, and to visit the very cork factory which had tempted him to leave
      England. Strolling through the workroom with the foreman, John
      automatically, and without knowing what he was doing, picked up a square
      piece of the bark, and fashioned it with two or three deft cuts of his
      penknife into a smooth tapering cork. His companion picked it out of his
      hand and examined it with the eye of an expert. &ldquo;This is not the first
      cork which you have cut by many a hundred, Mr. Hardy,&rdquo; he remarked.
      &ldquo;Indeed you are wrong,&rdquo; John answered, smiling; &ldquo;I never cut one before in
      my life.&rdquo; &ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; cried the foreman. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s another bit of cork.
      Try again.&rdquo; John did his best to repeat the performance, but the brains of
      the manager interfered with the trained muscles of the corkcutter. The
      latter had not forgotten their cunning, but they needed to be left to
      themselves, and not directed by a mind which knew nothing of the matter.
      Instead of the smooth graceful shape, he could produce nothing but
      rough-hewn clumsy cylinders. &ldquo;It must have been chance,&rdquo; said the foreman,
      &ldquo;but I could have sworn that it was the work of an old hand!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the years passed John&rsquo;s smooth English skin had warped and crinkled
      until he was as brown and as seamed as a walnut. His hair, too, after many
      years of iron-grey, had finally become as white as the winters of his
      adopted country. Yet he was a hale and upright old man, and when he at
      last retired from the manager-ship of the firm with which he had been so
      long connected, he bore the weight of his seventy years lightly and
      bravely. He was in the peculiar position himself of not knowing his own
      age, as it was impossible for him to do more than guess at how old he was
      at the time of his accident.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Franco-German War came round, and while the two great rivals were
      destroying each other, their more peaceful neighbours were quietly ousting
      them out of their markets and their commerce. Many English ports benefited
      by this condition of things, but none more than Brisport. It had long
      ceased to be a fishing village, but was now a large and prosperous town,
      with a great breakwater in place of the quay on which Mary had stood, and
      a frontage of terraces and grand hotels where all the grandees of the west
      country came when they were in need of a change. All these extensions had
      made Brisport the centre of a busy trade, and her ships found their way
      into every harbour in the world. Hence it was no wonder, especially in
      that very busy year of 1870, that several Brisport vessels were lying in
      the river and alongside the wharves of Quebec.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day John Hardy, who found time hang a little on his hands since his
      retirement from business, strolled along by the water&rsquo;s edge listening to
      the clanking of the steam winches, and watching the great barrels and
      cases as they were swung ashore and piled upon the wharf. He had observed
      the coming in of a great ocean steamer, and having waited until she was
      safely moored, he was turning away, when a few words fell upon his ear
      uttered by some one on board a little weather-beaten barque close by him.
      It was only some commonplace order that was bawled out, but the sound fell
      upon the old man&rsquo;s ears with a strange mixture of disuse and familiarity.
      He stood by the vessel and heard the seamen at their work, all speaking
      with the same broad, pleasant jingling accent. Why did it send such a
      thrill through his nerves to listen to it? He sat down upon a coil of rope
      and pressed his hands to his temples, drinking in the long-forgotten
      dialect, and trying to piece together in his mind the thousand half-formed
      nebulous recollections which were surging up in it. Then he rose, and
      walking along to the stern he read the name of the ship, The Sunlight,
      Brisport. Brisport! Again that flush and tingle through every nerve. Why
      was that word and the men&rsquo;s speech so familiar to him? He walked moodily
      home, and all night he lay tossing and sleepless, pursuing a shadowy
      something which was ever within his reach, and yet which ever evaded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early next morning he was up and down on the wharf listening to the talk
      of the west-country sailors. Every word they spoke seemed to him to revive
      his memory and bring him nearer to the light. From time to time they
      paused in their work, and seeing the white-haired stranger sitting so
      silently and attentively, they laughed at him and broke little jests upon
      him. And even these jests had a familiar sound to the exile, as they very
      well might, seeing that they were the same which he had heard in his
      youth, for no one ever makes a new joke in England. So he sat through the
      long day, bathing himself in the west-country speech, and waiting for the
      light to break.
    </p>
    <p>
      And it happened that when the sailors broke off for their mid-day meal,
      one of them, either out of curiosity or good nature, came over to the old
      watcher and greeted him. So John asked him to be seated on a log by his
      side, and began to put many questions to him about the country from which
      he came, and the town. All which the man answered glibly enough, for there
      is nothing in the world that a sailor loves to talk of so much as of his
      native place, for it pleases him to show that he is no mere wanderer, but
      that he has a home to receive him whenever he shall choose to settle down
      to a quiet life. So the seaman prattled away about the Town Hall and the
      Martello Tower, and the Esplanade, and Pitt Street and the High Street,
      until his companion suddenly shot out a long eager arm and caught him by
      the wrist. &ldquo;Look here, man,&rdquo; he said, in a low quick whisper. &ldquo;Answer me
      truly as you hope for mercy. Are not the streets that run out of the High
      Street, Fox Street, Caroline Street, and George Street, in the order
      named?&rdquo; &ldquo;They are,&rdquo; the sailor answered, shrinking away from the wild
      flashing eyes. And at that moment John&rsquo;s memory came back to him, and he
      saw clear and distinct his life as it had been and as it should have been,
      with every minutest detail traced as in letters of fire. Too stricken to
      cry out, too stricken to weep, he could only hurry away homewards wildly
      and aimlessly; hurry as fast as his aged limbs would carry him, as if,
      poor soul! there were some chance yet of catching up the fifty years which
      had gone by. Staggering and tremulous he hastened on until a film seemed
      to gather over his eyes, and throwing his arms into the air with a great
      cry, &ldquo;Oh, Mary, Mary! Oh, my lost, lost life!&rdquo; he fell senseless upon the
      pavement.
    </p>
    <p>
      The storm of emotion which had passed through him, and the mental shock
      which he had undergone, would have sent many a man into a raging fever,
      but John was too strong-willed and too practical to allow his strength to
      be wasted at the very time when he needed it most. Within a few days he
      realised a portion of his property, and starting for New York, caught the
      first mail steamer to England. Day and night, night and day, he trod the
      quarter-deck, until the hardy sailors watched the old man with
      astonishment, and marvelled how any human being could do so much upon so
      little sleep. It was only by this unceasing exercise, by wearing down his
      vitality until fatigue brought lethargy, that he could prevent himself
      from falling into a very frenzy of despair. He hardly dared ask himself
      what was the object of this wild journey? What did he expect? Would Mary
      be still alive? She must be a very old woman. If he could but see her and
      mingle his tears with hers he would be content. Let her only know that it
      had been no fault of his, and that they had both been victims to the same
      cruel fate. The cottage was her own, and she had said that she would wait
      for him there until she heard from him. Poor lass, she had never reckoned
      on such a wait as this.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last the Irish lights were sighted and passed, Land&rsquo;s End lay like a
      blue fog upon the water, and the great steamer ploughed its way along the
      bold Cornish coast until it dropped its anchor in Plymouth Bay. John
      hurried to the railway station, and within a few hours he found himself
      back once more in his native town, which he had quitted a poor corkcutter,
      half a century before.
    </p>
    <p>
      But was it the same town? Were it not for the name engraved all over the
      station and on the hotels, John might have found a difficulty in believing
      it. The broad, well-paved streets, with the tram lines laid down the
      centre, were very different from the narrow winding lanes which he could
      remember. The spot upon which the station had been built was now the very
      centre of the town, but in the old days it would have been far out in the
      fields. In every direction, lines of luxurious villas branched away in
      streets and crescents bearing names which were new to the exile. Great
      warehouses, and long rows of shops with glittering fronts, showed him how
      enormously Brisport had increased in wealth as well as in dimensions. It
      was only when he came upon the old High Street that John began to feel at
      home. It was much altered, but still it was recognisable, and some few of
      the buildings were just as he had left them. There was the place where
      Fairbairn&rsquo;s cork works had been. It was now occupied by a great brand-new
      hotel. And there was the old grey Town Hall. The wanderer turned down
      beside it, and made his way with eager steps but a sinking heart in the
      direction of the line of cottages which he used to know so well.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not difficult for him to find where they had been. The sea at least
      was as of old, and from it he could tell where the cottages had stood. But
      alas, where were they now! In their place an imposing crescent of high
      stone houses reared their tall front to the beach. John walked wearily
      down past their palatial entrances, feeling heart-sore and despairing,
      when suddenly a thrill shot through him, followed by a warm glow of
      excitement and of hope, for, standing a little back from the line, and
      looking as much out of place as a bumpkin in a ballroom, was an old
      whitewashed cottage, with wooden porch and walls bright with creeping
      plants. He rubbed his eyes and stared again, but there it stood with its
      diamond-paned windows and white muslin curtains, the very same down to the
      smallest details, as it had been on the day when he last saw it. Brown
      hair had become white, and fishing hamlets had changed into cities, but
      busy hands and a faithful heart had kept granny&rsquo;s cottage unchanged and
      ready for the wanderer.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now, when he had reached his very haven of rest, John Huxford&rsquo;s mind
      became more filled with apprehension than ever, and he came over so deadly
      sick, that he had to sit down upon one of the beach benches which faced
      the cottage. An old fisherman was perched at one end of it, smoking his
      black clay pipe, and he remarked upon the wan face and sad eyes of the
      stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have overtired yourself,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t do for old chaps like
      you and me to forget our years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m better now, thank you,&rdquo; John answered. &ldquo;Can you tell me, friend, how
      that one cottage came among all those fine houses?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said the old fellow, thumping his crutch energetically upon the
      ground, &ldquo;that cottage belongs to the most obstinate woman in all England.
      That woman, if you&rsquo;ll believe me, has been offered the price of the
      cottage ten times over, and yet she won&rsquo;t part with it. They have even
      promised to remove it stone by stone, and put it up on some more
      convenient place, and pay her a good round sum into the bargain, but, God
      bless you! she wouldn&rsquo;t so much as hear of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And why was that?&rdquo; asked John.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s just the funny part of it. It&rsquo;s all on account of a mistake.
      You see her spark went away when I was a youngster, and she&rsquo;s got it into
      her head that he may come back some day, and that he won&rsquo;t know where to
      go unless the cottage is there. Why, if the fellow were alive he would be
      as old as you, but I&rsquo;ve no doubt he&rsquo;s dead long ago. She&rsquo;s well quit of
      him, for he must have been a scamp to abandon her as he did.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, he abandoned her, did he?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;went off to the States, and never so much as sent a word to bid
      her good-bye. It was a cruel shame, it was, for the girl has been
      a-waiting and a-pining for him ever since. It&rsquo;s my belief that it&rsquo;s fifty
      years&rsquo; weeping that blinded her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is blind!&rdquo; cried John, half rising to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Worse than that,&rdquo; said the fisherman. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s mortal ill, and not expected
      to live. Why, look ye, there&rsquo;s the doctor&rsquo;s carriage a-waiting at her
      door.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this evil tidings old John sprang up and hurried over to the cottage,
      where he met the physician returning to his brougham.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How is your patient, doctor?&rdquo; he asked in a trembling voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very bad, very bad,&rdquo; said the man of medicine pompously. &ldquo;If she
      continues to sink she will be in great danger; but if, on the other hand,
      she takes a turn, it is possible that she may recover,&rdquo; with which
      oracular answer he drove away in a cloud of dust.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Huxford was still hesitating at the doorway, not knowing how to
      announce himself, or how far a shock might be dangerous to the sufferer,
      when a gentleman in black came bustling up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can you tell me, my man, if this is where the sick woman is?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      John nodded, and the clergyman passed in, leaving the door half open. The
      wanderer waited until he had gone into the inner room, and then slipped
      into the front parlour, where he had spent so many happy hours. All was
      the same as ever, down to the smallest ornaments, for Mary had been in the
      habit whenever anything was broken of replacing it with a duplicate, so
      that there might be no change in the room. He stood irresolute, looking
      about him, until he heard a woman&rsquo;s voice from the inner chamber, and
      stealing to the door he peeped in.
    </p>
    <p>
      The invalid was reclining upon a couch, propped up with pillows, and her
      face was turned full towards John as he looked round the door. He could
      have cried out as his eyes rested upon it, for there were Mary&rsquo;s pale,
      plain, sweet homely features as smooth and as unchanged as though she were
      still the half child, half woman, whom he had pressed to his heart on the
      Brisport quay. Her calm, eventless, unselfish life had left none of those
      rude traces upon her countenance which are the outward emblems of internal
      conflict and an unquiet soul. A chaste melancholy had refined and softened
      her expression, and her loss of sight had been compensated for by that
      placidity which comes upon the faces of the blind. With her silvery hair
      peeping out beneath her snow-white cap, and a bright smile upon her
      sympathetic face, she was the old Mary improved and developed, with
      something ethereal and angelic superadded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will keep a tenant in the cottage,&rdquo; she was saying to the clergyman,
      who sat with his back turned to the observer. &ldquo;Choose some poor deserving
      folk in the parish who will be glad of a home free. And when he comes you
      will tell him that I have waited for him until I have been forced to go
      on, but that he will find me on the other side still faithful and true.
      There&rsquo;s a little money too&mdash;only a few pounds&mdash;but I should like
      him to have it when he comes, for he may need it, and then you will tell
      the folk you put in to be kind to him, for he will be grieved, poor lad,
      and to tell him that I was cheerful and happy up to the end. Don&rsquo;t let him
      know that I ever fretted, or he may fret too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Now John listened quietly to all this from behind the door, and more than
      once he had to put his hand to his throat, but when she had finished, and
      when he thought of her long, blameless, innocent life, and saw the dear
      face looking straight at him, and yet unable to see him, it became too
      much for his manhood, and he burst out into an irrepressible choking sob
      which shook his very frame. And then occurred a strange thing, for though
      he had spoken no word, the old woman stretched out her arms to him, and
      cried, &ldquo;Oh, Johnny, Johnny! Oh dear, dear Johnny, you have come back to me
      again,&rdquo; and before the parson could at all understand what had happened,
      those two faithful lovers were in each other&rsquo;s arms, weeping over each
      other, and patting each other&rsquo;s silvery heads, with their hearts so full
      of joy that it almost compensated for all that weary fifty years of
      waiting.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is hard to say how long they rejoiced together. It seemed a very short
      time to them and a very long one to the reverend gentleman, who was
      thinking at last of stealing away, when Mary recollected his presence and
      the courtesy which was due to him. &ldquo;My heart is full of joy, sir,&rdquo; she
      said; &ldquo;it is God&rsquo;s will that I should not see my Johnny, but I can call
      his image up as clear as if I had my eyes. Now stand up, John, and I will
      let the gentleman see how well I remember you. He is as tall, sir, as the
      second shelf, as straight as an arrow, his face brown, and his eyes bright
      and clear. His hair is well-nigh black, and his moustache the same&mdash;I
      shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if he had whiskers as well by this time. Now, sir, don&rsquo;t
      you think I can do without my sight?&rdquo; The clergyman listened to her
      description, and looking at the battered, white-haired man before him, he
      hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it all proved to be a laughing matter in the end, for, whether it was
      that her illness had taken some natural turn, or that John&rsquo;s return had
      startled it away, it is certain that from that day Mary steadily improved
      until she was as well as ever. &ldquo;No special license for me,&rdquo; John had said
      sturdily. &ldquo;It looks as if we were ashamed of what we are doing, as though
      we hadn&rsquo;t the best right to be married of any two folk in the parish.&rdquo; So
      the banns were put up accordingly, and three times it was announced that
      John Huxford, bachelor, was going to be united to Mary Howden, spinster,
      after which, no one objecting, they were duly married accordingly. &ldquo;We may
      not have very long in this world,&rdquo; said old John, &ldquo;but at least we shall
      start fair and square in the next.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      John&rsquo;s share in the Quebec business was sold out, and gave rise to a very
      interesting legal question as to whether, knowing that his name was
      Huxford, he could still sign that of Hardy, as was necessary for the
      completion of the business. It was decided, however, that on his producing
      two trustworthy witnesses to his identity all would be right, so the
      property was duly realised and produced a very handsome fortune. Part of
      this John devoted to building a pretty villa just outside Brisport, and
      the heart of the proprietor of Beach Terrace leaped within him when he
      learned that the cottage was at last to be abandoned, and that it would no
      longer break the symmetry and impair the effect of his row of aristocratic
      mansions.
    </p>
    <p>
      And there in their snug new home, sitting out on the lawn in the
      summer-time, and on either side of the fire in the winter, that worthy old
      couple continued for many years to live as innocently and as happily as
      two children. Those who knew them well say that there was never a shadow
      between them, and that the love which burned in their aged hearts was as
      high and as holy as that of any young couple who ever went to the altar.
      And through all the country round, if ever man or woman were in distress
      and fighting against hard times, they had only to go up to the villa to
      receive help, and that sympathy which is more precious than help. So when
      at last John and Mary fell asleep in their ripe old age, within a few
      hours of each other, they had all the poor and the needy and the
      friendless of the parish among their mourners, and in talking over the
      troubles which these two had faced so bravely, they learned that their own
      miseries also were but passing things, and that faith and truth can never
      miscarry, either in this existence or the next.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CYPRIAN OVERBECK WELLS&mdash;A LITERARY MOSAIC.
    </h2>
    <p>
      From my boyhood I have had an intense and overwhelming conviction that my
      real vocation lay in the direction of literature. I have, however, had a
      most unaccountable difficulty in getting any responsible person to share
      my views. It is true that private friends have sometimes, after listening
      to my effusions, gone the length of remarking, &ldquo;Really, Smith, that&rsquo;s not
      half bad!&rdquo; or, &ldquo;You take my advice, old boy, and send that to some
      magazine!&rdquo; but I have never on these occasions had the moral courage to
      inform my adviser that the article in question had been sent to well-nigh
      every publisher in London, and had come back again with a rapidity and
      precision which spoke well for the efficiency of our postal arrangements.
    </p>
    <p>
      Had my manuscripts been paper boomerangs they could not have returned with
      greater accuracy to their unhappy dispatcher. Oh, the vileness and utter
      degradation of the moment when the stale little cylinder of closely
      written pages, which seemed so fresh and full of promise a few days ago,
      is handed in by a remorseless postman! And what moral depravity shines
      through the editor&rsquo;s ridiculous plea of &ldquo;want of space!&rdquo; But the subject
      is a painful one, and a digression from the plain statement of facts which
      I originally contemplated.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the age of seventeen to that of three-and-twenty I was a literary
      volcano in a constant state of eruption. Poems and tales, articles and
      reviews, nothing came amiss to my pen. From the great sea-serpent to the
      nebular hypothesis, I was ready to write on anything or everything, and I
      can safely say that I seldom handled a subject without throwing new lights
      upon it. Poetry and romance, however, had always the greatest attractions
      for me. How I have wept over the pathos of my heroines, and laughed at the
      comicalities of my buffoons! Alas! I could find no one to join me in my
      appreciation, and solitary admiration for one&rsquo;s self, however genuine,
      becomes satiating after a time. My father remonstrated with me too on the
      score of expense and loss of time, so that I was finally compelled to
      relinquish my dreams of literary independence and to become a clerk in a
      wholesale mercantile firm connected with the West African trade.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even when condemned to the prosaic duties which fell to my lot in the
      office, I continued faithful to my first love. I have introduced pieces of
      word-painting into the most commonplace business letters which have, I am
      told, considerably astonished the recipients. My refined sarcasm has made
      defaulting creditors writhe and wince. Occasionally, like the great Silas
      Wegg, I would drop into poetry, and so raise the whole tone of the
      correspondence. Thus what could be more elegant than my rendering of the
      firm&rsquo;s instructions to the captain of one of their vessels. It ran in this
      way:&mdash;
    </p>
<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">
            &ldquo;From England, Captain, you must steer a<br />
            Course directly to Madeira,<br />
            Land the casks of salted beef,<br />
            Then away to Teneriffe.<br />
            Pray be careful, cool, and wary<br />
            With the merchants of Canary.<br />
            When you leave them make the most<br />
            Of the trade winds to the coast.<br />
            Down it you shall sail as far<br />
            As the land of Calabar,<br />
            And from there you&rsquo;ll onward go<br />
            To Bonny and Fernando Po&rdquo;&mdash;&mdash;
			</div></div>
    <p style="text-indent:0%;">
      and so on for four pages. The captain, instead of treasuring up this
      little gem, called at the office next day, and demanded with quite
      unnecessary warmth what the thing meant, and I was compelled to translate
      it all back into prose. On this, as on other similar occasions, my
      employer took me severely to task&mdash;for he was, you see, a man
      entirely devoid of all pretensions to literary taste!
    </p>
    <p>
      All this, however, is a mere preamble, and leads up to the fact that after
      ten years or so of drudgery I inherited a legacy which, though small, was
      sufficient to satisfy my simple wants. Finding myself independent, I
      rented a quiet house removed from the uproar and bustle of London, and
      there I settled down with the intention of producing some great work which
      should single me out from the family of the Smiths, and render my name
      immortal. To this end I laid in several quires of foolscap, a box of quill
      pens, and a sixpenny bottle of ink, and having given my housekeeper
      injunctions to deny me to all visitors, I proceeded to look round for a
      suitable subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was looking round for some weeks. At the end of that time I found that I
      had by constant nibbling devoured a large number of the quills, and had
      spread the ink out to such advantage, what with blots, spills, and
      abortive commencements, that there appeared to be some everywhere except
      in the bottle. As to the story itself, however, the facility of my youth
      had deserted me completely, and my mind remained a complete blank; nor
      could I, do what I would, excite my sterile imagination to conjure up a
      single incident or character.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this strait I determined to devote my leisure to running rapidly
      through the works of the leading English novelists, from Daniel Defoe to
      the present day, in the hope of stimulating my latent ideas and of getting
      a good grasp of the general tendency of literature. For some time past I
      had avoided opening any work of fiction because one of the greatest faults
      of my youth had been that I invariably and unconsciously mimicked the
      style of the last author whom I had happened to read. Now, however, I made
      up my mind to seek safety in a multitude, and by consulting <i>all</i> the
      English classics to avoid?? the danger of imitating any one too closely. I
      had just accomplished the task of reading through the majority of the
      standard novels at the time when my narrative commences.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, then, about twenty minutes to ten on the night of the fourth of
      June, eighteen hundred and eighty-six, that, after disposing of a pint of
      beer and a Welsh rarebit for my supper, I seated myself in my arm-chair,
      cocked my feet upon a stool, and lit my pipe, as was my custom. Both my
      pulse and my temperature were, as far as I know, normal at the time. I
      would give the state of the barometer, but that unlucky instrument had
      experienced an unprecedented fall of forty-two inches&mdash;from a nail to
      the ground&mdash;and was not in a reliable condition. We live in a
      scientific age, and I flatter myself that I move with the times.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whilst in that comfortable lethargic condition which accompanies both
      digestion and poisoning by nicotine, I suddenly became aware of the
      extraordinary fact that my little drawing-room had elongated into a great
      salon, and that my humble table had increased in proportion. Round this
      colossal mahogany were seated a great number of people who were talking
      earnestly together, and the surface in front of them was strewn with books
      and pamphlets. I could not help observing that these persons were dressed
      in a most extraordinary mixture of costumes, for those at the end nearest
      to me wore peruke wigs, swords, and all the fashions of two centuries
      back; those about the centre had tight knee-breeches, high cravats, and
      heavy bunches of seals; while among those at the far side the majority
      were dressed in the most modern style, and among them I saw, to my
      surprise, several eminent men of letters whom I had the honour of knowing.
      There were two or three women in the company. I should have risen to my
      feet to greet these unexpected guests, but all power of motion appeared to
      have deserted me, and I could only lie still and listen to their
      conversation, which I soon perceived to be all about myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Egad!&rdquo; exclaimed a rough, weather-beaten man, who was smoking a long
      churchwarden pipe at my end of the table, &ldquo;my heart softens for him. Why,
      gossips, we&rsquo;ve been in the same straits ourselves. Gadzooks, never did
      mother feel more concern for her eldest born than I when Rory Random went
      out to make his own way in the world.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Right, Tobias, right!&rdquo; cried another man, seated at my very elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By my troth, I lost more flesh over poor Robin on his island, than had I
      the sweating sickness twice told. The tale was well-nigh done when in
      swaggers my Lord of Rochester&mdash;a merry gallant, and one whose word in
      matters literary might make or mar. &lsquo;How now, Defoe,&rsquo; quoth he, &lsquo;hast a
      tale on hand?&rsquo; &lsquo;Even so, your lordship,&rsquo; I returned. &lsquo;A right merry one, I
      trust,&rsquo; quoth he. &lsquo;Discourse unto me concerning thy heroine, a comely
      lass, Dan, or I mistake.&rsquo; &lsquo;Nay,&rsquo; I replied, &lsquo;there is no heroine in the
      matter.&rsquo; &lsquo;Split not your phrases,&rsquo; quoth he; &lsquo;thou weighest every word
      like a scald attorney. Speak to me of thy principal female character, be
      she heroine or no.&rsquo; &lsquo;My lord,&rsquo; I answered, &lsquo;there is no female character.&rsquo; 
      &lsquo;Then out upon thyself and thy book too!&rsquo; he cried. &lsquo;Thou hadst best burn
      it!&rsquo;&mdash;and so out in great dudgeon, whilst I fell to mourning over my
      poor romance, which was thus, as it were, sentenced to death before its
      birth. Yet there are a thousand now who have read of Robin and his man
      Friday, to one who has heard of my Lord of Rochester.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very true, Defoe,&rdquo; said a genial-looking man in a red waistcoat, who was
      sitting at the modern end of the table. &ldquo;But all this won&rsquo;t help our good
      friend Smith in making a start at his story, which, I believe, was the
      reason why we assembled.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Dickens it is!&rdquo; stammered a little man beside him, and everybody
      laughed, especially the genial man, who cried out, &ldquo;Charley Lamb, Charley
      Lamb, you&rsquo;ll never alter. You would make a pun if you were hanged for it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That would be a case of haltering,&rdquo; returned the other, on which
      everybody laughed again.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time I had begun to dimly realise in my confused brain the
      enormous honour which had been done me. The greatest masters of fiction in
      every age of English letters had apparently made a rendezvous beneath my
      roof, in order to assist me in my difficulties. There were many faces at
      the table whom I was unable to identify; but when I looked hard at others
      I often found them to be very familiar to me, whether from paintings or
      from mere description. Thus between the first two speakers, who had
      betrayed themselves as Defoe and Smollett, there sat a dark, saturnine
      corpulent old man, with harsh prominent features, who I was sure could be
      none other than the famous author of Gulliver. There were several others
      of whom I was not so sure, sitting at the other side of the table, but I
      conjecture that both Fielding and Richardson were among them, and I could
      swear to the lantern-jaws and cadaverous visage of Lawrence Sterne. Higher
      up I could see among the crowd the high forehead of Sir Walter Scott, the
      masculine features of George Eliott, and the flattened nose of Thackeray;
      while amongst the living I recognised James Payn, Walter Besant, the lady
      known as &ldquo;Ouida,&rdquo; Robert Louis Stevenson, and several of lesser note.
      Never before, probably, had such an assemblage of choice spirits gathered
      under one roof.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Sir Walter Scott, speaking with a pronounced accent, &ldquo;ye ken
      the auld proverb, sirs, &lsquo;Ower mony cooks,&rsquo; or as the Border minstrel sang&mdash;
    </p>
<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">
        &lsquo;Black Johnstone wi&rsquo; his troopers ten<br />
            &#160; &#160; Might mak&rsquo; the heart turn cauld,<br />
        &#160;But Johnstone when he&rsquo;s a&rsquo; alane<br />
            &#160; &#160; Is waur ten thoosand fauld.&rsquo; 
</div></div>
    <p>
      The Johnstones were one of the Redesdale families, second cousins of the
      Armstrongs, and connected by marriage to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps, Sir Walter,&rdquo; interrupted Thackeray, &ldquo;you would take the
      responsibility off our hands by yourself dictating the commencement of a
      story to this young literary aspirant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Na, na!&rdquo; cried Sir Walter; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do my share, but there&rsquo;s Chairlie over
      there as full o&rsquo; wut as a Radical&rsquo;s full o&rsquo; treason. He&rsquo;s the laddie to
      give a cheery opening to it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Dickens was shaking his head, and apparently about to refuse the honour,
      when a voice from among the moderns&mdash;I could not see who it was for
      the crowd&mdash;said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Suppose we begin at the end of the table and work round, any one
      contributing a little as the fancy seizes him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Agreed! agreed!&rdquo; cried the whole company; and every eye was turned on
      Defoe, who seemed very uneasy, and filled his pipe from a great
      tobacco-box in front of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, gossips,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;there are others more worthy&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; But
      he was interrupted by loud cries of &ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; from the whole table; and
      Smollett shouted out, &ldquo;Stand to it, Dan&mdash;stand to it! You and I and
      the Dean here will make three short tacks just to fetch her out of
      harbour, and then she may drift where she pleases.&rdquo; Thus encouraged, Defoe
      cleared his throat, and began in this way, talking between the puffs of
      his pipe:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father was a well-to-do yeoman of Cheshire, named Cyprian Overbeck,
      but, marrying about the year 1617, he assumed the name of his wife&rsquo;s
      family, which was Wells; and thus I, their eldest son, was named Cyprian
      Overbeck Wells. The farm was a very fertile one, and contained some of the
      best grazing land in those parts, so that my father was enabled to lay by
      money to the extent of a thousand crowns, which he laid out in an
      adventure to the Indies with such surprising success that in less than
      three years it had increased fourfold. Thus encouraged, he bought a part
      share of the trader, and, fitting her out once more with such commodities
      as were most in demand (viz., old muskets, hangers and axes, besides
      glasses, needles, and the like), he placed me on board as supercargo to
      look after his interests, and despatched us upon our voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We had a fair wind as far as Cape de Verde, and there, getting into the
      north-west trade-winds, made good progress down the African coast. Beyond
      sighting a Barbary rover once, whereat our mariners were in sad distress,
      counting themselves already as little better than slaves, we had good luck
      until we had come within a hundred leagues of the Cape of Good Hope, when
      the wind veered round to the southward and blew exceeding hard, while the
      sea rose to such a height that the end of the mainyard dipped into the
      water, and I heard the master say that though he had been at sea for
      five-and-thirty years he had never seen the like of it, and that he had
      little expectation of riding through it. On this I fell to wringing my
      hands and bewailing myself, until the mast going by the board with a
      crash, I thought that the ship had struck, and swooned with terror,
      falling into the scuppers and lying like one dead, which was the saving of
      me, as will appear in the sequel. For the mariners, giving up all hope of
      saving the ship, and being in momentary expectation that she would
      founder, pushed off in the long-boat, whereby I fear that they met the
      fate which they hoped to avoid, since I have never from that day heard
      anything of them. For my own part, on recovering from the swoon into which
      I had fallen, I found that, by the mercy of Providence, the sea had gone
      down, and that I was alone in the vessel. At which last discovery I was so
      terror-struck that I could but stand wringing my hands and bewailing my
      sad fate, until at last taking heart, I fell to comparing my lot with that
      of my unhappy camerados, on which I became more cheerful, and descending
      to the cabin, made a meal off such dainties as were in the captain&rsquo;s
      locker.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Having got so far, Defoe remarked that he thought he had given them a fair
      start, and handed over the story to Dean Swift, who, after premising that
      he feared he would find himself as much at sea as Master Cyprian Overbeck
      Wells, continued in this way:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For two days I drifted about in great distress, fearing that there should
      be a return of the gale, and keeping an eager look-out for my late
      companions. Upon the third day, towards evening, I observed to my extreme
      surprise that the ship was under the influence of a very powerful current,
      which ran to the north-east with such violence that she was carried, now
      bows on, now stern on, and occasionally drifting sideways like a crab, at
      a rate which I cannot compute at less than twelve or fifteen knots an
      hour. For several weeks I was borne away in this manner, until one
      morning, to my inexpressible joy, I sighted an island upon the starboard
      quarter. The current would, however, have carried me past it had I not
      made shift, though single-handed, to set the flying-jib so as to turn her
      bows, and then clapping on the sprit-sail, studding-sail, and fore-sail, I
      clewed up the halliards upon the port side, and put the wheel down hard
      a-starboard, the wind being at the time north-east-half-east.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At the description of this nautical manoeuvre I observed that Smollett
      grinned, and a gentleman who was sitting higher up the table in the
      uniform of the Royal Navy, and who I guessed to be Captain Marryat, became
      very uneasy and fidgeted in his seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By this means I got clear of the current and was able to steer within a
      quarter of a mile of the beach, which indeed I might have approached still
      nearer by making another tack, but being an excellent swimmer, I deemed it
      best to leave the vessel, which was almost waterlogged, and to make the
      best of my way to the shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had had my doubts hitherto as to whether this new-found country was
      inhabited or no, but as I approached nearer to it, being on the summit of
      a great wave, I perceived a number of figures on the beach, engaged
      apparently in watching me and my vessel. My joy, however, was considerably
      lessened when on reaching the land I found that the figures consisted of a
      vast concourse of animals of various sorts who were standing about in
      groups, and who hurried down to the water&rsquo;s edge to meet me. I had scarce
      put my foot upon the sand before I was surrounded by an eager crowd of
      deer, dogs, wild boars, buffaloes, and other creatures, none of whom
      showed the least fear either of me or of each other, but, on the contrary,
      were animated by a common feeling of curiosity, as well as, it would
      appear, by some degree of disgust.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A second edition,&rdquo; whispered Lawrence Sterne to his neighbour; &ldquo;Gulliver
      served up cold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you speak, sir?&rdquo; asked the Dean very sternly, having evidently
      overheard the remark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My words were not addressed to you, sir,&rdquo; answered Sterne, looking rather
      frightened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They were none the less insolent,&rdquo; roared the Dean. &ldquo;Your reverence would
      fain make a Sentimental Journey of the narrative, I doubt not, and find
      pathos in a dead donkey&mdash;though faith, no man can blame thee for
      mourning over thy own kith and kin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Better that than to wallow in all the filth of Yahoo-land,&rdquo; returned
      Sterne warmly, and a quarrel would certainly have ensued but for the
      interposition of the remainder of the company. As it was, the Dean refused
      indignantly to have any further hand in the story, and Sterne also stood
      out of it, remarking with a sneer that he was loth to fit a good blade on
      to a poor handle. Under these circumstances some further unpleasantness
      might have occurred had not Smollett rapidly taken up the narrative,
      continuing it in the third person instead of the first:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our hero, being considerably alarmed at this strange reception, lost
      little time in plunging into the sea again and regaining his vessel, being
      convinced that the worst which might befall him from the elements would be
      as nothing compared to the dangers of this mysterious island. It was as
      well that he took this course, for before nightfall his ship was
      overhauled and he himself picked up by a British man-of-war, the
      Lightning, then returning from the West Indies, where it had formed part
      of the fleet under the command of Admiral Benbow. Young Wells, being a
      likely lad enough, well-spoken and high-spirited, was at once entered on
      the books as officer&rsquo;s servant, in which capacity he both gained great
      popularity on account of the freedom of his manners, and found an
      opportunity for indulging in those practical pleasantries for which he had
      all his life been famous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Among the quartermasters of the Lightning there was one named Jedediah
      Anchorstock, whose appearance was so remarkable that it quickly attracted
      the attention of our hero. He was a man of about fifty, dark with exposure
      to the weather, and so tall that as he came along the &lsquo;tween decks he had
      to bend himself nearly double. The most striking peculiarity of this
      individual was, however, that in his boyhood some evil-minded person had
      tattooed eyes all over his countenance with such marvellous skill that it
      was difficult at a short distance to pick out his real ones among so many
      counterfeits. On this strange personage Master Cyprian determined to
      exercise his talents for mischief, the more so as he learned that he was
      extremely superstitious, and also that he had left behind him in
      Portsmouth a strong-minded spouse of whom he stood in mortal terror. With
      this object he secured one of the sheep which were kept on board for the
      officers&rsquo; table, and pouring a can of rumbo down its throat, reduced it to
      a state of utter intoxication. He then conveyed it to Anchorstock&rsquo;s berth,
      and with the assistance of some other imps, as mischievous as himself,
      dressed it up in a high nightcap and gown, and covered it over with the
      bedclothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When the quartermaster came down from his watch our hero met him at the
      door of his berth with an agitated face. &lsquo;Mr. Anchorstock,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;can
      it be that your wife is on board?&rsquo; &lsquo;Wife!&rsquo; roared the astonished sailor.
      &lsquo;Ye white-faced swab, what d&rsquo;ye mean?&rsquo; &lsquo;If she&rsquo;s not here in the ship it
      must be her ghost,&rsquo; said Cyprian, shaking his head gloomily. &lsquo;In the ship!
      How in thunder could she get into the ship? Why, master, I believe as how
      you&rsquo;re weak in the upper works, d&rsquo;ye see? to as much as think o&rsquo; such a
      thing. My Poll is moored head and starn, behind the point at Portsmouth,
      more&rsquo;n two thousand mile away.&rsquo; &lsquo;Upon my word,&rsquo; said our hero, very
      earnestly, &lsquo;I saw a female look out of your cabin not five minutes ago.&rsquo; 
      &lsquo;Ay, ay, Mr. Anchorstock,&rsquo; joined in several of the conspirators. &lsquo;We all
      saw her&mdash;a spanking-looking craft with a dead-light mounted on one
      side.&rsquo; &lsquo;Sure enough,&rsquo; said Anchorstock, staggered by this accumulation of
      evidence, &lsquo;my Polly&rsquo;s starboard eye was doused for ever by long Sue
      Williams of the Hard. But if so be as she be there I must see her, be she
      ghost or quick;&rsquo; with which the honest sailor, in much perturbation and
      trembling in every limb, began to shuffle forward into the cabin, holding
      the light well in front of him. It chanced, however, that the unhappy
      sheep, which was quietly engaged in sleeping off the effects of its
      unusual potations, was awakened by the noise of this approach, and finding
      herself in such an unusual position, sprang out of the bed and rushed
      furiously for the door, bleating wildly, and rolling about like a brig in
      a tornado, partly from intoxication and partly from the night-dress which
      impeded her movements. As Anchorstock saw this extraordinary apparition
      bearing down upon him, he uttered a yell and fell flat upon his face,
      convinced that he had to do with a supernatural visitor, the more so as
      the confederates heightened the effect by a chorus of most ghastly groans
      and cries.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The joke had nearly gone beyond what was originally intended, for the
      quartermaster lay as one dead, and it was only with the greatest
      difficulty that he could be brought to his senses. To the end of the
      voyage he stoutly asserted that he had seen the distant Mrs. Anchorstock,
      remarking with many oaths that though he was too woundily scared to take
      much note of the features, there was no mistaking the strong smell of rum
      which was characteristic of his better half.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It chanced shortly after this to be the king&rsquo;s birthday, an event which
      was signalised aboard the Lightening by the death of the commander under
      singular circumstances. This officer, who was a real fair-weather Jack,
      hardly knowing the ship&rsquo;s keel from her ensign, had obtained his position
      through parliamentary interest, and used it with such tyranny and cruelty
      that he was universally execrated. So unpopular was he that when a plot
      was entered into by the whole crew to punish his misdeeds with death, he
      had not a single friend among six hundred souls to warn him of his danger.
      It was the custom on board the king&rsquo;s ships that upon his birthday the
      entire ship&rsquo;s company should be drawn up upon deck, and that at a signal
      they should discharge their muskets into the air in honour of his Majesty.
      On this occasion word had been secretly passed round for every man to slip
      a slug into his firelock, instead of the blank cartridge provided. On the
      boatswain blowing his whistle the men mustered upon deck and formed line,
      whilst the captain, standing well in front of them, delivered a few words
      to them. &lsquo;When I give the word,&rsquo; he concluded, &lsquo;you shall discharge your
      pieces, and by thunder, if any man is a second before or a second after
      his fellows I shall trice him up to the weather rigging!&rsquo; With these words
      he roared &lsquo;Fire!&rsquo; on which every man levelled his musket straight at his
      head and pulled the trigger. So accurate was the aim and so short the
      distance, that more than five hundred bullets struck him simultaneously,
      blowing away his head and a large portion of his body. There were so many
      concerned in this matter, and it was so hopeless to trace it to any
      individual, that the officers were unable to punish any one for the affair&mdash;the
      more readily as the captain&rsquo;s haughty ways and heartless conduct had made
      him quite as hateful to them as to the men whom they commanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By his pleasantries and the natural charm of his manners our hero so far
      won the good wishes of the ship&rsquo;s company that they parted with infinite
      regret upon their arrival in England. Filial duty, however, urged him to
      return home and report himself to his father, with which object he posted
      from Portsmouth to London, intending to proceed thence to Shropshire. As
      it chanced, however, one of the horses sprained his off foreleg while
      passing through Chichester, and as no change could be obtained, Cyprian
      found himself compelled to put up at the Crown and Bull for the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ods bodikins!&rdquo; continued Smollett, laughing, &ldquo;I never could pass a
      comfortable hostel without stopping, and so, with your permission, I&rsquo;ll
      e&rsquo;en stop here, and whoever wills may lead friend Cyprian to his further
      adventures. Do you, Sir Walter, give us a touch of the Wizard of the
      North.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With these words Smollett produced a pipe, and filling it at Defoe&rsquo;s
      tobacco-pot, waited patiently for the continuation of the story.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I must, I must,&rdquo; remarked the illustrious Scotchman, taking a pinch of
      snuff; &ldquo;but I must beg leave to put Mr. Wells back a few hundred years,
      for of all things I love the true mediaeval smack. To proceed then:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our hero, being anxious to continue his journey, and learning that it
      would be some time before any conveyance would be ready, determined to
      push on alone mounted on his gallant grey steed. Travelling was
      particularly dangerous at that time, for besides the usual perils which
      beset wayfarers, the southern parts of England were in a lawless and
      disturbed state which bordered on insurrection. The young man, however,
      having loosened his sword in his sheath, so as to be ready for every
      eventuality, galloped cheerily upon his way, guiding himself to the best
      of his ability by the light of the rising moon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He had not gone far before he realised that the cautions which had been
      impressed upon him by the landlord, and which he had been inclined to look
      upon as self-interested advice, were only too well justified. At a spot
      where the road was particularly rough, and ran across some marsh land, he
      perceived a short distance from him a dark shadow, which his practised eye
      detected at once as a body of crouching men. Reining up his horse within a
      few yards of the ambuscade, he wrapped his cloak round his bridle-arm and
      summoned the party to stand forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;What ho, my masters!&rsquo; he cried. &lsquo;Are beds so scarce, then, that ye must
      hamper the high road of the king with your bodies? Now, by St. Ursula of
      Alpuxerra, there be those who might think that birds who fly o&rsquo; nights
      were after higher game than the moorhen or the woodcock!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Blades and targets, comrades!&rsquo; exclaimed a tall powerful man, springing
      into the centre of the road with several companions, and standing in front
      of the frightened horse. &lsquo;Who is this swashbuckler who summons his
      Majesty&rsquo;s lieges from their repose? A very soldado, o&rsquo; truth. Hark ye,
      sir, or my lord, or thy grace, or whatsoever title your honour&rsquo;s honour
      may be pleased to approve, thou must curb thy tongue play, or by the seven
      witches of Gambleside thou may find thyself in but a sorry plight.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I prythee, then, that thou wilt expound to me who and what ye are,&rsquo; 
      quoth our hero, &lsquo;and whether your purpose be such as an honest man may
      approve of. As to your threats, they turn from my mind as your caitiffly
      weapons would shiver upon my hauberk from Milan.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nay, Allen,&rsquo; interrupted one of the party, addressing him who seemed to
      be their leader; &lsquo;this is a lad of mettle, and such a one as our honest
      Jack longs for. But we lure not hawks with empty hands. Look ye, sir,
      there is game afoot which it may need such bold hunters as thyself to
      follow. Come with us and take a firkin of canary, and we will find better
      work for that glaive of thine than getting its owner into broil and
      bloodshed; for, by my troth! Milan or no Milan, if my curtel axe do but
      ring against that morion of thine it will be an ill day for thy father&rsquo;s
      son.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For a moment our hero hesitated as to whether it would best become his
      knightly traditions to hurl himself against his enemies, or whether it
      might not be better to obey their requests. Prudence, mingled with a large
      share of curiosity, eventually carried the day, and dismounting from his
      horse, he intimated that he was ready to follow his captors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Spoken like a man!&rsquo; cried he whom they addressed as Allen. &lsquo;Jack Cade
      will be right glad of such a recruit. Blood and carrion! but thou hast the
      thews of a young ox; and I swear, by the haft of my sword, that it might
      have gone ill with some of us hadst thou not listened to reason!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nay, not so, good Allen&mdash;not so,&rsquo; squeaked a very small man, who
      had remained in the background while there was any prospect of a fray, but
      who now came pushing to the front. &lsquo;Hadst thou been alone it might indeed
      have been so, perchance, but an expert swordsman can disarm at pleasure
      such a one as this young knight. Well I remember in the Palatinate how I
      clove to the chine even such another&mdash;the Baron von Slogstaff. He
      struck at me, look ye, so; but I, with buckler and blade, did, as one
      might say, deflect it; and then, countering in carte, I returned in
      tierce, and so&mdash;St. Agnes save us! who comes here?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The apparition which frightened the loquacious little man was
      sufficiently strange to cause a qualm even in the bosom of the knight.
      Through the darkness there loomed a figure which appeared to be of
      gigantic size, and a hoarse voice, issuing apparently some distance above
      the heads of the party, broke roughly on the silence of the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Now out upon thee, Thomas Allen, and foul be thy fate if thou hast
      abandoned thy post without good and sufficient cause. By St. Anselm of the
      Holy Grove, thou hadst best have never been born than rouse my spleen this
      night. Wherefore is it that you and your men are trailing over the moor
      like a flock of geese when Michaelmas is near?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Good captain,&rsquo; said Allen, doffing his bonnet, an example followed by
      others of the band, &lsquo;we have captured a goodly youth who was pricking it
      along the London road. Methought that some word of thanks were meet reward
      for such service, rather than taunt or threat.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nay, take it not to heart, bold Allen,&rsquo; exclaimed their leader, who was
      none other than the great Jack Cade himself. &lsquo;Thou knowest of old that my
      temper is somewhat choleric, and my tongue not greased with that unguent
      which oils the mouths of the lip-serving lords of the land. And you,&rsquo; he
      continued, turning suddenly upon our hero, &lsquo;are you ready to join the
      great cause which will make England what it was when the learned Alfred
      reigned in the land? Zounds, man, speak out, and pick not your phrases.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I am ready to do aught which may become a knight and a gentleman,&rsquo; said
      the soldier stoutly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Taxes shall be swept away!&rsquo; cried Cade excitedly&mdash;&lsquo;the impost and
      the anpost&mdash;the tithe and the hundred-tax. The poor man&rsquo;s salt-box
      and flour-bin shall be as free as the nobleman&rsquo;s cellar. Ha! what sayest
      thou?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;It is but just,&rsquo; said our hero.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Ay, but they give us such justice as the falcon gives the leveret!&rsquo; 
      roared the orator. &lsquo;Down with them, I say&mdash;down with every man of
      them! Noble and judge, priest and king, down with them all!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nay,&rsquo; said Sir Overbeck Wells, drawing himself up to his full height,
      and laying his hand upon the hilt of his sword, &lsquo;there I cannot follow
      thee, but must rather defy thee as traitor and faineant, seeing that thou
      art no true man, but one who would usurp the rights of our master the
      king, whom may the Virgin protect!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At these bold words, and the defiance which they conveyed, the rebels
      seemed for a moment utterly bewildered; but, encouraged by the hoarse
      shout of their leader, they brandished their weapons and prepared to fall
      upon the knight, who placed himself in a posture for defence and awaited
      their attack.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There now!&rdquo; cried Sir Walter, rubbing his hands and chuckling, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve put
      the chiel in a pretty warm corner, and we&rsquo;ll see which of you moderns can
      take him oot o&rsquo;t. Ne&rsquo;er a word more will ye get frae me to help him one
      way or the other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You try your hand, James,&rdquo; cried several voices, and the author in
      question had got so far as to make an allusion to a solitary horseman who
      was approaching, when he was interrupted by a tall gentleman a little
      farther down with a slight stutter and a very nervous manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I fancy that I may be able to do something
      here. Some of my humble productions have been said to excel Sir Walter at
      his best, and I was undoubtedly stronger all round. I could picture modern
      society as well as ancient; and as to my plays, why Shakespeare never came
      near &lsquo;The Lady of Lyons&rsquo; for popularity. There is this little thing&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
       (Here he rummaged among a great pile of papers in front of him). &ldquo;Ah!
      that&rsquo;s a report of mine, when I was in India! Here it is. No, this is one
      of my speeches in the House, and this is my criticism on Tennyson. Didn&rsquo;t
      I warm him up? I can&rsquo;t find what I wanted, but of course you have read
      them all&mdash;&lsquo;Rienzi,&rsquo; and &lsquo;Harold,&rsquo; and &lsquo;The Last of the Barons.&rsquo; Every
      schoolboy knows them by heart, as poor Macaulay would have said. Allow me
      to give you a sample:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In spite of the gallant knight&rsquo;s valiant resistance the combat was too
      unequal to be sustained. His sword was broken by a slash from a brown
      bill, and he was borne to the ground. He expected immediate death, but
      such did not seem to be the intention of the ruffians who had captured
      him. He was placed upon the back of his own charger and borne, bound hand
      and foot, over the trackless moor, in the fastnesses of which the rebels
      secreted themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the depths of these wilds there stood a stone building which had once
      been a farm-house, but having been for some reason abandoned had fallen
      into ruin, and had now become the headquarters of Cade and his men. A
      large cowhouse near the farm had been utilised as sleeping quarters, and
      some rough attempts had been made to shield the principal room of the main
      building from the weather by stopping up the gaping apertures in the
      walls. In this apartment was spread out a rough meal for the returning
      rebels, and our hero was thrown, still bound, into an empty outhouse,
      there to await his fate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Walter had been listening with the greatest impatience to Bulwer
      Lytton&rsquo;s narrative, but when it had reached this point he broke in
      impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We want a touch of your own style, man,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The
      animal-magnetico-electro-hysterical-biological-mysterious sort of story is
      all your own, but at present you are just a poor copy of myself, and
      nothing more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a murmur of assent from the company, and Defoe remarked, &ldquo;Truly,
      Master Lytton, there is a plaguey resemblance in the style, which may
      indeed be but a chance, and yet methinks it is sufficiently marked to
      warrant such words as our friend hath used.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps you will think that this is an imitation also,&rdquo; said Lytton
      bitterly, and leaning back in his chair with a morose countenance, he
      continued the narrative in this way:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our unfortunate hero had hardly stretched himself upon the straw with
      which his dungeon was littered, when a secret door opened in the wall and
      a venerable old man swept majestically into the apartment. The prisoner
      gazed upon him with astonishment not unmixed with awe, for on his broad
      brow was printed the seal of much knowledge&mdash;such knowledge as it is
      not granted to the son of man to know. He was clad in a long white robe,
      crossed and chequered with mystic devices in the Arabic character, while a
      high scarlet tiara marked with the square and circle enhanced his
      venerable appearance. &lsquo;My son,&rsquo; he said, turning his piercing and yet
      dreamy gaze upon Sir Overbeck, &lsquo;all things lead to nothing, and nothing is
      the foundation of all things. Cosmos is impenetrable. Why then should we
      exist?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Astounded at this weighty query, and at the philosophic demeanour of his
      visitor, our hero made shift to bid him welcome and to demand his name and
      quality. As the old man answered him his voice rose and fell in musical
      cadences, like the sighing of the east wind, while an ethereal and
      aromatic vapour pervaded the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I am the eternal non-ego,&rsquo; he answered. &lsquo;I am the concentrated negative&mdash;the
      everlasting essence of nothing. You see in me that which existed before
      the beginning of matter many years before the commencement of time. I am
      the algebraic <i>x</i> which represents the infinite divisibility of a
      finite particle.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Overbeck felt a shudder as though an ice-cold hand had been placed
      upon his brow. &lsquo;What is your message?&rsquo; he whispered, falling prostrate
      before his mysterious visitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;To tell you that the eternities beget chaos, and that the immensities
      are at the mercy of the divine ananke. Infinitude crouches before a
      personality. The mercurial essence is the prime mover in spirituality, and
      the thinker is powerless before the pulsating inanity. The cosmical
      procession is terminated only by the unknowable and unpronounceable&rsquo;&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I ask, Mr. Smollett, what you find to laugh at?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gad zooks, master,&rdquo; cried Smollett, who had been sniggering for some time
      back. &ldquo;It seems to me that there is little danger of any one venturing to
      dispute that style with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all your own,&rdquo; murmured Sir Walter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And very pretty, too,&rdquo; quoth Lawrence Sterne, with a malignant grin.
      &ldquo;Pray sir, what language do you call it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lytton was so enraged at these remarks, and at the favour with which they
      appeared to be received, that he endeavoured to stutter out some reply,
      and then, losing control of himself completely, picked up all his loose
      papers and strode out of the room, dropping pamphlets and speeches at
      every step. This incident amused the company so much that they laughed for
      several minutes without cessation. Gradually the sound of their laughter
      sounded more and more harshly in my ears, the lights on the table grew dim
      and the company more misty, until they and their symposium vanished away
      altogether. I was sitting before the embers of what had been a roaring
      fire, but was now little more than a heap of grey ashes, and the merry
      laughter of the august company had changed to the recriminations of my
      wife, who was shaking me violently by the shoulder and exhorting me to
      choose some more seasonable spot for my slumbers. So ended the wondrous
      adventures of Master Cyprian Overbeck Wells, but I still live in the hopes
      that in some future dream the great masters may themselves finish that
      which they have begun.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      JOHN BARRINGTON COWLES.
    </h2>
    <p>
      It might seem rash of me to say that I ascribe the death of my poor
      friend, John Barrington Cowles, to any preternatural agency. I am aware
      that in the present state of public feeling a chain of evidence would
      require to be strong indeed before the possibility of such a conclusion
      could be admitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall therefore merely state the circumstances which led up to this sad
      event as concisely and as plainly as I can, and leave every reader to draw
      his own deductions. Perhaps there may be some one who can throw light upon
      what is dark to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I first met Barrington Cowles when I went up to Edinburgh University to
      take out medical classes there. My landlady in Northumberland Street had a
      large house, and, being a widow without children, she gained a livelihood
      by providing accommodation for several students.
    </p>
    <p>
      Barrington Cowles happened to have taken a bedroom upon the same floor as
      mine, and when we came to know each other better we shared a small
      sitting-room, in which we took our meals. In this manner we originated a
      friendship which was unmarred by the slightest disagreement up to the day
      of his death.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cowles&rsquo; father was the colonel of a Sikh regiment and had remained in
      India for many years. He allowed his son a handsome income, but seldom
      gave any other sign of parental affection&mdash;writing irregularly and
      briefly.
    </p>
    <p>
      My friend, who had himself been born in India, and whose whole disposition
      was an ardent tropical one, was much hurt by this neglect. His mother was
      dead, and he had no other relation in the world to supply the blank.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus he came in time to concentrate all his affection upon me, and to
      confide in me in a manner which is rare among men. Even when a stronger
      and deeper passion came upon him, it never infringed upon the old
      tenderness between us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cowles was a tall, slim young fellow, with an olive, Velasquez-like face,
      and dark, tender eyes. I have seldom seen a man who was more likely to
      excite a woman&rsquo;s interest, or to captivate her imagination. His expression
      was, as a rule, dreamy, and even languid; but if in conversation a subject
      arose which interested him he would be all animation in a moment. On such
      occasions his colour would heighten, his eyes gleam, and he could speak
      with an eloquence which would carry his audience with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of these natural advantages he led a solitary life, avoiding
      female society, and reading with great diligence. He was one of the
      foremost men of his year, taking the senior medal for anatomy, and the
      Neil Arnott prize for physics.
    </p>
    <p>
      How well I can recollect the first time we met her! Often and often I have
      recalled the circumstances, and tried to remember what the exact
      impression was which she produced on my mind at the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      After we came to know her my judgment was warped, so that I am curious to
      recollect what my unbiassed{sic} instincts were. It is hard, however, to
      eliminate the feelings which reason or prejudice afterwards raised in me.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was at the opening of the Royal Scottish Academy in the spring of 1879.
      My poor friend was passionately attached to art in every form, and a
      pleasing chord in music or a delicate effect upon canvas would give
      exquisite pleasure to his highly-strung nature. We had gone together to
      see the pictures, and were standing in the grand central salon, when I
      noticed an extremely beautiful woman standing at the other side of the
      room. In my whole life I have never seen such a classically perfect
      countenance. It was the real Greek type&mdash;the forehead broad, very
      low, and as white as marble, with a cloudlet of delicate locks wreathing
      round it, the nose straight and clean cut, the lips inclined to thinness,
      the chin and lower jaw beautifully rounded off, and yet sufficiently
      developed to promise unusual strength of character.
    </p>
    <p>
      But those eyes&mdash;those wonderful eyes! If I could but give some faint
      idea of their varying moods, their steely hardness, their feminine
      softness, their power of command, their penetrating intensity suddenly
      melting away into an expression of womanly weakness&mdash;but I am
      speaking now of future impressions!
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a tall, yellow-haired young man with this lady, whom I at once
      recognised as a law student with whom I had a slight acquaintance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Archibald Reeves&mdash;for that was his name&mdash;was a dashing, handsome
      young fellow, and had at one time been a ringleader in every university
      escapade; but of late I had seen little of him, and the report was that he
      was engaged to be married. His companion was, then, I presumed, his
      fiancee. I seated myself upon the velvet settee in the centre of the room,
      and furtively watched the couple from behind my catalogue.
    </p>
    <p>
      The more I looked at her the more her beauty grew upon me. She was
      somewhat short in stature, it is true; but her figure was perfection, and
      she bore herself in such a fashion that it was only by actual comparison
      that one would have known her to be under the medium height.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I kept my eyes upon them, Reeves was called away for some reason, and
      the young lady was left alone. Turning her back to the pictures, she
      passed the time until the return of her escort in taking a deliberate
      survey of the company, without paying the least heed to the fact that a
      dozen pair of eyes, attracted by her elegance and beauty, were bent
      curiously upon her. With one of her hands holding the red silk cord which
      railed off the pictures, she stood languidly moving her eyes from face to
      face with as little self-consciousness as if she were looking at the
      canvas creatures behind her. Suddenly, as I watched her, I saw her gaze
      become fixed, and, as it were, intense. I followed the direction of her
      looks, wondering what could have attracted her so strongly.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Barrington Cowles was standing before a picture&mdash;one, I think,
      by Noel Paton&mdash;I know that the subject was a noble and ethereal one.
      His profile was turned towards us, and never have I seen him to such
      advantage. I have said that he was a strikingly handsome man, but at that
      moment he looked absolutely magnificent. It was evident that he had
      momentarily forgotten his surroundings, and that his whole soul was in
      sympathy with the picture before him. His eyes sparkled, and a dusky pink
      shone through his clear olive cheeks. She continued to watch him fixedly,
      with a look of interest upon her face, until he came out of his reverie
      with a start, and turned abruptly round, so that his gaze met hers. She
      glanced away at once, but his eyes remained fixed upon her for some
      moments. The picture was forgotten already, and his soul had come down to
      earth once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      We caught sight of her once or twice before we left, and each time I
      noticed my friend look after her. He made no remark, however, until we got
      out into the open air, and were walking arm-in-arm along Princes Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you notice that beautiful woman, in the dark dress, with the white
      fur?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I saw her,&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know her?&rdquo; he asked eagerly. &ldquo;Have you any idea who she is?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know her personally,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;But I have no doubt I could
      find out all about her, for I believe she is engaged to young Archie
      Reeves, and he and I have a lot of mutual friends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Engaged!&rdquo; ejaculated Cowles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, my dear boy,&rdquo; I said, laughing, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t mean to say you are so
      susceptible that the fact that a girl to whom you never spoke in your life
      is engaged is enough to upset you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, not exactly to upset me,&rdquo; he answered, forcing a laugh. &ldquo;But I
      don&rsquo;t mind telling you, Armitage, that I never was so taken by any one in
      my life. It wasn&rsquo;t the mere beauty of the face&mdash;though that was
      perfect enough&mdash;but it was the character and the intellect upon it. I
      hope, if she is engaged, that it is to some man who will be worthy of
      her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; I remarked, &ldquo;you speak quite feelingly. It is a clear case of love
      at first sight, Jack. However, to put your perturbed spirit at rest, I&rsquo;ll
      make a point of finding out all about her whenever I meet any fellow who
      is likely to know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Barrington Cowles thanked me, and the conversation drifted off into other
      channels. For several days neither of us made any allusion to the subject,
      though my companion was perhaps a little more dreamy and distraught than
      usual. The incident had almost vanished from my remembrance, when one day
      young Brodie, who is a second cousin of mine, came up to me on the
      university steps with the face of a bearer of tidings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;you know Reeves, don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes. What of him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His engagement is off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Off!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Why, I only learned the other day that it was on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;it&rsquo;s all off. His brother told me so. Deucedly mean of
      Reeves, you know, if he has backed out of it, for she was an uncommonly
      nice girl.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen her,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t know her name.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is a Miss Northcott, and lives with an old aunt of hers in
      Abercrombie Place. Nobody knows anything about her people, or where she
      comes from. Anyhow, she is about the most unlucky girl in the world, poor
      soul!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why unlucky?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, you know, this was her second engagement,&rdquo; said young Brodie, who
      had a marvellous knack of knowing everything about everybody. &ldquo;She was
      engaged to Prescott&mdash;William Prescott, who died. That was a very sad
      affair. The wedding day was fixed, and the whole thing looked as straight
      as a die when the smash came.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What smash?&rdquo; I asked, with some dim recollection of the circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Prescott&rsquo;s death. He came to Abercrombie Place one night, and stayed
      very late. No one knows exactly when he left, but about one in the morning
      a fellow who knew him met him walking rapidly in the direction of the
      Queen&rsquo;s Park. He bade him good night, but Prescott hurried on without
      heeding him, and that was the last time he was ever seen alive. Three days
      afterwards his body was found floating in St. Margaret&rsquo;s Loch, under St.
      Anthony&rsquo;s Chapel. No one could ever understand it, but of course the
      verdict brought it in as temporary insanity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was very strange,&rdquo; I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, and deucedly rough on the poor girl,&rdquo; said Brodie. &ldquo;Now that this
      other blow has come it will quite crush her. So gentle and ladylike she is
      too!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know her personally, then!&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I know her. I have met her several times. I could easily manage
      that you should be introduced to her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s not so much for my own sake as for a friend of
      mine. However, I don&rsquo;t suppose she will go out much for some little time
      after this. When she does I will take advantage of your offer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We shook hands on this, and I thought no more of the matter for some time.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next incident which I have to relate as bearing at all upon the
      question of Miss Northcott is an unpleasant one. Yet I must detail it as
      accurately as possible, since it may throw some light upon the sequel. One
      cold night, several months after the conversation with my second cousin
      which I have quoted above, I was walking down one of the lowest streets in
      the city on my way back from a case which I had been attending. It was
      very late, and I was picking my way among the dirty loungers who were
      clustering round the doors of a great gin-palace, when a man staggered out
      from among them, and held out his hand to me with a drunken leer. The
      gaslight fell full upon his face, and, to my intense astonishment, I
      recognised in the degraded creature before me my former acquaintance,
      young Archibald Reeves, who had once been famous as one of the most dressy
      and particular men in the whole college. I was so utterly surprised that
      for a moment I almost doubted the evidence of my own senses; but there was
      no mistaking those features, which, though bloated with drink, still
      retained something of their former comeliness. I was determined to rescue
      him, for one night at least, from the company into which he had fallen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Holloa, Reeves!&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Come along with me. I&rsquo;m going in your
      direction.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He muttered some incoherent apology for his condition, and took my arm. As
      I supported him towards his lodgings I could see that he was not only
      suffering from the effects of a recent debauch, but that a long course of
      intemperance had affected his nerves and his brain. His hand when I
      touched it was dry and feverish, and he started from every shadow which
      fell upon the pavement. He rambled in his speech, too, in a manner which
      suggested the delirium of disease rather than the talk of a drunkard.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I got him to his lodgings I partially undressed him and laid him upon
      his bed. His pulse at this time was very high, and he was evidently
      extremely feverish. He seemed to have sunk into a doze; and I was about to
      steal out of the room to warn his landlady of his condition, when he
      started up and caught me by the sleeve of my coat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I feel better when you are here. I am safe from her
      then.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From her!&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;From whom?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her! her!&rdquo; he answered peevishly. &ldquo;Ah! you don&rsquo;t know her. She is the
      devil! Beautiful&mdash;beautiful; but the devil!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are feverish and excited,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Try and get a little sleep. You
      will wake better.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sleep!&rdquo; he groaned. &ldquo;How am I to sleep when I see her sitting down yonder
      at the foot of the bed with her great eyes watching and watching hour
      after hour? I tell you it saps all the strength and manhood out of me.
      That&rsquo;s what makes me drink. God help me&mdash;I&rsquo;m half drunk now!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are very ill,&rdquo; I said, putting some vinegar to his temples; &ldquo;and you
      are delirious. You don&rsquo;t know what you say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I do,&rdquo; he interrupted sharply, looking up at me. &ldquo;I know very well
      what I say. I brought it upon myself. It is my own choice. But I couldn&rsquo;t&mdash;no,
      by heaven, I couldn&rsquo;t&mdash;accept the alternative. I couldn&rsquo;t keep my
      faith to her. It was more than man could do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I sat by the side of the bed, holding one of his burning hands in mine,
      and wondering over his strange words. He lay still for some time, and
      then, raising his eyes to me, said in a most plaintive voice&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why did she not give me warning sooner? Why did she wait until I had
      learned to love her so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He repeated this question several times, rolling his feverish head from
      side to side, and then he dropped into a troubled sleep. I crept out of
      the room, and, having seen that he would be properly cared for, left the
      house. His words, however, rang in my ears for days afterwards, and
      assumed a deeper significance when taken with what was to come.
    </p>
    <p>
      My friend, Barrington Cowles, had been away for his summer holidays, and I
      had heard nothing of him for several months. When the winter session came
      on, however, I received a telegram from him, asking me to secure the old
      rooms in Northumberland Street for him, and telling me the train by which
      he would arrive. I went down to meet him, and was delighted to find him
      looking wonderfully hearty and well.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; he said suddenly, that night, as we sat in our chairs by the
      fire, talking over the events of the holidays, &ldquo;you have never
      congratulated me yet!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On what, my boy?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! Do you mean to say you have not heard of my engagement?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Engagement! No!&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;However, I am delighted to hear it, and
      congratulate you with all my heart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder it didn&rsquo;t come to your ears,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It was the queerest
      thing. You remember that girl whom we both admired so much at the
      Academy?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; I cried, with a vague feeling of apprehension at my heart. &ldquo;You
      don&rsquo;t mean to say that you are engaged to her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you would be surprised,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;When I was staying with
      an old aunt of mine in Peterhead, in Aberdeenshire, the Northcotts
      happened to come there on a visit, and as we had mutual friends we soon
      met. I found out that it was a false alarm about her being engaged, and
      then&mdash;well, you know what it is when you are thrown into the society
      of such a girl in a place like Peterhead. Not, mind you,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;that
      I consider I did a foolish or hasty thing. I have never regretted it for a
      moment. The more I know Kate the more I admire her and love her. However,
      you must be introduced to her, and then you will form your own opinion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I expressed my pleasure at the prospect, and endeavoured to speak as
      lightly as I could to Cowles upon the subject, but I felt depressed and
      anxious at heart. The words of Reeves and the unhappy fate of young
      Prescott recurred to my recollection, and though I could assign no
      tangible reason for it, a vague, dim fear and distrust of the woman took
      possession of me. It may be that this was foolish prejudice and
      superstition upon my part, and that I involuntarily contorted her future
      doings and sayings to fit into some half-formed wild theory of my own.
      This has been suggested to me by others as an explanation of my narrative.
      They are welcome to their opinion if they can reconcile it with the facts
      which I have to tell.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went round with my friend a few days afterwards to call upon Miss
      Northcott. I remember that, as we went down Abercrombie Place, our
      attention was attracted by the shrill yelping of a dog&mdash;which noise
      proved eventually to come from the house to which we were bound. We were
      shown upstairs, where I was introduced to old Mrs. Merton, Miss
      Northcott&rsquo;s aunt, and to the young lady herself. She looked as beautiful
      as ever, and I could not wonder at my friend&rsquo;s infatuation. Her face was a
      little more flushed than usual, and she held in her hand a heavy dog-whip,
      with which she had been chastising a small Scotch terrier, whose cries we
      had heard in the street. The poor brute was cringing up against the wall,
      whining piteously, and evidently completely cowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So Kate,&rdquo; said my friend, after we had taken our seats, &ldquo;you have been
      falling out with Carlo again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Only a very little quarrel this time,&rdquo; she said, smiling charmingly. &ldquo;He
      is a dear, good old fellow, but he needs correction now and then.&rdquo; Then,
      turning to me, &ldquo;We all do that, Mr. Armitage, don&rsquo;t we? What a capital
      thing if, instead of receiving a collective punishment at the end of our
      lives, we were to have one at once, as the dogs do, when we did anything
      wicked. It would make us more careful, wouldn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I acknowledged that it would.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Supposing that every time a man misbehaved himself a gigantic hand were
      to seize him, and he were lashed with a whip until he fainted&rdquo;&mdash;she
      clenched her white fingers as she spoke, and cut out viciously with the
      dog-whip&mdash;&ldquo;it would do more to keep him good than any number of
      high-minded theories of morality.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Kate,&rdquo; said my friend, &ldquo;you are quite savage to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, Jack,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m only propounding a theory for Mr. Armitage&rsquo;s
      consideration.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The two began to chat together about some Aberdeenshire reminiscence, and
      I had time to observe Mrs. Merton, who had remained silent during our
      short conversation. She was a very strange-looking old lady. What
      attracted attention most in her appearance was the utter want of colour
      which she exhibited. Her hair was snow-white, and her face extremely pale.
      Her lips were bloodless, and even her eyes were of such a light tinge of
      blue that they hardly relieved the general pallor. Her dress was a grey
      silk, which harmonised with her general appearance. She had a peculiar
      expression of countenance, which I was unable at the moment to refer to
      its proper cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was working at some old-fashioned piece of ornamental needlework, and
      as she moved her arms her dress gave forth a dry, melancholy rustling,
      like the sound of leaves in the autumn. There was something mournful and
      depressing in the sight of her. I moved my chair a little nearer, and
      asked her how she liked Edinburgh, and whether she had been there long.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I spoke to her she started and looked up at me with a scared look on
      her face. Then I saw in a moment what the expression was which I had
      observed there. It was one of fear&mdash;intense and overpowering fear. It
      was so marked that I could have staked my life on the woman before me
      having at some period of her life been subjected to some terrible
      experience or dreadful misfortune.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I like it,&rdquo; she said, in a soft, timid voice; &ldquo;and we have been
      here long&mdash;that is, not very long. We move about a great deal.&rdquo; She
      spoke with hesitation, as if afraid of committing herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are a native of Scotland, I presume?&rdquo; I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;that is, not entirely. We are not natives of any place. We are
      cosmopolitan, you know.&rdquo; She glanced round in the direction of Miss
      Northcott as she spoke, but the two were still chatting together near the
      window. Then she suddenly bent forward to me, with a look of intense
      earnestness upon her face, and said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk to me any more, please. She does not like it, and I shall
      suffer for it afterwards. Please, don&rsquo;t do it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was about to ask her the reason for this strange request, but when she
      saw I was going to address her, she rose and walked slowly out of the
      room. As she did so I perceived that the lovers had ceased to talk and
      that Miss Northcott was looking at me with her keen, grey eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must excuse my aunt, Mr. Armitage,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;she is odd, and easily
      fatigued. Come over and look at my album.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We spent some time examining the portraits. Miss Northcott&rsquo;s father and
      mother were apparently ordinary mortals enough, and I could not detect in
      either of them any traces of the character which showed itself in their
      daughter&rsquo;s face. There was one old daguerreotype, however, which arrested
      my attention. It represented a man of about the age of forty, and
      strikingly handsome. He was clean shaven, and extraordinary power was
      expressed upon his prominent lower jaw and firm, straight mouth. His eyes
      were somewhat deeply set in his head, however, and there was a snake-like
      flattening at the upper part of his forehead, which detracted from his
      appearance. I almost involuntarily, when I saw the head, pointed to it,
      and exclaimed&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is your prototype in your family, Miss Northcott.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am afraid you are paying me a very bad
      compliment. Uncle Anthony was always considered the black sheep of the
      family.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;my remark was an unfortunate one, then.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t mind that,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I always thought myself that he was
      worth all of them put together. He was an officer in the Forty-first
      Regiment, and he was killed in action during the Persian War&mdash;so he
      died nobly, at any rate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the sort of death I should like to die,&rdquo; said Cowles, his dark
      eyes flashing, as they would when he was excited; &ldquo;I often wish I had
      taken to my father&rsquo;s profession instead of this vile pill-compounding
      drudgery.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, Jack, you are not going to die any sort of death yet,&rdquo; she said,
      tenderly taking his hand in hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not understand the woman. There was such an extraordinary mixture
      of masculine decision and womanly tenderness about her, with the
      consciousness of something all her own in the background, that she fairly
      puzzled me. I hardly knew, therefore, how to answer Cowles when, as we
      walked down the street together, he asked the comprehensive question&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what do you think of her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think she is wonderfully beautiful,&rdquo; I answered guardedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That, of course,&rdquo; he replied irritably. &ldquo;You knew that before you came!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think she is very clever too,&rdquo; I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Barrington Cowles walked on for some time, and then he suddenly turned on
      me with the strange question&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you think she is cruel? Do you think she is the sort of girl who would
      take a pleasure in inflicting pain?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, really,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;I have hardly had time to form an opinion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We then walked on for some time in silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is an old fool,&rdquo; at length muttered Cowles. &ldquo;She is mad.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, that old woman&mdash;that aunt of Kate&rsquo;s&mdash;Mrs. Merton, or
      whatever her name is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then I knew that my poor colourless friend had been speaking to Cowles,
      but he never said anything more as to the nature of her communication.
    </p>
    <p>
      My companion went to bed early that night, and I sat up a long time by the
      fire, thinking over all that I had seen and heard. I felt that there was
      some mystery about the girl&mdash;some dark fatality so strange as to defy
      conjecture. I thought of Prescott&rsquo;s interview with her before their
      marriage, and the fatal termination of it. I coupled it with poor drunken
      Reeves&rsquo; plaintive cry, &ldquo;Why did she not tell me sooner?&rdquo; and with the
      other words he had spoken. Then my mind ran over Mrs. Merton&rsquo;s warning to
      me, Cowles&rsquo; reference to her, and even the episode of the whip and the
      cringing dog.
    </p>
    <p>
      The whole effect of my recollections was unpleasant to a degree, and yet
      there was no tangible charge which I could bring against the woman. It
      would be worse than useless to attempt to warn my friend until I had
      definitely made up my mind what I was to warn him against. He would treat
      any charge against her with scorn. What could I do? How could I get at
      some tangible conclusion as to her character and antecedents? No one in
      Edinburgh knew them except as recent acquaintances. She was an orphan, and
      as far as I knew she had never disclosed where her former home had been.
      Suddenly an idea struck me. Among my father&rsquo;s friends there was a Colonel
      Joyce, who had served a long time in India upon the staff, and who would
      be likely to know most of the officers who had been out there since the
      Mutiny. I sat down at once, and, having trimmed the lamp, proceeded to
      write a letter to the Colonel. I told him that I was very curious to gain
      some particulars about a certain Captain Northcott, who had served in the
      Forty-first Foot, and who had fallen in the Persian War. I described the
      man as well as I could from my recollection of the daguerreotype, and
      then, having directed the letter, posted it that very night, after which,
      feeling that I had done all that could be done, I retired to bed, with a
      mind too anxious to allow me to sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      PART II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      I got an answer from Leicester, where the Colonel resided, within two
      days. I have it before me as I write, and copy it verbatim.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;DEAR BOB,&rdquo; it said, &ldquo;I remember the man well. I was with him at Calcutta,
      and afterwards at Hyderabad. He was a curious, solitary sort of mortal;
      but a gallant soldier enough, for he distinguished himself at Sobraon, and
      was wounded, if I remember right. He was not popular in his corps&mdash;they
      said he was a pitiless, cold-blooded fellow, with no geniality in him.
      There was a rumour, too, that he was a devil-worshipper, or something of
      that sort, and also that he had the evil eye, which, of course, was all
      nonsense. He had some strange theories, I remember, about the power of the
      human will and the effects of mind upon matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How are you getting on with your medical studies? Never forget, my boy,
      that your father&rsquo;s son has every claim upon me, and that if I can serve
      you in any way I am always at your command.&mdash;Ever affectionately
      yours,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;EDWARD JOYCE.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;P.S.&mdash;By the way, Northcott did not fall in action. He was killed
      after peace was declared in a crazy attempt to get some of the eternal
      fire from the sun-worshippers&rsquo; temple. There was considerable mystery
      about his death.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I read this epistle over several times&mdash;at first with a feeling of
      satisfaction, and then with one of disappointment. I had come on some
      curious information, and yet hardly what I wanted. He was an eccentric
      man, a devil-worshipper, and rumoured to have the power of the evil eye. I
      could believe the young lady&rsquo;s eyes, when endowed with that cold, grey
      shimmer which I had noticed in them once or twice, to be capable of any
      evil which human eye ever wrought; but still the superstition was an
      effete one. Was there not more meaning in that sentence which followed&mdash;&ldquo;He
      had theories of the power of the human will and of the effect of mind upon
      matter&rdquo;? I remember having once read a quaint treatise, which I had
      imagined to be mere charlatanism at the time, of the power of certain
      human minds, and of effects produced by them at a distance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was Miss Northcott endowed with some exceptional power of the sort?
    </p>
    <p>
      The idea grew upon me, and very shortly I had evidence which convinced me
      of the truth of the supposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      It happened that at the very time when my mind was dwelling upon this
      subject, I saw a notice in the paper that our town was to be visited by
      Dr. Messinger, the well-known medium and mesmerist. Messinger was a man
      whose performance, such as it was, had been again and again pronounced to
      be genuine by competent judges. He was far above trickery, and had the
      reputation of being the soundest living authority upon the strange
      pseudo-sciences of animal magnetism and electro-biology. Determined,
      therefore, to see what the human will could do, even against all the
      disadvantages of glaring footlights and a public platform, I took a ticket
      for the first night of the performance, and went with several student
      friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had secured one of the side boxes, and did not arrive until after the
      performance had begun. I had hardly taken my seat before I recognised
      Barrington Cowles, with his fiancee and old Mrs. Merton, sitting in the
      third or fourth row of the stalls. They caught sight of me at almost the
      same moment, and we bowed to each other. The first portion of the lecture
      was somewhat commonplace, the lecturer giving tricks of pure legerdemain,
      with one or two manifestations of mesmerism, performed upon a subject whom
      he had brought with him. He gave us an exhibition of clairvoyance too,
      throwing his subject into a trance, and then demanding particulars as to
      the movements of absent friends, and the whereabouts of hidden objects all
      of which appeared to be answered satisfactorily. I had seen all this
      before, however. What I wanted to see now was the effect of the lecturer&rsquo;s
      will when exerted upon some independent member of the audience.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came round to that as the concluding exhibition in his performance. &ldquo;I
      have shown you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that a mesmerised subject is entirely dominated
      by the will of the mesmeriser. He loses all power of volition, and his
      very thoughts are such as are suggested to him by the master-mind. The
      same end may be attained without any preliminary process. A strong will
      can, simply by virtue of its strength, take possession of a weaker one,
      even at a distance, and can regulate the impulses and the actions of the
      owner of it. If there was one man in the world who had a very much more
      highly-developed will than any of the rest of the human family, there is
      no reason why he should not be able to rule over them all, and to reduce
      his fellow-creatures to the condition of automatons. Happily there is such
      a dead level of mental power, or rather of mental weakness, among us that
      such a catastrophe is not likely to occur; but still within our small
      compass there are variations which produce surprising effects. I shall now
      single out one of the audience, and endeavour &lsquo;by the mere power of will&rsquo; 
      to compel him to come upon the platform, and do and say what I wish. Let
      me assure you that there is no collusion, and that the subject whom I may
      select is at perfect liberty to resent to the uttermost any impulse which
      I may communicate to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With these words the lecturer came to the front of the platform, and
      glanced over the first few rows of the stalls. No doubt Cowles&rsquo; dark skin
      and bright eyes marked him out as a man of a highly nervous temperament,
      for the mesmerist picked him out in a moment, and fixed his eyes upon him.
      I saw my friend give a start of surprise, and then settle down in his
      chair, as if to express his determination not to yield to the influence of
      the operator. Messinger was not a man whose head denoted any great
      brain-power, but his gaze was singularly intense and penetrating. Under
      the influence of it Cowles made one or two spasmodic motions of his hands,
      as if to grasp the sides of his seat, and then half rose, but only to sink
      down again, though with an evident effort. I was watching the scene with
      intense interest, when I happened to catch a glimpse of Miss Northcott&rsquo;s
      face. She was sitting with her eyes fixed intently upon the mesmerist, and
      with such an expression of concentrated power upon her features as I have
      never seen on any other human countenance. Her jaw was firmly set, her
      lips compressed, and her face as hard as if it were a beautiful sculpture
      cut out of the whitest marble. Her eyebrows were drawn down, however, and
      from beneath them her grey eyes seemed to sparkle and gleam with a cold
      light.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked at Cowles again, expecting every moment to see him rise and obey
      the mesmerist&rsquo;s wishes, when there came from the platform a short, gasping
      cry as of a man utterly worn out and prostrated by a prolonged struggle.
      Messinger was leaning against the table, his hand to his forehead, and the
      perspiration pouring down his face. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go on,&rdquo; he cried, addressing
      the audience. &ldquo;There is a stronger will than mine acting against me. You
      must excuse me for to-night.&rdquo; The man was evidently ill, and utterly
      unable to proceed, so the curtain was lowered, and the audience dispersed,
      with many comments upon the lecturer&rsquo;s sudden indisposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      I waited outside the hall until my friend and the ladies came out. Cowles
      was laughing over his recent experience.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t succeed with me, Bob,&rdquo; he cried triumphantly, as he shook my
      hand. &ldquo;I think he caught a Tartar that time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Miss Northcott, &ldquo;I think that Jack ought to be very proud of
      his strength of mind; don&rsquo;t you! Mr. Armitage?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It took me all my time, though,&rdquo; my friend said seriously. &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t
      conceive what a strange feeling I had once or twice. All the strength
      seemed to have gone out of me&mdash;especially just before he collapsed
      himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I walked round with Cowles in order to see the ladies home. He walked in
      front with Mrs. Merton, and I found myself behind with the young lady. For
      a minute or so I walked beside her without making any remark, and then I
      suddenly blurted out, in a manner which must have seemed somewhat brusque
      to her&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You did that, Miss Northcott.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did what?&rdquo; she asked sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, mesmerised the mesmeriser&mdash;I suppose that is the best way of
      describing the transaction.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What a strange idea!&rdquo; she said, laughing. &ldquo;You give me credit for a
      strong will then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;For a dangerously strong one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why dangerous?&rdquo; she asked, in a tone of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;that any will which can exercise such power is
      dangerous&mdash;for there is always a chance of its being turned to bad
      uses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would make me out a very dreadful individual, Mr. Armitage,&rdquo; she
      said; and then looking up suddenly in my face&mdash;&ldquo;You have never liked
      me. You are suspicious of me and distrust me, though I have never given
      you cause.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The accusation was so sudden and so true that I was unable to find any
      reply to it. She paused for a moment, and then said in a voice which was
      hard and cold&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t let your prejudice lead you to interfere with me, however, or say
      anything to your friend, Mr. Cowles, which might lead to a difference
      between us. You would find that to be very bad policy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was something in the way she spoke which gave an indescribable air
      of a threat to these few words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no power,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;to interfere with your plans for the future. I
      cannot help, however, from what I have seen and heard, having fears for my
      friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fears!&rdquo; she repeated scornfully. &ldquo;Pray what have you seen and heard.
      Something from Mr. Reeves, perhaps&mdash;I believe he is another of your
      friends?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He never mentioned your name to me,&rdquo; I answered, truthfully enough. &ldquo;You
      will be sorry to hear that he is dying.&rdquo; As I said it we passed by a
      lighted window, and I glanced down to see what effect my words had upon
      her. She was laughing&mdash;there was no doubt of it; she was laughing
      quietly to herself. I could see merriment in every feature of her face. I
      feared and mistrusted the woman from that moment more than ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      We said little more that night. When we parted she gave me a quick,
      warning glance, as if to remind me of what she had said about the danger
      of interference. Her cautions would have made little difference to me
      could I have seen my way to benefiting Barrington Cowles by anything which
      I might say. But what could I say? I might say that her former suitors had
      been unfortunate. I might say that I believed her to be a cruel-hearted
      woman. I might say that I considered her to possess wonderful, and almost
      preternatural powers. What impression would any of these accusations make
      upon an ardent lover&mdash;a man with my friend&rsquo;s enthusiastic
      temperament? I felt that it would be useless to advance them, so I was
      silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now I come to the beginning of the end. Hitherto much has been surmise
      and inference and hearsay. It is my painful task to relate now, as
      dispassionately and as accurately as I can, what actually occurred under
      my own notice, and to reduce to writing the events which preceded the
      death of my friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      Towards the end of the winter Cowles remarked to me that he intended to
      marry Miss Northcott as soon as possible&mdash;probably some time in the
      spring. He was, as I have already remarked, fairly well off, and the young
      lady had some money of her own, so that there was no pecuniary reason for
      a long engagement. &ldquo;We are going to take a little house out at
      Corstorphine,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and we hope to see your face at our table, Bob,
      as often as you can possibly come.&rdquo; I thanked him, and tried to shake off
      my apprehensions, and persuade myself that all would yet be well.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was about three weeks before the time fixed for the marriage, that
      Cowles remarked to me one evening that he feared he would be late that
      night. &ldquo;I have had a note from Kate,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;asking me to call about
      eleven o&rsquo;clock to-night, which seems rather a late hour, but perhaps she
      wants to talk over something quietly after old Mrs. Merton retires.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was not until after my friend&rsquo;s departure that I suddenly recollected
      the mysterious interview which I had been told of as preceding the suicide
      of young Prescott. Then I thought of the ravings of poor Reeves, rendered
      more tragic by the fact that I had heard that very day of his death. What
      was the meaning of it all? Had this woman some baleful secret to disclose
      which must be known before her marriage? Was it some reason which forbade
      her to marry? Or was it some reason which forbade others to marry her? I
      felt so uneasy that I would have followed Cowles, even at the risk of
      offending him, and endeavoured to dissuade him from keeping his
      appointment, but a glance at the clock showed me that I was too late.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was determined to wait up for his return, so I piled some coals upon the
      fire and took down a novel from the shelf. My thoughts proved more
      interesting than the book, however, and I threw it on one side. An
      indefinable feeling of anxiety and depression weighed upon me. Twelve
      o&rsquo;clock came, and then half-past, without any sign of my friend. It was
      nearly one when I heard a step in the street outside, and then a knocking
      at the door. I was surprised, as I knew that my friend always carried a
      key&mdash;however, I hurried down and undid the latch. As the door flew
      open I knew in a moment that my worst apprehensions had been fulfilled.
      Barrington Cowles was leaning against the railings outside with his face
      sunk upon his breast, and his whole attitude expressive of the most
      intense despondency. As he passed in he gave a stagger, and would have
      fallen had I not thrown my left arm around him. Supporting him with this,
      and holding the lamp in my other hand, I led him slowly upstairs into our
      sitting-room. He sank down upon the sofa without a word. Now that I could
      get a good view of him, I was horrified to see the change which had come
      over him. His face was deadly pale, and his very lips were bloodless. His
      cheeks and forehead were clammy, his eyes glazed, and his whole expression
      altered. He looked like a man who had gone through some terrible ordeal,
      and was thoroughly unnerved.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear fellow, what is the matter?&rdquo; I asked, breaking the silence.
      &ldquo;Nothing amiss, I trust? Are you unwell?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Brandy!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Give me some brandy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I took out the decanter, and was about to help him, when he snatched it
      from me with a trembling hand, and poured out nearly half a tumbler of the
      spirit. He was usually a most abstemious man, but he took this off at a
      gulp without adding any water to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed to do him good, for the colour began to come back to his face,
      and he leaned upon his elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My engagement is off, Bob,&rdquo; he said, trying to speak calmly, but with a
      tremor in his voice which he could not conceal. &ldquo;It is all over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cheer up!&rdquo; I answered, trying to encourage him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get down on your luck. How was it? What was it all about?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About?&rdquo; he groaned, covering his face with his hands. &ldquo;If I did tell you,
      Bob, you would not believe it. It is too dreadful&mdash;too horrible&mdash;unutterably
      awful and incredible! O Kate, Kate!&rdquo; and he rocked himself to and fro in
      his grief; &ldquo;I pictured you an angel and I find you a&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A what?&rdquo; I asked, for he had paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at me with a vacant stare, and then suddenly burst out, waving
      his arms: &ldquo;A fiend!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;A ghoul from the pit! A vampire soul
      behind a lovely face! Now, God forgive me!&rdquo; he went on in a lower tone,
      turning his face to the wall; &ldquo;I have said more than I should. I have
      loved her too much to speak of her as she is. I love her too much now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He lay still for some time, and I had hoped that the brandy had had the
      effect of sending him to sleep, when he suddenly turned his face towards
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you ever read of wehr-wolves?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      I answered that I had.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a story,&rdquo; he said thoughtfully, &ldquo;in one of Marryat&rsquo;s books,
      about a beautiful woman who took the form of a wolf at night and devoured
      her own children. I wonder what put that idea into Marryat&rsquo;s head?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He pondered for some minutes, and then he cried out for some more brandy.
      There was a small bottle of laudanum upon the table, and I managed, by
      insisting upon helping him myself, to mix about half a drachm with the
      spirits. He drank it off, and sank his head once more upon the pillow.
      &ldquo;Anything better than that,&rdquo; he groaned. &ldquo;Death is better than that. Crime
      and cruelty; cruelty and crime. Anything is better than that,&rdquo; and so on,
      with the monotonous refrain, until at last the words became indistinct,
      his eyelids closed over his weary eyes, and he sank into a profound
      slumber. I carried him into his bedroom without arousing him; and making a
      couch for myself out of the chairs, I remained by his side all night.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the morning Barrington Cowles was in a high fever. For weeks he
      lingered between life and death. The highest medical skill of Edinburgh
      was called in, and his vigorous constitution slowly got the better of his
      disease. I nursed him during this anxious time; but through all his wild
      delirium and ravings he never let a word escape him which explained the
      mystery connected with Miss Northcott. Sometimes he spoke of her in the
      tenderest words and most loving voice. At others he screamed out that she
      was a fiend, and stretched out his arms, as if to keep her off. Several
      times he cried that he would not sell his soul for a beautiful face, and
      then he would moan in a most piteous voice, &ldquo;But I love her&mdash;I love
      her for all that; I shall never cease to love her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When he came to himself he was an altered man. His severe illness had
      emaciated him greatly, but his dark eyes had lost none of their
      brightness. They shone out with startling brilliancy from under his dark,
      overhanging brows. His manner was eccentric and variable&mdash;sometimes
      irritable, sometimes recklessly mirthful, but never natural. He would
      glance about him in a strange, suspicious manner, like one who feared
      something, and yet hardly knew what it was he dreaded. He never mentioned
      Miss Northcott&rsquo;s name&mdash;never until that fatal evening of which I have
      now to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      In an endeavour to break the current of his thoughts by frequent change of
      scene, I travelled with him through the highlands of Scotland, and
      afterwards down the east coast. In one of these peregrinations of ours we
      visited the Isle of May, an island near the mouth of the Firth of Forth,
      which, except in the tourist season, is singularly barren and desolate.
      Beyond the keeper of the lighthouse there are only one or two families of
      poor fisher-folk, who sustain a precarious existence by their nets, and by
      the capture of cormorants and solan geese. This grim spot seemed to have
      such a fascination for Cowles that we engaged a room in one of the
      fishermen&rsquo;s huts, with the intention of passing a week or two there. I
      found it very dull, but the loneliness appeared to be a relief to my
      friend&rsquo;s mind. He lost the look of apprehension which had become habitual
      to him, and became something like his old self.
    </p>
    <p>
      He would wander round the island all day, looking down from the summit of
      the great cliffs which gird it round, and watching the long green waves as
      they came booming in and burst in a shower of spray over the rocks
      beneath.
    </p>
    <p>
      One night&mdash;I think it was our third or fourth on the island&mdash;Barrington
      Cowles and I went outside the cottage before retiring to rest, to enjoy a
      little fresh air, for our room was small, and the rough lamp caused an
      unpleasant odour. How well I remember every little circumstance in
      connection with that night! It promised to be tempestuous, for the clouds
      were piling up in the north-west, and the dark wrack was drifting across
      the face of the moon, throwing alternate belts of light and shade upon the
      rugged surface of the island and the restless sea beyond.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were standing talking close by the door of the cottage, and I was
      thinking to myself that my friend was more cheerful than he had been since
      his illness, when he gave a sudden, sharp cry, and looking round at him I
      saw, by the light of the moon, an expression of unutterable horror come
      over his features. His eyes became fixed and staring, as if riveted upon
      some approaching object, and he extended his long thin forefinger, which
      quivered as he pointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look there!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;It is she! It is she! You see her there coming
      down the side of the brae.&rdquo; He gripped me convulsively by the wrist as he
      spoke. &ldquo;There she is, coming towards us!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; I cried, straining my eyes into the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She&mdash;Kate&mdash;Kate Northcott!&rdquo; he screamed. &ldquo;She has come for me.
      Hold me fast, old friend. Don&rsquo;t let me go!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold up, old man,&rdquo; I said, clapping him on the shoulder. &ldquo;Pull yourself
      together; you are dreaming; there is nothing to fear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is gone!&rdquo; he cried, with a gasp of relief. &ldquo;No, by heaven! there she
      is again, and nearer&mdash;coming nearer. She told me she would come for
      me, and she keeps her word.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come into the house,&rdquo; I said. His hand, as I grasped it, was as cold as
      ice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, I knew it!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;There she is, waving her arms. She is
      beckoning to me. It is the signal. I must go. I am coming, Kate; I am
      coming!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I threw my arms around him, but he burst from me with superhuman strength,
      and dashed into the darkness of the night. I followed him, calling to him
      to stop, but he ran the more swiftly. When the moon shone out between the
      clouds I could catch a glimpse of his dark figure, running rapidly in a
      straight line, as if to reach some definite goal. It may have been
      imagination, but it seemed to me that in the flickering light I could
      distinguish a vague something in front of him&mdash;a shimmering form
      which eluded his grasp and led him onwards. I saw his outlines stand out
      hard against the sky behind him as he surmounted the brow of a little
      hill, then he disappeared, and that was the last ever seen by mortal eye
      of Barrington Cowles.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fishermen and I walked round the island all that night with lanterns,
      and examined every nook and corner without seeing a trace of my poor lost
      friend. The direction in which he had been running terminated in a rugged
      line of jagged cliffs overhanging the sea. At one place here the edge was
      somewhat crumbled, and there appeared marks upon the turf which might have
      been left by human feet. We lay upon our faces at this spot, and peered
      with our lanterns over the edge, looking down on the boiling surge two
      hundred feet below. As we lay there, suddenly, above the beating of the
      waves and the howling of the wind, there rose a strange wild screech from
      the abyss below. The fishermen&mdash;a naturally superstitious race&mdash;averred
      that it was the sound of a woman&rsquo;s laughter, and I could hardly persuade
      them to continue the search. For my own part I think it may have been the
      cry of some sea-fowl startled from its nest by the flash of the lantern.
      However that may be, I never wish to hear such a sound again.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now I have come to the end of the painful duty which I have
      undertaken. I have told as plainly and as accurately as I could the story
      of the death of John Barrington Cowles, and the train of events which
      preceded it. I am aware that to others the sad episode seemed commonplace
      enough. Here is the prosaic account which appeared in the Scotsman a
      couple of days afterwards:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sad Occurrence on the Isle of May.&mdash;The Isle of May has been the
      scene of a sad disaster. Mr. John Barrington Cowles, a gentleman well
      known in University circles as a most distinguished student, and the
      present holder of the Neil Arnott prize for physics, has been recruiting
      his health in this quiet retreat. The night before last he suddenly left
      his friend, Mr. Robert Armitage, and he has not since been heard of. It is
      almost certain that he has met his death by falling over the cliffs which
      surround the island. Mr. Cowles&rsquo; health has been failing for some time,
      partly from over study and partly from worry connected with family
      affairs. By his death the University loses one of her most promising
      alumni.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I have nothing more to add to my statement. I have unburdened my mind of
      all that I know. I can well conceive that many, after weighing all that I
      have said, will see no ground for an accusation against Miss Northcott.
      They will say that, because a man of a naturally excitable disposition
      says and does wild things, and even eventually commits self-murder after a
      sudden and heavy disappointment, there is no reason why vague charges
      should be advanced against a young lady. To this, I answer that they are
      welcome to their opinion. For my own part, I ascribe the death of William
      Prescott, of Archibald Reeves, and of John Barrington Cowles to this woman
      with as much confidence as if I had seen her drive a dagger into their
      hearts.
    </p>
    <p>
      You ask me, no doubt, what my own theory is which will explain all these
      strange facts. I have none, or, at best, a dim and vague one. That Miss
      Northcott possessed extraordinary powers over the minds, and through the
      minds over the bodies, of others, I am convinced, as well as that her
      instincts were to use this power for base and cruel purposes. That some
      even more fiendish and terrible phase of character lay behind this&mdash;some
      horrible trait which it was necessary for her to reveal before marriage&mdash;is
      to be inferred from the experience of her three lovers, while the dreadful
      nature of the mystery thus revealed can only be surmised from the fact
      that the very mention of it drove from her those who had loved her so
      passionately. Their subsequent fate was, in my opinion, the result of her
      vindictive remembrance of their desertion of her, and that they were
      forewarned of it at the time was shown by the words of both Reeves and
      Cowles. Above this, I can say nothing. I lay the facts soberly before the
      public as they came under my notice. I have never seen Miss Northcott
      since, nor do I wish to do so. If by the words I have written I can save
      any one human being from the snare of those bright eyes and that beautiful
      face, then I can lay down my pen with the assurance that my poor friend
      has not died altogether in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      ELIAS B. HOPKINS, THE PARSON OF JACKMAN&rsquo;S GULCH.
    </h2>
    <p>
      He was known in the Gulch as the Reverend Elias B. Hopkins, but it was
      generally understood that the title was an honorary one, extorted by his
      many eminent qualities, and not borne out by any legal claim which he
      could adduce. &ldquo;The Parson&rdquo; was another of his sobriquets, which was
      sufficiently distinctive in a land where the flock was scattered and the
      shepherds few. To do him justice, he never pretended to have received any
      preliminary training for the ministry, or any orthodox qualification to
      practise it. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re all working in the claim of the Lord,&rdquo; he remarked one
      day, &ldquo;and it don&rsquo;t matter a cent whether we&rsquo;re hired for the job or
      whether we waltzes in on our own account,&rdquo; a piece of rough imagery which
      appealed directly to the instincts of Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch. It is quite certain
      that during the first few months his presence had a marked effect in
      diminishing the excessive use both of strong drinks and of stronger
      adjectives which had been characteristic of the little mining settlement.
      Under his tuition, men began to understand that the resources of their
      native language were less limited than they had supposed, and that it was
      possible to convey their impressions with accuracy without the aid of a
      gaudy halo of profanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were certainly in need of a regenerator at Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch about the
      beginning of &lsquo;53. Times were flush then over the whole colony, but nowhere
      flusher than there. Our material prosperity had had a bad effect upon our
      morals. The camp was a small one, lying rather better than a hundred and
      twenty miles to the north of Ballarat, at a spot where a mountain torrent
      finds its way down a rugged ravine on its way to join the Arrowsmith
      River. History does not relate who the original Jackman may have been, but
      at the time I speak of the camp it contained a hundred or so adults, many
      of whom were men who had sought an asylum there after making more
      civilised mining centres too hot to hold them. They were a rough,
      murderous crew, hardly leavened by the few respectable members of society
      who were scattered among them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Communication between Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch and the outside world was difficult
      and uncertain. A portion of the bush between it and Ballarat was infested
      by a redoubtable outlaw named Conky Jim, who, with a small band as
      desperate as himself, made travelling a dangerous matter. It was
      customary, therefore, at the Gulch, to store up the dust and nuggets
      obtained from the mines in a special store, each man&rsquo;s share being placed
      in a separate bag on which his name was marked. A trusty man, named
      Woburn, was deputed to watch over this primitive bank. When the amount
      deposited became considerable, a waggon was hired, and the whole treasure
      was conveyed to Ballarat, guarded by the police and by a certain number of
      miners, who took it in turn to perform the office. Once in Ballarat, it
      was forwarded on to Melbourne by the regular gold waggons. By this plan
      the gold was often kept for months in the Gulch before being despatched,
      but Conky Jim was effectually checkmated, as the escort party were far too
      strong for him and his gang. He appeared, at the time of which I write, to
      have forsaken his haunts in disgust, and the road could be traversed by
      small parties with impunity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Comparative order used to reign during the daytime at Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch, for
      the majority of the inhabitants were out with crowbar and pick among the
      quartz ledges, or washing clay and sand in their cradles by the banks of
      the little stream. As the sun sank down, however, the claims were
      gradually deserted, and their unkempt owners, clay-bespattered and shaggy,
      came lounging into camp, ripe for any form of mischief. Their first visit
      was to Woburn&rsquo;s gold store, where their clean-up of the day was duly
      deposited, the amount being entered in the storekeeper&rsquo;s book, and each
      miner retaining enough to cover his evening&rsquo;s expenses. After that, all
      restraint was at an end, and each set to work to get rid of his surplus
      dust with the greatest rapidity possible. The focus of dissipation was the
      rough bar, formed by a couple of hogsheads spanned by planks, which was
      dignified by the name of the &ldquo;Britannia Drinking Saloon.&rdquo; Here Nat Adams,
      the burly bar-keeper, dispensed bad whisky at the rate of two shillings a
      noggin, or a guinea a bottle, while his brother Ben acted as croupier in a
      rude wooden shanty behind, which had been converted into a gambling hell,
      and was crowded every night. There had been a third brother, but an
      unfortunate misunderstanding with a customer had shortened his existence.
      &ldquo;He was too soft to live long,&rdquo; his brother Nathaniel feelingly observed,
      on the occasion of his funeral. &ldquo;Many&rsquo;s the time I&rsquo;ve said to him, &lsquo;If
      you&rsquo;re arguin&rsquo; a pint with a stranger, you should always draw first, then
      argue, and then shoot, if you judge that he&rsquo;s on the shoot.&rsquo; Bill was too
      purlite. He must needs argue first and draw after, when he might just as
      well have kivered his man before talkin&rsquo; it over with him.&rdquo; This amiable
      weakness of the deceased Bill was a blow to the firm of Adams, which
      became so short-handed that the concern could hardly be worked without the
      admission of a partner, which would mean a considerable decrease in the
      profits.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nat Adams had had a roadside shanty in the Gulch before the discovery of
      gold, and might, therefore, claim to be the oldest inhabitant. These
      keepers of shanties were a peculiar race, and at the cost of a digression
      it may be interesting to explain how they managed to amass considerable
      sums of money in a land where travellers were few and far between. It was
      the custom of the &ldquo;bushmen,&rdquo; i.e., bullock-drivers, sheep tenders, and the
      other white hands who worked on the sheep-runs up country, to sign
      articles by which they agreed to serve their master for one, two, or three
      years at so much per year and certain daily rations. Liquor was never
      included in this agreement, and the men remained, per force, total
      abstainers during the whole time. The money was paid in a lump sum at the
      end of the engagement. When that day came round, Jimmy, the stockman,
      would come slouching into his master&rsquo;s office, cabbage-tree hat in hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Morning, master!&rdquo; Jimmy would say. &ldquo;My time&rsquo;s up. I guess I&rsquo;ll draw my
      cheque and ride down to town.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll come back, Jimmy?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;ll come back. Maybe I&rsquo;ll be away three weeks, maybe a month. I
      want some clothes, master, and my bloomin&rsquo; boots are well-nigh off my
      feet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How much, Jimmy?&rdquo; asks his master, taking up his pen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s sixty pound screw,&rdquo; Jimmy answers thoughtfully; &ldquo;and you mind,
      master, last March, when the brindled bull broke out o&rsquo; the paddock. Two
      pound you promised me then. And a pound at the dipping. And a pound when
      Millar&rsquo;s sheep got mixed with ourn;&rdquo; and so he goes on, for bushmen can
      seldom write, but they have memories which nothing escapes.
    </p>
    <p>
      His master writes the cheque and hands it across the table. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get on
      the drink, Jimmy,&rdquo; he says.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No fear of that, master,&rdquo; and the stockman slips the cheque into his
      leather pouch, and within an hour he is ambling off upon his long-limbed
      horse on his hundred-mile journey to town.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now Jimmy has to pass some six or eight of the above-mentioned roadside
      shanties in his day&rsquo;s ride, and experience has taught him that if he once
      breaks his accustomed total abstinence, the unwonted stimulant has an
      overpowering effect upon his brain. Jimmy shakes his head warily as he
      determines that no earthly consideration will induce him to partake of any
      liquor until his business is over. His only chance is to avoid temptation;
      so, knowing that there is the first of these houses some half-mile ahead,
      he plunges into a byepath through the bush which will lead him out at the
      other side.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jimmy is riding resolutely along this narrow path, congratulating himself
      upon a danger escaped, when he becomes aware of a sunburned, black-bearded
      man who is leaning unconcernedly against a tree beside the track. This is
      none other than the shanty-keeper, who, having observed Jimmy&rsquo;s manoeuvre
      in the distance, has taken a short cut through the bush in order to
      intercept him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Morning, Jimmy!&rdquo; he cries, as the horseman comes up to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Morning, mate; morning!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where are ye off to to-day then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Off to town,&rdquo; says Jimmy sturdily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, now&mdash;are you though? You&rsquo;ll have bully times down there for a
      bit. Come round and have a drink at my place. Just by way of luck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; says Jimmy, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want a drink.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just a little damp.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tell ye I don&rsquo;t want one,&rdquo; says the stockman angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, ye needn&rsquo;t be so darned short about it. It&rsquo;s nothin&rsquo; to me whether
      you drinks or not. Good mornin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good mornin&rsquo;,&rdquo; says Jimmy, and has ridden on about twenty yards when he
      hears the other calling on him to stop.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See here, Jimmy!&rdquo; he says, overtaking him again. &ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll do me a
      kindness when you&rsquo;re up in town I&rsquo;d be obliged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a letter, Jim, as I wants posted. It&rsquo;s an important one too, an&rsquo; I
      wouldn&rsquo;t trust it with every one; but I knows you, and if you&rsquo;ll take
      charge on it it&rsquo;ll be a powerful weight off my mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give it here,&rdquo; Jimmy says laconically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hain&rsquo;t got it here. It&rsquo;s round in my caboose. Come round for it with
      me. It ain&rsquo;t more&rsquo;n quarter of a mile.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Jimmy consents reluctantly. When they reach the tumble-down hut the keeper
      asks him cheerily to dismount and to come in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me the letter,&rdquo; says Jimmy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It ain&rsquo;t altogether wrote yet, but you sit down here for a minute and
      it&rsquo;ll be right,&rdquo; and so the stockman is beguiled into the shanty.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last the letter is ready and handed over. &ldquo;Now, Jimmy,&rdquo; says the
      keeper, &ldquo;one drink at my expense before you go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not a taste,&rdquo; says Jimmy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s it, is it?&rdquo; the other says in an aggrieved tone. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re too
      damned proud to drink with a poor cove like me. Here&mdash;give us back
      that letter. I&rsquo;m cursed if I&rsquo;ll accept a favour from a man whose too
      almighty big to have a drink with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well, mate, don&rsquo;t turn rusty,&rdquo; says Jim. &ldquo;Give us one drink an&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
      off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The keeper pours out about half a pannikin of raw rum and hands it to the
      bushman. The moment he smells the old familiar smell his longing for it
      returns, and he swigs it off at a gulp. His eyes shine more brightly and
      his face becomes flushed. The keeper watches him narrowly. &ldquo;You can go
      now, Jim,&rdquo; he says.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Steady, mate, steady,&rdquo; says the bushman. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m as good a man as you. If
      you stand a drink I can stand one too, I suppose.&rdquo; So the pannikin is
      replenished, and Jimmy&rsquo;s eyes shine brighter still.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, Jimmy, one last drink for the good of the house,&rdquo; says the keeper,
      &ldquo;and then it&rsquo;s time you were off.&rdquo; The stockman has a third gulp from the
      pannikin, and with it all his scruples and good resolutions vanish for
      ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he says somewhat huskily, taking his cheque out of his pouch.
      &ldquo;You take this, mate. Whoever comes along this road, ask &rsquo;em what they&rsquo;ll
      have, and tell them it&rsquo;s my shout. Let me know when the money&rsquo;s done.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So Jimmy abandons the idea of ever getting to town, and for three weeks or
      a month he lies about the shanty in a state of extreme drunkenness, and
      reduces every wayfarer upon the road to the same condition. At last one
      fine morning the keeper comes to him. &ldquo;The coin&rsquo;s done, Jimmy,&rdquo; he says;
      &ldquo;it&rsquo;s about time you made some more.&rdquo; So Jimmy has a good wash to sober
      him, straps his blanket and his billy to his back, and rides off through
      the bush to the sheeprun, where he has another year of sobriety,
      terminating in another month of intoxication.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this, though typical of the happy-go-lucky manners of the inhabitants,
      has no direct bearing upon Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch, so we must return to that
      Arcadian settlement. Additions to the population there were not numerous,
      and such as came about the time of which I speak were even rougher and
      fiercer than the original inhabitants. In particular, there came a brace
      of ruffians named Phillips and Maule, who rode into camp one day, and
      started a claim upon the other side of the stream. They outgulched the
      Gulch in the virulence and fluency of their blasphemy, in the truculence
      of their speech and manner, and in their reckless disregard of all social
      laws. They claimed to have come from Bendigo, and there were some amongst
      us who wished that the redoubted Conky Jim was on the track once more, as
      long as he would close it to such visitors as these. After their arrival
      the nightly proceedings at the Britannia bar and at the gambling hell
      behind it became more riotous than ever. Violent quarrels, frequently
      ending in bloodshed, were of constant occurrence. The more peaceable
      frequenters of the bar began to talk seriously of lynching the two
      strangers who were the principal promoters of disorder. Things were in
      this unsatisfactory condition when our evangelist, Elias B. Hopkins, came
      limping into the camp, travel-stained and footsore, with his spade
      strapped across his back, and his Bible in the pocket of his moleskin
      jacket.
    </p>
    <p>
      His presence was hardly noticed at first, so insignificant was the man.
      His manner was quiet and unobtrusive, his face pale, and his figure
      fragile. On better acquaintance, however, there was a squareness and
      firmness about his clean-shaven lower jaw, and an intelligence in his
      widely-opened blue eyes, which marked him as a man of character. He
      erected a small hut for himself, and started a claim close to that
      occupied by the two strangers who had preceded him. This claim was chosen
      with a ludicrous disregard for all practical laws of mining, and at once
      stamped the newcomer as being a green hand at his work. It was piteous to
      observe him every morning as we passed to our work, digging and delving
      with the greatest industry, but, as we knew well, without the smallest
      possibility of any result. He would pause for a moment as we went by, wipe
      his pale face with his bandanna handkerchief, and shout out to us a
      cordial morning greeting, and then fall to again with redoubled energy. By
      degrees we got into the way of making a half-pitying, half-contemptuous
      inquiry as to how he got on. &ldquo;I hain&rsquo;t struck it yet, boys,&rdquo; he would
      answer cheerily, leaning on his spade, &ldquo;but the bedrock lies deep just
      hereabouts, and I reckon we&rsquo;ll get among the pay gravel to-day.&rdquo; Day after
      day he returned the same reply with unvarying confidence and cheerfulness.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not long before he began to show us the stuff that was in him. One
      night the proceedings were unusually violent at the drinking saloon. A
      rich pocket had been struck during the day, and the striker was standing
      treat in a lavish and promiscuous fashion which had reduced three parts of
      the settlement to a state of wild intoxication. A crowd of drunken idlers
      stood or lay about the bar, cursing, swearing, shouting, dancing, and here
      and there firing their pistols into the air out of pure wantonness. From
      the interior of the shanty behind there came a similar chorus. Maule,
      Phillips, and the roughs who followed them were in the ascendant, and all
      order and decency was swept away.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, amid this tumult of oaths and drunken cries, men became
      conscious of a quiet monotone which underlay all other sounds and obtruded
      itself at every pause in the uproar. Gradually first one man and then
      another paused to listen, until there was a general cessation of the
      hubbub, and every eye was turned in the direction whence this quiet stream
      of words flowed. There, mounted upon a barrel, was Elias B. Hopkins, the
      newest of the inhabitants of Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch, with a good-humoured smile
      upon his resolute face.
    </p>
    <p>
      He held an open Bible in his hand, and was reading aloud a passage taken
      at random&mdash;an extract from the Apocalypse, if I remember right. The
      words were entirely irrelevant and without the smallest bearing upon the
      scene before him, but he plodded on with great unction, waving his left
      hand slowly to the cadence of his words.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a general shout of laughter and applause at this apparition, and
      Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch gathered round the barrel approvingly, under the
      impression that this was some ornate joke, and that they were about to be
      treated to some mock sermon or parody of the chapter read. When, however,
      the reader, having finished the chapter, placidly commenced another, and
      having finished that rippled on into another one, the revellers came to
      the conclusion that the joke was somewhat too long-winded. The
      commencement of yet another chapter confirmed this opinion, and an angry
      chorus of shouts and cries, with suggestions as to gagging the reader or
      knocking him off the barrel, rose from every side. In spite of roars and
      hoots, however, Elias B. Hopkins plodded away at the Apocalypse with the
      same serene countenance, looking as ineffably contented as though the
      babel around him were the most gratifying applause. Before long an
      occasional boot pattered against the barrel or whistled past our parson&rsquo;s
      head; but here some of the more orderly of the inhabitants interfered in
      favour of peace and order, aided curiously enough by the afore-mentioned
      Maule and Phillips, who warmly espoused the cause of the little Scripture
      reader. &ldquo;The little cus has got grit in him,&rdquo; the latter explained,
      rearing his bulky red-shirted form between the crowd and the object of its
      anger. &ldquo;His ways ain&rsquo;t our ways, and we&rsquo;re all welcome to our opinions,
      and to sling them round from barrels or otherwise if so minded. What I
      says and Bill says is, that when it comes to slingin&rsquo; boots instead o&rsquo; 
      words it&rsquo;s too steep by half, an&rsquo; if this man&rsquo;s wronged we&rsquo;ll chip in an&rsquo; 
      see him righted.&rdquo; This oratorical effort had the effect of checking the
      more active signs of disapproval, and the party of disorder attempted to
      settle down once more to their carouse, and to ignore the shower of
      Scripture which was poured upon them. The attempt was hopeless. The
      drunken portion fell asleep under the drowsy refrain, and the others, with
      many a sullen glance at the imperturbable reader, slouched off to their
      huts, leaving him still perched upon the barrel. Finding himself alone
      with the more orderly of the spectators, the little man rose, closed his
      book, after methodically marking with a lead pencil the exact spot at
      which he stopped, and descended from his perch. &ldquo;To-morrow night, boys,&rdquo;
       he remarked in his quiet voice, &ldquo;the reading will commence at the 9th
      verse of the 15th chapter of the Apocalypse,&rdquo; with which piece of
      information, disregarding our congratulations, he walked away with the air
      of a man who has performed an obvious duty.
    </p>
    <p>
      We found that his parting words were no empty threat. Hardly had the crowd
      begun to assemble next night before he appeared once more upon the barrel
      and began to read with the same monotonous vigour, tripping over words!
      muddling up sentences, but still boring along through chapter after
      chapter. Laughter, threats, chaff&mdash;every weapon short of actual
      violence&mdash;was used to deter him, but all with the same want of
      success. Soon it was found that there was a method in his proceedings.
      When silence reigned, or when the conversation was of an innocent nature,
      the reading ceased. A single word of blasphemy, however, set it going
      again, and it would ramble on for a quarter of an hour or so, when it
      stopped, only to be renewed upon similar provocation. The reading was
      pretty continuous during that second night, for the language of the
      opposition was still considerably free. At least it was an improvement
      upon the night before.
    </p>
    <p>
      For more than a month Elias B. Hopkins carried on this campaign. There he
      would sit, night after night, with the open book upon his knee, and at the
      slightest provocation off he would go, like a musical box when the spring
      is touched. The monotonous drawl became unendurable, but it could only be
      avoided by conforming to the parson&rsquo;s code. A chronic swearer came to be
      looked upon with disfavour by the community, since the punishment of his
      transgression fell upon all. At the end of a fortnight the reader was
      silent more than half the time, and at the end of the month his position
      was a sinecure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never was a moral revolution brought about more rapidly and more
      completely. Our parson carried his principle into private life. I have
      seen him, on hearing an unguarded word from some worker in the gulches,
      rush across, Bible in hand, and perching himself upon the heap of red clay
      which surmounted the offender&rsquo;s claim, drawl through the genealogical tree
      at the commencement of the New Testament in a most earnest and impressive
      manner, as though it were especially appropriate to the occasion. In time,
      an oath became a rare thing amongst us. Drunkenness was on the wane too.
      Casual travellers passing through the Gulch used to marvel at our state of
      grace, and rumours of it went as far as Ballarat, and excited much comment
      therein.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were points about our evangelist which made him especially fitted
      for the work which he had undertaken. A man entirely without redeeming
      vices would have had no common basis on which to work, and no means of
      gaining the sympathy of his flock. As we came to know Elias B. Hopkins
      better, we discovered that in spite of his piety there was a leaven of old
      Adam in him, and that he had certainly known unregenerate days. He was no
      teetotaler. On the contrary, he could choose his liquor with
      discrimination, and lower it in an able manner. He played a masterly hand
      at poker, and there were few who could touch him at &ldquo;cut-throat euchre.&rdquo;
       He and the two ex-ruffians, Phillips and Maule, used to play for hours in
      perfect harmony, except when the fall of the cards elicited an oath from
      one of his companions. At the first of these offences the parson would put
      on a pained smile, and gaze reproachfully at the culprit. At the second he
      would reach for his Bible, and the game was over for the evening. He
      showed us he was a good revolver shot too, for when we were practising at
      an empty brandy bottle outside Adams&rsquo; bar, he took up a friend&rsquo;s pistol
      and hit it plumb in the centre at twenty-four paces. There were few things
      he took up that he could not make a show at apparently, except
      gold-digging, and at that he was the veriest duffer alive. It was pitiful
      to see the little canvas bag, with his name printed across it, lying
      placid and empty upon the shelf at Woburn&rsquo;s store, while all the other
      bags were increasing daily, and some had assumed quite a portly rotundity
      of form, for the weeks were slipping by, and it was almost time for the
      gold-train to start off for Ballarat. We reckoned that the amount which we
      had stored at the time represented the greatest sum which had ever been
      taken by a single convoy out of Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although Elias B. Hopkins appeared to derive a certain quiet satisfaction
      from the wonderful change which he had effected in the camp, his joy was
      not yet rounded and complete. There was one thing for which he still
      yearned. He opened his heart to us about it one evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We&rsquo;d have a blessing on the camp, boys,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if we only had a
      service o&rsquo; some sort on the Lord&rsquo;s day. It&rsquo;s a temptin&rsquo; o&rsquo; Providence to
      go on in this way without takin&rsquo; any notice of it, except that maybe
      there&rsquo;s more whisky drunk and more card playin&rsquo; than on any other day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We hain&rsquo;t got no parson,&rdquo; objected one of the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye fool!&rdquo; growled another, &ldquo;hain&rsquo;t we got a man as is worth any three
      parsons, and can splash texts around like clay out o&rsquo; a cradle. What more
      d&rsquo;ye want?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We hain&rsquo;t got no church!&rdquo; urged the same dissentient.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have it in the open air,&rdquo; one suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or in Woburn&rsquo;s store,&rdquo; said another.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or in Adams&rsquo; saloon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The last proposal was received with a buzz of approval, which showed that
      it was considered the most appropriate locality.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adams&rsquo; saloon was a substantial wooden building in the rear of the bar,
      which was used partly for storing liquor and partly for a gambling saloon.
      It was strongly built of rough-hewn logs, the proprietor rightly judging,
      in the unregenerate days of Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch, that hogsheads of brandy and
      rum were commodities which had best be secured under lock and key. A
      strong door opened into each end of the saloon, and the interior was
      spacious enough, when the table and lumber were cleared away, to
      accommodate the whole population. The spirit barrels were heaped together
      at one end by their owner, so as to make a very fair imitation of a
      pulpit.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first the Gulch took but a mild interest in the proceedings, but when
      it became known that Elias B. Hopkins intended, after reading the service,
      to address the audience, the settlement began to warm up to the occasion.
      A real sermon was a novelty to all of them, and one coming from their own
      parson was additionally so. Rumour announced that it would be interspersed
      with local hits, and that the moral would be pointed by pungent
      personalities. Men began to fear that they would be unable to gain seats,
      and many applications were made to the brothers Adams. It was only when
      conclusively shown that the saloon could contain them all with a margin
      that the camp settled down into calm expectancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was as well that the building was of such a size, for the assembly upon
      the Sunday morning was the largest which had ever occurred in the annals
      of Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch. At first it was thought that the whole population was
      present, but a little reflection showed that this was not so. Maule and
      Phillips had gone on a prospecting journey among the hills, and had not
      returned as yet, and Woburn, the gold-keeper, was unable to leave his
      store. Having a very large quantity of the precious metal under his
      charge, he stuck to his post, feeling that the responsibility was too
      great to trifle with. With these three exceptions the whole of the Gulch,
      with clean red shirts, and such other additions to their toilet as the
      occasion demanded, sauntered in a straggling line along the clayey pathway
      which led up to the saloon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The interior of the building had been provided with rough benches, and the
      parson, with his quiet good-humoured smile, was standing at the door to
      welcome them. &ldquo;Good morning, boys,&rdquo; he cried cheerily, as each group came
      lounging up. &ldquo;Pass in; pass in. You&rsquo;ll find this is as good a morning&rsquo;s
      work as any you&rsquo;ve done. Leave your pistols in this barrel outside the
      door as you pass; you can pick them out as you come out again, but it
      isn&rsquo;t the thing to carry weapons into the house of peace.&rdquo; His request was
      good-humouredly complied with, and before the last of the congregation
      filed in, there was a strange assortment of knives and firearms in this
      depository. When all had assembled, the doors were shut, and the service
      began&mdash;the first and the last which was ever performed at Jackman&rsquo;s
      Gulch.
    </p>
    <p>
      The weather was sultry and the room close, yet the miners listened with
      exemplary patience. There was a sense of novelty in the situation which
      had its attractions. To some it was entirely new, others were wafted back
      by it to another land and other days. Beyond a disposition which was
      exhibited by the uninitiated to applaud at the end of certain prayers, by
      way of showing that they sympathised with the sentiments expressed, no
      audience could have behaved better. There was a murmur of interest,
      however, when Elias B. Hopkins, looking down on the congregation from his
      rostrum of casks, began his address.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had attired himself with care in honour of the occasion. He wore a
      velveteen tunic, girt round the waist with a sash of china silk, a pair of
      moleskin trousers, and held his cabbage-tree hat in his left hand. He
      began speaking in a low tone, and it was noticed at the time that he
      frequently glanced through the small aperture which served for a window
      which was placed above the heads of those who sat beneath him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve put you straight now,&rdquo; he said, in the course of his address; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
      got you in the right rut if you will but stick in it.&rdquo; Here he looked very
      hard out of the window for some seconds. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve learned soberness and
      industry, and with those things you can always make up any loss you may
      sustain. I guess there isn&rsquo;t one of ye that won&rsquo;t remember my visit to
      this camp.&rdquo; He paused for a moment, and three revolver shots rang out upon
      the quiet summer air. &ldquo;Keep your seats, damn ye!&rdquo; roared our preacher, as
      his audience rose in excitement. &ldquo;If a man of ye moves down he goes! The
      door&rsquo;s locked on the outside, so ye can&rsquo;t get out anyhow. Your seats, ye
      canting, chuckle-headed fools! Down with ye, ye dogs, or I&rsquo;ll fire among
      ye!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Astonishment and fear brought us back into our seats, and we sat staring
      blankly at our pastor and each other. Elias B. Hopkins, whose whole face
      and even figure appeared to have undergone an extraordinary alteration,
      looked fiercely down on us from his commanding position, with a
      contemptuous smile on his stern face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have your lives in my hands,&rdquo; he remarked; and we noticed as he spoke
      that he held a heavy revolver in his hand, and that the butt of another
      one protruded from his sash. &ldquo;I am armed and you are not. If one of you
      moves or speaks he is a dead man. If not, I shall not harm you. You must
      wait here for an hour. Why, you FOOLS&rdquo; (this with a hiss of contempt which
      rang in our ears for many a long day), &ldquo;do you know who it is that has
      stuck you up? Do you know who it is that has been playing it upon you for
      months as a parson and a saint? Conky Jim, the bushranger, ye apes. And
      Phillips and Maule were my two right-hand men. They&rsquo;re off into the hills
      with your gold&mdash;&mdash;Ha! would ye?&rdquo; This to some restive member of
      the audience, who quieted down instantly before the fierce eye and the
      ready weapon of the bushranger. &ldquo;In an hour they will be clear of any
      pursuit, and I advise you to make the best of it, and not to follow, or
      you may lose more than your money. My horse is tethered outside this door
      behind me. When the time is up I shall pass through it, lock it on the
      outside, and be off. Then you may break your way out as best you can. I
      have no more to say to you, except that ye are the most cursed set of
      asses that ever trod in boot-leather.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We had time to endorse mentally this outspoken opinion during the long
      sixty minutes which followed; we were powerless before the resolute
      desperado. It is true that if we made a simultaneous rush we might bear
      him down at the cost of eight or ten of our number. But how could such a
      rush be organised without speaking, and who would attempt it without a
      previous agreement that he would be supported? There was nothing for it
      but submission. It seemed three hours at the least before the ranger
      snapped up his watch, stepped down from the barrel, walked backwards,
      still covering us with his weapon, to the door behind him, and then passed
      rapidly through it. We heard the creaking of the rusty lock, and the
      clatter of his horse&rsquo;s hoofs, as he galloped away.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has been remarked that an oath had, for the last few weeks, been a rare
      thing in the camp. We made up for our temporary abstention during the next
      half-hour. Never was heard such symmetrical and heartfelt blasphemy. When
      at last we succeeded in getting the door off its hinges all sight of both
      rangers and treasure had disappeared, nor have we ever caught sight of
      either the one or the other since. Poor Woburn, true to his trust, lay
      shot through the head across the threshold of his empty store. The
      villains, Maule and Phillips, had descended upon the camp the instant that
      we had been enticed into the trap, murdered the keeper, loaded up a small
      cart with the booty, and got safe away to some wild fastness among the
      mountains, where they were joined by their wily leader.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jackman&rsquo;s Gulch recovered from this blow, and is now a flourishing
      township. Social reformers are not in request there, however, and morality
      is at a discount. It is said that an inquest has been held lately upon an
      unoffending stranger who chanced to remark that in so large a place it
      would be advisable to have some form of Sunday service. The memory of
      their one and only pastor is still green among the inhabitants, and will
      be for many a long year to come.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE RING OF THOTH.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. John Vansittart Smith, F.R.S., of 147-A Gower Street, was a man whose
      energy of purpose and clearness of thought might have placed him in the
      very first rank of scientific observers. He was the victim, however, of a
      universal ambition which prompted him to aim at distinction in many
      subjects rather than preeminence in one.
    </p>
    <p>
      In his early days he had shown an aptitude for zoology and for botany
      which caused his friends to look upon him as a second Darwin, but when a
      professorship was almost within his reach he had suddenly discontinued his
      studies and turned his whole attention to chemistry. Here his researches
      upon the spectra of the metals had won him his fellowship in the Royal
      Society; but again he played the coquette with his subject, and after a
      year&rsquo;s absence from the laboratory he joined the Oriental Society, and
      delivered a paper on the Hieroglyphic and Demotic inscriptions of El Kab,
      thus giving a crowning example both of the versatility and of the
      inconstancy of his talents.
    </p>
    <p>
      The most fickle of wooers, however, is apt to be caught at last, and so it
      was with John Vansittart Smith. The more he burrowed his way into
      Egyptology the more impressed he became by the vast field which it opened
      to the inquirer, and by the extreme importance of a subject which promised
      to throw a light upon the first germs of human civilisation and the origin
      of the greater part of our arts and sciences. So struck was Mr. Smith that
      he straightway married an Egyptological young lady who had written upon
      the sixth dynasty, and having thus secured a sound base of operations he
      set himself to collect materials for a work which should unite the
      research of Lepsius and the ingenuity of Champollion. The preparation of
      this magnum opus entailed many hurried visits to the magnificent Egyptian
      collections of the Louvre, upon the last of which, no longer ago than the
      middle of last October, he became involved in a most strange and
      noteworthy adventure.
    </p>
    <p>
      The trains had been slow and the Channel had been rough, so that the
      student arrived in Paris in a somewhat befogged and feverish condition. On
      reaching the Hotel de France, in the Rue Laffitte, he had thrown himself
      upon a sofa for a couple of hours, but finding that he was unable to
      sleep, he determined, in spite of his fatigue, to make his way to the
      Louvre, settle the point which he had come to decide, and take the evening
      train back to Dieppe. Having come to this conclusion, he donned his
      greatcoat, for it was a raw rainy day, and made his way across the
      Boulevard des Italiens and down the Avenue de l&rsquo;Opera. Once in the Louvre
      he was on familiar ground, and he speedily made his way to the collection
      of papyri which it was his intention to consult.
    </p>
    <p>
      The warmest admirers of John Vansittart Smith could hardly claim for him
      that he was a handsome man. His high-beaked nose and prominent chin had
      something of the same acute and incisive character which distinguished his
      intellect. He held his head in a birdlike fashion, and birdlike, too, was
      the pecking motion with which, in conversation, he threw out his
      objections and retorts. As he stood, with the high collar of his greatcoat
      raised to his ears, he might have seen from the reflection in the
      glass-case before him that his appearance was a singular one. Yet it came
      upon him as a sudden jar when an English voice behind him exclaimed in
      very audible tones, &ldquo;What a queer-looking mortal!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The student had a large amount of petty vanity in his composition which
      manifested itself by an ostentatious and overdone disregard of all
      personal considerations. He straightened his lips and looked rigidly at
      the roll of papyrus, while his heart filled with bitterness against the
      whole race of travelling Britons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said another voice, &ldquo;he really is an extraordinary fellow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; said the first speaker, &ldquo;one could almost believe that by
      the continual contemplation of mummies the chap has become half a mummy
      himself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has certainly an Egyptian cast of countenance,&rdquo; said the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Vansittart Smith spun round upon his heel with the intention of
      shaming his countrymen by a corrosive remark or two. To his surprise and
      relief, the two young fellows who had been conversing had their shoulders
      turned towards him, and were gazing at one of the Louvre attendants who
      was polishing some brass-work at the other side of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Carter will be waiting for us at the Palais Royal,&rdquo; said one tourist to
      the other, glancing at his watch, and they clattered away, leaving the
      student to his labours.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder what these chatterers call an Egyptian cast of countenance,&rdquo;
       thought John Vansittart Smith, and he moved his position slightly in order
      to catch a glimpse of the man&rsquo;s face. He started as his eyes fell upon it.
      It was indeed the very face with which his studies had made him familiar.
      The regular statuesque features, broad brow, well-rounded chin, and dusky
      complexion were the exact counterpart of the innumerable statues,
      mummy-cases, and pictures which adorned the walls of the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The thing was beyond all coincidence. The man must be an Egyptian.
    </p>
    <p>
      The national angularity of the shoulders and narrowness of the hips were
      alone sufficient to identify him.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Vansittart Smith shuffled towards the attendant with some intention
      of addressing him. He was not light of touch in conversation, and found it
      difficult to strike the happy mean between the brusqueness of the superior
      and the geniality of the equal. As he came nearer, the man presented his
      side face to him, but kept his gaze still bent upon his work. Vansittart
      Smith, fixing his eyes upon the fellow&rsquo;s skin, was conscious of a sudden
      impression that there was something inhuman and preternatural about its
      appearance. Over the temple and cheek-bone it was as glazed and as shiny
      as varnished parchment. There was no suggestion of pores. One could not
      fancy a drop of moisture upon that arid surface. From brow to chin,
      however, it was cross-hatched by a million delicate wrinkles, which shot
      and interlaced as though Nature in some Maori mood had tried how wild and
      intricate a pattern she could devise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ou est la collection de Memphis?&rdquo; asked the student, with the awkward air
      of a man who is devising a question merely for the purpose of opening a
      conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;C&rsquo;est la,&rdquo; replied the man brusquely, nodding his head at the other side
      of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vous etes un Egyptien, n&rsquo;est-ce pas?&rdquo; asked the Englishman.
    </p>
    <p>
      The attendant looked up and turned his strange dark eyes upon his
      questioner. They were vitreous, with a misty dry shininess, such as Smith
      had never seen in a human head before. As he gazed into them he saw some
      strong emotion gather in their depths, which rose and deepened until it
      broke into a look of something akin both to horror and to hatred.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Non, monsieur; je suis Francais.&rdquo; The man turned abruptly and bent low
      over his polishing. The student gazed at him for a moment in astonishment,
      and then turning to a chair in a retired corner behind one of the doors he
      proceeded to make notes of his researches among the papyri. His thoughts,
      however refused to return into their natural groove. They would run upon
      the enigmatical attendant with the sphinx-like face and the parchment
      skin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where have I seen such eyes?&rdquo; said Vansittart Smith to himself. &ldquo;There is
      something saurian about them, something reptilian. There&rsquo;s the membrana
      nictitans of the snakes,&rdquo; he mused, bethinking himself of his zoological
      studies. &ldquo;It gives a shiny effect. But there was something more here.
      There was a sense of power, of wisdom&mdash;so I read them&mdash;and of
      weariness, utter weariness, and ineffable despair. It may be all
      imagination, but I never had so strong an impression. By Jove, I must have
      another look at them!&rdquo; He rose and paced round the Egyptian rooms, but the
      man who had excited his curiosity had disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      The student sat down again in his quiet corner, and continued to work at
      his notes. He had gained the information which he required from the
      papyri, and it only remained to write it down while it was still fresh in
      his memory. For a time his pencil travelled rapidly over the paper, but
      soon the lines became less level, the words more blurred, and finally the
      pencil tinkled down upon the floor, and the head of the student dropped
      heavily forward upon his chest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tired out by his journey, he slept so soundly in his lonely post behind
      the door that neither the clanking civil guard, nor the footsteps of
      sightseers, nor even the loud hoarse bell which gives the signal for
      closing, were sufficient to arouse him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Twilight deepened into darkness, the bustle from the Rue de Rivoli waxed
      and then waned, distant Notre Dame clanged out the hour of midnight, and
      still the dark and lonely figure sat silently in the shadow. It was not
      until close upon one in the morning that, with a sudden gasp and an
      intaking of the breath, Vansittart Smith returned to consciousness. For a
      moment it flashed upon him that he had dropped asleep in his study-chair
      at home. The moon was shining fitfully through the unshuttered window,
      however, and, as his eye ran along the lines of mummies and the endless
      array of polished cases, he remembered clearly where he was and how he
      came there. The student was not a nervous man. He possessed that love of a
      novel situation which is peculiar to his race. Stretching out his cramped
      limbs, he looked at his watch, and burst into a chuckle as he observed the
      hour. The episode would make an admirable anecdote to be introduced into
      his next paper as a relief to the graver and heavier speculations. He was
      a little cold, but wide awake and much refreshed. It was no wonder that
      the guardians had overlooked him, for the door threw its heavy black
      shadow right across him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The complete silence was impressive. Neither outside nor inside was there
      a creak or a murmur. He was alone with the dead men of a dead
      civilisation. What though the outer city reeked of the garish nineteenth
      century! In all this chamber there was scarce an article, from the
      shrivelled ear of wheat to the pigment-box of the painter, which had not
      held its own against four thousand years. Here was the flotsam and jetsam
      washed up by the great ocean of time from that far-off empire. From
      stately Thebes, from lordly Luxor, from the great temples of Heliopolis,
      from a hundred rifled tombs, these relics had been brought. The student
      glanced round at the long silent figures who flickered vaguely up through
      the gloom, at the busy toilers who were now so restful, and he fell into a
      reverent and thoughtful mood. An unwonted sense of his own youth and
      insignificance came over him. Leaning back in his chair, he gazed dreamily
      down the long vista of rooms, all silvery with the moonshine, which extend
      through the whole wing of the widespread building. His eyes fell upon the
      yellow glare of a distant lamp.
    </p>
    <p>
      John Vansittart Smith sat up on his chair with his nerves all on edge. The
      light was advancing slowly towards him, pausing from time to time, and
      then coming jerkily onwards. The bearer moved noiselessly. In the utter
      silence there was no suspicion of the pat of a footfall. An idea of
      robbers entered the Englishman&rsquo;s head. He snuggled up further into the
      corner. The light was two rooms off. Now it was in the next chamber, and
      still there was no sound. With something approaching to a thrill of fear
      the student observed a face, floating in the air as it were, behind the
      flare of the lamp. The figure was wrapped in shadow, but the light fell
      full upon the strange eager face. There was no mistaking the metallic
      glistening eyes and the cadaverous skin. It was the attendant with whom he
      had conversed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vansittart Smith&rsquo;s first impulse was to come forward and address him. A
      few words of explanation would set the matter clear, and lead doubtless to
      his being conducted to some side door from which he might make his way to
      his hotel. As the man entered the chamber, however, there was something so
      stealthy in his movements, and so furtive in his expression, that the
      Englishman altered his intention. This was clearly no ordinary official
      walking the rounds. The fellow wore felt-soled slippers, stepped with a
      rising chest, and glanced quickly from left to right, while his hurried
      gasping breathing thrilled the flame of his lamp. Vansittart Smith
      crouched silently back into the corner and watched him keenly, convinced
      that his errand was one of secret and probably sinister import.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no hesitation in the other&rsquo;s movements. He stepped lightly and
      swiftly across to one of the great cases, and, drawing a key from his
      pocket, he unlocked it. From the upper shelf he pulled down a mummy, which
      he bore away with him, and laid it with much care and solicitude upon the
      ground. By it he placed his lamp, and then squatting down beside it in
      Eastern fashion he began with long quivering fingers to undo the
      cerecloths and bandages which girt it round. As the crackling rolls of
      linen peeled off one after the other, a strong aromatic odour filled the
      chamber, and fragments of scented wood and of spices pattered down upon
      the marble floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was clear to John Vansittart Smith that this mummy had never been
      unswathed before. The operation interested him keenly. He thrilled all
      over with curiosity, and his birdlike head protruded further and further
      from behind the door. When, however, the last roll had been removed from
      the four-thousand-year-old head, it was all that he could do to stifle an
      outcry of amazement. First, a cascade of long, black, glossy tresses
      poured over the workman&rsquo;s hands and arms. A second turn of the bandage
      revealed a low, white forehead, with a pair of delicately arched eyebrows.
      A third uncovered a pair of bright, deeply fringed eyes, and a straight,
      well-cut nose, while a fourth and last showed a sweet, full, sensitive
      mouth, and a beautifully curved chin. The whole face was one of
      extraordinary loveliness, save for the one blemish that in the centre of
      the forehead there was a single irregular, coffee-coloured splotch. It was
      a triumph of the embalmer&rsquo;s art. Vansittart Smith&rsquo;s eyes grew larger and
      larger as he gazed upon it, and he chirruped in his throat with
      satisfaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      Its effect upon the Egyptologist was as nothing, however, compared with
      that which it produced upon the strange attendant. He threw his hands up
      into the air, burst into a harsh clatter of words, and then, hurling
      himself down upon the ground beside the mummy, he threw his arms round
      her, and kissed her repeatedly upon the lips and brow. &ldquo;Ma petite!&rdquo; he
      groaned in French. &ldquo;Ma pauvre petite!&rdquo; His voice broke with emotion, and
      his innumerable wrinkles quivered and writhed, but the student observed in
      the lamplight that his shining eyes were still as dry and tearless as two
      beads of steel. For some minutes he lay, with a twitching face, crooning
      and moaning over the beautiful head. Then he broke into a sudden smile,
      said some words in an unknown tongue, and sprang to his feet with the
      vigorous air of one who has braced himself for an effort.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the centre of the room there was a large circular case which contained,
      as the student had frequently remarked, a magnificent collection of early
      Egyptian rings and precious stones. To this the attendant strode, and,
      unlocking it, he threw it open. On the ledge at the side he placed his
      lamp, and beside it a small earthenware jar which he had drawn from his
      pocket. He then took a handful of rings from the case, and with a most
      serious and anxious face he proceeded to smear each in turn with some
      liquid substance from the earthen pot, holding them to the light as he did
      so. He was clearly disappointed with the first lot, for he threw them
      petulantly back into the case, and drew out some more. One of these, a
      massive ring with a large crystal set in it, he seized and eagerly tested
      with the contents of the jar. Instantly he uttered a cry of joy, and threw
      out his arms in a wild gesture which upset the pot and sent the liquid
      streaming across the floor to the very feet of the Englishman. The
      attendant drew a red handkerchief from his bosom, and, mopping up the
      mess, he followed it into the corner, where in a moment he found himself
      face to face with his observer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; said John Vansittart Smith, with all imaginable politeness;
      &ldquo;I have been unfortunate enough to fall asleep behind this door.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you have been watching me?&rdquo; the other asked in English, with a most
      venomous look on his corpse-like face.
    </p>
    <p>
      The student was a man of veracity. &ldquo;I confess,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that I have
      noticed your movements, and that they have aroused my curiosity and
      interest in the highest degree.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The man drew a long flamboyant-bladed knife from his bosom. &ldquo;You have had
      a very narrow escape,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;had I seen you ten minutes ago, I should
      have driven this through your heart. As it is, if you touch me or
      interfere with me in any way you are a dead man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no wish to interfere with you,&rdquo; the student answered. &ldquo;My presence
      here is entirely accidental. All I ask is that you will have the extreme
      kindness to show me out through some side door.&rdquo; He spoke with great
      suavity, for the man was still pressing the tip of his dagger against the
      palm of his left hand, as though to assure himself of its sharpness, while
      his face preserved its malignant expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I thought&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But no, perhaps it is as well. What
      is your name?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Englishman gave it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vansittart Smith,&rdquo; the other repeated. &ldquo;Are you the same Vansittart Smith
      who gave a paper in London upon El Kab? I saw a report of it. Your
      knowledge of the subject is contemptible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; cried the Egyptologist.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet it is superior to that of many who make even greater pretensions. The
      whole keystone of our old life in Egypt was not the inscriptions or
      monuments of which you make so much, but was our hermetic philosophy and
      mystic knowledge, of which you say little or nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our old life!&rdquo; repeated the scholar, wide-eyed; and then suddenly, &ldquo;Good
      God, look at the mummy&rsquo;s face!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The strange man turned and flashed his light upon the dead woman, uttering
      a long doleful cry as he did so. The action of the air had already undone
      all the art of the embalmer. The skin had fallen away, the eyes had sunk
      inwards, the discoloured lips had writhed away from the yellow teeth, and
      the brown mark upon the forehead alone showed that it was indeed the same
      face which had shown such youth and beauty a few short minutes before.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man flapped his hands together in grief and horror. Then mastering
      himself by a strong effort he turned his hard eyes once more upon the
      Englishman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It does not matter,&rdquo; he said, in a shaking voice. &ldquo;It does not really
      matter. I came here to-night with the fixed determination to do something.
      It is now done. All else is as nothing. I have found my quest. The old
      curse is broken. I can rejoin her. What matter about her inanimate shell
      so long as her spirit is awaiting me at the other side of the veil!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These are wild words,&rdquo; said Vansittart Smith. He was becoming more and
      more convinced that he had to do with a madman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Time presses, and I must go,&rdquo; continued the other. &ldquo;The moment is at hand
      for which I have waited this weary time. But I must show you out first.
      Come with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Taking up the lamp, he turned from the disordered chamber, and led the
      student swiftly through the long series of the Egyptian, Assyrian, and
      Persian apartments. At the end of the latter he pushed open a small door
      let into the wall and descended a winding stone stair. The Englishman felt
      the cold fresh air of the night upon his brow. There was a door opposite
      him which appeared to communicate with the street. To the right of this
      another door stood ajar, throwing a spurt of yellow light across the
      passage. &ldquo;Come in here!&rdquo; said the attendant shortly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vansittart Smith hesitated. He had hoped that he had come to the end of
      his adventure. Yet his curiosity was strong within him. He could not leave
      the matter unsolved, so he followed his strange companion into the lighted
      chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a small room, such as is devoted to a concierge. A wood fire
      sparkled in the grate. At one side stood a truckle bed, and at the other a
      coarse wooden chair, with a round table in the centre, which bore the
      remains of a meal. As the visitor&rsquo;s eye glanced round he could not but
      remark with an ever-recurring thrill that all the small details of the
      room were of the most quaint design and antique workmanship. The
      candlesticks, the vases upon the chimney-piece, the fire-irons, the
      ornaments upon the walls, were all such as he had been wont to associate
      with the remote past. The gnarled heavy-eyed man sat himself down upon the
      edge of the bed, and motioned his guest into the chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There may be design in this,&rdquo; he said, still speaking excellent English.
      &ldquo;It may be decreed that I should leave some account behind as a warning to
      all rash mortals who would set their wits up against workings of Nature. I
      leave it with you. Make such use as you will of it. I speak to you now
      with my feet upon the threshold of the other world.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am, as you surmised, an Egyptian&mdash;not one of the down-trodden race
      of slaves who now inhabit the Delta of the Nile, but a survivor of that
      fiercer and harder people who tamed the Hebrew, drove the Ethiopian back
      into the southern deserts, and built those mighty works which have been
      the envy and the wonder of all after generations. It was in the reign of
      Tuthmosis, sixteen hundred years before the birth of Christ, that I first
      saw the light. You shrink away from me. Wait, and you will see that I am
      more to be pitied than to be feared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My name was Sosra. My father had been the chief priest of Osiris in the
      great temple of Abaris, which stood in those days upon the Bubastic branch
      of the Nile. I was brought up in the temple and was trained in all those
      mystic arts which are spoken of in your own Bible. I was an apt pupil.
      Before I was sixteen I had learned all which the wisest priest could teach
      me. From that time on I studied Nature&rsquo;s secrets for myself, and shared my
      knowledge with no man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of all the questions which attracted me there were none over which I
      laboured so long as over those which concern themselves with the nature of
      life. I probed deeply into the vital principle. The aim of medicine had
      been to drive away disease when it appeared. It seemed to me that a method
      might be devised which should so fortify the body as to prevent weakness
      or death from ever taking hold of it. It is useless that I should recount
      my researches. You would scarce comprehend them if I did. They were
      carried out partly upon animals, partly upon slaves, and partly on myself.
      Suffice it that their result was to furnish me with a substance which,
      when injected into the blood, would endow the body with strength to resist
      the effects of time, of violence, or of disease. It would not indeed
      confer immortality, but its potency would endure for many thousands of
      years. I used it upon a cat, and afterwards drugged the creature with the
      most deadly poisons. That cat is alive in Lower Egypt at the present
      moment. There was nothing of mystery or magic in the matter. It was simply
      a chemical discovery, which may well be made again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Love of life runs high in the young. It seemed to me that I had broken
      away from all human care now that I had abolished pain and driven death to
      such a distance. With a light heart I poured the accursed stuff into my
      veins. Then I looked round for some one whom I could benefit. There was a
      young priest of Thoth, Parmes by name, who had won my goodwill by his
      earnest nature and his devotion to his studies. To him I whispered my
      secret, and at his request I injected him with my elixir. I should now, I
      reflected, never be without a companion of the same age as myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After this grand discovery I relaxed my studies to some extent, but
      Parmes continued his with redoubled energy. Every day I could see him
      working with his flasks and his distiller in the Temple of Thoth, but he
      said little to me as to the result of his labours. For my own part, I used
      to walk through the city and look around me with exultation as I reflected
      that all this was destined to pass away, and that only I should remain.
      The people would bow to me as they passed me, for the fame of my knowledge
      had gone abroad.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was war at this time, and the Great King had sent down his soldiers
      to the eastern boundary to drive away the Hyksos. A Governor, too, was
      sent to Abaris, that he might hold it for the King. I had heard much of
      the beauty of the daughter of this Governor, but one day as I walked out
      with Parmes we met her, borne upon the shoulders of her slaves. I was
      struck with love as with lightning. My heart went out from me. I could
      have thrown myself beneath the feet of her bearers. This was my woman.
      Life without her was impossible. I swore by the head of Horus that she
      should be mine. I swore it to the Priest of Thoth. He turned away from me
      with a brow which was as black as midnight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is no need to tell you of our wooing. She came to love me even as I
      loved her. I learned that Parmes had seen her before I did, and had shown
      her that he too loved her, but I could smile at his passion, for I knew
      that her heart was mine. The white plague had come upon the city and many
      were stricken, but I laid my hands upon the sick and nursed them without
      fear or scathe. She marvelled at my daring. Then I told her my secret, and
      begged her that she would let me use my art upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Your flower shall then be unwithered, Atma,&rsquo; I said. &lsquo;Other things may
      pass away, but you and I, and our great love for each other, shall outlive
      the tomb of King Chefru.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But she was full of timid, maidenly objections. &lsquo;Was it right?&rsquo; she
      asked, &lsquo;was it not a thwarting of the will of the gods? If the great
      Osiris had wished that our years should be so long, would he not himself
      have brought it about?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With fond and loving words I overcame her doubts, and yet she hesitated.
      It was a great question, she said. She would think it over for this one
      night. In the morning I should know her resolution. Surely one night was
      not too much to ask. She wished to pray to Isis for help in her decision.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With a sinking heart and a sad foreboding of evil I left her with her
      tirewomen. In the morning, when the early sacrifice was over, I hurried to
      her house. A frightened slave met me upon the steps. Her mistress was ill,
      she said, very ill. In a frenzy I broke my way through the attendants, and
      rushed through hall and corridor to my Atma&rsquo;s chamber. She lay upon her
      couch, her head high upon the pillow, with a pallid face and a glazed eye.
      On her forehead there blazed a single angry purple patch. I knew that
      hell-mark of old. It was the scar of the white plague, the sign-manual of
      death.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why should I speak of that terrible time? For months I was mad, fevered,
      delirious, and yet I could not die. Never did an Arab thirst after the
      sweet wells as I longed after death. Could poison or steel have shortened
      the thread of my existence, I should soon have rejoined my love in the
      land with the narrow portal. I tried, but it was of no avail. The accursed
      influence was too strong upon me. One night as I lay upon my couch, weak
      and weary, Parmes, the priest of Thoth, came to my chamber. He stood in
      the circle of the lamplight, and he looked down upon me with eyes which
      were bright with a mad joy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Why did you let the maiden die?&rsquo; he asked; &lsquo;why did you not strengthen
      her as you strengthened me?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I was too late,&rsquo; I answered. &lsquo;But I had forgot. You also loved her. You
      are my fellow in misfortune. Is it not terrible to think of the centuries
      which must pass ere we look upon her again? Fools, fools, that we were to
      take death to be our enemy!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;You may say that,&rsquo; he cried with a wild laugh; &lsquo;the words come well from
      your lips. For me they have no meaning.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;What mean you?&rsquo; I cried, raising myself upon my elbow. &lsquo;Surely, friend,
      this grief has turned your brain.&rsquo; His face was aflame with joy, and he
      writhed and shook like one who hath a devil.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Do you know whither I go?&rsquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nay,&rsquo; I answered, &lsquo;I cannot tell.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I go to her,&rsquo; said he. &lsquo;She lies embalmed in the further tomb by the
      double palm-tree beyond the city wall.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Why do you go there?&rsquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;To die!&rsquo; he shrieked, &lsquo;to die! I am not bound by earthen fetters.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;But the elixir is in your blood,&rsquo; I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I can defy it,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;I have found a stronger principle which will
      destroy it. It is working in my veins at this moment, and in an hour I
      shall be a dead man. I shall join her, and you shall remain behind.&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As I looked upon him I could see that he spoke words of truth. The light
      in his eye told me that he was indeed beyond the power of the elixir.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;You will teach me!&rsquo; I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Never!&rsquo; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;I implore you, by the wisdom of Thoth, by the majesty of Anubis!&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;It is useless,&rsquo; he said coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Then I will find it out,&rsquo; I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;You cannot,&rsquo; he answered; &lsquo;it came to me by chance. There is one
      ingredient which you can never get. Save that which is in the ring of
      Thoth, none will ever more be made.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;In the ring of Thoth!&rsquo; I repeated; &lsquo;where then is the ring of Thoth?&rsquo; 
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;That also you shall never know,&rsquo; he answered. &lsquo;You won her love. Who has
      won in the end? I leave you to your sordid earth life. My chains are
      broken. I must go!&rsquo; He turned upon his heel and fled from the chamber. In
      the morning came the news that the Priest of Thoth was dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My days after that were spent in study. I must find this subtle poison
      which was strong enough to undo the elixir. From early dawn to midnight I
      bent over the test-tube and the furnace. Above all, I collected the papyri
      and the chemical flasks of the Priest of Thoth. Alas! they taught me
      little. Here and there some hint or stray expression would raise hope in
      my bosom, but no good ever came of it. Still, month after month, I
      struggled on. When my heart grew faint I would make my way to the tomb by
      the palm-trees. There, standing by the dead casket from which the jewel
      had been rifled, I would feel her sweet presence, and would whisper to her
      that I would rejoin her if mortal wit could solve the riddle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Parmes had said that his discovery was connected with the ring of Thoth.
      I had some remembrance of the trinket. It was a large and weighty circlet,
      made, not of gold, but of a rarer and heavier metal brought from the mines
      of Mount Harbal. Platinum, you call it. The ring had, I remembered, a
      hollow crystal set in it, in which some few drops of liquid might be
      stored. Now, the secret of Parmes could not have to do with the metal
      alone, for there were many rings of that metal in the Temple. Was it not
      more likely that he had stored his precious poison within the cavity of
      the crystal? I had scarce come to this conclusion before, in hunting
      through his papers, I came upon one which told me that it was indeed so,
      and that there was still some of the liquid unused.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how to find the ring? It was not upon him when he was stripped for
      the embalmer. Of that I made sure. Neither was it among his private
      effects. In vain I searched every room that he had entered, every box, and
      vase, and chattel that he had owned. I sifted the very sand of the desert
      in the places where he had been wont to walk; but, do what I would, I
      could come upon no traces of the ring of Thoth. Yet it may be that my
      labours would have overcome all obstacles had it not been for a new and
      unlooked-for misfortune.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A great war had been waged against the Hyksos, and the Captains of the
      Great King had been cut off in the desert, with all their bowmen and
      horsemen. The shepherd tribes were upon us like the locusts in a dry year.
      From the wilderness of Shur to the great bitter lake there was blood by
      day and fire by night. Abaris was the bulwark of Egypt, but we could not
      keep the savages back. The city fell. The Governor and the soldiers were
      put to the sword, and I, with many more, was led away into captivity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For years and years I tended cattle in the great plains by the Euphrates.
      My master died, and his son grew old, but I was still as far from death as
      ever. At last I escaped upon a swift camel, and made my way back to Egypt.
      The Hyksos had settled in the land which they had conquered, and their own
      King ruled over the country. Abaris had been torn down, the city had been
      burned, and of the great Temple there was nothing left save an unsightly
      mound. Everywhere the tombs had been rifled and the monuments destroyed.
      Of my Atma&rsquo;s grave no sign was left. It was buried in the sands of the
      desert, and the palm-trees which marked the spot had long disappeared. The
      papers of Parmes and the remains of the Temple of Thoth were either
      destroyed or scattered far and wide over the deserts of Syria. All search
      after them was vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From that time I gave up all hope of ever finding the ring or discovering
      the subtle drug. I set myself to live as patiently as might be until the
      effect of the elixir should wear away. How can you understand how terrible
      a thing time is, you who have experience only of the narrow course which
      lies between the cradle and the grave! I know it to my cost, I who have
      floated down the whole stream of history. I was old when Ilium fell. I was
      very old when Herodotus came to Memphis. I was bowed down with years when
      the new gospel came upon earth. Yet you see me much as other men are, with
      the cursed elixir still sweetening my blood, and guarding me against that
      which I would court. Now at last, at last I have come to the end of it!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have travelled in all lands and I have dwelt with all nations. Every
      tongue is the same to me. I learned them all to help pass the weary time.
      I need not tell you how slowly they drifted by, the long dawn of modern
      civilisation, the dreary middle years, the dark times of barbarism. They
      are all behind me now, I have never looked with the eyes of love upon
      another woman. Atma knows that I have been constant to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was my custom to read all that the scholars had to say upon Ancient
      Egypt. I have been in many positions, sometimes affluent, sometimes poor,
      but I have always found enough to enable me to buy the journals which deal
      with such matters. Some nine months ago I was in San Francisco, when I
      read an account of some discoveries made in the neighbourhood of Abaris.
      My heart leapt into my mouth as I read it. It said that the excavator had
      busied himself in exploring some tombs recently unearthed. In one there
      had been found an unopened mummy with an inscription upon the outer case
      setting forth that it contained the body of the daughter of the Governor
      of the city in the days of Tuthmosis. It added that on removing the outer
      case there had been exposed a large platinum ring set with a crystal,
      which had been laid upon the breast of the embalmed woman. This, then was
      where Parmes had hid the ring of Thoth. He might well say that it was
      safe, for no Egyptian would ever stain his soul by moving even the outer
      case of a buried friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That very night I set off from San Francisco, and in a few weeks I found
      myself once more at Abaris, if a few sand-heaps and crumbling walls may
      retain the name of the great city. I hurried to the Frenchmen who were
      digging there and asked them for the ring. They replied that both the ring
      and the mummy had been sent to the Boulak Museum at Cairo. To Boulak I
      went, but only to be told that Mariette Bey had claimed them and had
      shipped them to the Louvre. I followed them, and there at last, in the
      Egyptian chamber, I came, after close upon four thousand years, upon the
      remains of my Atma, and upon the ring for which I had sought so long.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how was I to lay hands upon them? How was I to have them for my very
      own? It chanced that the office of attendant was vacant. I went to the
      Director. I convinced him that I knew much about Egypt. In my eagerness I
      said too much. He remarked that a Professor&rsquo;s chair would suit me better
      than a seat in the Conciergerie. I knew more, he said, than he did. It was
      only by blundering, and letting him think that he had over-estimated my
      knowledge, that I prevailed upon him to let me move the few effects which
      I have retained into this chamber. It is my first and my last night here.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such is my story, Mr. Vansittart Smith. I need not say more to a man of
      your perception. By a strange chance you have this night looked upon the
      face of the woman whom I loved in those far-off days. There were many
      rings with crystals in the case, and I had to test for the platinum to be
      sure of the one which I wanted. A glance at the crystal has shown me that
      the liquid is indeed within it, and that I shall at last be able to shake
      off that accursed health which has been worse to me than the foulest
      disease. I have nothing more to say to you. I have unburdened myself. You
      may tell my story or you may withhold it at your pleasure. The choice
      rests with you. I owe you some amends, for you have had a narrow escape of
      your life this night. I was a desperate man, and not to be baulked in my
      purpose. Had I seen you before the thing was done, I might have put it
      beyond your power to oppose me or to raise an alarm. This is the door. It
      leads into the Rue de Rivoli. Good night!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Englishman glanced back. For a moment the lean figure of Sosra the
      Egyptian stood framed in the narrow doorway. The next the door had
      slammed, and the heavy rasping of a bolt broke on the silent night.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was on the second day after his return to London that Mr. John
      Vansittart Smith saw the following concise narrative in the Paris
      correspondence of the Times:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Curious Occurrence in the Louvre.&mdash;Yesterday morning a strange
      discovery was made in the principal Egyptian Chamber. The ouvriers who are
      employed to clean out the rooms in the morning found one of the attendants
      lying dead upon the floor with his arms round one of the mummies. So close
      was his embrace that it was only with the utmost difficulty that they were
      separated. One of the cases containing valuable rings had been opened and
      rifled. The authorities are of opinion that the man was bearing away the
      mummy with some idea of selling it to a private collector, but that he was
      struck down in the very act by long-standing disease of the heart. It is
      said that he was a man of uncertain age and eccentric habits, without any
      living relations to mourn over his dramatic and untimely end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    
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