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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition Vol. XIX (of 25)</p> +<p> The Ebb-Tide; Weir of Hermiston</p> +<p>Author: Robert Louis Stevenson</p> +<p>Release Date: January 21, 2010 [eBook #31037]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - SWANSTON EDITION VOL. XIX (OF 25)***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Marius Masi, Jonathan Ingram,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h4>THE WORKS OF</h4> + +<h3>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</h3> + +<h4>SWANSTON EDITION</h4> + +<h5>VOLUME XIX</h5> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<p class="noind center"><i>Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five<br /> +Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS<br /> +STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies<br /> +have been printed, of which only Two Thousand<br /> +Copies are for sale.</i></p> + +<p class="noind center"><i>This is No. <span style="font-size: 60%;">............</span></i></p> +<div class="pt05"> </div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img style="border:0; width:620px; height:381px" + src="images/img1.jpg" + alt="" /> +<p class="f80">R. L. S. AND OTHERS IN THE SANS-SOUCI SALOON, BUTARITARI, GILBERT ISLANDS</p> +</div> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<h3>THE WORKS OF</h3> +<h2>ROBERT LOUIS</h2> +<h2>STEVENSON</h2> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h5>VOLUME NINENTEEN</h5> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<h5>LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND<br /> +WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL<br /> +AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM<br /> +HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN<br /> +AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII</h5> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h6>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h6> + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h4>THE EBB-TIDE</h4></td></tr> + +<tr style="font-size: 70%; "> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tc2">PAGE</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc3 scs pt05" colspan="2">Note by Mr. Lloyd Osbourne</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page3">3</a></td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>PART I.—THE TRIO</h5></td></tr> + +<tr style="font-size: 70%; "> <td class="tc2">CHAPTER</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tc2"> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">I.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Night on the Beach</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page7">7</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Morning on the Beach—the Three Letters</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page19">19</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Old Calaboose—Destiny at the Door</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page29">29</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Yellow Flag</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page39">39</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">V.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Cargo of Champagne</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page46">46</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Partners</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page69">69</a></td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>PART II.—THE QUARTETTE</h5></td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Pearl-Fisher</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page81">81</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Better Acquaintance</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page96">96</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Dinner Party</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page109">109</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">X.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Open Door</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page118">118</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">David and Goliath</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page131">131</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Tail-piece</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page151">151</a></td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h4>WEIR OF HERMISTON</h4></td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc3 scs pt05" colspan="2">Introductory</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page159">159</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">I.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Life and Death of Mrs. Weir</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page161">161</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Father and Son</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page175">175</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">In the Matter of the Hanging of Duncan Jopp</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page181">181</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Opinions of the Bench</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page196">196</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">V.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Winter on the Moors:</td> + <td class="tc2b"> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td class="tc3 scs" style="padding-left: 4em;">1. At Hermiston</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page205">205</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td class="tc3 scs" style="padding-left: 4em;">2. Kirstie</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page208">208</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td class="tc3 scs" style="padding-left: 4em;">3. A Border Family</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page212">212</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Leaf from Christina’s Psalm-Book</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page228">228</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Enter Mephistopheles</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page253">253</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Nocturnal Visit</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page270">270</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">At the Weaver’s Stone</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page278">278</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc3 scs pt05" colspan="2">Sir Sidney Colvin’s Note</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page284">284</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc3 scs pt05" colspan="2">Glossary of Scots Words</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page297">297</a></td> </tr> + +</table> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page1" id="page1"></a>1</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>THE EBB-TIDE</h2> + +<p class="center1"><i>A Trio and Quartette</i></p> + +<p class="center1">WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH</p> + +<h3>LLOYD OSBOURNE</h3> + +<p class="center1 f80">“<i>There is a tide in the affairs of men</i>”</p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page2" id="page2"></a>2</span></p> + +<div style="margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 30%;"> +<p class="noind">NOTE.—<i>On the pronunciation of a name +very frequently repeated in these pages, +the reader may take for a guide</i>—</p> + +<p class="f90">“It was the schooner <i>Farallone</i>.”</p> + +<p class="rt"><i>R. L. S.—L. O.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page3" id="page3"></a>3</span></p> +<h3>NOTE BY MR. LLOYD OSBOURNE</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Stevenson</span> and I little knew, when we began our collaboration, +that we were afterwards to raise such a hornets’ nest +about our ears. The critics resented such an unequal +partnership, and made it impossible for us to continue it. +It may be that they were right; they wanted Stevenson’s +best, and felt pretty sure they would not get it in our collaboration. +But when they ascribed all the good in our three +books to Stevenson and all the bad to me, they went a little +beyond the mark. It is a pleasure to me to recall that the +early part of both “The Wrecker” and “The Ebb-Tide” +was almost entirely my own; so also were the storm scenes +of the <i>Norah Creina</i>; so also the fight on the <i>Flying Scud</i>; +so also the inception of Huish’s scheme, the revelation of +it to his companions, his landing on the atoll with the bottle +of vitriol in his breast. On the other hand, the Paris portion +of “The Wrecker” was all Stevenson’s, as well as the concluding +chapters of both the South Sea books.</p> + +<p>It is not possible to disentangle anything else that was +wholly mine or his—the blending was too complete, our +method of work too criss-crossed and intimate. For instance, +we would begin by outlining the story in a general +way; this done, we marshalled it into chapters, with a few +explanatory words to each; then it was for me to write the +first draft of Chapter I. This I would read to him, and if +satisfactory it was laid to one side; but were it not, I would +rewrite it, embodying his criticisms. Each chapter in turn +was fully discussed in advance before I put pen to paper; +and in this way, though the actual first draft was in my +own hand, the form of the story continually took shape +under Stevenson’s eyes. When my first draft of the entire +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>4</span> +book was finished he would rewrite it again from cover to +cover.</p> + +<p>I can remember nothing more delightful than the days +we thus passed together. If our three books are in no wise +great, they preserve, it seems to me, something of the zest +and exhilaration that went into their making—the good +humour, the eagerness.</p> + +<p>We were both under the glamour of the Islands—and +that life, so strange, so picturesque, so animated, took us +both by storm. Kings and beachcombers, pearl-fishers and +princesses, traders, slavers, and schooner-captains, castaways, +and runaways—what a world it was! And all this +in a fairyland of palms, and glassy bays, and little lost +settlements nestling at the foot of forest and mountain, +with kings to make brotherhood with us, and a dubious +white man or two, in earrings and pyjamas, no less insistent +to extend to us the courtesies of the “beach.”</p> + +<p>It was amid such people, and amid such scenes, that +“The Ebb-Tide” and “The Wrecker” were written.</p> + +<p class="rt sc">Lloyd Osbourne.</p> + + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" id="page5"></a>5</span></p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PART I</h2> + +<h2>THE TRIO</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" id="page6"></a>6</span></p> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>7</span></p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<h2>THE EBB-TIDE</h2> + +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h5>NIGHT ON THE BEACH</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Throughout</span> the island world of the Pacific, scattered +men of many European races, and from almost every grade +of society, carry activity and disseminate disease. Some +prosper, some vegetate. Some have mounted the steps of +thrones and owned islands and navies. Others again must +marry for a livelihood; a strapping, merry, chocolate-coloured +dame supports them in sheer idleness; and, +dressed like natives, but still retaining some foreign element +of gait or attitude, still perhaps with some relic (such as a +single eye-glass) of the officer and gentleman, they sprawl +in palm-leaf verandahs and entertain an island audience +with memoirs of the music-hall. And there are still others, +less pliable, less capable, less fortunate, perhaps less base, +who continue, even in these isles of plenty, to lack bread.</p> + +<p>At the far end of the town of Papeete, three such men +were seated on the beach under a <i>purao</i>-tree.</p> + +<p>It was late. Long ago the band had broken up +and marched musically home, a motley troop of men and +women, merchant clerks and navy officers, dancing in its +wake, arms about waist and crowned with garlands. Long +ago darkness and silence had gone from house to house +about the tiny pagan city. Only the street-lamps shone +on, making a glow-worm halo in the umbrageous alleys, or +drawing a tremulous image on the waters of the port. A +sound of snoring ran among the piles of lumber by the +Government pier. It was wafted ashore from the graceful +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" id="page8"></a>8</span> +clipper-bottomed schooners, where they lay moored close +in like dinghies, and their crews were stretched upon the +deck under the open sky or huddled in a rude tent amidst +the disorder of merchandise.</p> + +<p>But the men under the <i>purao</i> had no thought of sleep. +The same temperature in England would have passed +without remark in summer; but it was bitter cold for the +South Seas. Inanimate nature knew it, and the bottle of +cocoa-nut oil stood frozen in every bird-cage house about +the island; and the men knew it, and shivered. They +wore flimsy cotton clothes, the same they had sweated in +by day and run the gauntlet of the tropic showers; and to +complete their evil case, they had no breakfast to mention, +less dinner, and no supper at all.</p> + +<p>In the telling South Sea phrase, these three men were <i>on +the beach</i>. Common calamity had brought them acquainted, +as the three most miserable English-speaking creatures in +Tahiti; and beyond their misery, they knew next to nothing +of each other, not even their true names. For each had +made a long apprenticeship in going downward; and each, +at some stage of the descent, had been shamed into the +adoption of an <i>alias</i>. And yet not one of them had figured +in a court of justice; two were men of kindly virtues; and +one, as he sat and shivered under the <i>purao</i>, had a tattered +Virgil in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Certainly, if money could have been raised upon the +book, Robert Herrick would long ago have sacrificed that +last possession; but the demand for literature, which is so +marked a feature in some parts of the South Seas, extends +not so far as the dead tongues; and the Virgil, which he +could not exchange against a meal, had often consoled him +in his hunger. He would study it, as he lay with tightened +belt on the floor of the old calaboose, seeking favourite +passages and finding new ones only less beautiful because +they lacked the consecration of remembrance. Or he +would pause on random country walks; sit on the path-side, +gazing over the sea on the mountains of Eimeo; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>9</span> +dip into the <i>Aeneid</i>, seeking <i>sortes</i>. And if the oracle (as +is the way of oracles) replied with no very certain nor encouraging +voice, visions of England at least would throng +upon the exile’s memory: the busy schoolroom, the green +playing-fields, holidays at home, and the perennial roar of +London, and the fireside, and the white head of his father. +For it is the destiny of those grave, restrained, and classic +writers, with whom we make enforced and often painful +acquaintanceship at school, to pass into the blood and +become native in the memory; so that a phrase of Virgil +speaks not so much of Mantua or Augustus, but of English +places and the student’s own irrevocable youth.</p> + +<p>Robert Herrick was the son of an intelligent, active, +and ambitious man, small partner in a considerable London +house. Hopes were conceived of the boy; he was sent to +a good school, gained there an Oxford scholarship, and proceeded +in course to the western University. With all his +talent and taste (and he had much of both) Robert was +deficient in consistency and intellectual manhood, wandered +in bypaths of study, worked at music or at metaphysics +when he should have been at Greek, and took at last a +paltry degree. Almost at the same time, the London +house was disastrously wound up; Mr. Herrick must begin +the world again as a clerk in a strange office, and Robert +relinquish his ambitions and accept with gratitude a career +that he detested and despised. He had no head for figures, +no interest in affairs, detested the constraint of hours, and +despised the aims and the success of merchants. To grow +rich was none of his ambitions; rather to do well. A worse +or a more bold young man would have refused the destiny; +perhaps tried his future with his pen; perhaps enlisted. +Robert, more prudent, possibly more timid, consented to +embrace that way of life in which he could most readily +assist his family. But he did so with a mind divided; fled the +neighbourhood of former comrades; and chose, out of several +positions placed at his disposal, a clerkship in New York.</p> + +<p>His career thenceforth was one of unbroken shame. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page10" id="page10"></a>10</span> +He did not drink, he was exactly honest, he was never rude +to his employers, yet was everywhere discharged. Bringing +no interest to his duties, he brought no attention; his day +was a tissue of things neglected and things done amiss; and +from place to place, and from town to town, he carried the +character of one thoroughly incompetent. No man can +bear the word applied to him without some flush of colour, +as indeed there is none other that so emphatically slams in +a man’s face the door of self-respect. And to Herrick, who +was conscious of talents and acquirements, who looked +down upon those humble duties in which he was found +wanting, the pain was the more exquisite. Early in his +fall he had ceased to be able to make remittances; shortly +after, having nothing but failure to communicate, he ceased +writing home; and about a year before this tale begins, +turned suddenly upon the streets of San Francisco by a +vulgar and infuriated German Jew, he had broken the last +bonds of self-respect, and, upon a sudden impulse, changed +his name and invested his last dollar in a passage on the +mail brigantine, the <i>City of Papeete</i>. With what expectation +he had trimmed his flight for the South Seas, Herrick +perhaps scarcely knew. Doubtless there were fortunes to +be made in pearl and copra; doubtless others not more +gifted than himself had climbed in the island world to be +queen’s consorts and king’s ministers. But if Herrick had +gone there with any manful purpose, he would have kept +his father’s name; the <i>alias</i> betrayed his moral bankruptcy; +he had struck his flag; he entertained no hope to reinstate +himself or help his straitened family; and he came to the +islands (where he knew the climate to be soft, bread cheap, +and manners easy) a skulker from life’s battle and his own +immediate duty. Failure, he had said, was his portion; +let it be a pleasant failure.</p> + +<p>It is fortunately not enough to say, “I will be base.” +Herrick continued in the islands his career of failure; but +in the new scene and under the new name, he suffered no +less sharply than before. A place was got, it was lost in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" id="page11"></a>11</span> +old style; from the long-suffering of the keepers of restaurants +he fell to more open charity upon the wayside; as time +went on, good-nature became weary, and, after a repulse +or two, Herrick became shy. There were women enough +who would have supported a far worse and a far uglier man; +Herrick never met or never knew them: or if he did both, +some manlier feeling would revolt, and he preferred starvation. +Drenched with rains, broiling by day, shivering by +night, a disused and ruinous prison for a bedroom, his diet +begged or pilfered out of rubbish heaps, his associates two +creatures equally outcast with himself, he had drained for +months the cup of penitence. He had known what it was +to be resigned, what it was to break forth in a childish fury +of rebellion against fate, and what it was to sink into the +coma of despair. The time had changed him. He told +himself no longer tales of an easy and perhaps agreeable +declension; he read his nature otherwise; he had proved +himself incapable of rising, and he now learned by experience +that he could not stoop to fall. Something that was +scarcely pride or strength, that was perhaps only refinement, +withheld him from capitulation; but he looked on +upon his own misfortune with a growing rage, and sometimes +wondered at his patience.</p> + +<p>It was now the fourth month completed, and still there +was no change or sign of change. The moon, racing through +a world of flying clouds of every size and shape and density, +some black as inkstains, some delicate as lawn, threw the +marvel of her southern brightness over the same lovely and +detested scene: the island mountains crowned with the +perennial island cloud, the embowered city studded with +rare lamps, the masts in the harbour, the smooth mirror of +the lagoon, and the mole of the barrier reef on which the +breakers whitened. The moon shone too, with bull’s-eye +sweeps, on his companions; on the stalwart frame of the +American who called himself Brown, and was known to be +a master-mariner in some disgrace; and on the dwarfish +person, the pale eyes and toothless smile of a vulgar and bad-hearted +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page12" id="page12"></a>12</span> +cockney clerk. Here was society for Robert +Herrick! The Yankee skipper was a man at least: he had +sterling qualities of tenderness and resolution: he was one +whose hand you could take without a blush. But there was +no redeeming grace about the other, who called himself +sometimes Hay and sometimes Tomkins, and laughed at +the discrepancy; who had been employed in every store in +Papeete, for the creature was able in his way; who had been +discharged from each in turn, for he was wholly vile; who +had alienated all his old employers so that they passed him +in the street as if he were a dog, and all his old comrades so +that they shunned him as they would a creditor.</p> + +<p>Not long before, a ship from Peru had brought an +influenza, and it now raged in the island, and particularly +in Papeete. From all round the <i>purao</i> arose and fell a +dismal sound of men coughing, and strangling as they +coughed. The sick natives, with the islander’s impatience +of a touch of fever, had crawled from their houses to be +cool, and, squatting on the shore or on the beached canoes, +painfully expected the new day. Even as the crowing of +cocks goes about the country in the night from farm to +farm, accesses of coughing arose and spread, and died in +the distance, and sprang up again. Each miserable shiverer +caught the suggestion from his neighbour, was torn for some +minutes by that cruel ecstasy, and left spent and without +voice or courage when it passed. If a man had pity to +spend, Papeete beach, in that cold night and in that infected +season, was a place to spend it on. And of all the sufferers +perhaps the least deserving, but surely the most pitiable, +was the London clerk. He was used to another life, to +houses, beds, nursing, and the dainties of the sick-room; +he lay here now, in the cold open, exposed to the gusting +of the wind, and with an empty belly. He was besides +infirm; the disease shook him to the vitals; and his companions +watched his endurance with surprise. A profound +commiseration filled them, and contended with and conquered +their abhorrence. The disgust attendant on so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>13</span> +ugly a sickness magnified this dislike; at the same time, +and with more than compensating strength, shame for a +sentiment so inhuman bound them the more straitly to his +service; and even the evil they knew of him swelled their +solicitude, for the thought of death is always the least supportable +when it draws near to the merely sensual and +selfish. Sometimes they held him up; sometimes, with +mistaken helpfulness, they beat him between the shoulders; +and when the poor wretch lay back ghastly and spent after +a paroxysm of coughing, they would sometimes peer into +his face, doubtfully exploring it for any mark of life. There +is no one but has some virtue: that of the clerk was courage; +and he would make haste to reassure them in a pleasantry +not always decent.</p> + +<p>“I’m all right, pals,” he gasped once: “this is the thing +to strengthen the muscles of the larynx.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you take the cake!” cried the captain.</p> + +<p>“O, I’m good plucked enough,” pursued the sufferer +with a broken utterance. “But it do seem bloomin’ hard +to me, that I should be the only party down with this form +of vice, and the only one to do the funny business. I +think one of you other parties might wake up. Tell a +fellow something.”</p> + +<p>“The trouble is we’ve nothing to tell, my son,” returned +the captain.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you, if you like, what I was thinking,” said +Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Tell us anything,” said the clerk, “I only want to be +reminded that I ain’t dead.”</p> + +<p>Herrick took up his parable, lying on his face and speaking +slowly and scarce above his breath, not like a man who +has anything to say, but like one talking against time.</p> + +<p>“Well, I was thinking this,” he began: “I was thinking +I lay on Papeete beach one night—all moon and squalls and +fellows coughing—and I was cold and hungry, and down in +the mouth, and was about ninety years of age, and had +spent two hundred and twenty of them on Papeete beach. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>14</span> +And I was thinking I wished I had a ring to rub, or had a +fairy godmother, or could raise Beelzebub. And I was +trying to remember how you did it. I knew you made a +ring of skulls, for I had seen that in the <i>Freischütz</i>: and that +you took off your coat and turned up your sleeves, for I +had seen Formes do that when he was playing Kaspar, and +you could see (by the way he went about it) it was a business +he had studied; and that you ought to have something to +kick up a smoke and a bad smell, I daresay a cigar might +do, and that you ought to say the Lord’s Prayer backwards. +Well, I wondered if I could do that; it seemed rather a +feat, you see. And then I wondered if I would say it +forward, and I thought I did. Well, no sooner had I got +to <i>world without end</i>, than I saw a man in a <i>pariu</i>, and with +a mat under his arm, come along the beach from the town. +He was rather a hard-favoured old party, and he limped +and crippled, and all the time he kept coughing. At first +I didn’t cotton to his looks, I thought, and then I got sorry +for the old soul because he coughed so hard. I remembered +that we had some of that cough mixture the American consul +gave the captain for Hay. It never did Hay a ha’porth +of service, but I thought it might do the old gentleman’s +business for him, and stood up. ‘<i>Yorana!</i>’ says I. +‘<i>Yorana!</i>’ says he. ‘Look here,’ I said, ‘I’ve got some +first-rate stuff in a bottle; it’ll fix your cough, savvy? +<i>Harry my</i><a name="FnAnchor_1" id="FnAnchor_1" href="#Footnote_1"><span class="sp">1</span></a> and I’ll measure you a tablespoonful in the palm +of my hand, for all our plate is at the bankers.’ So I +thought the old party came up, and the nearer he came the +less I took to him. But I had passed my word, you see.”</p> + +<p>“Wot is this bloomin’ drivel?” interrupted the clerk. +“It’s like the rot there is in tracts.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a story; I used to tell them to the kids at home,” +said Herrick. “If it bores you, I’ll drop it.”</p> + +<p>“O, cut along!” returned the sick man irritably. “It’s +better than nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” continued Herrick, “I had no sooner given +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>15</span> +him the cough mixture than he seemed to straighten up and +change, and I saw he wasn’t a Tahitian after all, but some +kind of Arab, and had a long beard on his chin. ‘One good +turn deserves another,’ says he. ‘I am a magician out of +the “Arabian Nights,” and this mat that I have under my +arm is the original carpet of Mohammed Ben Somebody-or-other. +Say the word, and you can have a cruise upon the +carpet.’ ‘You don’t mean to say this is the Travelling +Carpet?’ I cried. ‘You bet I do,’ said he. ‘You’ve been +to America since last I read the “Arabian Nights,”’ said +I, a little suspicious. ‘I should think so,’ said he. ‘Been +everywhere. A man with a carpet like this isn’t going to +moulder in a semi-detached villa.’ Well, that struck me +as reasonable. ‘All right,’ I said; ‘and do you mean to +tell me I can get on that carpet and go straight to London, +England?’ I said ‘London, England,’ captain, because he +seemed to have been so long in your part of the world. ‘In +the crack of a whip,’ said he. I figured up the time. What +is the difference between Papeete and London, captain?”</p> + +<p>“Taking Greenwich and Point Venus, nine hours, odd +minutes and seconds,” replied the mariner.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s about what I made it,” resumed Herrick, +“about nine hours. Calling this three in the morning, I +made out I would drop into London about noon; and the +idea tickled me immensely. ‘There’s only one bother,’ I +said, ‘I haven’t a copper cent. It would be a pity to go +to London and not buy the morning <i>Standard</i>.’ ‘O!’ said +he, ‘you don’t realise the conveniences of this carpet. You +see this pocket? you’ve only got to stick your hand in, and +you pull it out filled with sovereigns.’”</p> + +<p>“Double-eagles, wasn’t it?” inquired the captain.</p> + +<p>“That was what it was!” cried Herrick. “I thought +they seemed unusually big, and I remember now I had to +go to the money-changers at Charing Cross and get English +silver.”</p> + +<p>“O, you went there?” said the clerk. “Wot did you +do? Bet you had a B.-and-S.!” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" id="page16"></a>16</span></p> + +<p>“Well, you see, it was just as the old boy said—like +the cut of a whip,” said Herrick. “The one minute I was +here on the beach at three in the morning, the next I +was in front of the Golden Cross at midday. At first I was +dazzled, and covered my eyes, and there didn’t seem the +smallest change; the roar of the Strand and the roar of the +reef were like the same: hark to it now, and you can hear +the cabs and ‘buses rolling and the streets resound! And +then at last I could look about, and there was the old place, +and no mistake! With the statues in the square, and St. +Martin’s-in-the-Fields, and the bobbies, and the sparrows, +and the hacks; and I can’t tell you what I felt like. I felt +like crying, I believe, or dancing, or jumping clean over the +Nelson Column. I was like a fellow caught up out of Hell +and flung down into the dandiest part of Heaven. Then I +spotted for a hansom with a spanking horse. ‘A shilling +for yourself if you’re there in twenty minutes!’ said I to +the jarvey. He went a good pace, though of course it was +a trifle to the carpet; and in nineteen minutes and a half I +was at the door.”</p> + +<p>“What door?” asked the captain.</p> + +<p>“O, a house I know of,” returned Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Bet it was a public-house!” cried the clerk,—only +these were not his words. “And w’y didn’t you take the +carpet there instead of trundling in a growler?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t want to startle a quiet street,” said the +narrator. “Bad form. And besides, it was a hansom.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and what did you do next?” inquired the +captain.</p> + +<p>“O, I went in,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“The old folks?” asked the captain.</p> + +<p>“That’s about it,” said the other, chewing a grass.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think you are about the poorest ‘and at a +yarn!” cried the clerk. “Crikey, it’s like ‘Ministering +Children!’ I can tell you there would be more beer and +skittles about my little jaunt. I would go and have a +B.-and-S. for luck. Then I would get a big ulster with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>17</span> +astrakhan fur, and take my cane and do the la-de-da down +Piccadilly. Then I would go to a slap-up restaurant, and +have green peas, and a bottle of fizz, and a chump chop—O! +and I forgot, I’d ’ave some devilled whitebait first—and +green gooseberry tart, and ’ot coffee, and some of that +form of vice in big bottles with a seal—Benedictine—that’s +the bloomin’ nyme! Then I’d drop into a theatre, and pal +on with some chappies, and do the dancing rooms and bars, +and that, and wouldn’t go ’ome till morning, till daylight +doth appear. And the next day I’d have water-cresses, +’am, muffin, and fresh butter; wouldn’t I just, O my!”</p> + +<p>The clerk was interrupted by a fresh attack of coughing.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, I’ll tell you what I would do,” said the +captain: “I would have none of your fancy rigs with the man +driving from the mizzen cross-trees, but a plain fore-and-aft +hack cab of the highest registered tonnage. First of +all, I would bring up at the market and get a turkey and +a sucking-pig. Then I’d go to a wine-merchant’s and get +a dozen of champagne, and a dozen of some sweet wine, +rich and sticky and strong, something in the port or madeira +line, the best in the store. Then I’d bear up for a toy-store, +and lay out twenty dollars in assorted toys for the pickaninnies; +and then to a confectioner’s and take in cakes +and pies and fancy bread, and that stuff with the plums in +it; and then to a newsagency and buy all the papers, +all the picture ones for the kids, and all the story papers +for the old girl about the Earl discovering himself to +Anna-Mariar and the escape of the Lady Maude from the +private madhouse; and then I’d tell the fellow to drive +home.”</p> + +<p>“There ought to be some syrup for the kids,” suggested +Herrick; “they like syrup.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, syrup for the kids, red syrup at that!” said the +captain. “And those things they pull at, and go pop, and +have measly poetry inside. And then I tell you we’d have +a thanksgiving-day and Christmas-tree combined. Great +Scott, but I would like to see the kids! I guess they would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>18</span> +light right out of the house when they saw daddy driving +up. My little Adar—”</p> + +<p>The captain stopped sharply.</p> + +<p>“Well, keep it up!” said the clerk.</p> + +<p>“The damned thing is, I don’t know if they ain’t +starving!” cried the captain.</p> + +<p>“They can’t be worse off than we are, and that’s one +comfort,” returned the clerk. “I defy the devil to make +me worse off.”</p> + +<p>It seemed as if the devil heard him. The light of the +moon had been some time cut off and they had talked in +darkness. Now there was heard a roar, which drew impetuously +nearer; the face of the lagoon was seen to whiten; +and before they had staggered to their feet, a squall burst +in rain upon the outcasts. The rage and volume of that +avalanche one must have lived in the tropics to conceive; a +man panted in its assault as he might pant under a shower-bath; +and the world seemed whelmed in night and water.</p> + +<p>They fled, groping for their usual shelter—it might be +almost called their home—in the old calaboose; came +drenched into its empty chambers; and lay down, three +sops of humanity, on the cold coral floors, and presently, +when the squall was overpast, the others could hear in the +darkness the chattering of the clerk’s teeth.</p> + +<p>“I say, you fellows,” he wailed, “for God’s sake, lie +up and try to warm me. I’m blymed if I don’t think I’ll +die else!”</p> + +<p>So the three crept together into one wet mass, and lay +until day came, shivering and dozing off, and continually +re-awakened to wretchedness by the coughing of the clerk.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FnAnchor_1"><span class="fn">1</span></a> Come here.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>19</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h5>MORNING ON THE BEACH—THE THREE LETTERS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> clouds were all fled, the beauty of the tropic day was +spread upon Papeete; and the wall of breaking seas upon +the reef, and the palms upon the islet, already trembled +in the heat. A French man-of-war was going out, homeward +bound; she lay in the middle distance of the port, an +ant-heap for activity. In the night a schooner had come +in, and now lay far out, hard by the passage; and the +yellow flag, the emblem of pestilence, flew on her. From +up the coast, a long procession of canoes headed round the +point and towards the market, bright as a scarf with the +many-coloured clothing of the natives and the piles of fruit. +But not even the beauty and the welcome warmth of the +morning, not even these naval movements, so interesting +to sailors and to idlers, could engage the attention of the +outcasts. They were still cold at heart, their mouths sour +from the want of sleep, their steps rambling from the lack +of food; and they strung like lame geese along the beach +in a disheartened silence. It was towards the town they +moved; towards the town whence smoke arose, where +happier folk were breakfasting; and as they went, their +hungry eyes were upon all sides, but they were only scouting +for a meal.</p> + +<p>A small and dingy schooner lay snug against the quay, +with which it was connected by a plank. On the forward +deck, under a spot of awning, five Kanakas, who made up +the crew, were squatted round a basin of fried feis,<a name="FnAnchor_2" id="FnAnchor_2" href="#Footnote_2"><span class="sp">2</span></a> and +drinking coffee from tin mugs. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>20</span></p> + +<p>“Eight bells: knock off for breakfast!” cried the +captain, with a miserable heartiness. “Never tried this +craft before; positively my first appearance; guess I’ll +draw a bumper house.”</p> + +<p>He came close up to where the plank rested on the +grassy quay; turned his back upon the schooner, and began +to whistle that lively air, “The Irish Washerwoman.” It +caught the ears of the Kanaka seamen like a preconcerted +signal; with one accord they looked up from their meal +and crowded to the ship’s side, fei in hand and munching +as they looked. Even as a poor brown Pyrenean bear +dances in the streets of English towns under his master’s +baton; even so, but with how much more of spirit and precision, +the captain footed it in time to his own whistling, +and his long morning shadow capered beyond him on the +grass. The Kanakas smiled on the performance; Herrick +looked on heavy-eyed, hunger for the moment conquering +all sense of shame; and a little farther off, but still hard +by, the clerk was torn by the seven devils of the influenza.</p> + +<p>The captain stopped suddenly, appeared to perceive +his audience for the first time, and represented the part of +a man surprised in his private hour of pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said he.</p> + +<p>The Kanakas clapped hands and called upon him to +go on.</p> + +<p>“No, <i>sir</i>!” said the captain. “No eat, no dance. +Savvy?”</p> + +<p>“Poor old man!” returned one of the crew. “Him +no eat?”</p> + +<p>“Lord, no!” said the captain. “Like-um too much +eat. No got.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Me got,” said the sailor; “you tome here. +Plenty toffee, plenty fei. Nutha man him tome too.”</p> + +<p>“I guess we’ll drop right in,” observed the captain; +and he and his companions hastened up the plank. They +were welcomed on board with the shaking of hands; place +was made for them round the basin; a sticky demijohn of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" id="page21"></a>21</span> +molasses was added to the feast in honour of company, +and an accordion brought from the forecastle and significantly +laid by the performer’s side.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ariana</i>,”<a name="FnAnchor_3" id="FnAnchor_3" href="#Footnote_3"><span class="sp">3</span></a> said he lightly, touching the instrument +as he spoke; and he fell to on a long savoury fei, made an +end of it, raised his mug of coffee, and nodded across at the +spokesman of the crew. “Here’s your health, old man; +you’re a credit to the South Pacific,” said he.</p> + +<p>With the unsightly greed of hounds they glutted themselves +with the hot food and coffee; and even the clerk +revived and the colour deepened in his eyes. The kettle +was drained, the basin cleaned; their entertainers, who +had waited on their wants throughout with the pleased +hospitality of Polynesians, made haste to bring forward +a dessert of island tobacco and rolls of pandanus leaf to +serve as paper; and presently all sat about the dishes puffing +like Indian sachems.</p> + +<p>“When a man ’as breakfast every day, he don’t know +what it is,” observed the clerk.</p> + +<p>“The next point is dinner,” said Herrick; and then +with a passionate utterance: “I wish to God I was a +Kanaka!”</p> + +<p>“There’s one thing sure,” said the captain. “I’m about +desperate; I’d rather hang than rot here much longer.” +And with the word he took the accordion and struck up +“Home, sweet Home.”</p> + +<p>“O, drop that!” cried Herrick, “I can’t stand that.”</p> + +<p>“No more can I,” said the captain. “I’ve got to play +something though: got to pay the shot, my son.” And +he struck up “John Brown’s Body” in a fine sweet baritone: +“Dandy Jim of Carolina” came next; “Rorin the Bold,” +“Swing low, Sweet Chariot,” and “The Beautiful Land” +followed. The captain was paying his shot with usury, +as he had done many a time before; many a meal had he +bought with the same currency from the melodious-minded +natives, always, as now, to their delight. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>22</span></p> + +<p>He was in the middle of “Fifteen Dollars in the Inside +Pocket,” singing with dogged energy, for the task went +sore against the grain, when a sensation was suddenly to +be observed among the crew.</p> + +<p>“<i>Tapena Tom harry my</i>,”<a name="FnAnchor_4" id="FnAnchor_4" href="#Footnote_4"><span class="sp">4</span></a> said the spokesman, +pointing.</p> + +<p>And the three beachcombers, following his indication, +saw the figure of a man in pyjama trousers and a white +jumper approaching briskly from the town.</p> + +<p>“That’s Tapena Tom, is it?” said the captain, pausing +in his music. “I don’t seem to place the brute.”</p> + +<p>“We’d better cut,” said the clerk. “’E’s no good.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the musician deliberately, “one can’t +most generally always tell. I’ll try it on, I guess. Music +has charms to soothe the savage Tapena, boys. We might +strike it rich; it might amount to iced punch in the cabin.”</p> + +<p>“Hiced punch? O my!” said the clerk. “Give him +something ’ot, captain. ‘Way down the Swannee River’: +try that.”</p> + +<p>“No, <i>sir</i>! Looks Scots,” said the captain; and he +struck, for his life, into “Auld Lang Syne.”</p> + +<p>Captain Tom continued to approach with the same +business-like alacrity; no change was to be perceived in +his bearded face as he came swinging up the plank: he did +not even turn his eyes on the performer.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“We twa hae paidled in the burn,</p> +<p class="i05">Frae morning tide till dine,”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">went the song.</p> + +<p>Captain Tom had a parcel under his arm, which he laid +on the house roof, and then turning suddenly to the +strangers: “Here, you!” he bellowed, “be off out of +that!”</p> + +<p>The clerk and Herrick stood not on the order of their +going, but fled incontinently by the plank. The performer, +on the other hand, flung down the instrument and rose to +his full height slowly. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page23" id="page23"></a>23</span></p> + +<p>“What’s that you say?” he said. “I’ve half a mind +to give you a lesson in civility.”</p> + +<p>“You set up any more of your gab to me,” returned +the Scotsman, “and I’ll show ye the wrong side of a jyle. +I’ve heard tell of the three of ye. Ye’re not long for here, +I can tell ye that. The Government has their eyes upon +ye. They make short work of damned beachcombers, I’ll +say that for the French.”</p> + +<p>“You wait till I catch you off your ship!” cried the +captain; and then, turning to the crew, “Good-bye, you +fellows!” he said. “You’re gentlemen, anyway! The +worst nigger among you would look better upon a quarter-deck +than that filthy Scotsman.”</p> + +<p>Captain Tom scorned to reply. He watched with a +hard smile the departure of his guests, and as soon as the +last foot was off the plank, turned to the hands to work +cargo.</p> + +<p>The beachcombers beat their inglorious retreat along +the shore; Herrick first, his face dark with blood, his knees +trembling under him with the hysteria of rage. Presently, +under the same <i>purao</i> where they had shivered the night +before, he cast himself down, and groaned aloud, and ground +his face into the sand.</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak to me, don’t speak to me. I can’t stand +it,” broke from him.</p> + +<p>The other two stood over him perplexed.</p> + +<p>“Wot can’t he stand now?” said the clerk. “’Asn’t +he ’ad a meal? <i>I’m</i> lickin’ my lips.”</p> + +<p>Herrick reared up his wild eyes and burning face. +“I can’t beg!” he screamed, and again threw himself +prone.</p> + +<p>“This thing’s got to come to an end,” said the captain, +with an intake of the breath.</p> + +<p>“Looks like signs of an end, don’t it?” sneered the +clerk.</p> + +<p>“He’s not so far from it, and don’t you deceive yourself,” +replied the captain.—“Well,” he added in a livelier +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page24" id="page24"></a>24</span> +voice, “you fellows hang on here, and I’ll go and interview +my representative.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon he turned on his heel, and set off at a swinging +sailor’s walk towards Papeete.</p> + +<p>It was some half-hour later when he returned. The +clerk was dozing with his back against the tree: Herrick +still lay where he had flung himself; nothing showed whether +he slept or waked.</p> + +<p>“See, boys!” cried the captain, with that artificial +heartiness of his which was at times so painful, “here’s +a new idea.” And he produced note-paper, stamped +envelopes, and pencils, three of each. “We can all write +home by the mail brigantine; the consul says I can come +over to his place and ink up the addresses.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s a start, too,” said the clerk. “I never +thought of that.”</p> + +<p>“It was that yarning last night about going home that +put me up to it,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“Well, ’and over,” said the clerk. “I’ll ’ave a shy,” +and he retired a little distance to the shade of a canoe.</p> + +<p>The others remained under the <i>purao</i>. Now they +would write a word or two, now scribble it out; now they +would sit biting at the pencil end and staring seaward; +now their eyes would rest on the clerk, where he sat propped +on the canoe, leering and coughing, his pencil racing glibly +on the paper.</p> + +<p>“I can’t do it,” said Herrick suddenly. “I haven’t +got the heart.”</p> + +<p>“See here,” said the captain, speaking with unwonted +gravity; “it may be hard to write, and to write lies at +that; and God knows it is; but it’s the square thing. It +don’t cost anything to say you’re well and happy, and sorry +you can’t make a remittance this mail; and if you don’t +I’ll tell you what I think it is—I think it’s about the high-water +mark of being a brute beast.”</p> + +<p>“It’s easy to talk,” said Herrick. “You don’t seem +to have written much yourself, I notice.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>25</span></p> + +<p>“What do you bring in me for?” broke from the captain. +His voice was indeed scarce raised above a whisper, +but emotion clanged in it. “What do you know about me? +If you had commanded the finest barque that ever sailed +from Portland; if you had been drunk in your berth when +she struck the breakers in Fourteen Island Group, and +hadn’t had the wit to stay there and drown, but came on +deck, and given drunken orders, and lost six lives—I could +understand your talking then! There,” he said more +quietly, “that’s my yarn, and now you know it. It’s +a pretty one for the father of a family. Five men and a +woman murdered. Yes, there was a woman on board, and +hadn’t no business to be either. Guess I sent her to Hell, +if there is such a place. I never dared go home again; and +the wife and the little ones went to England to her father’s +place. I don’t know what’s come to them,” he added, with +a bitter shrug.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, captain,” said Herrick. “I never liked +you better.”</p> + +<p>They shook hands, short and hard, with eyes averted, +tenderness swelling in their bosoms.</p> + +<p>“Now, boys! to work again at lying!” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give my father up,” returned Herrick with +a writhen smile. “I’ll try my sweetheart instead for a +change of evils.”</p> + +<p>And here is what he wrote:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“Emma, I have scratched out the beginning to my father, for I +think I can write more easily to you. This is my last farewell to all, +the last you will ever hear or see of an unworthy friend and son. +I have failed in life; I am quite broken down and disgraced. I pass +under a false name; you will have to tell my father that with all +your kindness. It is my own fault. I know, had I chosen, that +I might have done well; and yet I swear to you I tried to choose. I +could not bear that you should think I did not try. For I loved you +all; you must never doubt me in that, you least of all. I have +always unceasingly loved, but what was my love worth? and what +was I worth? I had not the manhood of a common clerk; I could +not work to earn you; I have lost you now, and for your sake I could +be glad of it. When you first came to my father’s house—do you +remember those days? I want you to—you saw the best of me then, +all that was good in me. Do you remember the day I took your +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>26</span> +hand and would not let it go—and the day on Battersea Bridge, +when we were looking at a barge, and I began to tell you one of my +silly stories, and broke off to say I loved you? That was the beginning, +and now here is the end. When you have read this letter, +you will go round and kiss them all good-bye, my father and mother, +and the children, one by one, and poor uncle; and tell them all to +forget me, and forget me yourself. Turn the key in the door; let +no thought of me return; be done with the poor ghost that pretended +he was a man and stole your love. Scorn of myself grinds in me as +I write. I should tell you I am well and happy, and want for +nothing. I do not exactly make money, or I should send a remittance; +but I am well cared for, have friends, live in a beautiful +place and climate, such as we have dreamed of together, and no pity +need be wasted on me. In such places, you understand, it is easy to +live, and live well, but often hard to make sixpence in money. +Explain this to my father, he will understand. I have no more to +say; only linger, going out, like an unwilling guest. God in heaven +bless you. Think of me at the last, here, on a bright beach, the sky +and sea immoderately blue, and the great breakers roaring outside +on a barrier reef, where a little isle sits green with palms. I am well +and strong. It is a more pleasant way to die than if you were crowding +about me on a sick-bed. And yet I am dying. This is my last +kiss. Forgive, forget the unworthy.”</p> +</div> + +<p>So far he had written, his paper was all filled, when there +returned a memory of evenings at the piano, and that song, +the masterpiece of love, in which so many have found the +expression of their dearest thoughts. “<i>Einst, O Wunder!</i>” +he added. More was not required; he knew that in his +love’s heart the context would spring up, escorted with +fair images and harmony; of how all through life her name +should tremble in his ears, her name be everywhere repeated +in the sounds of nature; and when death came, and he lay +dissolved, her memory lingered and thrilled among his +elements.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Once, O wonder! once from the ashes of my heart</p> +<p class="i05">Arose a blossom——”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Herrick and the captain finished their letters about the +same time; each was breathing deep, and their eyes met +and were averted as they closed the envelopes.</p> + +<p>“Sorry I write so big,” said the captain gruffly. “Came +all of a rush, when it did come.”</p> + +<p>“Same here,” said Herrick. “I could have done with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>27</span> +a ream when I got started; but it’s long enough for all the +good I had to say.”</p> + +<p>They were still at the addresses when the clerk strolled +up, smirking and twirling his envelope, like a man well +pleased. He looked over Herrick’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Hullo,” he said, “you ain’t writing ’ome.”</p> + +<p>“I am, though,” said Herrick; “she lives with my +father.—O, I see what you mean,” he added. “My real +name is Herrick. No more Hay”—they had both used +the same <i>alias</i>,—“no more Hay than yours, I daresay.”</p> + +<p>“Clean bowled in the middle stump!” laughed the +clerk. “My name’s ’Uish, if you want to know. Everybody +has a false nyme in the Pacific. Lay you five to three +the captain ’as.”</p> + +<p>“So I have too,” replied the captain; “and I’ve never +told my own since the day I tore the title-page out of my +Bowditch and flung the damned thing into the sea. But +I’ll tell it to you, boys. John Davis is my name. I’m +Davis of the <i>Sea Ranger</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Dooce you are!” said Huish. “And what was she? +a pirate or a slyver?”</p> + +<p>“She was the fastest barque out of Portland, Maine,” +replied the captain; “and for the way I lost her, I might +as well have bored a hole in her side with an auger.”</p> + +<p>“O, you lost her, did you?” said the clerk. “’Ope +she was insured?”</p> + +<p>No answer being returned to this sally, Huish, still +brimming over with vanity and conversation, struck into +another subject.</p> + +<p>“I’ve a good mind to read you my letter,” said he. +“I’ve a good fist with a pen when I choose, and this is a +prime lark. She was a barmaid I ran across in Northampton; +she was a spanking fine piece, no end of style; +and we cottoned at first sight like parties in the play. I +suppose I spent the chynge of a fiver on that girl. Well, +I ’appened to remember her nyme, so I wrote to her, and +told her ’ow I had got rich, and married a queen in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28" id="page28"></a>28</span> +Hislands, and lived in a blooming palace. Such a sight of +crammers! I must read you one bit about my opening +the nigger parliament in a cocked ’at. It’s really prime.”</p> + +<p>The captain jumped to his feet. “That’s what you +did with the paper that I went and begged for you?” he +roared.</p> + +<p>It was perhaps lucky for Huish—it was surely in the +end unfortunate for all—that he was seized just then by +one of his prostrating accesses of cough; his comrades would +have else deserted him, so bitter was their resentment. +When the fit had passed, the clerk reached out his hand, +picked up the letter, which had fallen to the earth, and tore +it into fragments, stamp and all.</p> + +<p>“Does that satisfy you?” he asked sullenly.</p> + +<p>“We’ll say no more about it,” replied Davis.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FnAnchor_2"><span class="fn">2</span></a> <i>Fei</i> is the hill banana.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3" href="#FnAnchor_3"><span class="fn">3</span></a> By-and-by.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4" href="#FnAnchor_4"><span class="fn">4</span></a> “Captain Tom is coming.”</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page29" id="page29"></a>29</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h5>THE OLD CALABOOSE—DESTINY AT THE DOOR</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> old calaboose, in which the waifs had so long harboured, +is a low, rectangular enclosure of building at +the corner of a shady western avenue and a little townward +of the British consulate. Within was a grassy court, +littered with wreckage and the traces of vagrant occupation. +Six or seven cells opened from the court: the +doors, that had once been locked on mutinous whalermen, +rotting before them in the grass. No mark remained +of their old destination, except the rusty bars upon the +windows.</p> + +<p>The floor of one of the cells had been a little cleared; +a bucket (the last remaining piece of furniture of the three +caitiffs) stood full of water by the door, a half cocoa-nut +shell beside it for a drinking-cup; and on some ragged ends +of mat Huish sprawled asleep, his mouth open, his face +deathly. The glow of the tropic afternoon, the green of +sunbright foliage, stared into that shady place through +door and window; and Herrick, pacing to and fro on the +coral floor, sometimes paused and laved his face and neck +with tepid water from the bucket. His long arrears of +suffering, the night’s vigil, the insults of the morning, and +the harrowing business of the letter, had strung him to that +point when pain is almost pleasure, time shrinks to a mere +point, and death and life appear indifferent. To and fro +he paced like a caged brute; his mind whirling through the +universe of thought and memory; his eyes, as he went, +skimming the legends on the wall. The crumbling whitewash +was all full of them: Tahitian names, and French, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>30</span> +English, and rude sketches of ships under sail and men at +fisticuffs.</p> + +<p>It came to him of a sudden that he too must leave upon +these walls the memorial of his passage. He paused before +a clean space, took the pencil out, and pondered. Vanity, +so hard to dislodge, awoke in him. We call it vanity at +least; perhaps unjustly. Rather it was the bare sense of +his existence prompted him; the sense of his life, the one +thing wonderful, to which he scarce clung with a finger. +From his jarred nerves there came a strong sentiment of +coming change; whether good or ill he could not say: +change, he knew no more—change with inscrutable veiled +face, approaching noiseless. With the feeling came the +vision of a concert-room, the rich hues of instruments, the +silent audience, and the loud voice of the symphony. +“Destiny knocking at the door,” he thought; drew a stave +on the plaster, and wrote in the famous phrase from the +Fifth Symphony. “So,” thought he, “they will know +that I loved music and had classical tastes. They? He, +I suppose: the unknown, kindred spirit that shall come +some day and read my <i>memor querela</i>. Ha, he shall have +Latin too!” And he added: <i>terque quaterque beati Queis +ante ora patrum</i>.</p> + +<p>He turned again to his uneasy pacing, but now with +an irrational and supporting sense of duty done. He had +dug his grave that morning; now he had carved his epitaph; +the folds of the toga were composed, why should he +delay the insignificant trifle that remained to do? He +paused and looked long in the face of the sleeping Huish, +drinking disenchantment and distaste of life. He nauseated +himself with that vile countenance. Could the thing continue? +What bound him now? Had he no rights?—only +the obligation to go on, without discharge or furlough, +bearing the unbearable? <i>Ich trage unerträgliches</i>, the quotation +rose in his mind; he repeated the whole piece, one of +the most perfect of the most perfect of poets; and a phrase +struck him like a blow: <i>Du, stolzes Herz, du hast es ja gewollt.</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" id="page31"></a>31</span> +Where was the pride of his heart? And he raged against +himself, as a man bites on a sore tooth, in a heady sensuality +of scorn. “I have no pride, I have no heart, no manhood,” +he thought, “or why should I prolong a life more shameful +than the gallows? Or why should I have fallen to it? No +pride, no capacity, no force. Not even a bandit! and to be +starving here with worse than banditti—with this trivial +hell-hound!” His rage against his comrade rose and +flooded him, and he shook a trembling fist at the sleeper.</p> + +<p>A swift step was audible. The captain appeared upon +the threshold of the cell, panting and flushed, and with a +foolish face of happiness. In his arms he carried a loaf of +bread and bottles of beer; the pockets of his coat were +bulging with cigars. He rolled his treasures on the floor, +grasped Herrick by both hands, and crowed with laughter.</p> + +<p>“Broach the beer!” he shouted. “Broach the beer, +and glory hallelujah!”</p> + +<p>“Beer?” repeated Huish, struggling to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Beer it is!” cried Davis. “Beer, and plenty of it. +Any number of persons can use it (like Lyon’s tooth-tablet) +with perfect propriety and neatness.—Who’s to officiate?”</p> + +<p>“Leave me alone for that,” said the clerk. He knocked +the necks off with a lump of coral, and each drank in succession +from the shell.</p> + +<p>“Have a weed,” said Davis. “It’s all in the bill.”</p> + +<p>“What is up?” asked Herrick.</p> + +<p>The captain fell suddenly grave. “I’m coming to +that,” said he. “I want to speak with Herrick here. +You, Hay—or Huish, or whatever your name is—you take +a weed and the other bottle, and go and see how the wind +is down by the <i>purao</i>. I’ll call you when you’re wanted!”</p> + +<p>“Hey? Secrets? That ain’t the ticket,” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“Look here, my son,” said the captain, “this is business, +and don’t you make any mistake about it. If you’re +going to make trouble, you can have it your own way and +stop right here. Only get the thing right: if Herrick and +I go, we take the beer. Savvy?” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>32</span></p> + +<p>“O, I don’t want to shove my oar in,” returned Huish. +“I’ll cut right enough. Give me the swipes. You can +jaw till you’re blue in the face for what I care. I don’t +think it’s the friendly touch, that’s all.” And he shambled +grumbling out of the cell into the staring sun.</p> + +<p>The captain watched him clear of the courtyard; then +turned to Herrick.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Herrick thickly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you,” said Davis. “I want to consult you. +It’s a chance we’ve got.—What’s that?” he cried, pointing +to the music on the wall.</p> + +<p>“What?” said the other. “O, that! It’s music; +it’s a phrase of Beethoven’s I was writing up. It means +Destiny knocking at the door.”</p> + +<p>“Does it?” said the captain, rather low; and he went +near and studied the inscription. “And this French?” +he asked, pointing to the Latin.</p> + +<p>“O, it just means I should have been luckier if I had +died at home,” returned Herrick impatiently. “What is +this business?”</p> + +<p>“Destiny knocking at the door,” repeated the captain; +and then, looking over his shoulder, “Well, Mr. Herrick, +that’s about what it comes to,” he added.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? Explain yourself,” said +Herrick.</p> + +<p>But the captain was again staring at the music. “About +how long ago since you wrote up this truck?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“What does it matter?” exclaimed Herrick. “I +daresay half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“My God, it’s strange!” cried Davis. “There’s some +men would call that accidental: not me. That——” and +he drew his thick finger under the music—“that’s what I +call Providence.”</p> + +<p>“You said we had a chance,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>sir</i>!” said the captain, wheeling suddenly face +to face with his companion. “I did so. If you’re the man +I take you for, we have a chance.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>33</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you take me for,” was the reply. +“You can scarce take me too low.”</p> + +<p>“Shake hands, Mr. Herrick,” said the captain. “I +know you. You’re a gentleman and a man of spirit. +I didn’t want to speak before that bummer there; you’ll +see why. But to you I’ll rip it right out. I got a ship.”</p> + +<p>“A ship?” cried Herrick. “What ship?”</p> + +<p>“That schooner we saw this morning off the passage.”</p> + +<p>“That schooner with the hospital flag?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the hooker,” said Davis. “She’s the <i>Farallone</i>, +hundred and sixty tons register, out of ’Frisco for Sydney, +in California champagne. Captain, mate, and one hand +all died of the small-pox, same as they had round in the +Paumotus, I guess. Captain and mate were the only white +men; all the hands Kanakas; seems a queer kind of outfit +from a Christian port. Three of them left and a cook; +didn’t know where they were; I can’t think where they +were either, if you come to that; Wiseman must have been +on the booze, I guess, to sail the course he did. However, +there <i>he</i> was, dead; and here are the Kanakas as good as +lost. They bummed around at sea like the babes in the +wood; and tumbled end-on upon Tahiti. The consul here +took charge. He offered the berth to Williams; Williams +had never had the small-pox and backed down. That was +when I came in for the letter-paper; I thought there was +something up when the consul asked me to look in again; +but I never let on to you fellows, so’s you’d not be disappointed. +Consul tried M’Neil; scared of small-pox. +He tried Capirati, that Corsican, and Leblue, or whatever +his name is, wouldn’t lay a hand on it; all too fond of their +sweet lives. Last of all, when there wasn’t nobody else +left to offer it to, he offers it to me. ‘Brown, will you ship +captain and take her to Sydney?’ says he. ‘Let me choose +my own mate and another white hand,’ says I, ‘for I don’t +hold with this Kanaka crew racket; give us all two months’ +advance to get our clothes and instruments out of pawn, +and I’ll take stock to-night, fill up stores, and get to sea +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>34</span> +to-morrow before dark!’ That’s what I said. ‘That’s +good enough,’ says the consul, ‘and you can count yourself +damned lucky, Brown,’ says he. And he said it pretty +meaningful-appearing too. However, that’s all one now. +I’ll ship Huish before the mast—of course I’ll let him berth +aft—and I’ll ship you mate at seventy-five dollars and two +months’ advance.”</p> + +<p>“Me mate? Why, I’m a landsman!” cried Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Guess you’ve got to learn,” said the captain. “You +don’t fancy I’m going to skip and leave you rotting on the +beach, perhaps? I’m not that sort, old man. And you’re +handy, anyway; I’ve been shipmates with worse.”</p> + +<p>“God knows I can’t refuse,” said Herrick. “God +knows I thank you from my heart.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said the captain. “But it ain’t +all.” He turned aside to light a cigar.</p> + +<p>“What else is there?” asked the other, with a pang of +undefinable alarm.</p> + +<p>“I’m coming to that,” said Davis, and then paused +a little. “See here,” he began, holding out his cigar between +his finger and thumb, “suppose you figure up what +this’ll amount to. You don’t catch on? Well, we get +two months’ advance; we can’t get away from Papeete—our +creditors wouldn’t let us go—for less; it’ll take us along +about two months to get to Sydney; and when we get there, +I just want to put it to you squarely: What the better +are we?”</p> + +<p>“We’re off the beach at least,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“I guess there’s a beach at Sydney,” returned the +captain; “and I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Herrick—I don’t +mean to try. No, <i>sir</i>! Sydney will never see me.”</p> + +<p>“Speak out plain,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Plain Dutch,” replied the captain. “I’m going to +own that schooner. It’s nothing new; it’s done every +year in the Pacific. Stephens stole a schooner the other +day, didn’t he? Hayes and Pease stole vessels all the +time. And it’s the making of the crowd of us. See here—you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page35" id="page35"></a>35</span> +think of that cargo. Champagne! why, it’s like +as if it was put up on purpose. In Peru we’ll sell that liquor +off at the pier-head, and the schooner after it, if we can find +a fool to buy her; and then light out for the mines. If +you’ll back me up, I stake my life I carry it through.”</p> + +<p>“Captain,” said Herrick, with a quailing voice, “don’t +do it!”</p> + +<p>“I’m desperate,” returned Davis. “I’ve got a chance; +I may never get another. Herrick, say the word: back +me up; I think we’ve starved together long enough for +that.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I’ve not +fallen as low as that,” said Herrick, deadly pale.</p> + +<p>“What did you say this morning?” said Davis. “That +you couldn’t beg? It’s the one thing or the other, my +son.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but this is the gaol!” cried Herrick. “Don’t +tempt me. It’s the gaol.”</p> + +<p>“Did you hear what the skipper said on board that +schooner?” pursued the captain. “Well, I tell you he +talked straight. The French have let us alone for a long +time; it can’t last longer; they’ve got their eye on us; +and as sure as you live, in three weeks you’ll be in gaol +whatever you do. I read it in the consul’s face.”</p> + +<p>“You forget, captain,” said the young man. “There +is another way. I can die; and to say truth, I think I +should have died three years ago.”</p> + +<p>The captain folded his arms and looked the other in +the face. “Yes,” said he, “yes, you can cut your throat; +that’s a frozen fact; much good may it do you! And +where do I come in?”</p> + +<p>The light of a strange excitement came in Herrick’s +face. “Both of us,” said he, “both of us together. It’s +not possible you can enjoy this business. Come,” and he +reached out a timid hand, “a few strokes in the lagoon—and +rest!”</p> + +<p>“I tell you, Herrick, I’m ‘most tempted to answer you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>36</span> +the way the man does in the Bible, and say, ‘<i>Get thee +behind me, Satan!</i>’” said the captain. “What! you think I +would go drown myself, and I got children starving? Enjoy +it? No, by God, I do not enjoy it! but it’s the row I’ve +got to hoe, and I’ll hoe it till I drop right here. I have +three of them, you see, two boys and the one girl, Adar. +The trouble is that you are not a parent yourself. I tell +you, Herrick, I love you,” the man broke out; “I didn’t +take to you at first, you were so Anglified and tony, but I +love you now; it’s a man that loves you stands here and +wrestles with you. I can’t go to sea with the bummer +alone; it’s not possible. Go drown yourself, and there +goes my last chance—the last chance of a poor miserable +beast, earning a crust to feed his family. I can’t do nothing +but sail ships, and I’ve no papers. And here I get a chance, +and you go back on me! Ah, you’ve no family, and that’s +where the trouble is!”</p> + +<p>“I have indeed,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” said the captain, “you think so. But +no man’s got a family till he’s got children. It’s only the +kids count. There’s something about the little shavers ... +I can’t talk of them. And if you thought a cent about this +father that I hear you talk of, or that sweetheart you were +writing to this morning, you would feel like me. You +would say, What matter laws, and God, and that? My +folks are hard up, I belong to them, I’ll get them bread, or, +by God! I’ll get them wealth, if I have to burn down +London for it. That’s what you would say. And I’ll tell +you more: your heart is saying so this living minute. I +can see it in your face. You’re thinking, Here’s poor friendship +for the man I’ve starved along of, and as for the girl +that I set up to be in love with, here’s a mighty limp kind +of a love that won’t carry me as far as ‘most any man would +go for a demijohn of whisky. There’s not much <i>ro</i>mance +to that love, anyway; it’s not the kind they carry on about +in song-books. But what’s the good of my carrying on +talking, when it’s all in your inside as plain as print? I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page37" id="page37"></a>37</span> +put the question to you once for all. Are you going to +desert me in my hour of need?—you know if I’ve deserted +you—or will you give me your hand, and try a fresh deal, +and go home (as like as not) a millionaire? Say No, and +God pity me! Say Yes, and I’ll make the little ones pray +for you every night on their bended knees. ‘God bless Mr. +Herrick:’ that’s what they’ll say, one after the other, the +old girl sitting there holding stakes at the foot of the bed, +and the damned little innocents ...” he broke off. “I +don’t often rip out about the kids,” he said; “but when +I do, there’s something fetches loose.”</p> + +<p>“Captain,” said Herrick faintly, “is there nothing +else?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll prophesy if you like,” said the captain with renewed +vigour. “Refuse this, because you think yourself +too honest, and before a month’s out you’ll be gaoled for +a sneak-thief. I give you the word fair. I can see it, +Herrick, if you can’t; you’re breaking down. Don’t think, +if you refuse this chance, that you’ll go on doing the evangelical; +you’re about through with your stock; and before +you know where you are, you’ll be right out on the other +side. No, it’s either this for you; or else it’s Caledonia. +I bet you never were there, and saw those white, shaved +men, in their dust-clothes and straw hats, prowling around +in gangs in the lamplight at Noumea; they look like wolves, +and they look like preachers, and they look like the sick; +Huish is a daisy to the best of them. Well, there’s your +company. They’re waiting for you, Herrick, and you got +to go; and that’s a prophecy.”</p> + +<p>And as the man stood and shook through his great +stature, he seemed indeed like one in whom the spirit +of divination worked and might utter oracles. Herrick +looked at him, and looked away; it seemed not decent to +spy upon such agitation; and the young man’s courage +sank.</p> + +<p>“You talk of going home,” he objected. “We could +never do that.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" id="page38"></a>38</span></p> + +<p>“<i>We</i> could,” said the other. “Captain Brown couldn’t, +nor Mr. Hay that shipped mate with him couldn’t. But +what’s that to do with Captain Davis or Mr. Herrick, you +galoot?”</p> + +<p>“But Hayes had these wild islands where he used to +call,” came the next fainter objection.</p> + +<p>“We have the wild islands of Peru,” retorted Davis. +“They were wild enough for Stephens, no longer agone +than just last year. I guess they’ll be wild enough for +us.”</p> + +<p>“And the crew?”</p> + +<p>“All Kanakas. Come, I see you’re right, old man. I +see you’ll stand by.” And the captain once more offered +his hand.</p> + +<p>“Have it your own way then,” said Herrick. “I’ll +do it: a strange thing for my father’s son. But I’ll do +it. I’ll stand by you, man, for good or evil.”</p> + +<p>“God bless you!” cried the captain, and stood silent. +“Herrick,” he added with a smile, “I believe I’d have +died in my tracks if you’d said No!”</p> + +<p>And Herrick, looking at the man, half believed so also.</p> + +<p>“And now we’ll go break it to the bummer,” said +Davis.</p> + +<p>“I wonder how he’ll take it,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Him? Jump at it!” was the reply.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>39</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<h5>THE YELLOW FLAG</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> schooner <i>Farallone</i> lay well out in the jaws of the +pass, where the terrified pilot had made haste to bring her +to her moorings and escape. Seen from the beach through +the thin line of shipping, two objects stood conspicuous to +seaward: the little isle, on the one hand, with its palms +and the guns and batteries raised forty years before in +defence of Queen Pomare’s capital; the outcast <i>Farallone</i>, +upon the other, banished to the threshold of the port, rolling +there to her scuppers, and flaunting the plague-flag as she +rolled. A few sea-birds screamed and cried about the ship; +and within easy range, a man-of-war guard-boat hung off +and on and glittered with the weapons of marines. The +exuberant daylight and the blinding heaven of the tropics +picked out and framed the pictures.</p> + +<p>A neat boat, manned by natives in uniform, and steered +by the doctor of the port, put from shore towards three of +the afternoon, and pulled smartly for the schooner. The +fore-sheets were heaped with sacks of flour, onions, and +potatoes, perched among which was Huish dressed as a +foremast hand; a heap of chests and cases impeded the +action of the oarsmen; and in the stern, by the left hand +of the doctor, sat Herrick, dressed in a fresh rig of slops, +his brown beard trimmed to a point, a pile of paper novels +on his lap, and nursing the while between his feet a chronometer, +for which they had exchanged that of the <i>Farallone</i>, +long since run down and the rate lost.</p> + +<p>They passed the guard-boat, exchanging hails with +the boatswain’s mate in charge, and drew near at last to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" id="page40"></a>40</span> +the forbidden ship. Not a cat stirred, there was no speech +of man; and the sea being exceeding high outside, and the +reef close to where the schooner lay, the clamour of the surf +hung round her like the sound of battle.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ohé la goëlette!</i>” sang out the doctor, with his best +voice.</p> + +<p>Instantly, from the house where they had been stowing +away stores, first Davis, and then the ragamuffin, swarthy +crew made their appearance.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Hay, that you?” said the captain, leaning +on the rail. “Tell the old man to lay her alongside, as +if she was eggs. There’s a hell of a run of sea here, and his +boat’s brittle.”</p> + +<p>The movement of the schooner was at that time more +than usually violent. Now she heaved her side as high as +a deep-sea steamer’s, and showed the flashing of her copper; +now she swung swiftly towards the boat until her scuppers +gurgled.</p> + +<p>“I hope you have sea-legs,” observed the doctor. +“You will require them.”</p> + +<p>Indeed, to board the <i>Farallone</i>, in that exposed position +where she lay, was an affair of some dexterity. The less +precious goods were hoisted roughly; the chronometer, +after repeated failures, was passed gently and successfully +from hand to hand; and there remained only the more +difficult business of embarking Huish. Even that piece +of dead weight (shipped A.B. at eighteen dollars, and described +by the captain to the consul as an invaluable man) +was at last hauled on board without mishap; and the doctor, +with civil salutations, took his leave.</p> + +<p>The three co-adventurers looked at each other, and +Davis heaved a breath of relief.</p> + +<p>“Now let’s get this chronometer fixed,” said he, and +led the way into the house. It was a fairly spacious place; +two state-rooms and a good-sized pantry opened from the +main cabin; the bulk-heads were painted white, the floor +laid with waxcloth. No litter, no sign of life remained; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>41</span> +for the effects of the dead men had been disinfected and +conveyed on shore. Only on the table, in a saucer, some +sulphur burned, and the fumes set them coughing as they +entered. The captain peered into the starboard state-room, +where the bed-clothes still lay tumbled in the bunk, +the blanket flung back as they had flung it back from the +disfigured corpse before its burial.</p> + +<p>“Now, I told these niggers to tumble that truck overboard,” +grumbled Davis. “Guess they were afraid to lay +hands on it. Well, they’ve hosed the place out; that’s as +much as can be expected, I suppose. Huish, lay on to +these blankets.”</p> + +<p>“See you blooming well far enough first,” said Huish, +drawing back.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” snapped the captain. “I’ll tell +you, my young friend, I think you make a mistake. I’m +captain here.”</p> + +<p>“Fat lot I care,” returned the clerk.</p> + +<p>“That so?” said Davis. “Then you’ll berth forward +with the niggers! Walk right out of this cabin.”</p> + +<p>“O, I dessay!” said Huish. “See any green in my +eye? A lark’s a lark.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, I’ll explain this business, and you’ll see, +once for all, just precisely how much lark there is to it,” +said Davis. “I’m captain, and I’m going to be it. One +thing of three. First, you take my orders here as cabin +steward, in which case you mess with us. Or, second, you +refuse, and I pack you forward—and you get as quick as +the word’s said. Or, third and last, I’ll signal that man-of-war +and send you ashore under arrest for mutiny.”</p> + +<p>“And, of course, I wouldn’t blow the gaff? O no!” +replied the jeering Huish.</p> + +<p>“And who’s to believe you, my son?” inquired the +captain. “No, <i>sir</i>! There ain’t no larking about my +captainising. Enough said. Up with these blankets.”</p> + +<p>Huish was no fool, he knew when he was beaten; and +he was no coward either, for he stepped to the bunk, took +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>42</span> +the infected bed-clothes fairly in his arms, and carried them +out of the house without a check or tremor.</p> + +<p>“I was waiting for the chance,” said Davis to Herrick. +“I needn’t do the same with you, because you understand +it for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to berth here?” asked Herrick, following +the captain into the state-room, where he began to +adjust the chronometer in its place at the bed-head.</p> + +<p>“Not much!” replied he. “I guess I’ll berth on deck. +I don’t know as I’m afraid, but I’ve no immediate use for +confluent small-pox.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I’m afraid either,” said Herrick. +“But the thought of these two men sticks in my throat; +that captain and mate dying here, one opposite to the +other. It’s grim. I wonder what they said last?”</p> + +<p>“Wiseman and Wishart?” said the captain. “Probably +mighty small potatoes. That’s a thing a fellow figures +out for himself one way, and the real business goes quite +another. Perhaps Wiseman said, ‘Here, old man, fetch +up the gin, I’m feeling powerful rocky.’ And perhaps +Wishart said, ‘O, hell!’”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s grim enough,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“And so it is,” said Davis.—“There; there’s that +chronometer fixed. And now it’s about time to up anchor +and clear out.”</p> + +<p>He lit a cigar and stepped on deck.</p> + +<p>“Here, you! What’s <i>your</i> name?” he cried to one +of the hands, a lean-flanked, clean-built fellow from some +far western island, and of a darkness almost approaching +to the African.</p> + +<p>“Sally Day,” replied the man.</p> + +<p>“Devil it is,” said the captain, “Didn’t know we had +ladies on board.—Well, Sally, oblige me by hauling down +that rag there. I’ll do the same for you another time.” +He watched the yellow bunting as it was eased past the +cross-trees and handed down on deck. “You’ll float no +more on this ship,” he observed. “Muster the people aft, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>43</span> +Mr. Hay,” he added, speaking unnecessarily loud, “I’ve a +word to say to them.”</p> + +<p>It was with a singular sensation that Herrick prepared +for the first time to address a crew. He thanked his stars +indeed that they were natives. But even natives, he reflected, +might be critics too quick for such a novice as himself; +they might perceive some lapse from that precise and +cut-and-dry English which prevails on board a ship; it was +even possible they understood no other; and he racked his +brain, and overhauled his reminiscences of sea romance, for +some appropriate words.</p> + +<p>“Here, men! tumble aft!” he said. “Lively now! +all hands aft!”</p> + +<p>They crowded in the alleyway like sheep.</p> + +<p>“Here they are, sir,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>For some time the captain continued to face the stern; +then turned with ferocious suddenness on the crew, and +seemed to enjoy their shrinking.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he said, twisting his cigar in his mouth and +toying with the spokes of the wheel. “I’m Captain Brown. +I command this ship. This is Mr. Hay, first officer. The +other white man is cabin steward, but he’ll stand watch +and do his trick. My orders shall be obeyed smartly. You +savvy, ‘<i>smartly</i>’? There shall be no growling about the +kaikai, which will be above allowance. You’ll put a handle +to the mate’s name, and tack on ‘sir’ to every order I give +you. If you’re smart and quick, I’ll make this ship comfortable +for all hands.” He took the cigar out of his mouth. +“If you’re not,” he added, in a roaring voice, “I’ll make it +a floating hell.—Now, Mr. Hay, we’ll pick watches, if you +please.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“You will please use ‘sir’ when you address me, Mr. +Hay,” said the captain. “I’ll take the lady. Step to +starboard, Sally.” And then he whispered in Herrick’s +ear, “Take the old man.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take you, there,” said Herrick. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>44</span></p> + +<p>“What’s your name?” said the captain. “What’s +that you say? O, that’s not English; I’ll have none of +your highway gibberish on my ship. We’ll call you old +Uncle Ned, because you’ve got no wool on the top of your +head, just the place where the wool ought to grow. Step +to port, Uncle. Don’t you hear Mr. Hay has picked you? +Then I’ll take the white man. White Man, step to starboard. +Now, which of you two is the cook? You? Then +Mr. Hay takes your friend in the blue dungaree. Step to +port, Dungaree, There, we know who we all are: Dungaree, +Uncle Ned, Sally Day, White Man, and Cook. All F.F.V.’s +I guess. And now, Mr. Hay, we’ll up anchor, if you +please.”</p> + +<p>“For heaven’s sake, tell me some of the words,” +whispered Herrick.</p> + +<p>An hour later the <i>Farallone</i> was under all plain sail, the +rudder hard a-port, and the cheerfully-clanking windlass +had brought the anchor home.</p> + +<p>“All clear, sir,” cried Herrick from the bow.</p> + +<p>The captain met her with the wheel, as she bounded +like a stag from her repose, trembling and bending to the +puffs. The guard-boat gave a parting hail, the wake +whitened and ran out; the <i>Farallone</i> was under weigh.</p> + +<p>Her berth had been close to the pass. Even as she +forged ahead Davis slewed her for the channel between the +pier-ends of the reef, the breakers sounding and whitening +to either hand. Straight through the narrow band of blue +she shot to seaward; and the captain’s heart exulted as +he felt her tremble underfoot, and (looking back over the +taffrail) beheld the roofs of Papeete changing position on +the shore and the island mountains rearing higher in the +wake.</p> + +<p>But they were not yet done with the shore and the +horror of the yellow flag. About midway of the pass there +was a cry and a scurry, a man was seen to leap upon the +rail, and, throwing his arms over his head, to stoop and +plunge into the sea. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>45</span></p> + +<p>“Steady as she goes,” the captain cried, relinquishing +the wheel to Huish.</p> + +<p>The next moment he was forward in the midst of the +Kanakas, belaying-pin in hand.</p> + +<p>“Anybody else for shore?” he cried, and the savage +trumpeting of his voice, no less than the ready weapon in +his hand, struck fear in all. Stupidly they stared after +their escaped companion, whose black head was visible +upon the water, steering for the land. And the schooner +meanwhile slipped like a racer through the pass, and met +the long sea of the open ocean with a souse of spray.</p> + +<p>“Fool that I was, not to have a pistol ready!” exclaimed +Davis. “Well, we go to sea short-handed; we can’t help +that. You have a lame watch of it, Mr. Hay.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how we are to get along,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Got to,” said the captain. “No more Tahiti for me.”</p> + +<p>Both turned instinctively and looked astern. The fair +island was unfolding mountain-top on mountain-top; +Eimeo, on the port board, lifted her splintered pinnacles; +and still the schooner raced to the open sea.</p> + +<p>“Think!” cried the captain, with a gesture, “yesterday +morning I danced for my breakfast like a poodle dog.”</p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>46</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<h5>THE CARGO OF CHAMPAGNE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> ship’s head was laid to clear Eimeo to the north, and +the captain sat down in the cabin, with a chart, a ruler, +and an epitome.</p> + +<p>“East a half no’the,” said he, raising his face from +his labours. “Mr. Hay, you’ll have to watch your dead +reckoning; I want every yard she makes on every hair’s-breadth +of a course. I’m going to knock a hole right +straight through the Paumotus, and that’s always a near +touch. Now, if this South East Trade ever blew out of +the S.E., which it don’t, we might hope to lie within half +a point of our course. Say we lie within a point of it. +That’ll just about weather Fakarava. Yes, sir, that’s +what we’ve got to do, if we tack for it. Brings us through +this slush of little islands in the cleanest place: see?” And +he showed where his ruler intersected the wide-lying labyrinth +of the Dangerous Archipelago. “I wish it was night, +and I could put her about right now; we’re losing time +and easting. Well, we’ll do our best. And if we don’t +fetch Peru, we’ll bring up to Ecuador. All one, I guess. +Depreciated dollars down, and no questions asked. A +remarkable fine institootion, the South American don.”</p> + +<p>Tahiti was already some way astern, the Diadem rising +from among broken mountains—Eimeo was already close +aboard, and stood black and strange against the golden +splendour of the west—when the captain took his departure +from the two islands, and the patent log was set.</p> + +<p>Some twenty minutes later, Sally Day, who was continually +leaving the wheel to peer in at the cabin clock, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>47</span> +announced in a shrill cry “Fo’ bell,” and the cook was to +be seen carrying the soup into the cabin.</p> + +<p>“I guess I’ll sit down and have a pick with you,” said +Davis to Herrick. “By the time I’ve done it’ll be dark, +and we’ll clap the hooker on the wind for South America.”</p> + +<p>In the cabin at one corner of the table, immediately +below the lamp, and on the lee side of a bottle of champagne, +sat Huish.</p> + +<p>“What’s this? Where did that come from?” asked +the captain.</p> + +<p>“It’s fizz, and it came from the after-’old, if you want +to know,” said Huish, and drained his mug.</p> + +<p>“This’ll never do,” exclaimed Davis, the merchant seaman’s +horror of breaking into cargo showing incongruously +forth on board that stolen ship. “There was never any +good came of games like that.”</p> + +<p>“You byby!” said Huish. “A fellow would think +(to ’ear him) we were on the square! And look ’ere, you’ve +put this job up ’ansomely for me, ’aven’t you? I’m to go +on deck and steer, while you two sit and guzzle, and I’m +to go by a nickname, and got to call you ‘sir’ and ‘mister.’ +Well, you look here, my bloke: I’ll have fizz <i>ad lib.</i>, or it +won’t wash. I tell you that. And you know mighty well, +you ain’t got any man-of-war to signal now.”</p> + +<p>Davis was staggered. “I’d give fifty dollars this had +never happened,” he said weakly.</p> + +<p>“Well, it <i>’as</i> ’appened, you see,” returned Huish. +“Try some; it’s devilish good.”</p> + +<p>The Rubicon was crossed without another struggle. +The captain filled a mug and drank.</p> + +<p>“I wish it was beer,” he said with a sigh. “But there’s +no denying it’s the genuine stuff and cheap at the money. +Now, Huish, you clear out and take your wheel.”</p> + +<p>The little wretch had gained a point, and he was gay. +“Ay, ay, sir,” said he, and left the others to their meal.</p> + +<p>“Pea-soup!” exclaimed the captain. “Blamed if I +thought I should taste pea-soup again!” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>48</span></p> + +<p>Herrick sat inert and silent. It was impossible after +these months of hopeless want to smell the rough, high-spiced +sea victuals without lust, and his mouth watered +with desire of the champagne. It was no less impossible to +have assisted at the scene between Huish and the captain, +and not to perceive, with sudden bluntness, the gulf where +he had fallen. He was a thief among thieves. He said it +to himself. He could not touch the soup. If he had +moved at all, it must have been to leave the table, throw +himself overboard, and drown—an honest man.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said the captain, “you look sick, old man; +have a drop of this.”</p> + +<p>The champagne creamed and bubbled in the mug; its +bright colour, its lively effervescence, seized his eye. “It +is too late to hesitate,” he thought; his hand took the mug +instinctively; he drank, with unquenchable pleasure and +desire of more; drained the vessel dry, and set it down with +sparkling eyes.</p> + +<p>“There is something in life after all!” he cried. “I +had forgot what it was like. Yes, even this is worth while. +Wine, food, dry clothes—why, they’re worth dying, worth +hanging for! Captain, tell me one thing: why aren’t all +the poor folk foot-pads?”</p> + +<p>“Give it up,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“They must be damned good,” cried Herrick. “There’s +something here beyond me. Think of that calaboose! +Suppose we were sent suddenly back.” He shuddered as +stung by a convulsion, and buried his face in his clutching +hands.</p> + +<p>“Here, what’s wrong with you?” cried the captain. +There was no reply; only Herrick’s shoulders heaved, so +that the table was shaken. “Take some more of this. +Here, drink this. I order you to. Don’t start crying +when you’re out of the wood.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not crying,” said Herrick, raising his face and +showing his dry eyes. “It’s worse than crying. It’s the +horror of that grave that we’ve escaped from.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>49</span></p> + +<p>“Come now, you tackle your soup; that’ll fix you,” +said Davis kindly. “I told you you were all broken up. +You couldn’t have stood out another week.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the dreadful part of it!” cried Herrick. +“Another week and I’d have murdered some one for a +dollar! God! and I know that? And I’m still living? +It’s some beastly dream.”</p> + +<p>“Quietly, quietly! Quietly does it, my son. Take +your pea-soup. Food, that’s what you want,” said Davis.</p> + +<p>The soup strengthened and quieted Herrick’s nerves; +another glass of wine, and a piece of pickled pork and fried +banana completed what the soup began; and he was able +once more to look the captain in the face.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know I was so much run down,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Davis, “you were as steady as a rock all +day: now you’ve had a little lunch, you’ll be as steady as +a rock again.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the reply, “I’m steady enough now, but +I’m a queer kind of a first officer.”</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” cried the captain. “You’ve only got to +mind the ship’s course, and keep your slate to half a point. +A babby could do that, let alone a college graduate like +you. There ain’t nothing <i>to</i> sailoring, when you come to +look it in the face. And now we’ll go and put her about. +Bring the slate; we’ll have to start our dead reckoning +right away.”</p> + +<p>The distance run since the departure was read off the +log by the binnacle light and entered on the slate.</p> + +<p>“Ready about,” said the captain. “Give me the wheel, +White Man, and you stand by the mainsheet. Boom +tackle, Mr. Hay, please, and then you can jump forward +and attend head sails.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, ay, sir,” responded Herrick.</p> + +<p>“All clear forward?” asked Davis.</p> + +<p>“All clear, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Hard a-lee!” cried the captain. “Haul in your +slack as she comes,” he called to Huish. “Haul in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>50</span> +your slack, put your back into it; keep your feet out of the +coils.” A sudden blow sent Huish flat along the deck, and +the captain was in his place. “Pick yourself up and keep +the wheel hard over!” he roared. “You wooden fool, you +wanted to get killed, I guess. Draw the jib,” he cried a +moment later; and then to Huish, “Give me the wheel +again, and see if you can coil that sheet.”</p> + +<p>But Huish stood and looked at Davis with an evil +countenance. “Do you know you struck me?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Do you know I saved your life?” returned the other, +not deigning to look at him, his eyes travelling instead +between the compass and the sails. “Where would you +have been if that boom had swung out and you bundled +in the slack? No, <i>sir</i>, we’ll have no more of you at the +mainsheet. Seaport towns are full of mainsheet-men; +they hop upon one leg, my son, what’s left of them, and the +rest are dead. (Set your boom tackle, Mr. Hay.) Struck +you, did I? Lucky for you I did.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Huish slowly, “I dessay there may be +somethink in that. ’Ope there is.” He turned his back +elaborately on the captain, and entered the house, where +the speedy explosion of a champagne cork showed he was +attending to his comfort.</p> + +<p>Herrick came aft to the captain. “How is she doing +now?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“East and by no’the a half no’the,” said Davis. “It’s +about as good as I expected.”</p> + +<p>“What’ll the hands think of it?” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“O, they don’t think. They ain’t paid to,” says the +captain.</p> + +<p>“There was something wrong, was there not? between +you and—” Herrick paused.</p> + +<p>“That’s a nasty little beast; that’s a biter,” replied +the captain, shaking his head. “But so long as you and +me hang in, it don’t matter.”</p> + +<p>Herrick lay down in the weather alleyway; the night +was cloudless, the movement of the ship cradled him, he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>51</span> +was oppressed besides by the first generous meal after so +long a time of famine; and he was recalled from deep sleep +by the voice of Davis singing out: “Eight bells!”</p> + +<p>He rose stupidly and staggered aft, where the captain +gave him the wheel.</p> + +<p>“By the wind,” said the captain. “It comes a little +puffy; when you get a heavy puff, steal all you can to windward, +but keep her a good full.”</p> + +<p>He stepped towards the house, paused and hailed the +forecastle.</p> + +<p>“Got such a thing as a concertina forward?” said he. +“Bully for you, Uncle Ned. Fetch it aft, will you?”</p> + +<p>The schooner steered very easy; and Herrick, watching +the moon-whitened sails, was overpowered by drowsiness. +A sharp report from the cabin startled him; a third bottle +had been opened; and Herrick remembered the <i>Sea Ranger</i> +and Fourteen Island Group. Presently the notes of the +accordion sounded, and then the captain’s voice:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“O honey, with our pockets full of money,</p> +<p class="i05">We will trip, trip, trip, we will trip it on the quay,</p> +<p class="i05">And I will dance with Kate, and Tom will dance with Sall,</p> +<p class="i05">When we’re all back from South Amerikee.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">So it went to its quaint air; and the watch below lingered +and listened by the forward door, and Uncle Ned was to be +seen in the moonlight nodding time; and Herrick smiled +at the wheel, his anxieties a while forgotten. Song followed +song; another cork exploded; there were voices raised, +as though the pair in the cabin were in disagreement: and +presently it seemed the breach was healed; for it was now +the voice of Huish that struck up, to the captain’s accompaniment:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Up in a balloon, boys,</p> + <p class="i2">Up in a balloon,</p> +<p class="i05">All among the little stars</p> + <p class="i2">And round about the moon.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>A wave of nausea overcame Herrick at the wheel. He +wondered why the air, the words (which were yet written +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>52</span> +with a certain knack), and the voice and accent of the +singer, should all jar his spirit like a file on a man’s teeth. +He sickened at the thought of his two comrades drinking +away their reason upon stolen wine, quarrelling and hiccupping +and waking up, while the doors of a prison yawned for +them in the near future. “Shall I have sold my honour +for nothing?” he thought; and a heat of rage and resolution +glowed in his bosom—rage against his comrades—resolution +to carry through this business if it might be +carried; pluck profit out of shame, since the shame at least +was now inevitable; and come home, home from South +America—how did the song go?—“with his pockets full +of money.”</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“O honey, with our pockets full of money,</p> +<p class="i05">We will trip, trip, trip, we will trip it on the quay”:</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">so the words ran in his head; and the honey took on visible +form, the quay rose before him and he knew it for the lamp-lit +Embankment, and he saw the lights of Battersea bridge +bestride the sullen river. All through the remainder of his +trick he stood entranced, reviewing the past. He had been +always true to his love, but not always sedulous to recall +her. In the growing calamity of his life, she had swum +more distant, like the moon in mist. The letter of farewell, +the dishonourable hope that had surprised and corrupted +him in his distress, the changed scene, the sea, the night +and the music—all stirred him to the roots of manhood. +“I <i>will</i> win her,” he thought, and ground his teeth. “Fair +or foul, what matters if I win her?”</p> + +<p>“Fo’ bell, matey. I think um fo’ bell”—he was suddenly +recalled by these words in the voice of Uncle Ned.</p> + +<p>“Look in at the clock, Uncle,” said he. He would not +look himself, from horror of the tipplers.</p> + +<p>“Him past, matey,” repeated the Hawaiian.</p> + +<p>“So much the better for you, Uncle,” he replied; and +he gave up the wheel, repeating the directions as he had +received them. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>53</span></p> + +<p>He took two steps forward and remembered his dead +reckoning. “How has she been heading?” he thought; +and he flushed from head to foot. He had not observed or +had forgotten; here was the old incompetence; the slate +must be filled up by guess. “Never again!” he vowed to +himself in silent fury, “never again. It shall be no fault of +mine if this miscarry.” And for the remainder of his watch +he stood close by Uncle Ned, and read the face of the +compass as perhaps he had never read a letter from his +sweetheart.</p> + +<p>All the time, and spurring him to the more attention, +song, loud talk, fleering laughter, and the occasional popping +of a cork, reached his ears from the interior of the house; +and when the port watch was relieved at midnight, Huish +and the captain appeared upon the quarter-deck with flushed +faces and uneven steps, the former laden with bottles, the +latter with two tin mugs. Herrick silently passed them by. +They hailed him in thick voices, he made no answer; +they cursed him for a churl, he paid no heed although his +belly quivered with disgust and rage. He closed-to the +door of the house behind him, and cast himself on a locker +in the cabin—not to sleep, he thought—rather to think and +to despair. Yet he had scarce turned twice on his uneasy +bed, before a drunken voice hailed him in the ear, and he +must go on deck again to stand the morning watch.</p> + +<p>The first evening set the model for those that were to +follow. Two cases of champagne scarce lasted the four-and-twenty +hours, and almost the whole was drunk by Huish +and the captain. Huish seemed to thrive on the excess; +he was never sober, yet never wholly tipsy; the food and the +sea air had soon healed him of his disease, and he began to +lay on flesh. But with Davis things went worse. In the +drooping, unbuttoned figure that sprawled all day upon the +lockers, tippling and reading novels; in the fool who made +of the evening watch a public carouse on the quarter-deck, +it would have been hard to recognise the vigorous seaman of +Papeete roads. He kept himself reasonably well in hand +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>54</span> +till he had taken the sun and yawned and blotted through +his calculations; but from the moment he rolled up the +chart, his hours were passed in slavish self-indulgence or in +hoggish slumber. Every other branch of his duty was +neglected, except maintaining a stern discipline about the +dinner-table. Again and again Herrick would hear the cook +called aft, and see him running with fresh tins, or carrying +away again a meal that had been totally condemned. And +the more the captain became sunk in drunkenness, the more +delicate his palate showed itself. Once, in the forenoon, +he had a bo’sun’s chair rigged over the rail, stripped to his +trousers, and went overboard with a pot of paint. “I don’t +like the way this schooner’s painted,” said he, “and I’ve +taken a down upon her name.” But he tired of it in half +an hour, and the schooner went on her way with an incongruous +patch of colour on the stern, and the word <i>Farallone</i> +part obliterated and part looking through. He refused to +stand either the middle or morning watch. It was fine-weather +sailing, he said; and asked, with a laugh, “Who +ever heard of the old man standing watch himself?” To +the dead reckoning which Herrick still tried to keep, he +would pay not the least attention nor afford the least +assistance.</p> + +<p>“What do we want of dead reckoning?” he asked. +“We get the sun all right, don’t we?”</p> + +<p>“We mayn’t get it always, though,” objected Herrick. +“And you told me yourself you weren’t sure of the chronometer.”</p> + +<p>“O, there ain’t no flies in the chronometer!” cried +Davis.</p> + +<p>“Oblige me so far, captain,” said Herrick stiffly. “I +am anxious to keep this reckoning, which is a part of my +duty; I do not know what to allow for current, nor how to +allow for it. I am too inexperienced; and I beg of you +to help me.”</p> + +<p>“Never discourage zealous officer,” said the captain, +unrolling the chart again, for Herrick had taken him over +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>55</span> +his day’s work, and while he was still partly sober. “Here +it is: look for yourself; anything from west to west no’thewest, +and anyways from five to twenty-five miles. That’s +what the A’m’ralty chart says; I guess you don’t expect +to get on ahead of your own Britishers?”</p> + +<p>“I am trying to do my duty, Captain Brown,” said +Herrick, with a dark flush, “and I have the honour to +inform you that I don’t enjoy being trifled with.”</p> + +<p>“What in thunder do you want?” roared Davis. “Go +and look at the blamed wake. If you’re trying to do your +duty, why don’t you go and do it? I guess it’s no business +of mine to go and stick my head over the ship’s rump? I +guess it’s yours. And I’ll tell you what it is, my fine fellow, +I’ll trouble you not to come the dude over me. You’re +insolent, that’s what’s wrong with you. Don’t you crowd +me, Mr. Herrick, Esquire.”</p> + +<p>Herrick tore up his papers, threw them on the floor, and +left the cabin.</p> + +<p>“He’s turned a bloomin’ swot, ain’t he?” sneered +Huish.</p> + +<p>“He thinks himself too good for his company, that’s +what ails Herrick, Esquire,” raged the captain. “He +thinks I don’t understand when he comes the heavy swell. +Won’t sit down with us, won’t he? won’t say a civil word? +I’ll serve the son of a gun as he deserves. By God, Huish, +I’ll show him whether he’s too good for John Davis!”</p> + +<p>“Easy with the names, cap’,” said Huish, who was +always the more sober. “Easy over the stones, my +boy!”</p> + +<p>“All right, I will. You’re a good sort, Huish. I didn’t +take to you at first, but I guess you’re right enough. Let’s +open another bottle,” said the captain; and that day, perhaps +because he was excited by the quarrel, he drank more +recklessly, and by four o’clock was stretched insensible upon +the locker.</p> + +<p>Herrick and Huish supped alone, one after the other, +opposite his flushed and snorting body. And if the sight +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>56</span> +killed Herrick’s hunger, the isolation weighed so heavily on +the clerk’s spirit that he was scarce risen from table ere he +was currying favour with his former comrade.</p> + +<p>Herrick was at the wheel when he approached, and +Huish leaned confidentially across the binnacle.</p> + +<p>“I say, old chappie,” he said, “you and me don’t seem +to be such pals somehow.”</p> + +<p>Herrick gave her a spoke or two in silence; his eye, as it +skirted from the needle to the luff of the foresail, passed the +man by without speculation. But Huish was really dull, +a thing he could support with difficulty, having no resources +of his own. The idea of a private talk with Herrick, at this +stage of their relations, held out particular inducements to +a person of his character. Drink besides, as it renders some +men hyper-sensitive, made Huish callous. And it would +almost have required a blow to make him quit his +purpose.</p> + +<p>“Pretty business, ain’t it?” he continued; “Dyvis on +the lush? Must say I thought you gave it ’im A1 to-day. +He didn’t like it a bit; took on hawful after you were gone.—’ ‘Ere,’ +says I, ‘’old on, easy on the lush,’ I says. ‘’Errick +was right and you know it. Give ’im a chanst,’ I says.—’ ‘Uish,’ +sezee, ‘don’t you gimme no more of your jaw, or +I’ll knock your bloomin’ eyes out.’ Well, wot can I do, +’Errick? But I tell you, I don’t ’arf like it. It looks to me +like the <i>Sea Rynger</i> over again.”</p> + +<p>Still Herrick was silent.</p> + +<p>“Do you ’ear me speak?” asked Huish sharply. +“You’re pleasant, ain’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Stand away from that binnacle,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>The clerk looked at him long and straight and black; +his figure seemed to writhe like that of a snake about to +strike; then he turned on his heel, went back to the cabin +and opened a bottle of champagne. When eight bells were +cried he slept on the floor beside the captain on the locker; +and of the whole starboard watch only Sally Day appeared +upon the summons. The mate proposed to stand the watch +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>57</span> +with him, and let Uncle Ned lie down; it would make twelve +hours on deck, and probably sixteen, but in this fair-weather +sailing he might safely sleep between his tricks of wheel, +leaving orders to be called on any sign of squalls. So far he +could trust the men, between whom and himself a close +relation had sprung up. With Uncle Ned he held long +nocturnal conversations, and the old man told him his +simple and hard story of exile, suffering, and injustice among +cruel whites. The cook, when he found Herrick messed +alone, produced for him unexpected and sometimes unpalatable +dainties, of which he forced himself to eat. And one +day, when he was forward, he was surprised to feel a caressing +hand run down his shoulder, and to hear the voice of +Sally Day crooning in his ear: “You gootch man!” He +turned, and, choking down a sob, shook hands with the +negrito. They were kindly, cheery, childish souls. Upon +the Sunday each brought forth his separate Bible—for they +were all men of alien speech, even to each other, and Sally +Day communicated with his mates in English only; each +read or made-believe to read his chapter, Uncle Ned with +spectacles on his nose; and they would all join together in +the singing of missionary hymns. It was thus a cutting +reproof to compare the islanders and the whites aboard the +<i>Farallone</i>. Shame ran in Herrick’s blood to remember +what employment he was on, and to see these poor souls—and +even Sally Day, the child of cannibals, in all likelihood +a cannibal himself—so faithful to what they knew of good. +The fact that he was held in grateful favour by these innocents +served like blinders to his conscience, and there were +times when he was inclined, with Sally Day, to call himself +a good man. But the height of his favour was only now to +appear. With one voice, the crew protested; ere Herrick +knew what they were doing, the cook was aroused and came +a willing volunteer; all hands clustered about their mate +with expostulations and caresses; and he was bidden to lie +down and take his customary rest without alarm.</p> + +<p>“He tell you tlue,” said Uncle Ned. “You sleep. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>58</span> +Evely man hea he do all light. Evely man he like you too +much.”</p> + +<p>Herrick struggled, and gave way; choked upon some +trivial words of gratitude; and walked to the side of the +house, against which he leaned, struggling with emotion.</p> + +<p>Uncle Ned presently followed him and begged him to lie +down.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use, Uncle Ned,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep. +I’m knocked over with all your goodness.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, no call me Uncle Ned no mo’!” cried the old man. +“No my name! My name Taveeta, all-e-same Taveeta +King of Islael. Wat for he call that Hawaii? I think no +savvy nothing—all-e-same Wise-a-mana.”</p> + +<p>It was the first time the name of the late captain had been +mentioned, and Herrick grasped the occasion. The reader +shall be spared Uncle Ned’s unwieldy dialect, and learn in +less embarrassing English the sum of what he now communicated. +The ship had scarce cleared the Golden Gates +before the captain and mate had entered on a career of +drunkenness, which was scarcely interrupted by their malady +and only closed by death. For days and weeks they had +encountered neither land nor ship; and seeing themselves +lost on the huge deep with their insane conductors, the +natives had drunk deep of terror.</p> + +<p>At length they made a low island and went in; and Wiseman +and Wishart landed in the boat.</p> + +<p>There was a great village, a very fine village, and plenty +Kanakas in that place; but all mighty serious; and from +every here and there in the back parts of the settlement, +Taveeta heard the sounds of island lamentation. “I no +savvy <i>talk</i> that island,” said he. “I savvy hear um <i>cly</i>. +I think, Hum! too many people die here!” But upon +Wiseman and Wishart the significance of that barbaric +keening was lost. Full of bread and drink, they rollicked +along unconcerned, embraced the girls, who had scarce +energy to repel them, took up and joined (with drunken +voices) in the death-wail, and at last (on what they took to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>59</span> +be an invitation) entered under the roof of a house in which +was a considerable concourse of people sitting silent. They +stooped below the eaves, flushed and laughing; within a +minute they came forth again with changed faces and silent +tongues; and as the press severed to make way for them, +Taveeta was able to perceive, in the deep shadow of the +house, the sick man raising from his mat a head already +defeatured by disease. The two tragic triflers fled without +hesitation for their boat, screaming on Taveeta to make +haste; they came aboard with all speed of oars, raised anchor +and crowded sail upon the ship with blows and curses, and +were at sea again—and again drunk—before sunset. A +week after, and the last of the two had been committed to +the deep. Herrick asked Taveeta where that island was, +and he replied that, by what he gathered of folks’ talk as +they went up together from the beach, he supposed it must +be one of the Paumotus. This was in itself probable enough, +for the Dangerous Archipelago had been swept that year +from east to west by devastating small-pox; but Herrick +thought it a strange course to lie from Sydney. Then he +remembered the drink.</p> + +<p>“Were they not surprised when they made the island?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Wise-a-mana he say, ‘damn! what this?’” was the +reply.</p> + +<p>“O, that’s it, then,” said Herrick. “I don’t believe +they knew where they were.”</p> + +<p>“I think so too,” said Uncle Ned. “I think no savvy. +This one mo’ betta,” he added, pointing to the house, where +the drunken captain slumbered: “Take-a-sun all-e-time.”</p> + +<p>The implied last touch completed Herrick’s picture of +the life and death of his two predecessors; of their prolonged, +sordid, sodden sensuality as they sailed, they knew +not whither, on their last cruise. He held but a twinkling +and unsure belief in any future state; the thought of one of +punishment he derided; yet for him (as for all) there dwelt +a horror about the end of the brutish man. Sickness fell +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>60</span> +upon him at the image thus called up; and when he compared +it with the scene in which he himself was acting, and +considered the doom that seemed to brood upon the schooner, +a horror that was almost superstitious fell upon him. And +yet the strange thing was, he did not falter. He who had +proved his incapacity in so many fields, being now falsely +placed amid duties which he did not understand, without +help, and it might be said without countenance, had hitherto +surpassed expectation; and even the shameful misconduct +and shocking disclosures of that night seemed but to nerve +and strengthen him. He had sold his honour; he vowed it +should not be in vain; “it shall be no fault of mine if this +miscarry,” he repeated. And in his heart he wondered at +himself. Living rage no doubt supported him; no doubt +also, the sense of the last cast, of the ships burned, of all doors +closed but one, which is so strong a tonic to the merely weak, +and so deadly a depressent to the merely cowardly.</p> + +<p>For some time the voyage went otherwise well. They +weathered Fakarava with one board; and the wind holding +well to the southward, and blowing fresh, they passed between +Ranaka and Ratiu, and ran some days north-east by +east-half-east under the lee of Takume and Honden, neither +of which they made. In about 14° south, and between 134° +and 135° west, it fell a dead calm, with rather a heavy sea. +The captain refused to take in sail, the helm was lashed, no +watch was set, and the <i>Farallone</i> rolled and banged for three +days, according to observation, in almost the same place. +The fourth morning, a little before day, a breeze sprang up +and rapidly freshened. The captain had drunk hard the +night before; he was far from sober when he was roused; +and when he came on deck for the first time at half-past +eight, it was plain he had already drunk deep again at breakfast. +Herrick avoided his eye; and resigned the deck with +indignation to a man more than half-seas-over.</p> + +<p>By the loud commands of the captain and the singing +out of fellows at the ropes, he could judge from the house +that sail was being crowded on the ship; relinquished his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>61</span> +half-eaten breakfast; and came on deck again, to find the +main and the jib topsails set, and both watches and the cook +turned out to hand the staysail. The <i>Farallone</i> lay already +far over; the sky was obscured with misty scud; and from +the windward an ominous squall came flying up, broadening +and blackening as it rose.</p> + +<p>Fear thrilled in Herrick’s vitals. He saw death hard +by; and if not death, sure ruin. For if the <i>Farallone</i> lived +through the coming squall, she must surely be dismasted. +With that their enterprise was at an end, and they themselves +bound prisoners to the very evidence of their crime. +The greatness of the peril and his own alarm sufficed to +silence him. Pride, wrath, and shame raged without issue +in his mind; and he shut his teeth and folded his arms +close.</p> + +<p>The captain sat in the boat to windward, bellowing orders +and insults, his eyes glazed, his face deeply congested; a +bottle set between his knees, a glass in his hand half empty. +His back was to the squall, and he was at first intent upon +the setting of the sail. When that was done, and the great +trapezium of canvas had begun to draw and to trail the lee-rail +of the <i>Farallone</i> level with the foam, he laughed out an +empty laugh, drained his glass, sprawled back among the +lumber in the boat, and fetched out a crumpled novel.</p> + +<p>Herrick watched him, and his indignation glowed red-hot. +He glanced to windward where the squall already +whitened the near sea and heralded its coming with a singular +and dismal sound. He glanced at the steersman, and saw +him clinging to the spokes with a face of a sickly blue. He +saw the crew were running to their stations without orders. +And it seemed as if something broke in his brain; and the +passion of anger, so long restrained, so long eaten in secret, +burst suddenly loose and shook him like a sail. He stepped +across to the captain, and smote his hand heavily on the +drunkard’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“You brute,” he said, in a voice that tottered, “look +behind you!” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>62</span></p> + +<p>“Wha’s that?” cried Davis, bounding in the boat and +upsetting the champagne.</p> + +<p>“You lost the <i>Sea Ranger</i> because you were a drunken +sot,” said Herrick. “Now you’re going to lose the <i>Farallone</i>. +You’re going to drown here the same way as you drowned +others, and be damned. And your daughter shall walk the +streets, and your sons be thieves like their father.”</p> + +<p>For the moment the words struck the captain white and +foolish. “My God!” he cried, looking at Herrick as upon +a ghost; “my God, Herrick!”</p> + +<p>“Look behind you, then!” reiterated the assailant.</p> + +<p>The wretched man, already partly sobered, did as he +was told, and in the same breath of time leaped to his feet. +“Down staysail!” he trumpeted. The hands were thrilling +for the order, and the great sail came with a run, and fell +half overboard among the racing foam. “Jib top-sail +halyards! Let the stays’l be,” he said again.</p> + +<p>But before it was well uttered, the squall shouted aloud +and fell, in a solid mass of wind and rain commingled, on the +<i>Farallone</i>; and she stooped under the blow, and lay like +a thing dead. From the mind of Herrick reason fled; he +clung in the weather rigging, exulting; he was done with +life, and he gloried in the release; he gloried in the wild +noises of the wind and the choking onslaught of the rain; +he gloried to die so, and now, amid this coil of the elements. +And meanwhile, in the waist, up to his knees in water—so +low the schooner lay—the captain was hacking at the fore-sheet +with a pocket-knife. It was a question of seconds, +for the <i>Farallone</i> drank deep of the encroaching seas. But +the hand of the captain had the advance; the foresail boom +tore apart the last strands of the sheet and crashed to lee-ward; +the <i>Farallone</i> leaped up into the wind and righted; +and the peak and throat halyards, which had long been let +go, began to run at the same instant.</p> + +<p>For some ten minutes more she careered under the impulse +of the squall; but the captain was now master of himself +and of his ship, and all danger at an end. And then, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>63</span> +sudden as a trick-change upon the stage, the squall blew by, +the wind dropped into light airs, the sun beamed forth again +upon the tattered schooner; and the captain, having secured +the foresail boom and set a couple of hands to the pump, +walked aft, sober, a little pale, and with the sodden end of a +cigar still stuck between his teeth even as the squall had +found it. Herrick followed him; he could scarce recall the +violence of his late emotions, but he felt there was a scene +to go through, and he was anxious and even eager to go +through with it.</p> + +<p>The captain, turning at the house-end, met him face to +face, and averted his eyes. “We’ve lost the two tops’ls, +and the stays’l,” he gabbled. “Good business we didn’t +lose any sticks. I guess you think we’re all the better +without the kites.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not what I’m thinking,” said Herrick, in a voice +strangely quiet, that yet echoed confusion in the captain’s +mind.</p> + +<p>“I know that,” he cried, holding up his hand. “I know +what you’re thinking. No use to say it now. I’m sober.”</p> + +<p>“I have to say it, though,” returned Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, Herrick; you’ve said enough,” said Davis. +“You’ve said what I would take from no man breathing +but yourself; only I know it’s true.”</p> + +<p>“I have to tell you, Captain Brown,” pursued Herrick, +“that I resign my position as mate. You can put me in +irons or shoot me, as you please; I will make no resistance—only, +I decline in any way to help or to obey you; and I +suggest you should put Mr. Huish in my place. He will +make a worthy first officer to your captain, sir.” He smiled, +bowed, and turned to walk forward.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going, Herrick?” cried the captain, +detaining him by the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“To berth forward with the men, sir,” replied Herrick, +with the same hateful smile. “I’ve been long enough aft +here with you—gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“You’re wrong there,” said Davis. “Don’t you be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>64</span> +too quick with me; there ain’t nothing wrong but the drink—it’s +the old story, man! Let me get sober once and then +you’ll see,” he pleaded.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, I desire to see no more of you,” said +Herrick.</p> + +<p>The captain groaned aloud. “You know what you said +about my children?” he broke out.</p> + +<p>“By rote. In case you wish me to say it to you +again?” asked Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” cried the captain clapping his hands to his +ears. “Don’t make me kill a man I care for! Herrick, +if you see me put a glass to my lips again till we’re ashore, +I give you leave to put a bullet through me; I beg you to do +it! You’re the only man aboard whose carcase is worth +losing; do you think I don’t know that? do you think I +ever went back on you? I always knew you were in the +right of it—drunk or sober, I knew that. What do you +want?—an oath? Man, you’re clever enough to see that +this is sure-enough earnest.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean there shall be no more drinking?” asked +Herrick, “neither by you nor Huish? that you won’t go on +stealing my profits and drinking my champagne that I gave +my honour for? and that you’ll attend to your duties, and +stand watch and watch, and bear your proper share of the +ship’s work, instead of leaving it all on the shoulders of a +landsman, and making yourself the butt and scoff of native +seamen? Is that what you mean? If it is, be so good as +to say it categorically.”</p> + +<p>“You put these things in a way hard for a gentleman +to swallow,” said the captain. “You wouldn’t have me +say I was ashamed of myself? Trust me this once; I’ll do +the square thing, and there’s my hand on it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll try it once,” said Herrick. “Fail me +again....”</p> + +<p>“No more now!” interrupted Davis. “No more, old +man! Enough said. You’ve a riling tongue when your +back’s up, Herrick. Just be glad we’re friends again, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page65" id="page65"></a>65</span> +same as what I am; and go tender on the raws; I’ll see as +you don’t repent it. We’ve been mighty near death this +day—don’t say whose fault it was!—pretty near hell, too, I +guess. We’re in a mighty bad line of life, us two, and ought +to go easy with each other.”</p> + +<p>He was maundering; yet it seemed as if he were +maundering with some design, beating about the bush of +some communication that he feared to make, or perhaps +only talking against time in terror of what Herrick might +say next. But Herrick had now spat his venom; his was +a kindly nature, and, content with his triumph, he had now +begun to pity. With a few soothing words he sought to +conclude the interview, and proposed that they should +change their clothes.</p> + +<p>“Not right yet,” said Davis. “There’s another thing I +want to tell you first. You know what you said about my +children? I want to tell you why it hit me so hard; I kind +of think you’ll feel bad about it too. It’s about my little +Adar. You hadn’t ought to have quite said that—but of +course I know you didn’t know. She—she’s dead, you see.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Davis!” cried Herrick. “You’ve told me a +dozen times she was alive! Clear your head, man! This +must be the drink.”</p> + +<p>“No, <i>sir</i>,” said Davis. “She’s dead. Died of a bowel +complaint. That was when I was away in the brig <i>Oregon</i>. +She lies in Portland, Maine. ‘Adar, only daughter of +Captain John Davis and Mariar his wife, aged five.’ I had +a doll for her on board. I never took the paper off’n that +doll, Herrick; it went down the way it was with the <i>Sea +Ranger</i>, that day I was damned.”</p> + +<p>The captain’s eyes were fixed on the horizon; he talked +with an extraordinary softness, but a complete composure; +and Herrick looked upon him with something that was +almost terror.</p> + +<p>“Don’t think I’m crazy neither,” resumed Davis. +“I’ve all the cold sense that I know what to do with. But I +guess a man that’s unhappy’s like a child; and this is a kind +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>66</span> +of a child’s game of mine. I never could act up to the plain-cut +truth, you see; so I pretend. And I warn you square; +as soon as we’re through with this talk, I’ll start in again +with the pretending. Only, you see, she can’t walk no +streets,” added the captain, “couldn’t even make out to +live and get that doll!”</p> + +<p>Herrick laid a tremulous hand upon the captain’s +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Don’t do that!” cried Davis, recoiling from the touch. +“Can’t you see I’m all broken up the way it is? Come +along, then; come along, old man; you can put your trust +in me right through; come along and get dry clothes.”</p> + +<p>They entered the cabin, and there was Huish on his +knees prizing open a case of champagne.</p> + +<p>“’Vast there!” cried the captain. “No more of that. +No more drinking on this ship.”</p> + +<p>“Turned teetotal, ’ave you?” inquired Huish. “I’m +agreeable. About time, eh? Bloomin’ nearly lost another +ship, I fancy.” He took out a bottle and began calmly to +burst the wire with the spike of a corkscrew.</p> + +<p>“Do you hear me speak?” cried Davis.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I do. You speak loud enough,” said Huish. +“The trouble is that I don’t care.”</p> + +<p>Herrick plucked the captain’s sleeve. “Let him +free now,” he said. “We’ve had all we want this +morning.”</p> + +<p>“Let him have it, then,” said the captain. “It’s his +last.”</p> + +<p>By this time the wire was open, the string was cut, the +head of gilded paper was torn away; and Huish waited, +mug in hand, expecting the usual explosion. It did not +follow. He eased the cork with his thumb; still there was +no result. At last he took the screw and drew it. It came +out very easy and with scarce a sound.</p> + +<p>“’Illo!” said Huish. “’Ere’s a bad bottle.”</p> + +<p>He poured some of the wine into the mug; it was colourless +and still. He smelt and tasted it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>67</span></p> + +<p>“W’y, wot’s this?” he said. “It’s water!”</p> + +<p>If the voice of trumpets had suddenly sounded about +the ship in the midst of the sea, the three men in the house +could scarcely have been more stunned than by this incident. +The mug passed round; each sipped, each smelt of it; each +stared at the bottle in its glory of gold paper as Crusoe may +have stared at the footprint; and their minds were swift to +fix upon a common apprehension. The difference between +a bottle of champagne and a bottle of water is not great; +between a shipload of one or of the other lay the whole scale +from riches to ruin.</p> + +<p>A second bottle was broached. There were two cases +standing ready in a state-room; these two were brought out, +broken open, and tested. Still with the same result: the +contents were still colourless and tasteless, and dead as the +rain in a beached fishing-boat.</p> + +<p>“Crikey!” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“Here, let’s sample the hold,” said the captain, mopping +his brow with a back-handed sweep; and the three stalked +out of the house, grim and heavy-footed.</p> + +<p>All hands were turned out; two Kanakas were sent +below, another stationed at a purchase; and Davis, axe in +hand, took his place beside the coamings.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to let the men know?” whispered +Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Damn the men!” said Davis. “It’s beyond that. +We’ve got to know ourselves.”</p> + +<p>Three cases were sent on deck and sampled in turn; +from each bottle, as the captain smashed it with the axe, the +champagne ran bubbling and creaming.</p> + +<p>“Go deeper, can’t you?” cried Davis to the Kanakas +in the hold.</p> + +<p>The command gave the signal for a disastrous change. +Case after case came up, bottle after bottle was burst, and +bled mere water. Deeper yet, and they came upon a layer +where there was scarcely so much as the intention to deceive; +where the cases were no longer branded, the bottles no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>68</span> +longer wired or papered, where the fraud was manifest and +stared them in the face.</p> + +<p>“Here’s about enough of this foolery!” said Davis. +“Stow back the cases in the hold, Uncle, and get the broken +crockery overboard. Come with me,” he added to his co-adventurers, +and led the way back into the cabin.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page69" id="page69"></a>69</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<h5>THE PARTNERS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Each</span> took a side of the fixed table; it was the first time they +had sat down at it together; but now all sense of incongruity, +all memory of differences, was quite swept away by the +presence of the common ruin.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said the captain, after a pause, and with +very much the air of a chairman opening a board meeting, +“we’re sold.”</p> + +<p>Huish broke out in laughter. “Well, if this ain’t the +’ighest old rig!” he cried. “And Dyvis ’ere, who thought +he had got up so bloomin’ early in the mornin’! We’ve +stolen a cargo of spring water! O, my crikey!” and he +squirmed with mirth.</p> + +<p>The captain managed to screw out a phantom smile.</p> + +<p>“Here’s Old Man Destiny again,” said he to Herrick, +“but this time I guess he’s kicked the door right in.”</p> + +<p>Herrick only shook his head.</p> + +<p>“O Lord, it’s rich!” laughed Huish. “It would really +be a scrumptious lark if it ’ad ’appened to somebody +else! And what are we to do next? O, my eye! with this +bloomin’ schooner, too?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the trouble,” said Davis. “There’s only one +thing certain: it’s no use carting this old glass and ballast +to Peru. No, <i>sir</i>, we’re in a hole.”</p> + +<p>“O my, and the merchant!” cried Huish; “the man +that made this shipment! He’ll get the news by the mail +brigantine; and he’ll think of course we’re making straight +for Sydney.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he’ll be a sick merchant,” said the captain. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" id="page70"></a>70</span> +“One thing: this explains the Kanaka crew. If you’re +going to lose a ship, I would ask no better myself than a +Kanaka crew. But there’s one thing it don’t explain; it +don’t explain why she came down Tahitiways.”</p> + +<p>“W’y, to lose her, you byby!” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“A lot you know,” said the captain. “Nobody wants +to lose a schooner; they want to lose her <i>on her course</i>, you +skeericks! You seem to think underwriters haven’t got +enough sense to come in out of the rain.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Herrick, “I can tell you (I am afraid) why +she came so far to the eastward. I had it of Uncle Ned. +It seems these two unhappy devils, Wiseman and Wishart, +were drunk on the champagne from the beginning—and died +drunk at the end.”</p> + +<p>The captain looked on the table.</p> + +<p>“They lay in their two bunks, or sat here in this damned +house,” he pursued, with rising agitation, “filling their +skins with the accursed stuff, till sickness took them. As +they sickened and the fever rose, they drank the more. +They lay here howling and groaning, drunk and dying, all +in one. They didn’t know where they were; they didn’t +care. They didn’t even take the sun, it seems.”</p> + +<p>“Not take the sun?” cried the captain, looking up. +“Sacred Billy! what a crowd!”</p> + +<p>“Well, it don’t matter to Joe!” said Huish. “Wot are +Wiseman and t’other buffer to us?”</p> + +<p>“A good deal, too,” said the captain. “We’re their +heirs, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“It is a great inheritance,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know about that,” returned Davis. +“Appears to me as if it might be worse. ’Tain’t worth what +the cargo would have been, of course, at least not money +down. But I’ll tell you what it appears to figure up to. +Appears to me as if it amounted to about the bottom dollar +of the man in ’Frisco.”</p> + +<p>“’Old on,” said Huish. “Give a fellow time; ’ow’s +this, umpire?” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" id="page71"></a>71</span></p> + +<p>“Well, my sons,” pursued the captain, who seemed to +have recovered his assurance, “Wiseman and Wishart were +to be paid for casting away this old schooner and its cargo. +We’re going to cast away the schooner right enough; and I’ll +make it my private business to see that we get paid. What +were W. and W. to get? That’s more’n I can tell. But +W. and W. went into this business themselves, they were on +the crook. Now <i>we’re</i> on the square, <i>we</i> only stumbled into +it; and that merchant has just got to squeal, and I’m the +man to see that he squeals good. No, <i>sir</i>! there’s some +stuffing to this <i>Farallone</i> racket after all.”</p> + +<p>“Go it, cap’!” cried Huish. “Yoicks! Forrard! +’Old ’ard! There’s your style for the money! Blow me if +I don’t prefer this to the hother.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand,” said Herrick. “I have to ask +you to excuse me; I do not understand.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, see here, Herrick,” said Davis. “I’m +going to have a word with you anyway upon a different +matter, and it’s good that Huish should hear it too. We’re +done with this boozing business, and we ask your pardon for +it right here and now. We have to thank you for all you +did for us while we were making hogs of ourselves; you’ll +find me turn-to all right in future; and as for the wine, +which I grant we stole from you, I’ll take stock and see you +paid for it. That’s good enough, I believe. But what I +want to point out to you is this. The old game was a risky +game. The new game’s as safe as running a Vienna bakery. +We just put this <i>Farallone</i> before the wind, and run till we’re +well to looard of our port of departure, and reasonably well +up with some other place where they have an American +consul. Down goes the <i>Farallone</i>, and good-bye to her! A +day or so in the boat; the consul packs us home, at Uncle +Sam’s expense, to ’Frisco; and if that merchant don’t put +the dollars down, you come to me!”</p> + +<p>“But I thought—” began Herrick; and then broke +out: “O, let’s get on to Peru!”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you’re going to Peru for your health, I won’t +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>72</span> +say no!” replied the captain. “But for what other blame +shadow of a reason you should want to go there gets me clear. +We don’t want to go there with this cargo; I don’t know as +old bottles is a lively article anywheres; leastways, I’ll go +my bottom cent, it ain’t Peru. It was always a doubt if we +could sell the schooner; I never rightly hoped to, and now +I’m sure she ain’t worth a hill of beans; what’s wrong with +her I don’t know; I only know it’s something, or she +wouldn’t be here with this truck in her inside. Then again, +if we lose her, and land in Peru, where are we? We can’t +declare the loss, or how did we get to Peru? In that case +the merchant can’t touch the insurance; most likely he’ll +go bust; and don’t you think you see the three of us on the +beach of Callao?”</p> + +<p>“There’s no extradition there,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Well, my son, and we want to be extraded,” said the +captain. “What’s our point? We want to have a consul +extrade us as far as San Francisco and that merchant’s +office door. My idea is that Samoa would be found an +eligible business centre. It’s dead before the wind; the +States have a consul there, and ’Frisco steamers call, so’s +we could skip right back and interview the merchant.”</p> + +<p>“Samoa?” said Herrick. “It will take us for ever to +get there.”</p> + +<p>“O, with a fair wind!” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“No trouble about the log, eh?” asked Huish.</p> + +<p>“No, <i>sir</i>,” said Davis. “<i>Light airs and baffling winds. +Squalls and calms. D.R.: five miles. No obs. Pumps +attended.</i> And fill in the barometer and thermometer off +of last year’s trip. ‘Never saw such a voyage,’ says you to +the consul. ‘Thought I was going to run short...’” He +stopped in mid career. “’Say,” he began again, and once +more stopped. “Beg your pardon, Herrick,” he added +with undisguised humility, “but did you keep the run of +the stores?”</p> + +<p>“Had I been told to do so it should have been done, as +the rest was done, to the best of my little ability,” said +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" id="page73"></a>73</span> +Herrick. “As it was, the cook helped himself to what he +pleased.”</p> + +<p>Davis looked at the table.</p> + +<p>“I drew it rather fine, you see,” he said at last. “The +great thing was to clear right out of Papeete before the +consul could think better of it. Tell you what: I guess I’ll +take stock.”</p> + +<p>And he rose from the table and disappeared with a lamp +in the lazarette.</p> + +<p>“’Ere’s another screw loose,” observed Huish.</p> + +<p>“My man,” said Herrick, with a sudden gleam of +animosity, “it is still your watch on deck, and surely your +wheel also?”</p> + +<p>“You come the ’eavy swell, don’t you, ducky?” said +Huish. “Stand away from that binnacle. Surely your +w’eel, my man. Yah.”</p> + +<p>He lit a cigar ostentatiously, and strolled into the waist +with his hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>In a surprisingly short time the captain reappeared; +he did not look at Herrick, but called Huish back and sat +down.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he began, “I’ve taken stock—roughly.” He +paused as if for somebody to help him out; and none doing +so, both gazing on him instead with manifest anxiety, he +yet more heavily resumed: “Well, it won’t fight. We +can’t do it; that’s the bed-rock. I’m as sorry as what you +can be, and sorrier. But the game’s up. We can’t look +near Samoa. I don’t know as we could get to Peru.”</p> + +<p>“Wot-ju mean?” asked Huish brutally.</p> + +<p>“I can’t ’most tell myself,” replied the captain. “I +drew it fine; I said I did; but what’s been going on here +gets me! Appears as if the devil had been around. That +cook must be the holiest kind of fraud. Only twelve days +too! Seems like craziness. I’ll own up square to one thing: +I seem to have figured too fine upon the flour. But the rest—my +land! I’ll never understand it! There’s been more +waste on this twopenny ship than what there is to an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74" id="page74"></a>74</span> +Atlantic Liner.” He stole a glance at his companions: +nothing good was to be gleaned from their dark faces; and +he had recourse to rage. “You wait till I interview that +cook!” he roared, and smote the table with his fist. “I’ll +interview the son of a gun so’s he’s never been spoken to +before. I’ll put a bead upon the—!”</p> + +<p>“You will not lay a finger on the man,” said Herrick. +“The fault is yours, and you know it. If you turn a savage +loose in your storeroom, you know what to expect. I will +not allow the man to be molested.”</p> + +<p>It is hard to say how Davis might have taken this defiance; +but he was diverted to a fresh assailant.</p> + +<p>“Well,” drawled Huish, “you’re a plummy captain, +ain’t you? You’re a blooming captain! Don’t you set +up any of your chat to me, John Dyvis: I know you now; +you ain’t any more use than a blooming dawl! O, you +‘don’t know,’ don’t you? O, it ‘gets you,’ do it? O, I +dessay! W’y, weren’t you ‘owling for fresh tins every +blessed day? ’Ow often ’ave I ’eard you send the ’ole +bloomin’ dinner off and tell the man to chuck it in the swill-tub? +And breakfast? O, my crikey! breakfast for ten, +and you ’ollerin’ for more! And now you ‘can’t ’most tell’! +Blow me if it ain’t enough to make a man write an insultin’ +letter to Gawd! You dror it mild, John Dyvis: don’t ’andle +me; I’m dyngerous.”</p> + +<p>Davis sat like one bemused; it might even have been +doubted if he heard, but the voice of the clerk rang about +the cabin like that of a cormorant among the ledges of the +cliff.</p> + +<p>“That will do, Huish,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“O, so you tyke his part, do you? you stuck-up, sneerin’ +snob. Tyke it then. Come on, the pair of you. But as +for John Dyvis, let him look out! He struck me the first +night aboard, and I never took a blow yet but wot I gave as +good. Let him knuckle down on his marrow-bones and beg +my pardon. That’s my last word.”</p> + +<p>“I stand by the captain,” said Herrick. “That makes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page75" id="page75"></a>75</span> +us two to one, both good men; and the crew will all follow +me. I hope I shall die very soon; but I have not the least +objection to killing you before I go. I should prefer it so; +I should do it with no more remorse than winking. Take +care—take care—you little cad!”</p> + +<p>The animosity with which these words were uttered was +so marked in itself, and so remarkable in the man who +uttered them, that Huish stared, and even the humiliated +Davis reared up his head and gazed at his defender. As for +Herrick, the successive agitations and disappointments of +the day had left him wholly reckless; he was conscious of a +pleasant glow, an agreeable excitement; his head seemed +empty, his eyeballs burned as he turned them, his throat +was dry as a biscuit; the least dangerous man by nature, +except in so far as the weak are always dangerous, at that +moment he was ready to slay or to be slain with equal +unconcern.</p> + +<p>Here at least was the gage thrown down, and battle +offered; he who should speak next would bring the matter +to an issue there and then; all knew it to be so and hung +back; and for many seconds by the cabin clock the trio sat +motionless and silent.</p> + +<p>Then came an interruption, welcome as the flowers in +May.</p> + +<p>“Land ho!” sang out a voice on deck. “Land a weatha +bow!”</p> + +<p>“Land!” cried Davis, springing to his feet. “What’s +this? There ain’t no land here.”</p> + +<p>And as men may run from the chamber of a murdered +corpse, the three ran forth out of the house and left their +quarrel behind them undecided.</p> + +<p>The sky shaded down at the sea-level to the white of +opals; the sea itself, insolently, inkily blue, drew all about +them the uncompromising wheel of the horizon. Search +it as they pleased, not even the practised eye of Captain +Davis could descry the smallest interruption. A few filmy +clouds were slowly melting overhead; and about the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>76</span> +schooner, as around the only point of interest, a tropic bird, +white as a snow-flake, hung, and circled, and displayed, as +it turned, the long vermilion feather of its tail. Save the +sea and the heaven, that was all.</p> + +<p>“Who sang out land?” asked Davis. “If there’s any +boy playing funny-dog with me, I’ll teach him skylarking!”</p> + +<p>But Uncle Ned contentedly pointed to a part of the +horizon where a greenish, filmy iridescence could be discerned +floating like smoke on the pale heavens.</p> + +<p>Davis applied his glass to it, and then looked at the +Kanaka. “Call that land?” said he. “Well, it’s more +than I do.”</p> + +<p>“One time long ago,” said Uncle Ned, “I see Anaa +all-e-same that, four five hours befo’ we come up. Capena +he say sun go down, sun go up again; he say lagoon all-e-same +milla.”</p> + +<p>“All-e-same <i>what</i>?” asked Davis.</p> + +<p>“Milla, sah,” said Uncle Ned.</p> + +<p>“O, ah! mirror,” said Davis. “I see; reflection from +the lagoon. Well, you know, it is just possible, though it’s +strange I never heard of it. Here, let’s look at the chart.”</p> + +<p>They went back to the cabin, and found the position of +the schooner well to windward of the archipelago in the +midst of a white field of paper.</p> + +<p>“There! you see for yourselves,” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“And yet I don’t know,” said Herrick; “I somehow +think there’s something in it. I’ll tell you one thing too, +captain: that’s all right about the reflection; I heard it in +Papeete.”</p> + +<p>“Fetch up that Findlay, then!” said Davis. “I’ll +try it all ways. An island wouldn’t come amiss the way +we’re fixed.”</p> + +<p>The bulky volume was handed up to him, broken-backed +as is the way with Findlay; and he turned to the place and +began to run over the text, muttering to himself and turning +over the pages with a wetted finger.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” he exclaimed. “How’s this?” And he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" id="page77"></a>77</span> +read aloud: “‘<i>New Island</i>. According to M. Delille this +island, which from private interests would remain unknown, +lies, it is said, in lat. 12° 49′ 10″ S., long. 133° 6′ W. In +addition to the position above given, Commander Matthews, +H.M.S. <i>Scorpion</i>, states that an island exists in lat. 12° 0′ S., +long. 133° 16′ W. This must be the same, if such an island +exists, which is very doubtful, and totally disbelieved in by +South Sea traders.’”</p> + +<p>“Golly!” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“It’s rather in the conditional mood,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“It’s anything you please,” cried Davis, “only there it +is! That’s our place, and don’t you make any mistake.”</p> + +<p>“‘Which from private interests would remain unknown,’” +read Herrick, over his shoulder. “What may +that mean?”</p> + +<p>“It should mean pearls,” said Davis. “A pearling +island the Government don’t know about. That sounds +like real estate. Or suppose it don’t mean anything. Suppose +it’s just an island; I guess we could fill up with fish, +and cocoa-nuts, and native stuff, and carry out the Samoa +scheme hand over fist. How long did he say it was before +they raised Anaa? Five hours, I think?”</p> + +<p>“Four or five,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>Davis stepped to the door. “What breeze had you that +time you made Anaa, Uncle Ned?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Six or seven knots,” was the reply.</p> + +<p>“Thirty or thirty-five miles,” said Davis. “High time +we were shortening sail, then. If it is an island, we don’t +want to be butting our head against it in the dark; and if it +isn’t an island, we can get through it just as well by daylight. +Ready about!” he roared.</p> + +<p>And the schooner’s head was laid for that elusive glimmer +in the sky, which began already to pale in lustre and diminish +in size, as the stain of breath vanishes from a window pane. +At the same time she was reefed close down.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page78" id="page78"></a>78</span></p> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>79</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PART II</h2> + +<h2>THE QUARTETTE</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" id="page80"></a>80</span></p> + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>81</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<h5>THE PEARL-FISHER</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">About</span> four in the morning, as the captain and Herrick sat +together on the rail, there arose from the midst of the night +in front of them the voice of breakers. Each sprang to +his feet and stared and listened. The sound was continuous, +like the passing of a train; no rise or fall could +be distinguished; minute by minute the ocean heaved with +an equal potency against the invisible isle; and as time +passed, and Herrick waited in vain for any vicissitude in +the volume of that roaring, a sense of the eternal weighed +upon his mind. To the expert eye the isle itself was to be +inferred from a certain string of blots along the starry +heaven. And the schooner was laid to and anxiously +observed till daylight.</p> + +<p>There was little or no morning bank. A brightening +came in the east; then a wash of some ineffable, faint, nameless +hue between crimson and silver; and then coals of fire. +These glimmered a while on the sea-line, and seemed to +brighten and darken and spread out, and still the night +and the stars reigned undisturbed; it was as though a spark +should catch and glow and creep along the foot of some heavy +and almost incombustible wall-hanging, and the room itself +be scarce menaced. Yet a little after, and the whole east +glowed with gold and scarlet, and the hollow of heaven was +filled with the daylight.</p> + +<p>The isle—the undiscovered, the scarce-believed in—now +lay before them and close aboard; and Herrick thought +that never in his dreams had he beheld anything more +strange and delicate. The beach was excellently white, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>82</span> +continuous barrier of trees inimitably green; the land perhaps +ten feet high, the trees thirty more. Every here and +there, as the schooner coasted northward, the wood was +intermitted; and he could see clear over the inconsiderable +strip of land (as a man looks over a wall) to the lagoon +within—and clear over that again to where the far side of +the atoll prolonged its pencilling of trees against the morning +sky. He tortured himself to find analogies. The isle was +like the rim of a great vessel sunken in the waters; it was +like the embankment of an annular railway grown upon with +wood: so slender it seemed amidst the outrageous breakers, +so frail and pretty, he would scarce have wondered to see it +sink and disappear without a sound, and the waves close +smoothly over its descent.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the captain was in the four cross-trees, glass +in hand, his eyes in every quarter, spying for an entrance, +spying for signs of tenancy. But the isle continued to unfold +itself in joints, and to run out in indeterminate capes, +and still there was neither house nor man, nor the smoke of +fire. Here a multitude of sea-birds soared and twinkled, +and fished in the blue waters; and there, and for miles +together, the fringe of coco-palm and pandanus extended +desolate, and made desirable green bowers for nobody to +visit, and the silence of death was only broken by the +throbbing of the sea.</p> + +<p>The airs were very light, their speed was small; the heat +intense. The decks were scorching underfoot, the sun +flamed overhead, brazen, out of a brazen sky; the pitch +bubbled in the seams, and the brains in the brain-pan. And +all the while the excitement of the three adventurers glowed +about their bones like a fever. They whispered, and +nodded, and pointed, and put mouth to ear, with a singular +instinct of secrecy, approaching that island underhand +like eavesdroppers and thieves; and even Davis from +the cross-trees gave his orders mostly by gestures. The +hands shared in this mute strain, like dogs, without comprehending +it; and through the roar of so many miles of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>83</span> +breakers, it was a silent ship that approached an empty +island.</p> + +<p>At last they drew near to the break in that interminable +gangway. A spur of coral sand stood forth on the one hand; +on the other a high and thick tuft of trees cut off the view; +between was the mouth of the huge laver. Twice a day the +ocean crowded in that narrow entrance and was heaped between +these frail walls; twice a day, with the return of the +ebb, the mighty surplusage of water must struggle to escape. +The hour in which the <i>Farallone</i> came there was the hour +of the flood. The sea turned (as with the instinct of the +homing pigeon) for the vast receptacle, swept eddying +through the gates, was transmuted, as it did so, into a +wonder of watery and silken hues, and brimmed into the +inland sea beyond. The schooner looked up close-hauled, +and was caught and carried away by the influx like a toy. +She skimmed; she flew; a momentary shadow touched her +decks from the shoreside trees; the bottom of the channel +showed up for a moment and was in a moment gone; the +next, she floated on the bosom of the lagoon, and below, in +the transparent chamber of waters, a myriad of many-coloured +fishes were sporting, a myriad pale flowers of coral +diversified the floor.</p> + +<p>Herrick stood transported. In the gratified lust of his +eye he forgot the past and the present; forgot that he was +menaced by a prison on the one hand and starvation on the +other; forgot that he was come to that island, desperately +foraging, clutching at expedients. A drove of fishes, +painted like the rainbow and billed like parrots, hovered +up in the shadow of the schooner, and passed clear of it, +and glinted in the submarine sun. They were beautiful, +like birds, and their silent passage impressed him like a strain +of song.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, to the eye of Davis in the cross-trees, the +lagoon continued to expand its empty waters, and the long +succession of the shoreside trees to be paid out like fishing-line +off a reel. And still there was no mark of habitation. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>84</span> +The schooner, immediately on entering, had been kept away +to the nor’ard where the water seemed to be the most deep; +and she was now skimming past the tall grove of trees, +which stood on that side of the channel and denied further +view. Of the whole of the low shores of the island only this +bight remained to be revealed. And suddenly the curtain +was raised; they began to open out a haven, snugly elbowed +there, and beheld, with an astonishment beyond words, the +roofs of men.</p> + +<p>The appearance, thus “instantaneously disclosed” to +those on the deck of the <i>Farallone</i>, was not that of a city, +rather of a substantial country farm with its attendant +hamlet: a long line of sheds and store-houses; apart, upon +the one side, a deep-verandah’d dwelling-house; on the +other, perhaps a dozen native huts; a building with a belfry +and some rude offer at architectural features that might be +thought to mark it out for a chapel; on the beach in front +some heavy boats drawn up, and a pile of timber running +forth into the burning shallows of the lagoon. From a +flagstaff at the pierhead the red ensign of England was displayed. +Behind, about, and over, the same tall grove of +palms, which had masked the settlement in the beginning, +prolonged its roof of tumultuous green fans, and turned and +ruffled overhead, and sang its silver song all day in the wind. +The place had the indescribable but unmistakable appearance +of being in commission; yet there breathed from it a +sense of desertion that was almost poignant, no human +figure was to be observed going to and fro about the houses, +and there was no sound of human industry or enjoyment. +Only, on the top of the beach, and hard by the flagstaff, a +woman of exorbitant stature and as white as snow was +to be seen beckoning with uplifted arm. The second +glance identified her as a piece of naval sculpture, the +flgure-head of a ship that had long hovered and plunged +into so many running billows, and was now brought ashore +to be the ensign and presiding genius of that empty +town. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>85</span></p> + +<p>The <i>Farallone</i> made a soldier’s breeze of it; the wind, +besides, was stronger inside than without under the lee of +the land; and the stolen schooner opened out successive +objects with the swiftness of a panorama, so that the +adventurers stood speechless. The flag spoke for itself; it +was no frayed and weathered trophy that had beaten itself +to pieces on the post, flying over desolation; and to make +assurance stronger, there was to be descried in the deep +shade of the verandah a glitter of crystal and the fluttering +of white napery. If the figure-head at the pier-end, with its +perpetual gesture and its leprous whiteness, reigned alone +in that hamlet as it seemed to do, it would not have reigned +long. Men’s hands had been busy, men’s feet stirring there, +within the circuit of the clock. The <i>Farallones</i> were sure of +it; their eyes dug in the deep shadow of the palms for some +one hiding; if intensity of looking might have prevailed, +they would have pierced the walls of houses; and there +came to them, in these pregnant seconds, a sense of being +watched and played with, and of a blow impending, that was +hardly bearable.</p> + +<p>The extreme point of palms they had just passed enclosed +a creek, which was thus hidden up to the last moment +from the eyes of those on board; and from this a boat put +suddenly and briskly out, and a voice hailed.</p> + +<p>“Schooner ahoy!” it cried. “Stand in for the pier! +In two cables’ lengths you’ll have twenty fathoms water +and good holding-ground.”</p> + +<p>The boat was manned with a couple of brown oarsmen +in scanty kilts of blue. The speaker, who was steering, +wore white clothes, the full dress of the tropics; a wide hat +shaded his face; but it could be seen that he was of stalwart +size, and his voice sounded like a gentleman’s. So much +could be made out. It was plain, besides, that the <i>Farallone</i> +had been descried some time before at sea, and the inhabitants +were prepared for its reception.</p> + +<p>Mechanically the orders were obeyed, and the ship +berthed; and the three adventurers gathered aft beside the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>86</span> +house and waited, with galloping pulses and a perfect +vacancy of mind, the coming of the stranger who might mean +so much to them. They had no plan, no story prepared; +there was no time to make one; they were caught red-handed +and must stand their chance. Yet this anxiety +was chequered with hope. The island being undeclared, +it was not possible the man could hold any office or be in a +position to demand their papers. And beyond that, if +there was any truth in Findlay, as it now seemed there +should be, he was the representative of the “private +reasons,” he must see their coming with a profound disappointment; +and perhaps (hope whispered) he would be +willing and able to purchase their silence.</p> + +<p>The boat was by that time forging alongside, and they +were able at last to see what manner of man they had to do +with. He was a huge fellow, six feet four in height, and of a +build proportionately strong, but his sinews seemed to be +dissolved in a listlessness that was more than languor. It +was only the eye that corrected this impression; an eye of +an unusual mingled brilliancy and softness, sombre as coal +and with lights that outshone the topaz; an eye of unimpaired +health and virility; an eye that bid you beware of +the man’s devastating anger. A complexion, naturally +dark, had been tanned in the island to a hue hardly distinguishable +from that of a Tahitian; only his manners and +movements, and the living force that dwelt in him, like fire +in flint, betrayed the European. He was dressed in white +drill, exquisitely made; his scarf and tie were of tender-coloured +silks; on the thwart beside him there leaned a +Winchester rifle.</p> + +<p>“Is the doctor on board?” he cried as he came up. +“Dr. Symonds, I mean? You never heard of him? Nor +yet of the <i>Trinity Hall</i>? Ah!”</p> + +<p>He did not look surprised, seemed rather to affect it in +politeness; but his eye rested on each of the three white +men in succession with a sudden weight of curiosity that +was almost savage. “Ah, <i>then</i>!” said he, “there is some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>87</span> +small mistake, no doubt, and I must ask you to what I am +indebted for this pleasure?”</p> + +<p>He was by this time on the deck, but he had the art to be +quite unapproachable; the friendliest vulgarian, three parts +drunk, would have known better than take liberties; and +not one of the adventurers so much as offered to shake +hands.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Davis, “I suppose you may call it an +accident. We had heard of your island, and read that +thing in the Directory about the <i>private reasons</i>, you see; +so when we saw the lagoon reflected in the sky, we put her +head for it at once, and so here we are.”</p> + +<p>“’Ope we don’t intrude!” said Huish.</p> + +<p>The stranger looked at Huish with an air of faint surprise, +and looked pointedly away again. It was hard to be more +offensive in dumb show.</p> + +<p>“It may suit me, your coming here,” he said. “My +own schooner is overdue, and I may put something in your +way in the meantime. Are you open to a charter?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess so,” said Davis; “it depends.”</p> + +<p>“My name is Attwater,” continued the stranger. “You, +I presume, are the captain?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I am the captain of this ship: Captain +Brown,” was the reply.</p> + +<p>“Well, see ’ere!” said Huish; “better begin fair! +’E’s skipper on deck right enough, but not below. Below, +we’re all equal, all got a lay in the adventure; when it comes +to business I’m as good as ’e; and what I say is, let’s go +into the ’ouse and have a lush, and talk it over among pals. +We’ve some prime fizz,” he said, and winked.</p> + +<p>The presence of the gentleman lighted up like a candle +the vulgarity of the clerk; and Herrick instinctively, as +one shields himself from pain, made haste to interrupt.</p> + +<p>“My name is Hay,” said he, “since introductions are +going. We shall be very glad if you will step inside.”</p> + +<p>Attwater leaned to him swiftly. “University man?” +said he. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>88</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, Merton,” said Herrick, and the next moment +blushed scarlet at his indiscretion.</p> + +<p>“I am of the other lot,” said Attwater: “Trinity Hall, +Cambridge. I called my schooner after the old shop. +Well! this is a queer place and company for us to meet in, +Mr. Hay,” he pursued, with easy incivility to the others. +“But do you bear out ... I beg this gentleman’s pardon, +I really did not catch his name.”</p> + +<p>“My name is ’Uish, sir,” returned the clerk, and blushed +in turn.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Attwater. And then turning again to +Herrick, “Do you bear out Mr. Whish’s description of your +vintage? or was it only the unaffected poetry of his own +nature bubbling up?”</p> + +<p>Herrick was embarrassed; the silken brutality of their +visitor made him blush; that he should be accepted as an +equal, and the others thus pointedly ignored, pleased him +in spite of himself, and then ran through his veins in a recoil +of anger.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s only California; it’s +good enough, I believe.”</p> + +<p>Attwater seemed to make up his mind. “Well, then, +I’ll tell you what: you three gentlemen come ashore this +evening and bring a basket of wine with you; I’ll try and +find the food,” he said. “And by the by, here is a question +I should have asked you when I came on board: have you +had small-pox?”</p> + +<p>“Personally, no,” said Herrick. “But the schooner +had it.”</p> + +<p>“Deaths?” from Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Two,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Well, it is a dreadful sickness,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“’Ad you any deaths?” asked Huish, “’ere on the +island?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-nine,” said Attwater. “Twenty-nine deaths +and thirty-one cases, out of thirty-three souls upon +the island.—That’s a strange way to calculate, Mr. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>89</span> +Hay, is it not? Souls! I never say it but it startles +me.”</p> + +<p>“O, so that’s why everything’s deserted?” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“That is why, Mr. Whish,” said Attwater; “that is +why the house is empty and the graveyard full.”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-nine out of thirty-three!” exclaimed Herrick. +“Why, when it came to burying—or did you bother +burying?”</p> + +<p>“Scarcely,” said Attwater; “or there was one day at +least when we gave up. There were five of the dead that +morning, and thirteen of the dying, and no one able to go +about except the sexton and myself. We held a council of +war, took the ... empty bottles ... into the lagoon, +and ... buried them.” He looked over his shoulder, +back at the bright water. “Well, so you’ll come to +dinner, then? Shall we say half-past six? So good of +you!”</p> + +<p>His voice, in uttering these conventional phrases, fell at +once into the false measure of society; and Herrick unconsciously +followed the example.</p> + +<p>“I am sure we shall be very glad,” he said. “At half-past +six? Thank you so very much.”</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“‘For my voice has been tuned to the note of the gun</p> +<p class="i05">That startles the deep when the combat’s begun,’”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">quoted Attwater, with a smile, which instantly gave way +to an air of funereal solemnity. “I shall particularly expect +Mr. Whish,” he continued.—“Mr. Whish, I trust you understand +the invitation?”</p> + +<p>“I believe you, my boy!” replied the genial Huish.</p> + +<p>“That is right, then; and quite understood, is it not?” +said Attwater. “Mr. Whish and Captain Brown at six-thirty +without fault—and you, Hay, at four sharp.”</p> + +<p>And he called his boat.</p> + +<p>During all this talk a load of thought or anxiety had +weighed upon the captain. There was no part for which +nature had so liberally endowed him as that of the genial +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>90</span> +ship-captain. But to-day he was silent and abstracted. +Those who knew him could see that he hearkened close to +every syllable, and seemed to ponder and try it in balances. +It would have been hard to say what look there was, cold, +attentive, and sinister, as of a man maturing plans, which +still brooded over the unconscious guest; it was here, it +was there, it was nowhere; it was now so little that Herrick +chid himself for an idle fancy; and anon it was so gross and +palpable that you could say every hair on the man’s head +talked mischief.</p> + +<p>He woke up now, as with a start. “You were talking +of a charter,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Was I?” said Attwater. “Well, let’s talk of it no +more at present.”</p> + +<p>“Your own schooner is overdue, I understand?” continued +the captain.</p> + +<p>“You understand perfectly, Captain Brown,” said +Attwater; “thirty-three days overdue at noon to-day.”</p> + +<p>“She comes and goes, eh? plies between here and ...?” +hinted the captain.</p> + +<p>“Exactly; every four months; three trips in the year,” +said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“You go in her ever?” asked Davis.</p> + +<p>“No; one stops here,” said Attwater; “one has plenty +to attend to.”</p> + +<p>“Stop here, do you?” cried Davis. “Say, how +long?”</p> + +<p>“How long, O Lord,” said Attwater, with perfect, stern +gravity. “But it does not seem so,” he added, with a +smile.</p> + +<p>“No, I daresay not,” said Davis. “No, I suppose not. +Not with all your gods about you, and in as snug a berth +as this. For it is a pretty snug berth,” said he, with a +sweeping look.</p> + +<p>“The spot, as you are good enough to indicate, is not +entirely intolerable,” was the reply. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>91</span></p> + +<p>“Shell, I suppose?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“Yes, there was shell,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“This is a considerable big beast of a lagoon, sir,” said +the captain. “Was there a—was the fishing—would you +call the fishing anyways <i>good</i>?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I would call it anyways anything,” +said Attwater, “if you put it to me direct.”</p> + +<p>“There were pearls, too?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“Pearls too,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Well, I give out!” laughed Davis, and his laughter +rang cracked like a false piece. “If you’re not going +to tell, you’re not going to tell, and there’s an end +to it.”</p> + +<p>“There can be no reason why I should affect the least +degree of secrecy about my island,” returned Attwater; +“that came wholly to an end with your arrival; and I am +sure, at any rate, that gentlemen like you and Mr. Whish +I should have always been charmed to make perfectly at +home. The point on which we are now differing—if you +can call it a difference—is one of times and seasons. I have +some information which you think I might impart, and I +think not. Well, we’ll see to-night! By-by, Whish!” +He stepped into his boat and shoved off. “All understood, +then?” said he. “The captain and Mr. Whish at six-thirty, +and you, Hay, at four precise. You understand +that, Hay? Mind, I take no denial. If you’re not there +by the time named, there will be no banquet; no song, no +supper, Mr. Whish!”</p> + +<p>White birds whisked in the air above, a shoal of parti-coloured +fishes in the scarce denser medium below; between, +like Mahomet’s coffin, the boat drew away briskly on the +surface, and its shadow followed it over the glittering floor +of the lagoon. Attwater looked steadily back over his +shoulders as he sat; he did not once remove his eyes from +the <i>Farallone</i> and the group on her quarter-deck beside the +house, till his boat ground upon the pier. Thence, with an +agile pace, he hurried ashore, and they saw his white clothes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>92</span> +shining in the chequered dusk of the grove until the house +received him.</p> + +<p>The captain, with a gesture and a speaking countenance, +called the adventurers into the cabin.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said to Herrick, when they were seated, +“there’s one good job at least. He’s taken to you in +earnest.”</p> + +<p>“Why should that be a good job?” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“O, you’ll see how it pans out presently,” returned +Davis. “You go ashore and stand in with him, that’s all! +You’ll get lots of pointers; you can find out what he has, +and what the charter is, and who’s the fourth man—for +there’s four of them, and we’re only three.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose I do, what next?” cried Herrick. +“Answer me that!”</p> + +<p>“So I will, Robert Herrick,” said the captain. “But +first, let’s see all clear. I guess you know,” he said, with +imperious solemnity, “I guess you know the bottom is out +of this <i>Farallone</i> speculation? I guess you know it’s <i>right</i> +out? and if this old island hadn’t been turned up right when +it did, I guess you know where you and I and Huish would +have been?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know that,” said Herrick. “No matter who’s +to blame, I know it. And what next?”</p> + +<p>“No matter who’s to blame, you know it, right enough,” +said the captain, “and I’m obliged to you for the reminder. +Now, here’s this Attwater: what do you think of +him?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” said Herrick. “I am attracted and +repelled. He was insufferably rude to you.”</p> + +<p>“And you, Huish?” said the captain.</p> + +<p>Huish sat cleaning a favourite briar-root; he scarce +looked up from that engrossing task. “Don’t ast me what +I think of him!” he said. “There’s a day comin’, I pray +Gawd, when I can tell it him myself.”</p> + +<p>“Huish means the same as what I do,” said Davis. +“When that man came stepping around, and saying, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>93</span> +‘Look here, I’m Attwater’—and you knew it was so, by +God!—I sized him right straight up. He’s the real article, +I said, and I don’t like it; here’s the real, first-rate, copper-bottomed +aristocrat. ‘<i>Aw! don’t know ye, do I? God +damn ye, did God make ye?</i>’ No, that couldn’t be nothing +but genuine; a man’s got to be born to that; and notice! +smart as champagne and hard as nails; no kind of a fool; +no, <i>sir</i>! not a pound of him! Well, what’s he here upon +this beastly island for? I said. <i>He’s</i> not here collecting +eggs. He’s a palace at home, and powdered flunkeys; and +if he don’t stay there, you bet he knows the reason why! +Follow?”</p> + +<p>“O yes, I ’ear you,” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“He’s been doing good business here, then,” continued +the captain. “For ten years he’s been doing a great business. +It’s pearl and shell, of course; there couldn’t be nothing +else in such a place, and no doubt the shell goes off +regularly by this <i>Trinity Hall</i>, and the money for it straight +into the bank, so that’s no use to us. But what else is there? +Is there nothing else he would be likely to keep here? Is +there nothing else he would be bound to keep here? Yes, +sir; the pearls! First, because they’re too valuable to trust +out of his hands. Second, because pearls want a lot of +handling and matching; and the man who sells his pearls +as they come in one here, one there, instead of hanging +back and holding up—well, that man’s a fool, and it’s not +Attwater.”</p> + +<p>“Likely,” said Huish, “that’s w’at it is; not proved, +but likely.”</p> + +<p>“It’s proved,” said Davis bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Suppose it was?” said Herrick. “Suppose that was +all so, and he had these pearls—a ten years’ collection of +them?—Suppose he had? There’s my question.”</p> + +<p>The captain drummed with his thick hands on the board +in front of him; he looked steadily in Herrick’s face, and +Herrick as steadily looked upon the table and the pattering +fingers; there was a gentle oscillation of the anchored ship, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>94</span> +and a big patch of sunlight travelled to and fro between the +one and the other.</p> + +<p>“Hear me!” Herrick burst out suddenly.</p> + +<p>“No, you better hear me first,” said Davis. “Hear +me and understand me. We’ve got no use for that fellow, +whatever you may have. He’s your kind, he’s not ours; +he’s took to you, and he’s wiped his boots on me and Huish. +Save him if you can!”</p> + +<p>“Save him?” repeated Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Save him, if you’re able!” reiterated Davis, with a +blow of his clenched fist. “Go ashore, and talk him +smooth; and if you get him and his pearls aboard, I’ll spare +him. If you don’t, there’s going to be a funeral. Is that +so, Huish? does that suit you?”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t a forgiving man,” said Huish, “but I’m not +the sort to spoil business neither. Bring the bloke on board +and bring his pearls along with him, and you can have it +your own way; maroon him where you like,—I’m agreeable.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and if I can’t?” cried Herrick, while the sweat +streamed upon his face. “You talk to me as if I was God +Almighty, to do this and that! But if I can’t?”</p> + +<p>“My son,” said the captain, “you better do your level +best, or you’ll see sights!”</p> + +<p>“O yes,” said Huish. “O crikey, yes!” He looked +across at Herrick with a toothless smile that was shocking +in its savagery; and, his ear caught apparently by the trivial +expression he had used, broke into a piece of the chorus of +a comic song which he must have heard twenty years before +in London: meaningless gibberish that, in that hour and +place, seemed hateful as a blasphemy: “Hikey, pikey, +crikey, fikey, chillingawallaba dory.”</p> + +<p>The captain suffered him to finish; his face was unchanged.</p> + +<p>“The way things are, there’s many a man that wouldn’t +let you go ashore,” he resumed. “But I’m not that kind. +I know you’d never go back on me, Herrick! Or if you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>95</span> +choose to,—go, and do it, and be damned!” he cried, and +rose abruptly from the table.</p> + +<p>He walked out of the house; and as he reached the door +turned and called Huish, suddenly and violently, like the +barking of a dog. Huish followed, and Herrick remained +alone in the cabin.</p> + +<p>“Now, see here!” whispered Davis. “I know that +man. If you open your mouth to him again, you’ll ruin all.”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>96</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h5>BETTER ACQUAINTANCE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> boat was gone again, and already half-way to the +<i>Farallone</i>, before Herrick turned and went unwillingly up +the pier. From the crown of the beach, the figure-head confronted +him with what seemed irony, her helmeted head +tossed back, her formidable arm apparently hurling something, +whether shell or missile, in the direction of the +anchored schooner. She seemed a defiant deity from +the island, coming forth to its threshold with a rush as of +one about to fly, and perpetuated in that dashing attitude. +Herrick looked up at her, where she towered above him head +and shoulders, with singular feelings of curiosity and romance, +and suffered his mind to travel to and fro in her life-history. +So long she had been the blind conductress of a +ship among the waves; so long she had stood here idle in the +violent sun, that yet did not avail to blister her; and was +even this the end of so many adventures? he wondered, or +was more behind? And he could have found it in his heart +to regret that she was not a goddess, nor yet he a pagan, +that he might have bowed down before her in that hour of +difficulty.</p> + +<p>When he now went forward, it was cool with the shadow +of many well-grown palms; draughts of the dying breeze +swung them together overhead; and on all sides, with a +swiftness beyond dragon-flies or swallows, the spots of sunshine +flitted, and hovered, and returned. Underfoot, the +sand was fairly solid and quite level, and Herrick’s steps fell +there noiseless as in new-fallen snow. It bore the marks of +having been once weeded like a garden alley at home; but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>97</span> +the pestilence had done its work, and the weeds were returning. +The buildings of the settlement showed here and +there through the stems of the colonnade, fresh painted, +trim and dandy, and all silent as the grave. Only here and +there in the crypt, there was a rustle and scurry and some +crowing of poultry; and from behind the house with the +verandahs he saw smoke arise and heard the crackling of +a fire.</p> + +<p>The stone houses were nearest him upon his right. The +first was locked; in the second he could dimly perceive, +through a window, a certain accumulation of pearl-shell +piled in the far end; the third, which stood gaping open on +the afternoon, seized on the mind of Herrick with its +multiplicity and disorder of romantic things. Therein were +cables, windlasses, and blocks of every size and capacity; +cabin-windows and ladders; rusty tanks, a companion +hutch; a binnacle with its brass mountings and its compass +idly pointing, in the confusion and dusk of that shed, to a +forgotten pole; ropes, anchors, harpoons: a blubber-dipper +of copper, green with years; a steering-wheel, a tool-chest +with the vessel’s name upon the top, the <i>Asia</i>: a whole +curiosity-shop of sea-curios, gross and solid, heavy to lift, +ill to break, bound with brass and shod with iron. Two +wrecks at the least must have contributed to this random +heap of lumber; and as Herrick looked upon it, it seemed +to him as if the two ships’ companies were there on guard, +and he heard the tread of feet and whisperings, and saw with +the tail of his eye the commonplace ghosts of sailor men.</p> + +<p>This was not merely the work of an aroused imagination, +but had something sensible to go upon; sounds of a stealthy +approach were no doubt audible; and while he still stood +staring at the lumber, the voice of his host sounded suddenly, +and with even more than the customary softness of enunciation, +from behind.</p> + +<p>“Junk,” it said, “only old junk! And does Mr. Hay +find a parable?”</p> + +<p>“I find at least a strong impression,” replied Herrick, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>98</span> +turning quickly, lest he might be able to catch, on the face +of the speaker, some commentary on the words.</p> + +<p>Attwater stood in the doorway, which he almost wholly +filled; his hands stretched above his head and grasping the +architrave. He smiled when their eyes met, but the expression +was inscrutable.</p> + +<p>“Yes, a powerful impression. You are like me; nothing +so affecting as ships!” said he. “The ruins of an +empire would leave me frigid, when a bit of an old rail that +an old shellback leaned on in the middle watch, would bring +me up all standing. But come, let’s see some more of the +island. It’s all sand and coral and palm-trees; but there’s +a kind of a quaintness in the place.”</p> + +<p>“I find it heavenly,” said Herrick, breathing deep, with +head bared in the shadow.</p> + +<p>“Ah, that’s because you’re new from sea,” said Attwater. +“I daresay, too, you can appreciate what one calls it. It’s +a lovely name. It has a flavour, it has a colour, it has a ring +and fall to it; it’s like its author—it’s half Christian! Remember +your first view of the island, and how it’s only +woods and woods and water; and suppose you had asked +somebody for the name, and he had answered—<i>nemorosa +Zacynthos</i>.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Jam medio apparet fluctu!</i>” exclaimed Herrick. “Ye +gods, yes, how good!”</p> + +<p>“If it gets upon the chart, the skippers will make nice +work of it,” said Attwater. “But here, come and see the +diving-shed.”</p> + +<p>He opened a door, and Herrick saw a large display of +apparatus neatly ordered: pumps and pipes, and the leaded +boots, and the huge snouted helmets shining in rows along +the wall; ten complete outfits.</p> + +<p>“The whole eastern half of my lagoon is shallow, you +must understand,” said Attwater; “so we were able to get +in the dress to great advantage. It paid beyond belief, +and was a queer sight when they were at it, and these marine +monsters”—tapping the nearest of the helmets—“kept +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>99</span> +appearing and reappearing in the midst of the lagoon. +Fond of parables?” he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>“O yes!” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Well, I saw these machines come up dripping and go +down again, and come up dripping and go down again, and +all the while the fellow inside as dry as toast!” said Attwater; +“and I thought we all wanted a dress to go down into the +world in, and come up scatheless. What do you think the +name was?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Self-conceit,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I mean seriously!” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Call it self-respect, then!” corrected Herrick, with a +laugh.</p> + +<p>“And why not Grace? Why not God’s Grace, Hay?” +asked Attwater. “Why not the grace of your Maker and +Redeemer, He who died for you, He who upholds you, He +whom you daily crucify afresh? There is nothing here”—striking +on his bosom,—“nothing there”—smiting the +wall,—“and nothing there,”—stamping—“nothing but +God’s Grace! We walk upon it, we breathe it; we live and +die by it; it makes the nails and axles of the universe; and +a puppy in pyjamas prefers self-conceit!” The huge dark +man stood over against Herrick by the line of the divers’ +helmets, and seemed to swell and glow; and the next +moment the life had gone from him—“I beg your pardon,” +said he; “I see you don’t believe in God?”</p> + +<p>“Not in your sense, I am afraid,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“I never argue with young atheists or habitual drunkards,” +said Attwater flippantly.—“Let us go across the +island to the outer beach.”</p> + +<p>It was but a little way, the greatest width of that island +scarce exceeding a furlong, and they walked gently. Herrick +was like one in a dream. He had come there with a +mind divided; come prepared to study that ambiguous and +sneering mask, drag out the essential man from underneath, +and act accordingly; decision being till then postponed. +Iron cruelty, an iron insensibility to the suffering of others, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>100</span> +the uncompromising pursuit of his own interests, cold +culture, manners without humanity: these he had looked +for, these he still thought he saw. But to find the whole +machine thus glow with the reverberation of religious zeal +surprised him beyond words; and he laboured in vain, as +he walked, to piece together into any kind of whole his odds +and ends of knowledge—to adjust again into any kind of +focus with itself his picture of the man beside him.</p> + +<p>“What brought you here to the South Seas?” he asked +presently.</p> + +<p>“Many things,” said Attwater. “Youth, curiosity, +romance, the love of the sea, and (it will surprise you to +hear) an interest in missions. That has a good deal declined, +which will surprise you less. They go the wrong way to +work; they are too parsonish, too much of the old wife, and +even the old apple-wife. <i>Clothes</i>, <i>clothes</i>, are their idea; but +clothes are not Christianity, any more than they are the +sun in heaven, or could take the place of it! They think a +parsonage with roses, and church bells, and nice old women +bobbing in the lanes, are part and parcel of religion. But +religion is a savage thing, like the universe it illuminates; +savage, cold, and bare, but infinitely strong.”</p> + +<p>“And you found this island by an accident?” said +Herrick.</p> + +<p>“As you did!” said Attwater. “And since then I have +had a business, and a colony, and a mission of my own. I +was a man of the world before I was a Christian; I’m a man +of the world still, and I made my mission pay. No good +ever came of coddling. A man has to stand up in God’s +sight and work up to his weight avoirdupois: then I’ll talk +to him, but not before. I gave these beggars what they +wanted: a judge in Israel, the bearer of the sword and +scourge; I was making a new people here; and behold, the +angel of the Lord smote them and they were not!”</p> + +<p>With the very uttering of the words, which were accompanied +by a gesture, they came forth out of the porch of +the palm wood by the margin of the sea and full in front of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>101</span> +the sun, which was near setting. Before them the surf +broke slowly. All around, with an air of imperfect wooden +things inspired with wicked activity, the crabs trundled and +scuttled into holes. On the right, whither Attwater pointed +and abruptly turned, was the cemetery of the island, a field +of broken stones from the bigness of a child’s hand to that +of his head, diversified by many mounds of the same material, +and walled by a rude rectangular enclosure. Nothing grew +there but a shrub or two with some white flowers; nothing +but the number of the mounds, and their disquieting shape, +indicated the presence of the dead.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep!”</p> + +<p class="noind">quoted Attwater, as he entered by the open gateway into +that unholy close. “Coral to coral, pebbles to pebbles,” +he said; “this has been the main scene of my activity in +the South Pacific. Some were good, and some bad, and the +majority (of course and always) null. Here was a fellow, +now, that used to frisk like a dog; if you had called him he +came like an arrow from a bow; if you had not, and he came +unbidden, you should have seen the deprecating eye and the +little intricate dancing step. Well, his trouble is over now, +he has lain down with kings and councillors; the rest of his +acts, are they not written in the book of the chronicles? +That fellow was from Penrhyn; like all the Penrhyn islanders +he was ill to manage; heady, jealous, violent: the man with +the nose! He lies here quiet enough. And so they all lie.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">‘And darkness was the burier of the dead!’”</p> + +<p>He stood, in the strong glow of the sunset, with bowed +head; his voice sounded now sweet and now bitter with the +varying sense.</p> + +<p>“You loved these people?” cried Herrick, strangely +touched.</p> + +<p>“I?” said Attwater. “Dear no! Don’t think me a +philanthropist. I dislike men, and hate women. If I +like the islanders at all, it is because you see them here +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>102</span> +plucked of their lendings, their dead birds and cocked hats, +their petticoats and coloured hose. Here was one I liked +though,” and he set his foot upon a mound. “He was a +fine savage fellow; he had a dark soul; yes, I liked this one. +I am fanciful,” he added, looking hard at Herrick, “and I +take fads. I like you.”</p> + +<p>Herrick turned swiftly and looked far away to where the +clouds were beginning to troop together and amass themselves +round the obsequies of day. “No one can like me,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“You are wrong there,” said the other, “as a man +usually is about himself. You are attractive, very attractive.”</p> + +<p>“It is not me,” said Herrick; “no one can like me. +If you knew how I despised myself—and why!” His voice +rang out in the quiet graveyard.</p> + +<p>“I knew that you despised yourself,” said Attwater. +“I saw the blood come into your face to-day when you +remembered Oxford. And I could have blushed for you +myself, to see a man, a gentleman, with these two vulgar +wolves.”</p> + +<p>Herrick faced him with a thrill. “Wolves?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“I said wolves, and vulgar wolves,” said Attwater. +“Do you know that to-day, when I came on board, I +trembled?”</p> + +<p>“You concealed it well,” stammered Herrick.</p> + +<p>“A habit of mine,” said Attwater. “But I was afraid, +for all that: I was afraid of the two wolves.” He raised +his hand slowly. “And now, Hay, you poor lost puppy, +what do you do with the two wolves?”</p> + +<p>“What do I do? I don’t do anything,” said Herrick. +“There is nothing wrong; all is above-board; Captain +Brown is a good soul; he is a ... he is....” The +phantom voice of Davis called in his ear: “There’s going +to be a funeral”; and the sweat burst forth and streamed +on his brow. “He is a family man,” he resumed again, +swallowing; “he has children at home and a wife.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>103</span></p> + +<p>“And a very nice man?” said Attwater. “And so is +Mr. Whish, no doubt?”</p> + +<p>“I won’t go so far as that,” said Herrick. “I do not +like Huish. And yet ... he has his merits too.”</p> + +<p>“And, in short, take them for all in all, as good a ship’s +company as one would ask?” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“O yes,” said Herrick, “quite.”</p> + +<p>“So then we approach the other point of why you +despise yourself?” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Do we not all despise ourselves?” cried Herrick. +“Do not you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I say I do. But do I?” said Attwater. “One +thing I know at least: I never gave a cry like yours. Hay! +it came from a bad conscience! Ah, man, that poor diving-dress +of self-conceit is sadly tattered! To-day, if ye will +hear my voice. To-day, now, while the sun sets, and here +in this burying-place of brown innocents, fall on your knees +and cast your sins and sorrows on the Redeemer. +Hay——”</p> + +<p>“Not Hay!” interrupted the other, strangling. “Don’t +call me that! I mean.... For God’s sake, can’t you see +I’m on the rack?”</p> + +<p>“I see it, I know it, I put and keep you there; my +fingers are on the screws!” said Attwater. “Please God, +I will bring a penitent this night before His throne. Come, +come to the mercy-seat! He waits to be gracious, man—waits +to be gracious!”</p> + +<p>He spread out his arms like a crucifix; his face shone +with the brightness of a seraph’s; in his voice, as it rose to +the last word, the tears seemed ready.</p> + +<p>Herrick made a vigorous call upon himself. “Attwater,” +he said, “you push me beyond bearing. What am I to do? +I do not believe. It is living truth to you: to me, upon my +conscience, only folk-lore. I do not believe there is any +form of words under heaven by which I can lift the burthen +from my shoulders. I must stagger on to the end with +the pack of my responsibility; I cannot shift it; do you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>104</span> +suppose I would not if I thought I could? I cannot—cannot—cannot—and +let that suffice.”</p> + +<p>The rapture was all gone from Attwater’s countenance; +the dark apostle had disappeared; and in his place there +stood an easy, sneering gentleman, who took off his hat and +bowed. It was pertly done, and the blood burned in +Herrick’s face.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, shall we go back to the house?” said Attwater. +“Our guests will soon be due.”</p> + +<p>Herrick stood his ground a moment with clenched fists +and teeth; and as he so stood, the fact of his errand there +slowly swung clear in front of him, like the moon out of +clouds. He had come to lure that man on board; he was +failing, even if it could be said that he had tried; he was sure +to fail now, and knew it, and knew it was better so. And +what was to be next?</p> + +<p>With a groan he turned to follow his host, who was +standing with polite smile, and instantly and somewhat +obsequiously led the way in the now darkened colonnade of +palms. There they went in silence, the earth gave up +richly of her perfume, the air tasted warm and aromatic in +the nostrils; and from a great way forward in the wood, +the brightness of lights and fire marked out the house of +Attwater.</p> + +<p>Herrick meanwhile resolved and resisted an immense +temptation to go up, to touch him on the arm and breathe +a word in his ear: “Beware, they are going to murder you.” +There would be one life saved; but what of the two others? +The three lives went up and down before him like buckets +in a well, or like the scales of balances. It had come to a +choice, and one that must be speedy. For certain invaluable +minutes, the wheels of life ran before him, and he could +still divert them with a touch to the one side or the other, +still choose who was to live and who was to die. He considered +the men. Attwater intrigued, puzzled, dazzled, +enchanted and revolted him; alive, he seemed but a doubtful +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>105</span> +good; and the thought of him lying dead was so unwelcome +that it pursued him, like a vision, with every +circumstance of colour and sound. Incessantly he had before +him the image of that great mass of man stricken down +in varying attitudes and with varying wounds; fallen prone, +fallen supine, fallen on his side; or clinging to a doorpost +with the changing face and the relaxing fingers of the death-agony. +He heard the click of the trigger, the thud of the +ball, the cry of the victim; he saw the blood flow. And this +building up of circumstance was like a consecration of the +man, till he seemed to walk in sacrificial fillets. Next he +considered Davis, with his thick-fingered, coarse-grained, +oat-bread commonness of nature, his indomitable valour +and mirth in the old days of their starvation, the endearing +blend of his faults and virtues, the sudden shining forth of a +tenderness that lay too deep for tears; his children, Ada and +her bowel complaint, and Ada’s doll. No, death could not +be suffered to approach that head even in fancy; with a +general heat and a bracing of his muscles, it was borne in on +Herrick that Ada’s father would find in him a son to the +death. And even Huish showed a little in that sacredness; +by the tacit adoption of daily life they were become brothers; +there was an implied bond of loyalty in their cohabitation +of the ship and their past miseries; to which Herrick must +be a little true or wholly dishonoured. Horror of sudden +death for horror of sudden death, there was here no hesitation +possible: it must be Attwater. And no sooner was the +thought formed (which was a sentence) than his whole mind +of man ran in a panic to the other side: and when he looked +within himself, he was aware only of turbulence and inarticulate +outcry.</p> + +<p>In all this there was no thought of Robert Herrick. He +had complied with the ebb-tide in man’s affairs, and the +tide had carried him away; he heard already the roaring +of the maelstrom that must hurry him under. And in his +bedevilled and dishonoured soul there was no thought of self.</p> + +<p>For how long he walked silent by his companion Herrick +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>106</span> +had no guess. The clouds rolled suddenly away; the +orgasm was over; he found himself placid with the placidity +of despair; there returned to him the power of commonplace +speech; and he heard with surprise his own voice say: +“What a lovely evening!”</p> + +<p>“Is it not?” said Attwater. “Yes, the evenings here +would be very pleasant if one had anything to do. By day, +of course, one can shoot.”</p> + +<p>“You shoot?” asked Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am what you would call a fine shot,” said +Attwater. “It is faith; I believe my balls will go true; +if I were to miss once, it would spoil me for nine months.”</p> + +<p>“You never miss, then?” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Not unless I mean to,” said Attwater. “But to miss +nicely is the art. There was an old king one knew in the +western islands, who used to empty a Winchester all round +a man, and stir his hair or nick a rag out of his clothes with +every ball except the last; and that went plump between +the eyes. It was pretty practice.”</p> + +<p>“You could do that?” asked Herrick, with a sudden +chill.</p> + +<p>“O, I can do anything,” returned the other. “You do +not understand: what must be, must.”</p> + +<p>They were now come near to the back part of the house. +One of the men was engaged about the cooking-fire, which +burned with the clear, fierce, essential radiance of cocoa-nut +shells. A fragrance of strange meats was in the air. All +round in the verandahs lamps were lighted, so that the place +shone abroad in the dusk of the trees with many complicated +patterns of shadow.</p> + +<p>“Come and wash your hands,” said Attwater, and led +the way into a clean, matted room with a cot bed, a safe, a +shelf or two of books in a glazed case, and an iron washing-stand. +Presently he cried in the native, and there appeared +for a moment in the doorway a plump and pretty young +woman with a clean towel.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” cried Herrick, who now saw for the first +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>107</span> +time the fourth survivor of the pestilence, and was startled +by the recollection of the captain’s orders.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Attwater, “the whole colony lives about +the house, what’s left of it. We are all afraid of devils, if +you please! and Taniera and she sleep in the front parlour, +and the other boy on the verandah.”</p> + +<p>“She is pretty,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Too pretty,” said Attwater. “That was why I had +her married. A man never knows when he may be inclined +to be a fool about women; so when we were left alone I had +the pair of them to the chapel and performed the ceremony. +She made a lot of fuss. I do not take at all the romantic +view of marriage,” he explained.</p> + +<p>“And that strikes you as a safeguard?” asked Herrick +with amazement.</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I am a plain man and very literal. <i>Whom +God hath joined together</i> are the words, I fancy. So one +married them, and respects the marriage,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“You see, I may look to make an excellent marriage +when I go home,” began Attwater confidentially. “I am +rich. This safe alone”—laying his hand upon it—“will be +a moderate fortune, when I have the time to place the pearls +upon the market. Here are ten years’ accumulation from +a lagoon, where I have had as many as ten divers going all +day long; and I went further than people usually do in these +waters, for I rotted a lot of shell and did splendidly. Would +you like to see them?”</p> + +<p>This confirmation of the captain’s guess hit Herrick hard, +and he contained himself with difficulty. “No, thank you, +I think not,” said he. “I do not care for pearls. I am +very indifferent to all these....”</p> + +<p>“Gewgaws?” suggested Attwater. “And yet I believe +you ought to cast an eye on my collection, which is really +unique, and which—O! it is the case with all of us and everything +about us!—hangs by a hair. To-day it groweth up +and flourisheth; to-morrow it is cut down and cast into the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>108</span> +oven. To-day it is here and together in this safe; to-morrow—to-night!—it +may be scattered. Thou fool, this night thy +soul shall be required of thee.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand you,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Not?” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“You seem to speak in riddles,” said Herrick unsteadily. +“I do not understand what manner of man you are, nor +what you are driving at.”</p> + +<p>Attwater stood with his hands upon his hips, and his +head bent forward. “I am a fatalist,” he replied, “and +just now (if you insist on it) an experimentalist. Talking +of which, by the by, who painted out the schooner’s name?” +he said, with mocking softness, “because, do you know? +one thinks it should be done again. It can still be partly +read; and whatever is worth doing is surely worth doing +well. You think with me? That is so nice! Well, shall +we step on the verandah? I have a dry sherry that I would +like your opinion of.”</p> + +<p>Herrick followed him forth to where, under the light of +the hanging lamps, the table shone with napery and crystal; +followed him as the criminal goes with the hangman, or the +sheep with the butcher; took the sherry mechanically, +drank it, and spoke mechanical words of praise. The object +of his terror had become suddenly inverted; till then he +had seen Attwater trussed and gagged, a helpless victim, and +had longed to run in and save him; he saw him now tower +up mysterious and menacing, the angel of the Lord’s wrath, +armed with knowledge and threatening judgment. He set +down his glass again, and was surprised to see it empty.</p> + +<p>“You go always armed?” he said, and the next moment +could have plucked his tongue out.</p> + +<p>“Always,” said Attwater. “I have been through a +mutiny here; that was one of my incidents of missionary +life.”</p> + +<p>And just then the sound of voices reached them, and +looking forth from the verandah they saw Huish and the +captain drawing near.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>109</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<h5>THE DINNER PARTY</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">They</span> sat down to an island dinner, remarkable for its +variety and excellence: turtle-soup and steak, fish, fowls, a +sucking-pig, a cocoa-nut salad, and sprouting cocoa-nut +roasted for dessert. Not a tin had been opened; and save +for the oil and vinegar in the salad, and some green spears +of onion which Attwater cultivated and plucked with his own +hand, not even the condiments were European. Sherry, +hock, and claret succeeded each other, and the <i>Farallone</i> +champagne brought up the rear with the dessert.</p> + +<p>It was plain that, like so many of the extremely religious +in the days before teetotalism, Attwater had a dash of the +epicure. For such characters it is softening to eat well; +doubly so to have designed and had prepared an excellent +meal for others; and the manners of their host were agreeably +mollified in consequence. A cat of huge growth sat on +his shoulder purring, and occasionally, with a deft paw, +capturing a morsel in the air. To a cat he might be likened +himself, as he lolled at the head of his table, dealing out +attentions and innuendoes, and using the velvet and the claw +indifferently. And both Huish and the captain fell progressively +under the charm of his hospitable freedom.</p> + +<p>Over the third guest the incidents of the dinner may be +said to have passed for long unheeded. Herrick accepted +all that was offered him, ate and drank without tasting, +and heard without comprehension. His mind was singly +occupied in contemplating the horror of the circumstances +in which he sat. What Attwater knew, what the captain +designed, from which side treachery was to be first expected, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>110</span> +these were the ground of his thoughts. There were times +when he longed to throw down the table and flee into the +night. And even that was debarred him; to do anything, +to say anything, to move at all, were only to precipitate the +barbarous tragedy; and he sat spellbound, eating with +white lips. Two of his companions observed him narrowly, +Attwater with raking, sidelong glances that did not interrupt +his talk, the captain with a heavy and anxious consideration.</p> + +<p>“Well, I must say this sherry is a really prime article,” +said Huish. “’Ow much does it stand you in, if it’s a fair +question?”</p> + +<p>“A hundred and twelve shillings in London, and the +freight to Valparaiso, and on again,” said Attwater. “It +strikes one as really not a bad fluid.”</p> + +<p>“A ’undred and twelve!” murmured the clerk, relishing +the wine and the figures in a common ecstasy: “O my!”</p> + +<p>“So glad you like it,” said Attwater. “Help yourself, +Mr. Whish, and keep the bottle by you.”</p> + +<p>“My friend’s name is Huish and not Whish, sir,” said +the captain, with a flush.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, I am sure. Huish and not Whish; +certainly,” said Attwater. “I was about to say that I have +still eight dozen,” he added, fixing the captain with his eye.</p> + +<p>“Eight dozen what?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“Sherry,” was the reply. “Eight dozen excellent +sherry. Why, it seems almost worth it in itself—to a man +fond of wine.”</p> + +<p>The ambiguous words struck home to guilty consciences, +and Huish and the captain sat up in their places and regarded +him with a scare.</p> + +<p>“Worth what?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“A hundred and twelve shillings,” replied Attwater.</p> + +<p>The captain breathed hard for a moment. He reached +out far and wide to find any coherency in these remarks; +then, with a great effort, changed the subject.</p> + +<p>“I allow we are about the first white men upon this +island, sir,” said he. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111" id="page111"></a>111</span></p> + +<p>Attwater followed him at once, and with entire gravity, +to the new ground. “Myself and Dr. Symonds excepted, +I should say the only ones,” he returned. “And yet who +can tell? In the course of the ages some one may have +lived here, and we sometimes think that some one must. +The coco-palms grow all round the island, which is scarce +like nature’s planting. We found besides, when we landed, +an unmistakable cairn upon the beach; use unknown; but +probably erected in the hope of gratifying some mumbo-jumbo +whose very name is forgotten, by some thick-witted +gentry whose very bones are lost. Then the island (witness +the Directory) has been twice reported; and since my +tenancy, we have had two wrecks, both derelict. The rest +is conjecture.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Symonds is your partner, I guess?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“A dear fellow, Symonds! How he would regret it, if +he knew you had been here!” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“’E’s on the <i>Trinity ’All</i>, ain’t he?” asked Huish.</p> + +<p>“And if you could tell me where the <i>Trinity ’All</i> was, +you would confer a favour, Mr. Whish!” was the reply.</p> + +<p>“I suppose she has a native crew?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“Since the secret has been kept ten years, one would +suppose she had,” replied Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, see ’ere!” said Huish. “You have everythink +about you in no end style, and no mistake, but I tell +you it wouldn’t do for me. Too much of ‘the old rustic +bridge by the mill’; too retired by ’alf. Give me the sound +of Bow Bells!”</p> + +<p>“You must not think it was always so,” replied Attwater. +“This was once a busy shore, although now, hark! you can +hear the solitude. I find it stimulating. And talking of +the sound of bells, kindly follow a little experiment of mine +in silence.” There was a silver bell at his right hand to call +the servants; he made them a sign to stand still, struck the +bell with force, and leaned eagerly forward. The note rose +clear and strong; it rang out clear and far into the night and +over the deserted island; it died into the distance until +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>112</span> +there only lingered in the porches of the ear a vibration that +was sound no longer. “Empty houses, empty sea, solitary +beaches!” said Attwater. “And yet God hears the bell! +And yet we sit in this verandah on a lighted stage with all +heaven for spectators! And you call that solitude?”</p> + +<p>There followed a bar of silence, during which the captain +sat mesmerised.</p> + +<p>Then Attwater laughed softly. “These are the diversions +of a lonely man,” he resumed, “and possibly not in +good taste. One tells oneself these little fairy tales for company. +If there <i>should</i> happen to be anything in folk-lore, +Mr. Hay? But here comes the claret. One does not offer +you Lafitte, captain, because I believe it is all sold to the +railroad dining-cars in your great country; but this Brâne-Mouton +is of a good year, and Mr. Whish will give me news +of it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a queer idea of yours!” cried the captain, bursting +with a sigh from the spell that had bound him. “So +you mean to tell me now, that you sit here evenings and ring +up ... well, ring on the angels ... by yourself?”</p> + +<p>“As a matter of historic fact, and since you put it +directly, one does not,” said Attwater. “Why ring a bell, +when there flows out from oneself and everything about +one a far more momentous silence? the least beat of my +heart and the least thought in my mind echoing into eternity +for ever and for ever and for ever.”</p> + +<p>“O, look ’ere,” said Huish, “turn down the lights at +once, and the Band of ’Ope will oblige! This ain’t a spiritual +séance.”</p> + +<p>“No folk-lore about Mr. Whish—I beg your pardon, +captain: Huish, not Whish, of course,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>As the boy was filling Huish’s glass, the bottle escaped +from his hand and was shattered, and the wine spilt on the +verandah floor. Instant grimness as of death appeared +in the face of Attwater; he smote the bell imperiously, and +the two brown natives fell into the attitude of attention and +stood mute and trembling. There was just a moment of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>113</span> +silence and hard looks; then followed a few savage words +in the native; and, upon a gesture of dismissal, the service +proceeded as before.</p> + +<p>None of the party had as yet observed upon the excellent +bearing of the two men. They were dark, undersized, and +well set up; stepped softly, waited deftly, brought on the +wines and dishes at a look, and their eyes attended studiously +on their master.</p> + +<p>“Where do you get your labour from anyway?” asked +Davis.</p> + +<p>“Ah, where not?” answered Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Not much of a soft job, I suppose?” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“If you will tell me where getting labour is!” said +Attwater, with a shrug. “And of course, in our case, as +we could name no destination, we had to go far and wide +and do the best we could. We have gone as far west as the +Kingsmills and as far south as Rapa-iti. Pity Symonds +isn’t here! He is full of yarns. That was his part, to +collect them. Then began mine, which was the educational.”</p> + +<p>“You mean to run them?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“Ay! to run them,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Wait a bit,” said Davis; “I’m out of my depth. +How was this? Do you mean to say you did it single-handed?”</p> + +<p>“One did it single-handed,” said Attwater, “because +there was nobody to help one.”</p> + +<p>“By God, but you must be a holy terror!” cried the +captain, in a glow of admiration.</p> + +<p>“One does one’s best,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Well, now!” said Davis, “I have seen a lot of driving +in my time, and been counted a good driver myself. I +fought my way, third mate, round the Cape Horn with a +push of packet-rats that would have turned the devil out +of hell and shut the door on him; and I tell you, this racket +of Mr. Attwater’s takes the cake. In a ship, why, there +ain’t nothing to it! You’ve got the law with you, that’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>114</span> +what does it. But put me down on this blame’ beach alone, +with nothing but a whip and a mouthful of bad words, and +ask me to ... no, <i>sir</i>! it’s not good enough! I haven’t +got the sand for that!” cried Davis. “It’s the law behind,” +he added; “it’s the law does it, every time!”</p> + +<p>“The beak ain’t as black as he’s sometimes pynted,” +observed Huish humorously.</p> + +<p>“Well, one got the law after a fashion,” said Attwater. +“One had to be a number of things. It was sometimes +rather a bore.”</p> + +<p>“I should smile!” said Davis. “Rather lively, I +should think!”</p> + +<p>“I daresay we mean the same thing,” said Attwater. +“However, one way or another, one got it knocked into +their heads that they <i>must</i> work, and they <i>did</i> ... until +the Lord took them!”</p> + +<p>“’Ope you made ’em jump,” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“When it was necessary, Mr. Whish, I made them +jump,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“You bet you did,” cried the captain. He was a good +deal flushed, but not so much with wine as admiration; +and his eyes drank in the huge proportions of the other with +delight. “You bet you did, and you bet that I can see you +doing it! By God, you’re a man, and you can say I said so.”</p> + +<p>“Too good of you, I’m sure,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Did you—did you ever have crime here?” asked +Herrick, breaking his silence with a pungent voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Attwater, “we did.”</p> + +<p>“And how did you handle that, sir?” cried the eager +captain.</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, it was a queer case,” replied Attwater. +“It was a case that would have puzzled Solomon. Shall +I tell it you? yes?”</p> + +<p>The captain rapturously accepted.</p> + +<p>“Well,” drawled Attwater, “here is what it was. I +daresay you know two types of natives, which may be called +the obsequious and the sullen? Well, one had them, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>115</span> +types themselves, detected in the fact; and one had them +together. Obsequiousness ran out of the first like wine out +of a bottle, sullenness congested in the second. Obsequiousness +was all smiles; he ran to catch your eye, he loved to +gabble; and he had about a dozen words of beach English, +and an eighth-of-an-inch veneer of Christianity. Sullens +was industrious; a big down-looking bee. When he was +spoken to, he answered with a black look and a shrug of one +shoulder, but the thing would be done. I don’t give him to +you for a model of manners; there was nothing showy about +Sullens; but he was strong and steady, and ungraciously +obedient. Now Sullens got into trouble; no matter how; +the regulations of the place were broken, and he was punished +accordingly—without effect. So, the next day, and the +next, and the day after, till I began to be weary of the business, +and Sullens (I am afraid) particularly so. There came +a day when he was in fault again, for the—O perhaps the +thirtieth time; and he rolled a dull eye upon me, with a +spark in it, and appeared to speak. Now the regulations +of the place are formal upon one point: we allow no explanations; +none are received, none allowed to be offered. +So one stopped him instantly, but made a note of the circumstance. +The next day he was gone from the settlement. +There could be nothing more annoying; if the labour took +to running away, the fishery was wrecked. There are sixty +miles of this island, you see, all in length like the Queen’s +highway; the idea of pursuit in such a place was a piece of +single-minded childishness, which one did not entertain. +Two days later, I made a discovery; it came in upon me +with a flash that Sullens had been unjustly punished from +beginning to end, and the real culprit throughout had been +Obsequiousness. The native who talks, like the woman +who hesitates, is lost. You set him talking and lying; and +he talks, and lies, and watches your face to see if he has +pleased you; till, at last, out comes the truth! It came out +of Obsequiousness in the regular course. I said nothing to +him; I dismissed him; and late as it was, for it was already +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>116</span> +night, set off to look for Sullens. I had not far to go: about +two hundred yards up the island the moon showed him to +me. He was hanging in a coco-palm—I’m not botanist +enough to tell you how—but it’s the way, in nine cases out +of ten, these natives commit suicide. His tongue was out, +poor devil, and the birds had got at him. I spare you details: +he was an ugly sight! I gave the business six good +hours of thinking in this verandah. My justice had been +made a fool of; I don’t suppose that I was ever angrier. +Next day, I had the conch sounded and all hands out before +sunrise. One took one’s gun, and led the way, with +Obsequiousness. He was very talkative; the beggar supposed +that all was right now he had confessed; in the old +schoolboy phrase he was plainly ‘sucking up’ to me; full +of protestations of good-will and good behaviour; to which +one answered one really can’t remember what. Presently +the tree came in sight, and the hanged man. They all burst +out lamenting for their comrade in the island way, and +Obsequiousness was the loudest of the mourners. He was +quite genuine; a noxious creature without any consciousness +of guilt. Well, presently—to make a long story short—one +told him to go up the tree. He stared a bit, looked at one +with a trouble in his eye, and had rather a sickly smile; but +went. He was obedient to the last; he had all the pretty +virtues, but the truth was not in him. So soon as he was +up he looked down, and there was the rifle covering him; +and at that he gave a whimper like a dog. You could hear +a pin drop; no more keening now. There they all crouched +upon the ground with bulging eyes; there was he in the tree-top, +the colour of lead; and between was the dead man, +dancing a bit in the air. He was obedient to the last, recited +his crime, recommended his soul to God. And +then....”</p> + +<p>Attwater paused, and Herrick, who had been listening +attentively, made a convulsive movement which upset his +glass.</p> + +<p>“And then?” said the breathless captain. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117" id="page117"></a>117</span></p> + +<p>“Shot,” said Attwater. “They came to the ground +together.”</p> + +<p>Herrick sprang to his feet with a shriek and an insensate +gesture.</p> + +<p>“It was a murder!” he screamed, “a cold-hearted, +bloody-minded murder! You monstrous being! Murderer +and hypocrite—murderer and hypocrite—murderer and +hypocrite——” he repeated, and his tongue stumbled among +the words.</p> + +<p>The captain was by him in a moment. “Herrick!” +he cried, “behave yourself! Here, don’t be a blame’ +fool!”</p> + +<p>Herrick struggled in his embrace like a frantic child, +and suddenly bowing his face in his hands, choked into +a sob, the first of many, which now convulsed his body +silently, and now jerked from him indescribable and +meaningless sounds.</p> + +<p>“Your friend appears over-excited,” remarked Attwater, +sitting unmoved but all alert at table.</p> + +<p>“It must be the wine,” replied the captain. “He ain’t +no drinking man, you see. I—I think I’ll take him away. +A walk’ll sober him up, I guess.”</p> + +<p>He led him without resistance out of the verandah and +into the night, in which they soon melted; but still for some +time, as they drew away, his comfortable voice was to be +heard soothing and remonstrating, and Herrick answering, +at intervals, with the mechanical noises of hysteria.</p> + +<p>“’E’s like a bloomin’ poultry yard!” observed Huish, +helping himself to wine (of which he spilled a good deal) +with gentlemanly ease. “A man should learn to beyave at +table,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Rather bad form, is it not?” said Attwater. “Well, +well, we are left <i>tête-à-tête</i>. A glass of wine with you, Mr. +Whish!”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page118" id="page118"></a>118</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<h5>THE OPEN DOOR</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> captain and Herrick meanwhile turned their back +upon the lights in Attwater’s verandah, and took +a direction towards the pier and the beach of the +lagoon.</p> + +<p>The isle, at this hour, with its smooth floor of sand, +the pillared roof overhead, and the prevalent illumination +of the lamps, wore an air of unreality, like a deserted +theatre or a public garden at midnight. A man looked +about him for the statues and tables. Not the least air +of wind was stirring among the palms, and the silence +was emphasised by the continuous clamour of the surf +from the seashore, as it might be of traffic in the next +street.</p> + +<p>Still talking, still soothing him, the captain hurried his +patient on, brought him at last to the lagoon side, and leading +him down the beach, laved his head and face with the +tepid water. The paroxysm gradually subsided, the sobs +became less convulsive and then ceased; by an odd but not +quite unnatural conjunction, the captain’s soothing current +of talk died away at the same time and by proportional steps, +and the pair remained sunk in silence. The lagoon broke +at their feet in petty wavelets, and with a sound as delicate +as a whisper; stars of all degrees looked down on their own +images in that vast mirror; and the more angry colour of +the <i>Farallone’s</i> riding lamp burned in the middle distance. +For long they continued to gaze on the scene before them, +and hearken anxiously to the rustle and tinkle of that +miniature surf, or the more distant and loud reverberations +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119" id="page119"></a>119</span> +from the outer coast. For long speech was denied them; +and when the words came at last, they came to both simultaneously.</p> + +<p>“Say, Herrick ...” the captain was beginning.</p> + +<p>But Herrick, turning swiftly towards his companion, +bent him down with the eager cry: “Let’s up anchor, +captain, and to sea!”</p> + +<p>“Where to, my son?” said the captain. “Up anchor’s +easy saying. But where to?”</p> + +<p>“To sea,” responded Herrick. “The sea’s big enough! +To sea—away from this dreadful island and that, O! that +sinister man!”</p> + +<p>“O, we’ll see about that,” said Davis. “You brace up, +and we’ll see about that. You’re all run down, that’s what’s +wrong with you; you’re all nerves, like Jemimar; you’ve +got to brace up good and be yourself again, and then we’ll +talk.”</p> + +<p>“To sea,” reiterated Herrick, “to sea to-night—now—this +moment!”</p> + +<p>“It can’t be, my son,” replied the captain firmly. “No +ship of mine puts to sea without provisions; you can take +that for settled.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem to understand,” said Herrick. “The +whole thing is over, I tell you. There is nothing to do here, +when he knows all. That man there with the cat knows all; +can’t you take it in?”</p> + +<p>“All what?” asked the captain, visibly discomposed. +“Why, he received us like a perfect gentleman and treated +us real handsome, until you began with your foolery—and +I must say I seen men shot for less, and nobody sorry! +What more do you expect anyway?”</p> + +<p>Herrick rocked to and fro upon the sand, shaking his +head.</p> + +<p>“Guying us,” he said; “he was guying us—only guying +us; it’s all we’re good for.”</p> + +<p>“There was one queer thing, to be sure,” admitted the +captain, with a misgiving of the voice; “that about the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120" id="page120"></a>120</span> +sherry. Damned if I caught on to that. Say, Herrick, +you didn’t give me away?”</p> + +<p>“O! give you away!” repeated Herrick with weary, +querulous scorn. “What was there to give away? We’re +transparent; we’ve got rascal branded on us: detected +rascal—detected rascal! Why, before he came on board, +there was the name painted out, and he saw the whole thing. +He made sure we would kill him there and then, and stood +guying you and Huish on the chance. He calls that being +frightened! Next he had me ashore; a fine time I had! +<i>The two wolves</i>, he calls you and Huish. <i>What is the puppy +doing with the two wolves?</i> he asked. He showed me his +pearls; he said they might be dispersed before morning, +and <i>all hung by a hair</i>—and smiled as he said it, such a smile! +O, it’s no use, I tell you! He knows all, he sees through all; +we only make him laugh with our pretences—he looks at us +and laughs like God!”</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Davis stood with contorted brows, +gazing into the night.</p> + +<p>“The pearls?” he said suddenly. “He showed them +to you? He has them?”</p> + +<p>“No, he didn’t show them; I forgot: only the safe +they were in,” said Herrick. “But you’ll never get +them!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve two words to say to that,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“Do you think he would have been so easy at table, +unless he was prepared?” cried Herrick. “The servants +were both armed. He was armed himself; he always is; +he told me. You will never deceive his vigilance. Davis, +I know it! It’s all up, I tell you, and keep telling you and +proving it. All up; all up. There’s nothing for it, there’s +nothing to be done: all gone: life, honour, love. O my +God, my God, why was I born?”</p> + +<p>Another pause followed upon this outburst.</p> + +<p>The captain put his hands to his brow.</p> + +<p>“Another thing!” he broke out. “Why did he tell +you all this? Seems like madness to me!” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page121" id="page121"></a>121</span></p> + +<p>Herrick shook his head with gloomy iteration. “You +wouldn’t understand if I were to tell you,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I guess I can understand any blame’ thing that you +can tell me,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, he’s a fatalist,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“What’s that? a fatalist?” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“O, it’s a fellow that believes a lot of things,” said +Herrick; “believes that his bullets go true; believes that +all falls out as God chooses, do as you like to prevent it; +and all that.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I guess I believe right so myself,” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“You do?” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“You bet I do!” says Davis.</p> + +<p>Herrick shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you must be +a fool,” said he, and he leaned his head upon his knees.</p> + +<p>The captain stood biting his hands.</p> + +<p>“There’s one thing sure,” he said at last. “I must +get Huish out of that. <i>He’s</i> not fit to hold his end up with +a man like you describe.”</p> + +<p>And he turned to go away. The words had been quite +simple; not so the tone; and the other was quick to +catch it.</p> + +<p>“Davis!” he cried, “no! Don’t do it. Spare <i>me</i>, and +don’t do it—spare yourself, and leave it alone—for God’s +sake, for your children’s sake!”</p> + +<p>His voice rose to a passionate shrillness; another +moment, and he might be overheard by their not distant +victim. But Davis turned on him with a savage oath and +gesture; and the miserable young man rolled over on his +face on the sand, and lay speechless and helpless.</p> + +<p>The captain meanwhile set out rapidly for Attwater’s +house. As he went, he considered with himself eagerly, +his thoughts racing. The man had understood, he had +mocked them from the beginning; he would teach him to +make a mockery of John Davis! Herrick thought him a +god; give him a second to aim in, and the god was overthrown. +He chuckled as he felt the butt of his revolver. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122" id="page122"></a>122</span> +It should be done now, as he went in. From behind? It +was difficult to get there. From across the table? No, the +captain preferred to shoot standing, so as you could be sure +to get your hand upon your gun. The best would be to +summon Huish, and when Attwater stood up and turned—ah, +then would be the moment. Wrapped in this ardent +prefiguration of events, the captain posted towards the +house with his head down.</p> + +<p>“Hands up! Halt!” cried the voice of Attwater.</p> + +<p>And the captain, before he knew what he was doing, had +obeyed. The surprise was complete and irremediable. +Coming on the top crest of his murderous intentions, he had +walked straight into an ambuscade, and now stood, with his +hands impotently lifted, staring at the verandah.</p> + +<p>The party was now broken up. Attwater leaned on a +post, and kept Davis covered with a Winchester. One of +the servants was hard by with a second at the port arms, +leaning a little forward, round-eyed with eager expectancy. +In the open space at the head of the stair, Huish was partly +supported by the other native; his face wreathed in meaningless +smiles, his mind seemingly sunk in the contemplation +of an unlighted cigar.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Attwater, “you seem to me to be a very +twopenny pirate!”</p> + +<p>The captain uttered a sound in his throat for which we +have no name; rage choked him.</p> + +<p>“I am going to give you Mr. Whish—or the wine-sop +that remains of him,” continued Attwater. “He talks a +great deal when he drinks, Captain Davis of the <i>Sea Ranger</i>. +But I have quite done with him—and return the article with +thanks. Now,” he cried sharply; “another false movement +like that, and your family will have to deplore the loss +of an invaluable parent; keep strictly still, Davis.”</p> + +<p>Attwater said a word in the native, his eye still undeviatingly +fixed on the captain; and the servant thrust +Huish smartly forward from the brink of the stair. With +an extraordinary simultaneous dispersion of his members, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page123" id="page123"></a>123</span> +that gentleman bounded forth into space, struck the earth, +ricocheted, and brought up with his arms about a palm. +His mind was quite a stranger to these events; the expression +of anguish that deformed his countenance at the moment +of the leap was probably mechanical; and he suffered +these convulsions in silence; clung to the tree like an infant; +and seemed, by his dips, to suppose himself engaged in the +pastime of bobbing for apples. A more finely sympathetic +mind or a more observant eye might have remarked, a little +in front of him on the sand and still quite beyond reach, the +unlighted cigar.</p> + +<p>“There is your Whitechapel carrion!” said Attwater. +“And now you might very well ask me why I do not put a +period to you at once, as you deserve. I will tell you why, +Davis. It is because I have nothing to do with the <i>Sea +Ranger</i> and the people you drowned, or the <i>Farallone</i> and +the champagne that you stole. That is your account with +God; He keeps it, and He will settle it when the clock +strikes. In my own case, I have nothing to go on but suspicion, +and I do not kill on suspicion, not even vermin like +you. But understand: if ever I see any of you again, it is +another matter, and you shall eat a bullet. And now take +yourself off. March! and as you value what you call your +life, keep your hands up as you go!”</p> + +<p>The captain remained as he was, his hands up, his mouth +open: mesmerised with fury.</p> + +<p>“March!” said Attwater. “One—two—three!”</p> + +<p>And Davis turned and passed slowly away. But even +as he went, he was meditating a prompt, offensive return. +In the twinkling of an eye he had leaped behind a tree; and +was crouching there, pistol in hand, peering from either +side of his place of ambush with bared teeth; a serpent +already poised to strike. And already he was too late. +Attwater and his servants had disappeared; and only the +lamps shone on the deserted table and the bright sand about +the house, and threw into the night in all directions the +strong and tall shadows of the palms. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124" id="page124"></a>124</span></p> + +<p>Davis ground his teeth. Where were they gone, the +cowards? to what hole had they retreated beyond reach? +It was in vain he should try anything, he, single and with a +second-hand revolver, against three persons, armed with +Winchesters, and who did not show an ear out of any of the +apertures of that lighted and silent house? Some of them +might have already ducked below it from the rear, and be +drawing a bead upon him at that moment from the low-browed +crypt, the receptacle of empty bottles and broken +crockery. No, there was nothing to be done but to bring +away (if it were still possible) his shattered and demoralised +forces.</p> + +<p>“Huish,” he said, “come along.”</p> + +<p>“’S lose my ciga’,” said Huish, reaching vaguely forward.</p> + +<p>The captain let out a rasping oath. “Come right along +here,” said he.</p> + +<p>“’S all righ’. Sleep here ’th Atty-Attwa. Go boar’ +t’morr’,” replied the festive one.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t come, and come now, by the living God, +I’ll shoot you!” cried the captain.</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that the sense of these words in +any way penetrated to the mind of Huish; rather that, in a +fresh attempt upon the cigar, he overbalanced himself and +came flying erratically forward: a course which brought +him within reach of Davis.</p> + +<p>“Now you walk straight,” said the captain, clutching +him, “or I’ll know why not!”</p> + +<p>“’S lose my ciga’,” replied Huish.</p> + +<p>The captain’s contained fury blazed up for a moment. +He twisted Huish round, grasped him by the neck of the +coat, ran him in front of him to the pier-end, and flung him +savagely forward on his face.</p> + +<p>“Look for your cigar then, you swine!” said he, and +blew his boat-call till the pea in it ceased to rattle.</p> + +<p>An immediate activity responded on board the <i>Farallone</i>; +far-away voices, and soon the sound of oars, floated along +the surface of the lagoon; and at the same time, from nearer +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page125" id="page125"></a>125</span> +hand, Herrick aroused himself and strolled languidly up. +He bent over the insignificant figure of Huish, where it +grovelled, apparently insensible, at the base of the figure-head.</p> + +<p>“Dead?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No, he’s not dead,” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“And Attwater?” asked Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Now you just shut your head!” replied Davis. “You +can do that, I fancy, and by God, I’ll show you how! I’ll +stand no more of your drivel.”</p> + +<p>They waited accordingly in silence till the boat bumped +on the farthest piers; then raised Huish, head and heels, +carried him down the gangway, and flung him summarily +in the bottom. On the way out he was heard murmuring +of the loss of his cigar; and after he had been handed up the +side like baggage, and cast down in the alleyway to slumber, +his last audible expression was: “Splen’l fl’ Attwa’!” +This the expert construed into “Splendid fellow, Attwater”; +with so much innocence had this great spirit issued from +the adventures of the evening.</p> + +<p>The captain went and walked in the waist with brief +irate turns; Herrick leaned his arms on the taffrail; the +crew had all turned in. The ship had a gentle, cradling +motion; at times a block piped like a bird. On shore, +through the colonnade of palm stems, Attwater’s house was +to be seen shining steadily with many lamps. And there +was nothing else visible, whether in the heaven above or in +the lagoon below, but the stars and their reflections. It +might have been minutes, or it might have been hours, that +Herrick leaned there, looking in the glorified water and +drinking peace. “A bath of stars,” he was thinking; when +a hand was laid at last on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Herrick,” said the captain, “I’ve been walking off my +trouble.”</p> + +<p>A sharp jar passed through the young man, but he +neither answered nor so much as turned his head.</p> + +<p>“I guess I spoke a little rough to you on shore,” pursued +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126" id="page126"></a>126</span> +the captain; “the fact is, I was real mad; but now it’s over, +and you and me have to turn to and think.”</p> + +<p>“I will <i>not</i> think,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Here, old man!” said Davis kindly; “this won’t fight, +you know! You’ve got to brace up and help me get things +straight. You’re not going back on a friend? That’s not +like you, Herrick!”</p> + +<p>“O yes, it is,” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Come, come!” said the captain, and paused as if quite +at a loss. “Look here,” he cried, “you have a glass of +champagne. <i>I</i> won’t touch it, so that’ll show you if I’m in +earnest. But it’s just the pick-me-up for you; it’ll put an +edge on you at once.”</p> + +<p>“O, you leave me alone!” said Herrick, and turned +away.</p> + +<p>The captain caught him by the sleeve; and he shook +him off and turned on him, for the moment like a demoniac.</p> + +<p>“Go to hell in your own way!” he cried.</p> + +<p>And he turned away again, this time unchecked, and +stepped forward to where the boat rocked alongside and +ground occasionally against the schooner. He looked about +him. A corner of the house was interposed between the +captain and himself; all was well; no eye must see him in +that last act. He slid silently into the boat; thence, +silently, into the starry water. Instinctively he swam a +little; it would be time enough to stop by and by.</p> + +<p>The shock of the immersion brightened his mind immediately. +The events of the ignoble day passed before +him in a frieze of pictures, and he thanked “whatever Gods +there be” for that open door of suicide. In such a little +while he would be done with it, the random business at an +end, the prodigal son come home. A very bright planet +shone before him and drew a trenchant wake along the +water. He took that for his line and followed it.</p> + +<p>That was the last earthly thing that he should look upon; +that radiant speck, which he had soon magnified into a City +of Laputa, along whose terraces there walked men and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>127</span> +women of awful and benignant features, who viewed him +with distant commiseration. These imaginary spectators +consoled him; he told himself their talk, one to another; +it was of himself and his sad destiny.</p> + +<p>From such flights of fancy he was aroused by the growing +coldness of the water. Why should he delay? Here, +where he was now, let him drop the curtain, let him seek the +ineffable refuge, let him lie down with all races and generations +of men in the house of sleep. It was easy to say, easy +to do. To stop swimming: there was no mystery in that, +if he could do it. Could he? And he could not. He knew +it instantly. He was aware instantly of an opposition in his +members, unanimous and invincible, clinging to life with a +single and fixed resolve, finger by finger, sinew by sinew; +something that was at once he and not he—at once within +and without him; the shutting of some miniature valve in +his brain, which a single manly thought should suffice to +open—and the grasp of an external fate ineluctable as +gravity. To any man there may come at times a consciousness +that there blows, through all the articulations of his +body, the wind of a spirit not wholly his; that his mind +rebels; that another girds him and carries him whither he +would not. It came now to Herrick, with the authority of a +revelation. There was no escape possible. The open door +was closed in his recreant face. He must go back into the +world and amongst men without illusion. He must stagger +on to the end with the pack of his responsibility and his +disgrace, until a cold, a blow, a merciful chance ball, or the +more merciful hangman, should dismiss him from his infamy. +There were men who could commit suicide; there +were men who could not; and he was one who could not.</p> + +<p>For perhaps a minute there raged in his mind the coil +of this discovery; then cheerless certitude followed; and, +with an incredible simplicity of submission to ascertained +fact, he turned round and struck out for shore. There was +a courage in this which he could not appreciate; the +ignobility of his cowardice wholly occupying him. A strong +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>128</span> +current set against him like a wind in his face; he contended +with it heavily, wearily, without enthusiasm, but with substantial +advantage; marking his progress the while, without +pleasure, by the outline of the trees. Once he had a moment +of hope. He heard to the southward of him, towards +the centre of the lagoon, the wallowing of some great fish, +doubtless a shark, and paused for a little, treading water. +Might not this be the hangman? he thought. But the +wallowing died away; mere silence succeeded; and Herrick +pushed on again for the shore, raging as he went at his own +nature. Ay, he would wait for the shark; but if he had +heard him coming!... His smile was tragic. He could +have spat upon himself.</p> + +<p>About three in the morning, chance, and the set of the +current, and the bias of his own right-handed body so decided +it between them that he came to shore upon the beach +in front of Attwater’s. There he sat down, and looked forth +into a world without any of the lights of hope. The poor +diving-dress of self-conceit was sadly tattered! With the +fairy tale of suicide, of a refuge always open to him, he had +hitherto beguiled and supported himself in the trials of life; +and behold! that also was only a fairy tale, that also was +folk-lore. With the consequences of his acts he saw himself +implacably confronted for the duration of life: stretched +upon a cross, and nailed there with the iron bolts of his own +cowardice. He had no tears; he told himself no stories. +His disgust with himself was so complete, that even the +process of apologetic mythology had ceased. He was like a +man cast down from a pillar, and every bone broken. He lay +there, and admitted the facts, and did not attempt to rise.</p> + +<p>Dawn began to break over the far side of the atoll, the +sky brightened, the clouds became dyed with gorgeous +colours, the shadows of the night lifted. And, suddenly, +Herrick was aware that the lagoon and the trees wore again +their daylight livery; and he saw, on board the <i>Farallone</i>, +Davis extinguishing the lantern, and smoke rising from the +galley. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page129" id="page129"></a>129</span></p> + +<p>Davis, without doubt, remarked and recognised the +figure on the beach; or perhaps hesitated to recognise it; +for after he had gazed a long while from under his hand, +he went into the house and fetched a glass. It was very +powerful; Herrick had often used it. With an instinct +of shame he hid his face in his hands.</p> + +<p>“And what brings you here, Mr. Herrick-Hay, or Mr. +Hay-Herrick?” asked the voice of Attwater. “Your back +view from my present position is remarkably fine, and I +would continue to present it. We can get on very nicely +as we are, and if you were to turn round, do you know? I +think it would be awkward.”</p> + +<p>Herrick slowly rose to his feet; his heart throbbed hard, +a hideous excitement shook him, but he was master of himself. +Slowly he turned and faced Attwater and the muzzle +of a pointed rifle. “Why could I not do that last night?” +he thought.</p> + +<p>“Well, why don’t you fire?” he said aloud, in a voice +that trembled.</p> + +<p>Attwater slowly put his gun under his arm, then his +hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>“What brings you here?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Herrick; and then, with a cry: +“Can you do anything with me?”</p> + +<p>“Are you armed?” said Attwater. “I ask for the +form’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“Armed? No!” said Herrick. “O yes, I am, too!”</p> + +<p>And he flung upon the beach a dripping pistol.</p> + +<p>“You are wet,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am wet,” said Herrick. “Can you do anything +with me?”</p> + +<p>Attwater read his face attentively.</p> + +<p>“It would depend a good deal upon what you are,” said he.</p> + +<p>“What I am? A coward!” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“There is very little to be done with that,” said Attwater. +“And yet the description hardly strikes one as +exhaustive.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page130" id="page130"></a>130</span></p> + +<p>“O, what does it matter?” cried Herrick. “Here I +am. I am broken crockery; I am a burst drum; the whole +of my life is gone to water; I have nothing left that I believe +in, except my living horror of myself. Why do I come +to you? I don’t know; you are cold, cruel, hateful; and +I hate you, or I think I hate you. But you are an honest +man, an honest gentleman. I put myself, helpless, in your +hands. What must I do? If I can’t do anything, be merciful +and put a bullet through me; it’s only a puppy +with a broken leg!”</p> + +<p>“If I were you, I would pick up that pistol, come up to +the house, and put on some dry clothes,” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>“If you really mean it?” said Herrick. “You know +they—we—they.... But you know all.”</p> + +<p>“I know quite enough,” said Attwater. “Come up +to the house.”</p> + +<p>And the captain, from the deck of the <i>Farallone</i>, saw +the two men pass together under the shadow of the grove.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page131" id="page131"></a>131</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<h5>DAVID AND GOLIATH</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Huish</span> had bundled himself up from the glare of the day—his +face to the house, his knees retracted. The frail bones +in the thin tropical raiment seemed scarce more considerable +than a fowl’s; and Davis, sitting on the rail with his arm +about a stay, contemplated him with gloom, wondering +what manner of counsel that insignificant figure should +contain. For since Herrick had thrown him off and deserted +to the enemy, Huish, alone of mankind, remained to +him to be a helper and oracle.</p> + +<p>He considered their position with a sinking heart. The +ship was a stolen ship; the stores, whether from initial carelessness +or ill administration during the voyage, were insufficient +to carry them to any port except back to Papeete; +and there retribution waited in the shape of a gendarme, +a judge with a queer-shaped hat, and the horror of distant +Noumea. Upon that side there was no glimmer of hope. +Here, at the island, the dragon was roused; Attwater with +his men and his Winchesters watched and patrolled the +house; let him who dare approach it. What else was then +left but to sit there, inactive, pacing the decks, until the +<i>Trinity Hall</i> arrived and they were cast into irons, or until +the food came to an end, and the pangs of famine succeeded? +For the <i>Trinity Hall</i> Davis was prepared; he would barricade +the house, and die there defending it, like a rat in a crevice. +But for the other? The cruise of the <i>Farallone</i>, into which +he had plunged, only a fortnight before, with such golden +expectations, could this be the nightmare end of it? The +ship rotting at anchor, the crew stumbling and dying in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132" id="page132"></a>132</span> +scuppers? It seemed as if any extreme of hazard were to +be preferred to so grisly a certainty; as if it would be better +to up-anchor after all, put to sea at a venture, and, perhaps, +perish at the hands of cannibals on one of the more obscure +Paumotus. His eye roved swiftly over sea and sky in quest +of any promise of wind, but the fountains of the Trade were +empty. Where it had run yesterday and for weeks before, +a roaring blue river charioting clouds, silence now reigned; +and the whole height of the atmosphere stood balanced. +On the endless ribbon of island that stretched out to either +hand of him its array of golden and green and silvery palms, +not the most volatile frond was to be seen stirring; they +drooped to their stable images in the lagoon like things +carved of metal, and already their long line began to reverberate +heat. There was no escape possible that day, none +probable on the morrow. And still the stores were running +out!</p> + +<p>Then came over Davis, from deep down in the roots of +his being, or at least from far back among his memories +of childhood and innocence, a wave of superstition. This +run of ill-luck was something beyond natural; the chances +of the game were in themselves more various: it seemed as +if the devil must serve the pieces. The devil? He heard +again the clear note of Attwater’s bell ringing abroad into +the night, and dying away. How if God...?</p> + +<p>Briskly he averted his mind. Attwater: that was the +point. Attwater had food and a treasure of pearls; escape +made possible in the present, riches in the future. They +must come to grips with Attwater; the man must die. A +smoky heat went over his face, as he recalled the impotent +figure he had made last night, and the contemptuous speeches +he must bear in silence. Rage, shame, and the love of +life, all pointed the one way; and only invention halted: +how to reach him? had he strength enough? was there any +help in that misbegotten packet of bones against the house?</p> + +<p>His eyes dwelled upon him with a strange avidity, as +though he would read into his soul; and presently the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>133</span> +sleeper moved, stirred uneasily, turned suddenly round, +and threw him a blinking look. Davis maintained the same +dark stare, and Huish looked away again and sat up.</p> + +<p>“Lord, I’ve an ’eadache on me!” said he. “I believe +I was a bit swipey last night. W’ere’s that cry-byby +’Errick?”</p> + +<p>“Gone,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“Ashore?” cried Huish. “O, I say! I’d ’a gone too.”</p> + +<p>“Would you?” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I would,” replied Huish. “I like Attwater. ’E’s +all right; we got on like one o’clock when you were gone. +And ain’t his sherry in it, rather? It’s like Spiers and +Pond’s Amontillado! I wish I ’ad a drain of it now.” He +sighed.</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll never get no more of it—that’s one thing,” +said Davis gravely.</p> + +<p>“’Ere, wot’s wrong with you, Dyvis? Coppers ’ot? +Well, look at <i>me</i>! <i>I</i> ain’t grumpy,” said Huish; “I’m +as plyful as a canary-bird, I am.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Davis, “you’re playful; I own that; and +you were playful last night, I believe, and a damned fine +performance you made of it.”</p> + +<p>“’Allo!” said Huish. “’Ow’s this? Wot performance?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the captain, getting slowly +off the rail.</p> + +<p>And he did: at full length, with every wounding epithet +and absurd detail repeated and emphasised; he had his own +vanity and Huish’s upon the grill, and roasted them; and +as he spoke he inflicted and endured agonies of humiliation. +It was a plain man’s masterpiece of the sardonic.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it?” said he, when he had done, +and looked down at Huish, flushed and serious, and yet +jeering.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you wot it is,” was the reply: “you and me +cut a pretty dicky figure.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said Davis, “a pretty measly figure, by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>134</span> +God! And, by God, I want to see that man at my +knees.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Huish. “’Ow to get him there?”</p> + +<p>“That’s it!” cried Davis. “How to get hold of him! +They’re four to two; though there’s only one man among +them to count, and that’s Attwater. Get a bead on Attwater, +and the others would cut and run and sing out like +frightened poultry—and old man Herrick would come +round with his hat for a share of the pearls. No, <i>sir</i>! it’s +how to get hold of Attwater! And we daren’t even go +ashore; he would shoot us in the boat like dogs.”</p> + +<p>“Are you particular about having him dead or alive?” +asked Huish.</p> + +<p>“I want to see him dead,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“Ah, well!” said Huish, “then I believe I’ll do a bit of +breakfast.”</p> + +<p>And he turned into the house.</p> + +<p>The captain doggedly followed him.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” he asked. “What’s your idea, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“O, you let me alone, will you?” said Huish, opening a +bottle of champagne. “You’ll ’ear my idea soon enough. +Wyte till I pour some cham on my ’ot coppers.” He drank +a glass off, and affected to listen. “’Ark!” said he, “’ear +it fizz. Like ’am frying, I declyre. ’Ave a glass, do, and +look sociable.”</p> + +<p>“No!” said the captain, with emphasis; “no, I will +not! there’s business.”</p> + +<p>“You p’ys your money and you tykes your choice, my +little man,” returned Huish. “Seems rather a shyme to me +to spoil your breakfast for wot’s really ancient ’istory.”</p> + +<p>He finished three parts of a bottle of champagne, and +nibbled a corner of biscuit, with extreme deliberation; the +captain sitting opposite and champing the bit like an impatient +horse. Then Huish leaned his arms on the table +and looked Davis in the face.</p> + +<p>“W’en you’re ready!” said he. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" id="page135"></a>135</span></p> + +<p>“Well, now, what’s your idea?” said Davis, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“Fair play!” said Huish. “What’s yours?”</p> + +<p>“The trouble is that I’ve got none,” replied Davis; and +wandered for some time in aimless discussion of the difficulties +of their path, and useless explanations of his own fiasco.</p> + +<p>“About done?” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“I’ll dry up right here,” replied Davis.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Huish, “you give me your ’and +across the table, and say, ‘Gawd strike me dead if I don’t +back you up.’”</p> + +<p>His voice was hardly raised, yet it thrilled the hearer. +His face seemed the epitome of cunning, and the captain +recoiled from it as from a blow.</p> + +<p>“What for?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Luck,” said Huish. “Substantial guarantee demanded.”</p> + +<p>And he continued to hold out his hand.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see the good of any such tomfoolery,” said the +other.</p> + +<p>“I do, though,” returned Huish. “Gimme your ’and +and say the words; then you’ll ’ear my view of it. Don’t, +and you don’t.”</p> + +<p>The captain went through the required form, breathing +short, and gazing on the clerk with anguish. What to fear +he knew not, yet he feared slavishly what was to fall from +the pale lips.</p> + +<p>“Now, if you’ll excuse me ’alf a second,” said Huish, +“I’ll go and fetch the byby.”</p> + +<p>“The baby?” said Davis. “What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Fragile. With care. This side up,” replied the clerk +with a wink, as he disappeared.</p> + +<p>He returned, smiling to himself, and carrying in his hand +a silk handkerchief. The long stupid wrinkles ran up +Davis’s brow as he saw it. What should it contain? He +could think of nothing more recondite than a revolver.</p> + +<p>Huish resumed his seat.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said he, “are you man enough to take charge of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>136</span> +’Errick and the niggers? Because I’ll take care of Hattwater.”</p> + +<p>“How?” cried Davis. “You can’t!”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut!” said the clerk. “You gimme time. +Wot’s the first point? The first point is that we can’t get +ashore, and I’ll make you a present of that for a ’ard one. +But ’ow about a flag of truce? Would that do the trick, +d’ye think? or would Attwater simply blyze aw’y at us in +the bloomin’ boat like dawgs?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Davis, “I don’t believe he would.”</p> + +<p>“No more do I,” said Huish; “I don’t believe he would +either; and I’m sure I ’ope he won’t! So then you can call +us ashore. Next point is to get near the managin’ direction. +And for that I’m going to ’ave you write a letter, in w’ich you +s’y you’re ashymed to meet his eye, and that the bearer, +Mr. J. L. ’Uish, is empowered to represent you. Armed +with w’ich seemin’ly simple expedient, Mr. J. L. ’Uish will +proceed to business.”</p> + +<p>He paused, like one who had finished, but still held Davis +with his eye.</p> + +<p>“How?” said Davis. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, you’re big,” returned Huish; “’e knows +you ’ave a gun in your pocket, and anybody can see with +’alf an eye that you ain’t the man to ‘esitate about usin’ it. +So it’s no go with you, and never was; you’re out of the +runnin’, Dyvis. But he won’t be afryde of me, I’m such a +little ’un! I’m unarmed—no kid about that—and I’ll hold +my ’ands up right enough.” He paused. “If I can +manage to sneak up nearer to him as we talk,” he resumed, +“you look out and back me up smart. If I don’t, we go +aw’y again, and nothink to ’urt. See?”</p> + +<p>The captain’s face was contorted by the frenzied effort +to comprehend.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t see,” he cried; “I can’t see. What do +you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean to do for the beast!” cried Huish, in a burst +of venomous triumph. “I’ll bring the ‘ulkin’ bully to grass. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>137</span> +He’s ’ad his larks out of me; I’m goin’ to ’ave my lark out +of ’im, and a good lark too!”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” said the captain, almost in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Sure you want to know?” asked Huish.</p> + +<p>Davis rose and took a turn in the house.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I want to know,” he said at last with an +effort.</p> + +<p>“W’en your back’s at the wall, you do the best you can, +don’t you?” began the clerk. “I s’y that, because I ’appen +to know there’s a prejudice against it; it’s considered +vulgar, awf’ly vulgar.” He unrolled the handkerchief and +showed a four-ounce jar. “This ’ere’s vitriol, this is,” +said he.</p> + +<p>The captain stared upon him with a whitening face.</p> + +<p>“This is the stuff!” he pursued, holding it up. “This’ll +burn to the bone; you’ll see it smoke upon ’im like ’ell-fire! +One drop upon ’is bloomin’ heyesight, and I’ll trouble you +for Attwater!”</p> + +<p>“No, no, by God!” exclaimed the captain.</p> + +<p>“Now, see ’ere, ducky,” said Huish, “this is my bean-feast, +I believe? I’m goin’ up to that man single-’anded, I +am. ’E’s about seven foot high, and I’m five foot one. +’E’s a rifle in his ’and, ’e’s on the look-out, ’e wasn’t born +yesterday. This is Dyvid and Goliar, I tell you! If I’d +ast you to walk up and face the music I could understand. +But I don’t. I on’y ast you to stand by and spifflicate the +niggers. It’ll all come in quite natural; you’ll see, else! +Fust thing, you know, you’ll see him running round and +’owling like a good ’un....”</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” said Davis. “Don’t talk of it!”</p> + +<p>“Well, you <i>are</i> a juggins!” exclaimed Huish. “What +did you want? You wanted to kill him, and tried to last +night. You wanted to kill the ’ole lot of them, and tried to, +and ’ere I show you ’ow; and because there’s some medicine +in a bottle you kick up this fuss!”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that’s so,” said Davis. “It don’t seem +someways reasonable, only there it is.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138" id="page138"></a>138</span></p> + +<p>“It’s the happlication of science, I suppose?” sneered +Huish.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what it is,” cried Davis, pacing the floor; +“it’s there! I draw the line at it. I can’t put a finger to +no such piggishness. It’s too damned hateful!”</p> + +<p>“And I suppose it’s all your fancy pynted it,” said +Huish, “w’en you take a pistol and a bit o’ lead, and copse +a man’s brains all over him? No accountin’ for tystes.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not denying it,” said Davis; “it’s something here, +inside of me. It’s foolishness; I daresay it’s dam foolishness. +I don’t argue; I just draw the line. Isn’t there no +other way?”</p> + +<p>“Look for yourself,” said Huish. “I ain’t wedded to +this, if you think I am; I ain’t ambitious; I don’t make a +point of playin’ the lead; I offer to, that’s all, and if you +can’t show me better, by Gawd, I’m goin’ to!”</p> + +<p>“Then the risk!” cried Davis.</p> + +<p>“If you ast me straight, I should say it was a case of +seven to one, and no takers,” said Huish. “But that’s my +look-out, ducky, and I’m gyme. Look at me, Dyvis, there +ain’t any shilly-shally about me. I’m gyme, that’s wot I +am: gyme all through.”</p> + +<p>The captain looked at him. Huish sat there preening +his sinister vanity, glorying in his precedency in evil; and +the villainous courage and readiness of the creature shone +out of him like a candle from a lantern. Dismay and a kind +of respect seized hold on Davis in his own despite. Until +that moment he had seen the clerk always hanging back, +always listless, uninterested, and openly grumbling at a +word of anything to do; and now, by the touch of an enchanter’s +wand, he beheld him sitting girt and resolved, and +his face radiant. He had raised the devil, he thought; +and asked who was to control him, and his spirits quailed.</p> + +<p>“Look as long as you like,” Huish was going on. “You +don’t see any green in my eye! I ain’t afryde of Attwater, +I ain’t afryde of you, and I ain’t afryde of words. You +want to kill people, that’s wot <i>you</i> want; but you want to do +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" id="page139"></a>139</span> +it in kid gloves, and it can’t be done that w’y. Murder ain’t +genteel, it ain’t easy, it ain’t safe, and it tykes a man to do +it. ’Ere’s the man.”</p> + +<p>“Huish!” began the captain with energy; and then +stopped, and remained staring at him with corrugated +brows.</p> + +<p>“Well, hout with it!” said Huish. “’Ave you anythink +else to put up? Is there any other chanst to try?”</p> + +<p>The captain held his peace.</p> + +<p>“There you are then!” said Huish, with a shrug.</p> + +<p>Davis fell again to his pacing.</p> + +<p>“O, you may do sentry-go till you’re blue in the mug, +you won’t find anythink else,” said Huish.</p> + +<p>There was a little silence; the captain, like a man +launched on a swing, flying dizzily among extremes of conjecture +and refusal.</p> + +<p>“But see,” he said, suddenly pausing. “Can you? +Can the thing be done? It—it can’t be easy.”</p> + +<p>“If I get within twenty foot of ’im it’ll be done; so you +look out,” said Huish, and his tone of certainty was absolute.</p> + +<p>“How can you know that?” broke from the captain in +a choked cry. “You beast, I believe you’ve done it before!”</p> + +<p>“O, that’s private affyres,” returned Huish; “I ain’t +a talking man.”</p> + +<p>A shock of repulsion struck and shook the captain; a +scream rose almost to his lips; had he uttered it, he might +have cast himself at the same moment on the body of Huish, +might have picked him up, and flung him down, and wiped +the cabin with him, in a frenzy of cruelty that seemed half +moral. But the moment passed; and the abortive crisis +left the man weaker. The stakes were so high—the pearls +on the one hand—starvation and shame on the other. Ten +years of pearls! the imagination of Davis translated them +into a new, glorified existence for himself and his family. +The seat of this new life must be in London; there were +deadly reasons against Portland, Maine; and the pictures +that came to him were of English manners. He saw his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page140" id="page140"></a>140</span> +boys marching in the procession of a school, with gowns +on, an usher marshalling them and reading as he walked in +a great book. He was installed in a villa, semi-detached; +the name, “Rosemore,” on the gateposts. In a chair on +the gravel walk he seemed to sit smoking a cigar, a blue +ribbon in his buttonhole, victor over himself and circumstances +and the malignity of bankers. He saw the parlour, +with red curtains, and shells on the mantelpiece—and, with +the fine inconsistency of visions, mixed a grog at the +mahogany table ere he turned in. With that the <i>Farallone</i> +gave one of the aimless and nameless movements which +(even in an anchored ship, and even in the most profound +calm) remind one of the mobility of fluids; and he was back +again under the cover of the house, the fierce daylight besieging +it all round and glaring in the chinks, and the clerk +in a rather airy attitude, awaiting his decision.</p> + +<p>He began to walk again. He aspired after the realisation +of these dreams, like a horse nickering for water; the +lust of them burned in his inside. And the only obstacle +was Attwater, who had insulted him from the first. He +gave Herrick a full share of the pearls, he insisted on it; +Huish opposed him, and he trod the opposition down; and +praised himself exceedingly. He was not going to use +vitriol himself; was he Huish’s keeper? It was a pity he +had asked, but after all! ... he saw the boys again in the +school procession, with the gowns he had thought to be so +“tony” long since.... And at the same time the incomparable +shame of the last evening blazed up in his mind.</p> + +<p>“Have it your own way!” he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“O, I knew you would walk up,” said Huish. “Now +for the letter. There’s paper, pens, and ink. Sit down and +I’ll dictyte.”</p> + +<p>The captain took a seat and the pen, looked a while +helplessly at the paper, then at Huish. The swing had +gone the other way; there was a blur upon his eyes. “It’s +a dreadful business,” he said, with a strong twitch of his +shoulders. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>141</span></p> + +<p>“It’s rather a start, no doubt,” said Huish. “Tyke +a dip of ink. That’s it. <i>William John Hattwater, Esq. +Sir:</i>” he dictated.</p> + +<p>“How do you know his name is William John?” asked +Davis.</p> + +<p>“Saw it on a packing-case,” said Huish. “Got that?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Davis. “But there’s another thing. What +are we to write?”</p> + +<p>“O my golly!” cried the exasperated Huish. “Wot +kind of man do <i>you</i> call yourself? <i>I’m</i> goin’ to tell you wot +to write; that’s <i>my</i> pitch; if you’ll just be so bloomin’ +condescendin’ as to write it down! <i>William John Attwater, +Esq., Sir:</i>” he reiterated. And, the captain at last beginning +half mechanically to move his pen, the dictation +proceeded: “<i>It is with feelings of shyme and ’artfelt contrition +that I approach you after the yumiliatin’ events of last +night. Our Mr. ’Errick has left the ship, and will have doubtless +communicated to you the nature of our ’opes. Needless to +s’y, these are no longer possible: Fate ’as declyred against us, +and we bow the ’ead. Well awyre as I am of the just suspicions +with w’ich I am regarded, I do not venture to solicit +the fyvour of an interview for myself, but in order to put an end +to a situytion w’ich must be equally pyneful to all, I ’ave deputed +my friend and partner, Mr. J. L. Huish, to l’y before +you my proposals, and w’ich by their moderytion, will, I trust, +be found to merit your attention. Mr. J. L. Huish is entirely +unarmed, I swear to Gawd! and will ’old ’is ’ands over ’is +’ead from the moment he begins to approach you. I am your +fytheful servant, John Dyvis.</i>”</p> + +<p>Huish read the letter with the innocent joy of amateurs, +chuckled gustfully to himself, and reopened it more than +once after it was folded, to repeat the pleasure, Davis meanwhile +sitting inert and heavily frowning.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden he rose; he seemed all abroad. “No!” +he cried. “No! it can’t be! It’s too much; it’s damnation. +God would never forgive it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and ’oo wants Him to?” returned Huish, shrill +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" id="page142"></a>142</span> +with fury. “You were damned years ago for the <i>Sea +Rynger</i>, and said so yourself. Well then, be damned for +something else, and ’old your tongue.”</p> + +<p>The captain looked at him mistily. “No,” he pleaded, +“no, old man! don’t do it.”</p> + +<p>“’Ere now,” said Huish, “I’ll give you my ultimytum. +Go or st’y w’ere you are; I don’t mind; I’m goin’ to see that +man and chuck this vitriol in his eyes. If you st’y I’ll go +alone; the niggers will likely knock me on the ’ead, and a +fat lot you’ll be the better! But there’s one thing sure: +I’ll ’ear no more of your moonin’ mullygrubbin’ rot, and +tyke it stryte.”</p> + +<p>The captain took it with a blink and a gulp. Memory, +with phantom voices, repeated in his ears something similar, +something he had once said to Herrick—years ago it seemed.</p> + +<p>“Now, gimme over your pistol,” said Huish. “I ’ave +to see all clear. Six shots, and mind you don’t wyste them.”</p> + +<p>The captain, like a man in a nightmare, laid down his +revolver on the table, and Huish wiped the cartridges and +oiled the works.</p> + +<p>It was close on noon, there was no breath of wind, and +the heat was scarce bearable, when the two men came on +deck, had the boat manned, and passed down, one after +another, into the stern-sheets. A white shirt at the end of +an oar served as flag of truce; and the men, by direction, +and to give it the better chance to be observed, pulled with +extreme slowness. The isle shook before them like a place +incandescent; on the face of the lagoon blinding copper suns, +no bigger than sixpences, danced and stabbed them in the +eyeballs: there went up from sand and sea, and even from +the boat, a glare of scathing brightness; and as they could +only peer abroad from between closed lashes, the excess of +light seemed to be changed into a sinister darkness, comparable +to that of a thundercloud before it bursts.</p> + +<p>The captain had come upon this errand for any one of a +dozen reasons, the last of which was desire for its success. +Superstition rules all men; semi-ignorant and gross natures, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id="page143"></a>143</span> +like that of Davis, it rules utterly. For murder he had been +prepared; but this horror of the medicine in the bottle went +beyond him, and he seemed to himself to be parting the last +strands that united him to God. The boat carried him on +to reprobation, to damnation; and he suffered himself to be +carried passively consenting, silently bidding farewell to his +better self and his hopes.</p> + +<p>Huish sat by his side in towering spirits that were not +wholly genuine. Perhaps as brave a man as ever lived, brave +as a weasel, he must still reassure himself with the tones +of his own voice; he must play his part to exaggeration, he +must out-Herod Herod, insult all that was respectable, and +brave all that was formidable, in a kind of desperate wager +with himself.</p> + +<p>“Golly, but it’s ’ot!” said he. “Cruel ’ot, I call it. +Nice d’y to get your gruel in! I s’y, you know, it must feel +awf’ly peculiar to get bowled over on a d’y like this. I’d +rather ’ave it on a cowld and frosty morning, wouldn’t you? +(Singing) ‘’<i>Ere we go round the mulberry bush on a cowld and +frosty mornin’.</i>’ (Spoken) Give you my word, I ’aven’t +thought o’ that in ten year; used to sing it at a hinfant +school in ’Ackney, ’Ackney Wick it was. (Singing) ‘<i>This +is the way the tyler does, the tyler does.</i>’ (Spoken) Bloomin’ +’umbug.—’Ow are you off now, for the notion of a future +styte? Do you cotton to the tea-fight views, or the old +red-’ot bogey business?”</p> + +<p>“O, dry up!” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“No, but I want to know,” said Huish. “It’s within +the sp’ere of practical politics for you and me, my boy; +we may both be bowled over, one up, t’other down, within +the next ten minutes. It would be rather a lark, now, if +you only skipped across, came up smilin’ t’other side, and +a hangel met you with a B. and S. under his wing. ’Ullo, +you’d s’y: come, I tyke this kind.”</p> + +<p>The captain groaned. While Huish was thus airing and +exercising his bravado, the man at his side was actually +engaged in prayer. Prayer, what for? God knows. But +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page144" id="page144"></a>144</span> +out of his inconsistent, illogical, and agitated spirit, a stream +of supplication was poured forth, inarticulate as himself, +earnest as death and judgment.</p> + +<p>“Thou Gawd seest me!” continued Huish. “I remember +I had that written in my Bible. I remember the +Bible too, all about Abinadab and parties.—Well, Gawd!” +apostrophising the meridian, “you’re goin’ to see a rum +start presently, I promise you that!”</p> + +<p>The captain bounded.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have no blasphemy!” he cried, “no blasphemy +in my boat.”</p> + +<p>“All right, cap’,” said Huish. “Anythink to oblige. +Any other topic you would like to sudgest, the ryne-gyge, +the lightnin’-rod, Shykespeare, or the musical glasses? +’Ere’s conversation on tap. Put a penny in the slot, and ... ’ullo! +’ere they are!” he cried. “Now or never! +is ’e goin’ to shoot?”</p> + +<p>And the little man straightened himself into an +alert and dashing attitude, and looked steadily at the +enemy.</p> + +<p>But the captain rose half up in the boat with eyes protruding.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Wot’s wot?” said Huish.</p> + +<p>“Those—blamed things,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>And indeed it was something strange. Herrick and +Attwater, both armed with Winchesters, had appeared out +of the grove behind the figure-head; and to either hand of +them, the sun glistened upon two metallic objects, locomotory +like men, and occupying in the economy of these +creatures the places of heads—only the heads were faceless. +To Davis, between wind and water, his mythology +appeared to have come alive and Tophet to be vomiting +demons. But Huish was not mystified a moment.</p> + +<p>“Divers’ ’elmets, you ninny. Can’t you see?” he said.</p> + +<p>“So they are,” said Davis, with a gasp. “And why? +O, I see, it’s for armour.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page145" id="page145"></a>145</span></p> + +<p>“Wot did I tell you?” said Huish. “Dyvid and +Goliar all the w’y and back.”</p> + +<p>The two natives (for they it was that were equipped +in this unusual panoply of war) spread out to right and left, +and at last lay down in the shade, on the extreme flank of +the position. Even now that the mystery was explained, +Davis was hatefully preoccupied, stared at the flame on +their crests, and forgot, and then remembered with a smile, +the explanation.</p> + +<p>Attwater withdrew again into the grove, and Herrick, +with his gun under his arm, came down the pier alone.</p> + +<p>About halfway down he halted and hailed the boat.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” he cried.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell that to Mr. Attwater,” replied Huish, stepping +briskly on the ladder. “I don’t tell it to you, because you +played the trucklin’ sneak. Here’s a letter for him: tyke +it, and give it, and be ’anged to you!”</p> + +<p>“Davis, is this all right?” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>Davis raised his chin, glanced swiftly at Herrick and +away again, and held his peace. The glance was charged +with some deep emotion, but whether of hatred or of fear, +it was beyond Herrick to divine.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “I’ll give the letter.” He drew a +score with his foot on the boards of the gangway. “Till +I bring the answer, don’t move a step past this.”</p> + +<p>And he returned to where Attwater leaned against a tree, +and gave him the letter. Attwater glanced it through.</p> + +<p>“What does that mean?” he asked, passing it to +Herrick. “Treachery?”</p> + +<p>“O, I suppose so!” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Well, tell him to come on,” said Attwater. “One +isn’t a fatalist for nothing. Tell him to come on and to +look out.”</p> + +<p>Herrick returned to the figure-head. Half-way down +the pier the clerk was waiting, with Davis by his side.</p> + +<p>“You are to come along, Huish,” said Herrick. “He +bids you to look out—no tricks.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page146" id="page146"></a>146</span></p> + +<p>Huish walked briskly up the pier, and paused face to +face with the young man.</p> + +<p>“W’ere is ’e?” said he, and to Herrick’s surprise, the +low-bred, insignificant face before him flushed suddenly +crimson and went white again.</p> + +<p>“Right forward,” said Herrick, pointing. “Now, your +hands above your head.”</p> + +<p>The clerk turned away from him and towards the figure-head, +as though he were about to address to it his devotions; +he was seen to heave a deep breath; and raised his arms. +In common with many men of his unhappy physical endowments, +Huish’s hands were disproportionately long and +broad, and the palms in particular enormous; a four-ounce +jar was nothing in that capacious fist. The next moment +he was plodding steadily forward on his mission.</p> + +<p>Herrick at first followed. Then a noise in his rear +startled him, and he turned about to find Davis already +advanced as far as the figure-head. He came, crouching +and open-mouthed, as the mesmerised may follow the +mesmeriser; all human considerations, and even the care +of his own life, swallowed up in one abominable and burning +curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Halt!” cried Herrick, covering him with his rifle. +“Davis, what are you doing, man? You are not to come.”</p> + +<p>Davis instinctively paused, and regarded him with a +dreadful vacancy of eye.</p> + +<p>“Put your back to that figure-head—do you hear me?—and +stand fast!” said Herrick.</p> + +<p>The captain fetched a breath, stepped back against the +figure-head, and instantly redirected his glances after Huish.</p> + +<p>There was a hollow place of the sand in that part, and, +as it were, a glade among the coco-palms in which the direct +noonday sun blazed intolerably. At the far end, in the +shadow, the tall figure of Attwater was to be seen leaning on +a tree; towards him, with his hands over his head, and his +steps smothered in the sand, the clerk painfully waded. +The surrounding glare threw out and exaggerated the man’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page147" id="page147"></a>147</span> +smallness; it seemed no less perilous an enterprise, this that +he was gone upon, than for a whelp to besiege a citadel.</p> + +<p>“There, Mr. Whish. That will do,” cried Attwater. +“From that distance, and keeping your hands up, like a +good boy, you can very well put me in possession of the +skipper’s views.”</p> + +<p>The interval betwixt them was perhaps forty feet; and +Huish measured it with his eye, and breathed a curse. He +was already distressed with labouring in the loose sand, and +his arms ached bitterly from their unnatural position. In +the palm of his right hand the jar was ready; and his heart +thrilled, and his voice choked, as he began to speak.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hattwater,” said he, “I don’t know if ever you +’ad a mother....”</p> + +<p>“I can set your mind at rest: I had,” returned Attwater; +“and henceforth, if I may venture to suggest it, +her name need not recur in our communications. I +should perhaps tell you that I am not amenable to the +pathetic.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, sir, if I ’ave seemed to tresparse on your +private feelin’s,” said the clerk, cringing and stealing a step. +“At least, sir, you will never pe’suade me that you are not +a perfec’ gentleman; I know a gentleman when I see him; +and as such, I ’ave no ’esitation in throwin’ myself on your +merciful consideration. It <i>is</i> ’ard lines, no doubt; it’s ’ard +lines to have to hown yourself beat; it’s ’ard lines to ’ave +to come and beg to you for charity.”</p> + +<p>“When, if things had only gone right, the whole place +was as good as your own?” suggested Attwater. “I can +understand the feeling.”</p> + +<p>“You are judging me, Mr. Attwater,” said the clerk, +“and God knows how unjustly! <i>Thou Gawd seest me</i>, was +the tex’ I ’ad in my Bible, w’ich my father wrote it in with +’is own ’and upon the fly-leaft.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry I have to beg your pardon once more,” +said Attwater; “but, do you know, you seem to me to be +a trifle nearer, which is entirely outside of our bargain. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page148" id="page148"></a>148</span> +And I would venture to suggest that you take one—two—three—steps +back; and stay there.”</p> + +<p>The devil, at this staggering disappointment, looked +out of Huish’s face, and Attwater was swift to suspect. +He frowned, he stared on the little man, and considered. +Why should he be creeping nearer? The next moment his +gun was at his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Kindly oblige me by opening your hands. Open your +hands wide—let me see the fingers spread, you dog—throw +down that thing you’re holding!” he roared, his rage and +certitude increasing together.</p> + +<p>And then, at almost the same moment, the indomitable +Huish decided to throw, and Attwater pulled a trigger. +There was scarce the difference of a second between the two +resolves, but it was in favour of the man with the rifle; and +the jar had not yet left the clerk’s hand, before the ball +shattered both. For the twinkling of an eye the wretch +was in hell’s agonies, bathed in liquid flames, a screaming +bedlamite; and then a second and more merciful bullet +stretched him dead.</p> + +<p>The whole thing was come and gone in a breath. Before +Herrick could turn about, before Davis could complete his +cry of horror, the clerk lay in the sand, sprawling and convulsed.</p> + +<p>Attwater ran to the body; he stooped and viewed it; +he put his finger in the vitriol, and his face whitened and +hardened with anger.</p> + +<p>Davis had not yet moved; he stood astonished, with his +back to the figure-head, his hands clutching it behind him, +his body inclined forward from the waist.</p> + +<p>Attwater turned deliberately and covered him with his +rifle.</p> + +<p>“Davis,” he cried, in a voice like a trumpet, “I give you +sixty seconds to make your peace with God!”</p> + +<p>Davis looked, and his mind awoke. He did not dream +of self-defence, he did not reach for his pistol. He drew +himself up instead to face death, with a quivering nostril. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page149" id="page149"></a>149</span></p> + +<p>“I guess I’ll not trouble the Old Man,” he said; “considering +the job I was on, I guess it’s better business to just +shut my face.”</p> + +<p>Attwater fired; there came a spasmodic movement of +the victim, and immediately above the middle of his forehead +a black hole marred the whiteness of the figure-head. +A dreadful pause; then again the report, and the solid +sound and jar of the bullet in the wood; and this time the +captain had felt the wind of it along his cheek. A third +shot, and he was bleeding from one ear; and along the +levelled rifle Attwater smiled like a red Indian.</p> + +<p>The cruel game of which he was the puppet was now +clear to Davis; three times he had drunk of death, and he +must look to drink of it seven times more before he was +despatched. He held up his hand.</p> + +<p>“Steady!” he cried; “I’ll take your sixty seconds.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” said Attwater.</p> + +<p>The captain shut his eyes tight like a child: he held his +hands up at last with a tragic and ridiculous gesture.</p> + +<p>“My God, for Christ’s sake, look after my two kids,” he +said; and then, after a pause and a falter, “for Christ’s +sake. Amen.”</p> + +<p>And he opened his eyes and looked down the rifle with a +quivering mouth.</p> + +<p>“But don’t keep fooling me long!” he pleaded.</p> + +<p>“That’s all your prayer?” asked Attwater, with a +singular ring in his voice.</p> + +<p>“Guess so,” said Davis.</p> + +<p>“So?” said Attwater, resting the butt of his rifle on the +ground, “is that done? Is your peace made with Heaven? +Because it is with me. Go, and sin no more, sinful father. +And remember that whatever you do to others, God shall +visit it again a thousandfold upon your innocents.”</p> + +<p>The wretched Davis came staggering forward from his +place against the figure-head, fell upon his knees, and waved +his hands, and fainted.</p> + +<p>When he came to himself again, his head was on Attwater’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page150" id="page150"></a>150</span> +arm, and close by stood one of the men in diver’s +helmets, holding a bucket of water, from which his late +executioner now laved his face. The memory of that dreadful +passage returned upon him in a clap; again he saw Huish +lying dead, again he seemed to himself to totter on the brink +of an unplumbed eternity. With trembling hands he seized +hold of the man whom he had come to slay; and his voice +broke from him like that of a child among the nightmares of +fever: “O! isn’t there no mercy? O! what must I do to +be saved?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” thought Attwater, “here is the true penitent.”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page151" id="page151"></a>151</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<h5>A TAIL-PIECE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">On</span> a very bright, hot, lusty, strongly-blowing noon, a fortnight +after the events recorded, and a month since the +curtain rose upon this episode, a man might have been spied +praying on the sand by the lagoon beach. A point of palm-trees +isolated him from the settlement; and from the place +where he knelt, the only work of man’s hand that interrupted +the expanse was the schooner <i>Farallone</i>, her berth quite +changed, and rocking at anchor some two miles to windward +in the midst of the lagoon. The noise of the Trade +ran very boisterous in all parts of the island; the nearer +palm-trees crashed and whistled in the gusts, those farther +off contributed a humming bass like the roar of cities; and +yet, to any man less absorbed, there must have risen at +times over this turmoil of the winds the sharper note of the +human voice from the settlement. There all was activity. +Attwater, stripped to his trousers, and lending a strong +hand of help, was directing and encouraging five Kanakas; +from his lively voice, and their more lively efforts, it was to +be gathered that some sudden and joyful emergency had +set them in this bustle; and the Union Jack floated once +more on its staff. But the suppliant on the beach, unconscious +of their voices, prayed on with instancy and +fervour, and the sound of his voice rose and fell again, and +his countenance brightened and was deformed with changing +moods of piety and terror.</p> + +<p>Before his closed eyes the skiff had been for some time +tacking towards the distant and deserted <i>Farallone</i>; and +presently the figure of Herrick might have been observed to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page152" id="page152"></a>152</span> +board her, to pass for a while into the house, thence forward +to the forecastle, and at last to plunge into the main hatch. +In all these quarters his visit was followed by a coil of smoke; +and he had scarce entered his boat again and shoved off, +before flames broke forth upon the schooner. They burned +gaily; kerosene had not been spared, and the bellows of the +Trade incited the conflagration. About half-way on the +return voyage, when Herrick looked back, he beheld the +<i>Farallone</i> wrapped to the topmasts in leaping arms of fire, +and the voluminous smoke pursuing him along the face of +the lagoon. In one hour’s time, he computed, the waters +would have closed over the stolen ship.</p> + +<p>It so chanced that, as his boat flew before the wind with +much vivacity, and his eyes were continually busy in the +wake, measuring the progress of the flames, he found himself +embayed to the northward of the point of palms, and here +became aware at the same time of the figure of Davis immersed +in his devotion. An exclamation, part of annoyance, +part of amusement, broke from him: and he touched +the helm and ran the prow upon the beach not twenty feet +from the unconscious devotee. Taking the painter in his +hand, he landed, and drew near, and stood over him. And +still the voluble and incoherent stream of prayer continued +unabated. It was not possible for him to overhear the +suppliant’s petitions, which he listened to some while in a +very mingled mood of humour and pity: and it was only +when his own name began to occur and to be conjoined with +epithets, that he at last laid his hand on the captain’s +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Sorry to interrupt the exercise,” said he; “but I want +you to look at the <i>Farallone</i>.”</p> + +<p>The captain scrambled to his feet, and stood gasping +and staring. “Mr. Herrick, don’t startle a man like +that!” he said. “I don’t seem someways rightly +myself since....” He broke off. “What did you +say anyway? O, the <i>Farallone</i>,” and he looked languidly +out. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page153" id="page153"></a>153</span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Herrick. “There she burns! and you may +guess from that what the news is.”</p> + +<p>“The <i>Trinity Hall</i>, I guess,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>“The same,” said Herrick; “sighted half an hour ago, +and coming up hand over fist.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it don’t amount to a hill of beans,” said the +captain, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“O, come, that’s rank ingratitude!” cries Herrick.</p> + +<p>“Well,” replied the captain meditatively, “you mayn’t +just see the way that I view it in, but I’d ’most rather stay +here upon this island. I found peace here, peace in believing. +Yes, I guess this island is about good enough for John +Davis.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard such nonsense!” cried Herrick. +“What! with all turning out in your favour the way it does, +the <i>Farallone</i> wiped out, the crew disposed of, a sure thing +for your wife and family, and you, yourself, Attwater’s +spoiled darling and pet penitent!”</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Herrick, don’t say that,” said the captain +gently; “when you know he don’t make no difference between +us. But, O! why not be one of us? why not come +to Jesus right away, and let’s meet in yon beautiful land? +That’s just the one thing wanted; just say, ‘Lord, I believe, +help Thou mine unbelief!’ and He’ll fold you in His arms. +You see, I know! I been a sinner myself!”</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page154" id="page154"></a>154</span></p> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page155" id="page155"></a>155</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>WEIR OF HERMISTON</h2> + +<h2>A FRAGMENT</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page156" id="page156"></a>156</span></p> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page157" id="page157"></a>157</span></p> +<p class="center1"><i>TO MY WIFE</i></p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p><i>I saw rain falling and the rainbow drawn</i></p> +<p><i>On Lammermuir. Hearkening I heard again</i></p> +<p><i>In my precipitous city beaten bells</i></p> +<p><i>Winnow the keen sea wind. And here afar,</i></p> +<p><i>Intent on my own race and place, I wrote.</i></p> + <p class="i1"><i>Take thou the writing: thine it is. For who</i></p> +<p><i>Burnished the sword, blew on the drowsy coal,</i></p> +<p><i>Held still the target higher, chary of praise</i></p> +<p><i>And prodigal of counsel—who but thou?</i></p> +<p><i>So now, in the end, if this the least be good,</i></p> +<p><i>If any deed be done, if any fire</i></p> +<p><i>Burn in the imperfect page, the praise be thine.</i></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 18em;">R. L. S.</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page158" id="page158"></a>158</span></p> + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page159" id="page159"></a>159</span></p> +<h2>WEIR OF HERMISTON</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCTORY</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">In</span> the wild end of a moorland parish, far out of the sight of +any house, there stands a cairn among the heather, and a +little by east of it, in the going down of the braeside, a monument +with some verses half defaced. It was here that +Claverhouse shot with his own hand the Praying Weaver of +Balweary, and the chisel of Old Mortality has clinked on +that lonely gravestone. Public and domestic history have +thus marked with a bloody finger this hollow among the +hills; and since the Cameronian gave his life there, two +hundred years ago, in a glorious folly, and without comprehension +or regret, the silence of the moss has been broken +once again by the report of firearms and the cry of the dying.</p> + +<p>The Deil’s Hags was the old name. But the place is +now called Francie’s Cairn. For a while it was told that +Francie walked. Aggie Hogg met him in the gloaming by +the cairnside, and he spoke to her, with chattering teeth, so +that his words were lost. He pursued Rob Todd (if any +one could have believed Robbie) for the space of half a mile +with pitiful entreaties. But the age is one of incredulity; +these superstitious decorations speedily fell off; and the +facts of the story itself, like the bones of a giant buried there +and half dug up, survived, naked and imperfect, in the +memory of the scattered neighbours. To this day, of winter +nights, when the sleet is on the window and the cattle are +quiet in the byre, there will be told again, amid the silence +of the young and the additions and corrections of the old, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page160" id="page160"></a>160</span> +the tale of the Justice-Clerk and of his son, young Hermiston, +that vanished from men’s knowledge; of the two Kirsties +and the four Black Brothers of the Cauldstaneslap; and of +Frank Innes, “the young fool advocate,” that came into +these moorland parts to find his destiny.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page161" id="page161"></a>161</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h5>LIFE AND DEATH OF MRS. WEIR</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> Lord Justice-Clerk was a stranger in that part of the +country; but his lady wife was known there from a child, +as her race had been before her. The old “riding Rutherfords +of Hermiston,” of whom she was the last descendant, +had been famous men of yore, ill neighbours, ill subjects, +and ill husbands to their wives, though not their properties. +Tales of them were rife for twenty miles about; and their +name was even printed in the page of our Scots histories, +not always to their credit. One bit the dust at Flodden; +one was hanged at his peel door by James the Fifth; another +fell dead in a carouse with Tom Dalyell; while a fourth (and +that was Jean’s own father) died presiding at a Hell-Fire +Club, of which he was the founder. There were many heads +shaken in Crossmichael at that judgment; the more so as +the man had a villainous reputation among high and low, +and both with the godly and the worldly. At that very +hour of his demise he had ten going pleas before the Session, +eight of them oppressive. And the same doom extended +even to his agents; his grieve, that had been his right hand +in many a left-hand business, being cast from his horse one +night and drowned in a peat-hag on the Kye-skairs; and +his very doer (although lawyers have long spoons) surviving +him not long, and dying on a sudden in a bloody flux.</p> + +<p>In all these generations, while a male Rutherford was in +the saddle with his lads, or brawling in a change-house, +there would be always a white-faced wife immured at home +in the old peel or the later mansion-house. It seemed this +succession of martyrs bided long, but took their vengeance +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page162" id="page162"></a>162</span> +in the end, and that was in the person of the last descendant, +Jean. She bore the name of the Rutherfords, but she was +the daughter of their trembling wives. At the first she +was not wholly without charm. Neighbours recalled in her, as +a child, a strain of elfin wilfulness, gentle little mutinies, sad +little gaieties, even a morning gleam of beauty that was not +to be fulfilled. She withered in the growing, and (whether +it was the sins of her sires or the sorrows of her mothers) +came to her maturity depressed, and, as it were, defaced; +no blood of life in her, no grasp or gaiety; pious, anxious, +tender, tearful, and incompetent.</p> + +<p>It was a wonder to many that she had married—seeming +so wholly of the stuff that makes old maids. But chance +cast her in the path of Adam Weir, then the new Lord +Advocate, a recognised, risen man, the conqueror of many +obstacles, and thus late in the day beginning to think upon +a wife. He was one who looked rather to obedience than +beauty, yet it would seem he was struck with her at the first +look. “Wha’s she?” he said, turning to his host; and, +when he had been told, “Ay,” says he, “she looks menseful. +She minds me——”; and then, after a pause (which some +have been daring enough to set down to sentimental recollections), +“Is she releegious?” he asked, and was shortly +after, at his own request, presented. The acquaintance, +which it seems profane to call a courtship, was pursued with +Mr. Weir’s accustomed industry, and was long a legend, or +rather a source of legends, in the Parliament House. He +was described coming, rosy with much port, into the drawing-room, +walking direct up to the lady, and assailing her +with pleasantries to which the embarrassed fair one responded, +in what seemed a kind of agony, “Eh, Mr. Weir!” +or “O, Mr. Weir!” or “Keep me, Mr. Weir!” On the +very eve of their engagement, it was related that one had +drawn near to the tender couple, and had overheard the +lady cry out, with the tones of one who talked for the sake +of talking, “Keep me, Mr. Weir, and what became of him?” +and the profound accents of the suitor reply, “Haangit, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page163" id="page163"></a>163</span> +mem, haangit.” The motives upon either side were much +debated. Mr. Weir must have supposed his bride to be +somewhat suitable; perhaps he belonged to that class of +men who think a weak head the ornament of women—an +opinion invariably punished in this life. Her descent and +her estate were beyond question. Her wayfaring ancestors +and her litigious father had done well by Jean. There was +ready money and there were broad acres, ready to fall wholly +to the husband, to lend dignity to his descendants, and to +himself a title, when he should be called upon the Bench. +On the side of Jean, there was perhaps some fascination of +curiosity as to this unknown male animal that approached +her with the roughness of a ploughman and the <i>aplomb</i> of +an advocate. Being so trenchantly opposed to all she knew, +loved, or understood, he may well have seemed to her the +extreme, if scarcely the ideal, of his sex. And besides, he +was an ill man to refuse. A little over forty at the period +of his marriage, he looked already older, and to the force of +manhood added the senatorial dignity of years; it was, perhaps, +with an unreverend awe, but he was awful. The Bench, +the Bar, and the most experienced and reluctant witness, +bowed to his authority—and why not Jeannie Rutherford?</p> + +<p>The heresy about foolish women is always punished, +I have said, and Lord Hermiston began to pay the penalty +at once. His house in George Square was wretchedly ill-guided; +nothing answerable to the expense of maintenance +but the cellar, which was his own private care. When +things went wrong at dinner, as they continually did, my +lord would look up the table at his wife: “I think these +broth would be better to sweem in than to sup.” Or else +to the butler: “Here, M’Killop, awa’ wi’ this Raadical gigot—tak’ +it to the French, man, and bring me some puddocks! +It seems rather a sore kind of business that I should be all +day in Court haanging Radicals, and get nawthing to my +denner.” Of course this was but a manner of speaking, +and he had never hanged a man for being a Radical in his +life; the law, of which he was the faithful minister, directing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page164" id="page164"></a>164</span> +otherwise. And of course these growls were in the nature +of pleasantry, but it was of a recondite sort; and uttered +as they were in his resounding voice, and commented +on by that expression which they called in the Parliament +House “Hermiston’s hanging face”—they struck mere +dismay into the wife. She sat before him speechless and +fluttering; at each dish, as at a fresh ordeal, her eye hovered +toward my lord’s countenance and fell again; if he but ate +in silence, unspeakable relief was her portion; if there were +complaint, the world was darkened. She would seek out +the cook, who was always her <i>sister in the Lord</i>. “O, my +dear, this is the most dreidful thing that my lord can never +be contented in his own house!” she would begin; and weep +and pray with the cook; and then the cook would pray with +Mrs. Weir; and the next day’s meal would never be a penny +the better—and the next cook (when she came) would be +worse, if anything, but just as pious. It was often wondered +that Lord Hermiston bore it as he did; indeed, he was a +stoical old voluptuary, contented with sound wine and plenty +of it. But there were moments when he overflowed. Perhaps +half a dozen times in the history of his married life—“Here! +tak’ it awa’, and bring me a piece of bread and +kebbuck!” he had exclaimed, with an appalling explosion +of his voice and rare gestures. None thought to dispute or +to make excuses; the service was arrested; Mrs. Weir sat at +the head of the table whimpering without disguise; and his +lordship opposite munched his bread and cheese in ostentatious +disregard. Once only Mrs. Weir had ventured to +appeal. He was passing her chair on his way into the study.</p> + +<p>“O, Edom!” she wailed, in a voice tragic with tears, +and reaching out to him both hands, in one of which she +held a sopping pocket-handkerchief.</p> + +<p>He paused and looked upon her with a face of wrath, +into which there stole, as he looked, a twinkle of humour.</p> + +<p>“Noansense!” he said. “You and your noansense! +What do I want with a Christian faim’ly? I want Christian +broth! Get me a lass that can plain-boil a potato, if she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page165" id="page165"></a>165</span> +was a whüre off the streets.” And with these words, which +echoed in her tender ears like blasphemy, he had passed on +to his study and shut the door behind him.</p> + +<p>Such was the housewifery in George Square. It was +better at Hermiston, where Kirstie Elliott, the sister of a +neighbouring bonnet-laird, and an eighteenth cousin of the +lady’s, bore the charge of all, and kept a trim house and a +good country table. Kirstie was a woman in a thousand, +clean, capable, notable; once a moorland Helen, and still +comely as a blood horse and healthy as the hill wind. High +in flesh and voice and colour, she ran the house with her +whole intemperate soul, in a bustle, not without buffets. +Scarce more pious than decency in those days required, she +was the cause of many an anxious thought and many a +tearful prayer to Mrs. Weir. Housekeeper and mistress +renewed the parts of Martha and Mary; and though with a +pricking conscience, Mary reposed on Martha’s strength as +on a rock. Even Lord Hermiston held Kirstie in a particular +regard. There were few with whom he unbent so +gladly, few whom he favoured with so many pleasantries. +“Kirstie and me maun have our joke,” he would declare, in +high good-humour, as he buttered Kirstie’s scones, and she +waited at table. A man who had no need either of love or +of popularity, a keen reader of men and of events, there was +perhaps only one truth for which he was quite unprepared: +he would have been quite unprepared to learn that Kirstie +hated him. He thought maid and master were well +matched; hard, handy, healthy, broad Scots folk, without +a hair of nonsense to the pair of them. And the fact was +that she made a goddess and an only child of the effete and +tearful lady; and even as she waited at table her hands +would sometimes itch for my lord’s ears.</p> + +<p>Thus, at least, when the family were at Hermiston, not +only my lord, but Mrs. Weir too, enjoyed a holiday. Free +from the dreadful looking-for of the miscarried dinner, she +would mind her seam, read her piety books, and take her +walk (which was my lord’s orders), sometimes by herself, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page166" id="page166"></a>166</span> +sometimes with Archie, the only child of that scarce natural +union. The child was her next bond to life. Her frosted +sentiment bloomed again, she breathed deep of life, she let +loose her heart, in that society. The miracle of her motherhood +was ever new to her. The sight of the little man at +her skirt intoxicated her with the sense of power, and froze +her with the consciousness of her responsibility. She looked +forward, and, seeing him in fancy grow up and play his +diverse part on the world’s theatre, caught in her breath +and lifted up her courage with a lively effort. It was only +with the child that she forgot herself and was at moments +natural; yet it was only with the child that she had conceived +and managed to pursue a scheme of conduct. Archie +was to be a great man and a good; a minister if possible, a +saint for certain. She tried to engage his mind upon her +favourite books, Rutherford’s “Letters,” Scougal’s “Grace +Abounding,” and the like. It was a common practice of +hers (and strange to remember now) that she would carry +the child to the Deil’s Hags, sit with him on the Praying +Weaver’s Stone, and talk of the Covenanters till their tears +ran down. Her view of history was wholly artless, a design +in snow and ink; upon the one side, tender innocents with +psalms upon their lips; upon the other, the persecutors, +booted, bloody-minded, flushed with wine: a suffering +Christ, a raging Beelzebub. <i>Persecutor</i> was a word that +knocked upon the woman’s heart; it was her highest +thought of wickedness, and the mark of it was on her house. +Her great-great-grandfather had drawn the sword against +the Lord’s anointed on the field of Rullion Green, and +breathed his last (tradition said) in the arms of the detestable +Dalyell. Nor could she blind herself to this, that had +they lived in those old days, Hermiston himself would have +been numbered alongside of Bloody Mackenzie and the +politic Lauderdale and Rothes, in the band of God’s immediate +enemies. The sense of this moved her to the more +fervour; she had a voice for that name of <i>persecutor</i> that +thrilled in the child’s marrow; and when one day the mob +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page167" id="page167"></a>167</span> +hooted and hissed them all in my lord’s travelling carriage, +and cried, “Down with the persecutor! down with Hanging +Hermiston!” and mamma covered her eyes and wept, and +papa let down the glass and looked out upon the rabble +with his droll formidable face, bitter and smiling, as they +said he sometimes looked when he gave sentence, Archie +was for the moment too much amazed to be alarmed, but +he had scarce got his mother by herself before his shrill +voice was raised demanding an explanation: why had they +called papa a persecutor?</p> + +<p>“Keep me, my precious!” she exclaimed. “Keep +me, my dear! this is poleetical. Ye must never ask me +anything poleetical, Erchie. Your faither is a great man, +my dear, and it’s no for me or you to be judging him. It +would be telling us all, if we behaved ourselves in our several +stations the way your faither does in his high office; and let +me hear no more of any such disrespectful and undutiful +questions! No that you meant to be undutiful, my lamb; +your mother kens that—she kens it well, dearie!” And +so slid off to safer topics, and left on the mind of the child +an obscure but ineradicable sense of something wrong.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weir’s philosophy of life was summed in one expression—tenderness. +In her view of the universe, which +was all lighted up with a glow out of the doors of hell, good +people must walk there in a kind of ecstasy of tenderness. +The beasts and plants had no souls; they were here but for +a day, and let their day pass gently! And as for the immortal +men, on what black, downward path were many of +them wending, and to what a horror of an immortality! +“Are not two sparrows,” “Whosoever shall smite thee,” +“God sendeth His rain,” “Judge not, that ye be not +judged”—these texts made her body of divinity; she put +them on in the morning with her clothes and lay down to +sleep with them at night; they haunted her like a favourite +air, they clung about her like a favourite perfume. Their +minister was a marrowy expounder of the law, and my lord +sat under him with relish; but Mrs. Weir respected him +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page168" id="page168"></a>168</span> +from far off; heard him (like the cannon of a beleaguered +city) usefully booming outside on the dogmatic ramparts; +and meanwhile, within and out of shot, dwelt in her private +garden which she watered with grateful tears. It seems +strange to say of this colourless and ineffectual woman, but +she was a true enthusiast, and might have made the sunshine +and the glory of a cloister. Perhaps none but Archie knew +she could be eloquent; perhaps none but he had seen her—her +colour raised, her hands clasped or quivering—glow +with gentle ardour. There is a corner of the policy of +Hermiston, where you come suddenly in view of the summit +of Black Fell, sometimes like the mere grass top of a hill, +sometimes (and this is her own expression) like a precious +jewel in the heavens. On such days, upon the sudden view +of it, her hand would tighten on the child’s fingers, her voice +rise like a song. “<i>I to the hills!</i>” she would repeat. “And +O, Erchie, arena these like the hills of Naphtali?” and her +tears would flow.</p> + +<p>Upon an impressionable child the effect of this continual +and pretty accompaniment to life was deep. The +woman’s quietism and piety passed on to his different +nature undiminished; but whereas in her it was a native +sentiment, in him it was only an implanted dogma. Nature +and the child’s pugnacity at times revolted. A cad from +the Potterrow once struck him in the mouth; he struck +back, the pair fought it out in the back stable lane towards +the Meadows, and Archie returned with a considerable +decline in the number of his front teeth, and unregenerately +boasting of the losses of the foe. It was a sore day for +Mrs. Weir; she wept and prayed over the infant backslider +until my lord was due from Court, and she must resume +that air of tremulous composure with which she always +greeted him. The judge was that day in an observant +mood, and remarked upon the absent teeth.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid Erchie will have been fechting with some +of thae blagyard lads,” said Mrs. Weir.</p> + +<p>My lord’s voice rang out as it did seldom in the privacy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page169" id="page169"></a>169</span> +of his own house. “I’ll have nonn of that, sir!” he cried. +“Do you hear me?—nonn of that! No son of mine shall be +speldering in the glaur with any dirty raibble.”</p> + +<p>The anxious mother was grateful for so much support; +she had even feared the contrary. And that night when +she put the child to bed—“Now, my dear, ye see!” she +said, “I told you what your faither would think of it, if +he heard ye had fallen into this dreidful sin; and let you +and me pray to God that ye may be keepit from the like +temptation or stren’thened to resist it!”</p> + +<p>The womanly falsity of this was thrown away. Ice and +iron cannot be welded; and the points of view of the +Justice-Clerk and Mrs. Weir were not less unassimilable. +The character and position of his father had long been a +stumbling-block to Archie, and with every year of his age +the difficulty grew more instant. The man was mostly +silent; when he spoke at all, it was to speak of the things +of the world, always in a worldly spirit, often in language +that the child had been schooled to think coarse, and sometimes +with words that he knew to be sins in themselves. +Tenderness was the first duty, and my lord was invariably +harsh. God was love; the name of my lord (to all who knew +him) was fear. In the world, as schematised for Archie by his +mother, the place was marked for such a creature. There +were some whom it was good to pity and well (though very +likely useless) to pray for; they were named reprobates, +goats, God’s enemies, brands for the burning; and Archie +tallied every mark of identification, and drew the inevitable +private inference that the Lord Justice-Clerk was the chief +of sinners.</p> + +<p>The mother’s honesty was scarce complete. There was +one influence she feared for the child and still secretly combated; +that was my lord’s; and half unconsciously, half in +a wilful blindness, she continued to undermine her husband +with his son. As long as Archie remained silent, she did so +ruthlessly, with a single eye to heaven and the child’s salvation; +but the day came when Archie spoke. It was 1801, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page170" id="page170"></a>170</span> +and Archie was seven, and beyond his years for curiosity +and logic, when he brought the case up openly. If judging +were sinful and forbidden, how came papa to be a judge? +to have that sin for a trade? to bear the name of it for a +distinction?</p> + +<p>“I can’t see it,” said the little Rabbi, and wagged his +head.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Weir abounded in commonplace replies.</p> + +<p>“No, I canna see it,” reiterated Archie. “And I’ll tell +you what, mamma, I don’t think you and me’s justifeed in +staying with him.”</p> + +<p>The woman awoke to remorse; she saw herself disloyal +to her man, her sovereign and bread-winner, in whom (with +what she had of worldliness) she took a certain subdued +pride. She expatiated in reply on my lord’s honour and +greatness; his useful services in this world of sorrow and +wrong, and the place in which he stood, far above where +babes and innocents could hope to see or criticise. But she +had builded too well—Archie had his answers pat: Were +not babes and innocents the type of the kingdom of heaven? +Were not honour and greatness the badges of the world? +And at any rate, how about the mob that had once seethed +about the carriage?</p> + +<p>“It’s all very fine,” he concluded, “but in my opinion, +papa has no right to be it. And it seems that’s not the +worst yet of it. It seems he’s called ‘the Hanging Judge’—it +seems he’s crooool. I’ll tell you what it is, mamma, +there’s a tex’ borne in upon me: It were better for that +man if a milestone were bound upon his back and him +flung into the deepestmost pairts of the sea.”</p> + +<p>“O my lamb, ye must never say the like of that!” she +cried. “Ye’re to honour faither and mother, dear, that +your days may be long in the land. It’s Atheists that cry +out against him—French Atheists, Erchie! Ye would never +surely even yourself down to be saying the same thing as +French Atheists? It would break my heart to think that +of you. And O, Erchie, here arena <i>you</i> setting up to <i>judge</i>? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page171" id="page171"></a>171</span> +And have ye no forgot God’s plain command—the First +with Promise, dear? Mind you upon the beam and the +mote!”</p> + +<p>Having thus carried the war into the enemy’s camp, the +terrified lady breathed again. And no doubt it is easy thus +to circumvent a child with catchwords, but it may be +questioned how far it is effectual. An instinct in his breast +detects the quibble, and a voice condemns it. He will +instantly submit, privately hold the same opinion. For +even in this simple and antique relation of the mother and +the child, hypocrisies are multiplied.</p> + +<p>When the Court rose that year and the family returned +to Hermiston, it was a common remark in all the country +that the lady was sore failed. She seemed to lose and seize +again her touch with life, now sitting inert in a sort of durable +bewilderment, anon waking to feverish and weak activity. +She dawdled about the lasses at their work, looking stupidly +on; she fell to rummaging in old cabinets and presses, and +desisted when half through; she would begin remarks with +an air of animation and drop them without a struggle. +Her common appearance was of one who has forgotten +something and is trying to remember; and when she overhauled, +one after another, the worthless and touching +mementoes of her youth, she might have been seeking the +clue to that lost thought. During this period she gave +many gifts to the neighbours and house lasses, giving them +with a manner of regret that embarrassed the recipients.</p> + +<p>The last night of all she was busy on some female work, +and toiled upon it with so manifest and painful a devotion +that my lord (who was not often curious) inquired as to its +nature.</p> + +<p>She blushed to the eyes. “O, Edom, it’s for you!” she +said. “It’s slippers. I—I hae never made ye any.”</p> + +<p>“Ye daft auld wife!” returned his lordship. “A bonny +figure I would be, palmering about in bauchles!”</p> + +<p>The next day, at the hour of her walk, Kirstie interfered. +Kirstie took this decay of her mistress very hard; bore her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page172" id="page172"></a>172</span> +a grudge, quarrelled with and railed upon her, the anxiety +of a genuine love wearing the disguise of temper. This day +of all days she insisted disrespectfully, with rustic fury, that +Mrs. Weir should stay at home. But, “No, no,” she said, +“it’s my lord’s orders,” and set forth as usual. Archie was +visible in the acre bog, engaged upon some childish enterprise, +the instrument of which was mire; and she stood and +looked at him a while like one about to call; then thought +otherwise, sighed, and shook her head, and proceeded on +her rounds alone. The house lasses were at the burn-side +washing, and saw her pass with her loose, weary, dowdy +gait.</p> + +<p>“She’s a terrible feckless wife the mistress!” said the +one.</p> + +<p>“Tut,” said the other, “the wumman’s seeck.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, I canna see nae differ in her,” returned the first. +“A füshionless quean, a feckless carline.”</p> + +<p>The poor creature thus discussed rambled a while in the +grounds without a purpose. Tides in her mind ebbed and +flowed, and carried her to and fro like seaweed. She tried +a path, paused, returned, and tried another; questing, forgetting +her quest; the spirit of choice extinct in her bosom, +or devoid of sequency. On a sudden, it appeared as though +she had remembered, or had formed a resolution, wheeled +about, returned with hurried steps, and appeared in the +dining-room, where Kirstie was at the cleaning, like one +charged with an important errand.</p> + +<p>“Kirstie!” she began, and paused; and then with conviction, +“Mr. Weir isna speeritually minded, but he has +been a good man to me.”</p> + +<p>It was perhaps the first time since her husband’s elevation +that she had forgotten the handle to his name, of which the +tender, inconsistent woman was not a little proud. And +when Kirstie looked up at the speaker’s face, she was aware +of a change.</p> + +<p>“Godsake, what’s the maitter wi’ ye, mem?” cried the +housekeeper, starting from the rug. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page173" id="page173"></a>173</span></p> + +<p>“I do not ken,” answered her mistress, shaking her head. +“But he is not speeritually minded, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Here, sit down with ye! Godsake, what ails the wife?” +cried Kirstie, and helped and forced her into my lord’s own +chair by the cheek of the hearth.</p> + +<p>“Keep me, what’s this?” she gasped. “Kirstie, what’s +this? I’m frich’ened.”</p> + +<p>They were her last words.</p> + +<p>It was the lowering nightfall when my lord returned. +He had the sunset in his back, all clouds and glory; and +before him, by the wayside, spied Kirstie Elliott waiting. +She was dissolved in tears, and addressed him in the high, +false note of barbarous mourning, such as still lingers +modified among Scots heather.</p> + +<p>“The Lord peety ye, Hermiston! the Lord prepare +ye!” she keened out. “Weary upon me, that I should +have to tell it!”</p> + +<p>He reined in his horse and looked upon her with the +hanging face.</p> + +<p>“Has the French landit?” cried he.</p> + +<p>“Man, man,” she said, “is that a’ ye can think of? +The Lord prepare ye: the Lord comfort and support ye!”</p> + +<p>“Is onybody deid?” says his lordship. “It’s no +Erchie?”</p> + +<p>“Bethankit, no!” exclaimed the woman, startled into +a more natural tone. “Na, na, it’s no sae bad as that. +It’s the mistress, my lord; she just fair flittit before my e’en. +She just gi’ed a sab and was by wi’ it. Eh, my bonny Miss +Jeannie, that I mind sae weel!” And forth again upon that +pouring tide of lamentation in which women of her class +excel and over-abound.</p> + +<p>Lord Hermiston sat in the saddle beholding her. Then +he seemed to recover command upon himself.</p> + +<p>“Weel, it’s something of the suddenest,” said he. “But +she was a dwaibly body from the first.”</p> + +<p>And he rode home at a precipitate amble with Kirstie +at his horse’s heels. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page174" id="page174"></a>174</span></p> + +<p>Dressed as she was for her last walk, they had laid the +dead lady on her bed. She was never interesting in life; +in death she was not impressive; and as her husband stood +before her, with his hands crossed behind his powerful +back, that which he looked upon was the very image of the +insignificant.</p> + +<p>“Her and me were never cut out for one another,” he +remarked at last. “It was a daft-like marriage.” And +then, with a most unusual gentleness of tone, “Puir bitch,” +said he, “puir bitch!” Then suddenly: “Where’s +Erchie?”</p> + +<p>Kirstie had decoyed him to her room and given him “a +jeely-piece.”</p> + +<p>“Ye have some kind of gumption, too,” observed the +judge, and considered his housekeeper grimly. “When +all’s said,” he added, “I micht have done waur—I micht +have been marriet upon a skirling Jezebel like you!”</p> + +<p>“There’s naebody thinking of you, Hermiston!” cried +the offended woman. “We think of her that’s out of her +sorrows. And could <i>she</i> have done waur? Tell me that, +Hermiston—tell me that before her clay-cauld corp!”</p> + +<p>“Weel, there’s some of them gey an’ ill to please,” +observed his lordship.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page175" id="page175"></a>175</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h5>FATHER AND SON</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">My</span> Lord Justice-Clerk was known to many; the man Adam +Weir perhaps to none. He had nothing to explain or to +conceal; he sufficed wholly and silently to himself; and +that part of our nature which goes out (too often with false +coin) to acquire glory or love, seemed in him to be omitted. +He did not try to be loved, he did not care to be; it is probable +the very thought of it was a stranger to his mind. He +was an admired lawyer, a highly unpopular judge; and he +looked down upon those who were his inferiors in either +distinction, who were lawyers of less grasp or judges not so +much detested. In all the rest of his days and doings, not +one trace of vanity appeared; and he went on through life +with a mechanical movement, as of the unconscious, that +was almost august.</p> + +<p>He saw little of his son. In the childish maladies with +which the boy was troubled, he would make daily inquiries +and daily pay him a visit, entering the sick-room with a +facetious and appalling countenance, letting off a few perfunctory +jests, and going again swiftly, to the patient’s +relief. Once, a Court holiday falling opportunely, my lord +had his carriage, and drove the child himself to Hermiston, +the customary place of convalescence. It is conceivable +he had been more than usually anxious, for that journey +always remained in Archie’s memory as a thing apart, his +father having related to him from beginning to end, and with +much detail, three authentic murder cases. Archie went +the usual round of other Edinburgh boys, the High School +and the College; and Hermiston looked on, or rather looked +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page176" id="page176"></a>176</span> +away, with scarce an affectation of interest in his progress. +Daily, indeed, upon a signal after dinner, he was brought in, +given nuts and a glass of port, regarded sardonically, sarcastically +questioned. “Well, sir, and what have you donn +with your book to-day?” my lord might begin, and set him +posers in law Latin. To a child just stumbling into +Corderius, Papinian and Paul proved quite invincible. But +papa had memory of no other. He was not harsh to the +little scholar, having a vast fund of patience learned upon +the Bench, and was at no pains whether to conceal or to +express his disappointment. “Well, ye have a long jaunt +before ye yet!” he might observe, yawning, and fall back +on his own thoughts (as like as not) until the time came for +separation, and my lord would take the decanter and the +glass, and be off to the back chamber looking on the +Meadows, where he toiled on his cases till the hours were small. +There was no “fuller man” on the Bench; his memory was +marvellous, though wholly legal; if he had to “advise” +extempore, none did it better; yet there was none who more +earnestly prepared. As he thus watched in the night, or +sat at table and forgot the presence of his son, no doubt but +he tasted deeply of recondite pleasures. To be wholly +devoted to some intellectual exercise is to have succeeded +in life; and perhaps only in law and the higher mathematics +may this devotion be maintained, suffice to itself +without reaction, and find continual rewards without excitement. +This atmosphere of his father’s sterling industry +was the best of Archie’s education. Assuredly it did not +attract him; assuredly it rather rebutted and depressed. +Yet it was still present, unobserved like the ticking of a +clock, an arid ideal, a tasteless stimulant in the boy’s life.</p> + +<p>But Hermiston was not all of one piece. He was, besides, +a mighty toper; he could sit at wine until the day +dawned, and pass directly from the table to the Bench with +a steady hand and a clear head. Beyond the third bottle, +he showed the plebeian in a larger print; the low, gross +accent, the low, foul mirth, grew broader and commoner; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page177" id="page177"></a>177</span> +he became less formidable, and infinitely more disgusting. +Now, the boy had inherited from Jean Rutherford a shivering +delicacy, unequally mated with potential violence. In +the playing-fields, and amongst his own companions, he +repaid a coarse expression with a blow; at his father’s table +(when the time came for him to join these revels) he turned +pale and sickened in silence. Of all the guests whom he +there encountered, he had toleration for only one: David +Keith Carnegie, Lord Glenalmond. Lord Glenalmond was +tall and emaciated, with long features and long delicate +hands. He was often compared with the statue of Forbes +of Culloden in the Parliament House; and his blue eye, at +more than sixty, preserved some of the fire of youth. His +exquisite disparity with any of his fellow-guests, his appearance +as of an artist and an aristocrat stranded in rude company, +riveted the boy’s attention; and as curiosity and +interest are the things in the world that are the most immediately +and certainly rewarded, Lord Glenalmond was +attracted by the boy.</p> + +<p>“And so this is your son, Hermiston?” he asked, laying +his hand on Archie’s shoulder. “He’s getting a big lad.”</p> + +<p>“Hout!” said the gracious father, “just his mother +over again—daurna say boo to a goose!”</p> + +<p>But the stranger retained the boy, talked to him, drew +him out, found in him a taste for letters, and a fine, ardent, +modest, youthful soul; and encouraged him to be a visitor +on Sunday evenings in his bare, cold, lonely dining-room, +where he sat and read in the isolation of a bachelor grown +old in refinement. The beautiful gentleness and grace of +the old judge, and the delicacy of his person, thoughts, and +language, spoke to Archie’s heart in its own tongue. He conceived +the ambition to be such another; and, when the day +came for him to choose a profession, it was in emulation of +Lord Glenalmond, not of Lord Hermiston, that he chose the +Bar. Hermiston looked on at this friendship with some +secret pride, but openly with the intolerance of scorn. He +scarce lost an opportunity to put them down with a rough +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page178" id="page178"></a>178</span> +jape; and, to say truth, it was not difficult, for they were +neither of them quick. He had a word of contempt for the +whole crowd of poets, painters, fiddlers, and their admirers, +the bastard race of amateurs, which was continually on his +lips. “Signor Feedle-eerie!” he would say. “O, for +Goad’s sake, no more of the Signor!”</p> + +<p>“You and my father are great friends, are you not?” +asked Archie once.</p> + +<p>“There is no man that I more respect, Archie,” replied +Lord Glenalmond. “He is two things of price: he is a +great lawyer, and he is upright as the day.”</p> + +<p>“You and he are so different,” said the boy, his eyes +dwelling on those of his old friend, like a lover’s on his +mistress’s.</p> + +<p>“Indeed so,” replied the judge; “very different. And +so I fear are you and he. Yet I would like it very ill if my +young friend were to misjudge his father. He has all the +Roman virtues: Cato and Brutus were such; I think a son’s +heart might well be proud of such an ancestry of one.”</p> + +<p>“And I would sooner he were a plaided herd,” cried +Archie, with sudden bitterness.</p> + +<p>“And that is neither very wise, nor I believe entirely +true,” returned Glenalmond. “Before you are done you +will find some of these expressions rise on you like a remorse. +They are merely literary and decorative; they do not aptly +express your thought, nor is your thought clearly apprehended, +and no doubt your father (if he were here) would +say, ‘Signor Feedle-eerie!’”</p> + +<p>With the infinitely delicate sense of youth, Archie +avoided the subject from that hour. It was perhaps a pity. +Had he but talked—talked freely—let himself gush out in +words (the way youth loves to do, and should), there might +have been no tale to write upon the Weirs of Hermiston. +But the shadow of a threat of ridicule sufficed; in the slight +tartness of these words he read a prohibition; and it is +likely that Glenalmond meant it so.</p> + +<p>Besides the veteran, the boy was without confidant or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page179" id="page179"></a>179</span> +friend. Serious and eager, he came through school and +college, and moved among a crowd of the indifferent, in the +seclusion of his shyness. He grew up handsome, with an +open, speaking countenance, with graceful, youthful ways; +he was clever, he took prizes, he shone in the Speculative +Society. It should seem he must become the centre of a +crowd of friends; but something that was in part the +delicacy of his mother, in part the austerity of his father, +held him aloof from all. It is a fact, and a strange one, that +among his contemporaries Hermiston’s son was thought to +be a chip of the old block. “You’re a friend of Archie +Weir’s?” said one to Frank Innes; and Innes replied, with +his usual flippancy and more than his usual insight: “I +know Weir, but I never met Archie.” No one had met +Archie, a malady most incident to only sons. He flew his +private signal, and none heeded it; it seemed he was abroad +in a world from which the very hope of intimacy was +banished; and he looked round about him on the concourse +of his fellow-students, and forward to the trivial days and +acquaintances that were to come, without hope or interest.</p> + +<p>As time went on, the tough and rough old sinner felt +himself drawn to the son of his loins and sole continuator of +his new family, with softnesses of sentiment that he could +hardly credit and was wholly impotent to express. With +a face, voice, and manner trained through forty years to +terrify and repel, Rhadamanthus may be great, but he will +scarce be engaging. It is a fact that he tried to propitiate +Archie, but a fact that cannot be too lightly taken; the +attempt was so unconspicuously made, the failure so stoically +supported. Sympathy is not due to these steadfast iron +natures. If he failed to gain his son’s friendship, or even +his son’s toleration, on he went up the great, bare staircase +of his duty, uncheered and undepressed. There might have +been more pleasure in his relations with Archie, so much +he may have recognised at moments; but pleasure was a +by-product of the singular chemistry of life, which only +fools expected. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page180" id="page180"></a>180</span></p> + +<p>An idea of Archie’s attitude, since we are all grown up +and have forgotten the days of our youth, it is more difficult +to convey. He made no attempt whatsoever to understand +the man with whom he dined and breakfasted. Parsimony +of pain, glut of pleasure, these are the two alternating ends +of youth; and Archie was of the parsimonious. The wind +blew cold out of a certain quarter—he turned his back upon +it; stayed as little as was possible in his father’s presence; +and when there, averted his eyes as much as was decent +from his father’s face. The lamp shone for many hundred +days upon these two at table—my lord ruddy, gloomy, and +unreverend; Archie with a potential brightness that was +always dimmed and veiled in that society; and there were +not, perhaps, in Christendom two men more radically +strangers. The father, with a grand simplicity, either spoke +of what interested himself, or maintained an unaffected +silence. The son turned in his head for some topic that +should be quite safe, that would spare him fresh evidences +either of my lord’s inherent grossness or of the innocence of +his inhumanity; treading gingerly the ways of intercourse, +like a lady gathering up her skirts in a by-path. If he made +a mistake, and my lord began to abound in matter of offence, +Archie drew himself up, his brow grew dark, his share of +the talk expired; but my lord would faithfully and cheerfully +continue to pour out the worst of himself before his +silent and offended son.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s a poor hert that never rejoices!” he would +say, at the conclusion of such a nightmare interview. “But +I must get to my plew-stilts.” And he would seclude himself +as usual in the back room, and Archie go forth into the +night and the city quivering with animosity and scorn.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181" id="page181"></a>181</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h5>IN THE MATTER OF THE HANGING OF +DUNCAN JOPP</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> chanced in the year 1813 that Archie strayed one day +into the Justiciary Court. The macer made room for the +son of the presiding judge. In the dock, the centre of men’s +eyes, there stood a whey-coloured, misbegotten caitiff, +Duncan Jopp, on trial for his life. His story, as it was +raked out before him in that public scene, was one of disgrace +and vice and cowardice, the very nakedness of crime; +and the creature heard, and it seemed at times as though he +understood—as if at times he forgot the horror of the place +he stood in, and remembered the shame of what had brought +him there. He kept his head bowed and his hands clutched +upon the rail; his hair dropped in his eyes and at times he +flung it back; and now he glanced about the audience in a +sudden fellness of terror, and now looked in the face of his +judge and gulped. There was pinned about his throat a +piece of dingy flannel; and this it was perhaps that turned +the scale in Archie’s mind between disgust and pity. The +creature stood in a vanishing point; yet a little while, and +he was still a man, and had eyes and apprehension; yet a +little longer, and with a last sordid piece of pageantry, he +would cease to be. And here, in the meantime, with a trait +of human nature that caught at the beholder’s breath, he +was tending a sore throat.</p> + +<p>Over against him, my Lord Hermiston occupied the +Bench in the red robes of criminal jurisdiction, his face +framed in the white wig. Honest all through, he did not +affect the virtue of impartiality; this was no case for refinement; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page182" id="page182"></a>182</span> +there was a man to be hanged, he would have +said, and he was hanging him. Nor was it possible to see +his lordship, and acquit him of gusto in the task. It was +plain he gloried in the exercise of his trained faculties, in the +clear sight which pierced at once into the joint of fact, in +the rude, unvarnished gibes with which he demolished every +figment of defence. He took his ease and jested, unbending +in that solemn place with some of the freedom of the tavern; +and the rag of man with the flannel round his neck was +hunted gallowsward with jeers.</p> + +<p>Duncan had a mistress, scarce less forlorn and greatly +older than himself, who came up, whimpering and curtseying, +to add the weight of her betrayal. My lord gave her +the oath in his most roaring voice, and added an intolerant +warning.</p> + +<p>“Mind what ye say now, Janet,” said he. “I have an +e’e upon ye, I’m ill to jest with.”</p> + +<p>Presently, after she was tremblingly embarked on +her story, “And what made ye do this, ye auld runt?” +the Court interposed. “Do ye mean to tell me ye was the +panel’s mistress?”</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma loard,” whined the female.</p> + +<p>“Godsake! ye made a bonny couple,” observed his +lordship; and there was something so formidable and +ferocious in his scorn that not even the galleries thought +to laugh.</p> + +<p>The summing up contained some jewels.</p> + +<p>“These two peetiable creatures seem to have made up +thegither, it’s not for us to explain why.”—“The panel, +who (whatever else he may be) appears to be equally ill set-out +in mind and boady.”—“Neither the panel nor yet the +old wife appears to have had so much common sense as even +to tell a lie when it was necessary.” And in the course of +sentencing, my lord had this <i>obiter dictum</i>: “I have been +the means, under God, of haanging a great number, but +never just such a disjaskit rascal as yourself.” The words +were strong in themselves; the light and heat and detonation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>183</span> +of their delivery, and the savage pleasure of the speaker +in his task, made them tingle in the ears.</p> + +<p>When all was over, Archie came forth again into a +changed world. Had there been the least redeeming greatness +in the crime, any obscurity, any dubiety, perhaps he +might have understood. But the culprit stood, with his +sore throat, in the sweat of his mortal agony, without defence +or excuse: a thing to cover up with blushes: a being +so much sunk beneath the zones of sympathy that pity +might seem harmless. And the judge had pursued him with +a monstrous, relishing gaiety, horrible to be conceived, a +trait for nightmares. It is one thing to spear a tiger, +another to crush a toad; there are æsthetics even of the +slaughter-house; and the loathsomeness of Duncan Jopp +enveloped and infected the image of his judge.</p> + +<p>Archie passed by his friends in the High Street with +incoherent words and gestures. He saw Holyrood in a +dream, remembrance of its romance awoke in him and +faded; he had a vision of the old radiant stories, of Queen +Mary and Prince Charlie, of the hooded stag, of the splendour +and crime, the velvet and bright iron of the past; and +dismissed them with a cry of pain. He lay and moaned +in the Hunter’s Bog, and the heavens were dark above +him and the grass of the field an offence. “This is my +father,” he said. “I draw my life from him; the flesh +upon my bones is his, the bread I am fed with is the wages +of these horrors.” He recalled his mother, and ground +his forehead in the earth. He thought of flight, and +where was he to flee to? of other lives, but was there any +life worth living in this den of savage and jeering animals?</p> + +<p>The interval before the execution was like a violent +dream. He met his father; he would not look at him, he +could not speak to him. It seemed there was no living +creature but must have been swift to recognise that imminent +animosity; but the hide of the Justice-Clerk remained +impenetrable. Had my lord been talkative, the truce +could never have subsisted; but he was by fortune in one of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page184" id="page184"></a>184</span> +his humours of sour silence; and under the very guns of his +broadside, Archie nursed the enthusiasm of rebellion. It +seemed to him, from the top of his nineteen years’ experience, +as if he were marked at birth to be the perpetrator of +some signal action, to set back fallen Mercy, to overthrow +the usurping devil that sat, horned and hoofed, on her +throne. Seductive Jacobin figments, which he had often +refuted at the Speculative, swam up in his mind and +startled him as with voices: and he seemed to himself to +walk accompanied by an almost tangible presence of new +beliefs and duties.</p> + +<p>On the named morning he was at the place of execution. +He saw the fleering rabble, the flinching wretch produced. +He looked on for a while at a certain parody of devotion, +which seemed to strip the wretch of his last claim to manhood. +Then followed the brutal instant of extinction, and +the paltry dangling of the remains like a broken jumping-jack. +He had been prepared for something terrible, not +for this tragic meanness. He stood a moment silent, and +then—“I denounce this God-defying murder,” he shouted; +and his father, if he must have disclaimed the sentiment, +might have owned the stentorian voice with which it was +uttered.</p> + +<p>Frank Innes dragged him from the spot. The two +handsome lads followed the same course of study and recreation, +and felt a certain mutual attraction, founded +mainly on good looks. It had never gone deep; Frank +was by nature a thin, jeering creature, not truly susceptible +whether of feeling or inspiring friendship; and the relation +between the pair was altogether on the outside, a thing of +common knowledge and the pleasantries that spring from +a common acquaintance. The more credit to Frank that +he was appalled by Archie’s outburst, and at least conceived +the design of keeping him in sight, and, if possible, in hand +for the day. But Archie, who had just defied—was it God +or Satan?—would not listen to the word of a college companion. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>185</span></p> + +<p>“I will not go with you,” he said. “I do not desire +your company, sir; I would be alone.”</p> + +<p>“Here, Weir, man, don’t be absurd,” said Innes, keeping +a tight hold upon his sleeve. “I will not let you go until I +know what you mean to do with yourself; it’s no use +brandishing that staff.” For indeed at that moment Archie +had made a sudden—perhaps a warlike—movement. +“This has been the most insane affair; you know it has. +You know very well that I’m playing the good Samaritan. +All I wish is to keep you quiet.”</p> + +<p>“If quietness is what you wish, Mr. Innes,” said Archie, +“and you will promise to leave me entirely to myself, I will +tell you so much, that I am going to walk in the country +and admire the beauties of nature.”</p> + +<p>“Honour bright?” asked Frank.</p> + +<p>“I am not in the habit of lying, Mr. Innes,” retorted +Archie. “I have the honour of wishing you good-day.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t forget the Spec.?” asked Innes.</p> + +<p>“The Spec.?” said Archie. “O no, I won’t forget +the Spec.”</p> + +<p>And the one young man carried his tortured spirit forth +of the city and all the day long, by one road and another, +in an endless pilgrimage of misery; while the other hastened +smilingly to spread the news of Weir’s access of insanity, +and to drum up for that night a full attendance at the +Speculative, where further eccentric developments might +certainly be looked for. I doubt if Innes had the least belief +in his prediction; I think it flowed rather from a wish to +make the story as good and the scandal as great as possible; +not from any ill-will to Archie—from the mere pleasure of +beholding interested faces. But for all that his words were +prophetic. Archie did not forget the Spec.; he put in an +appearance there at the due time, and, before the evening +was over, had dealt a memorable shock to his companions. +It chanced he was the president of the night. He sat in the +same room where the Society still meets—only the portraits +were not there: the men who afterwards sat for them were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>186</span> +then but beginning their careers. The same lustre of many +tapers shed its light over the meeting; the same chair, perhaps, +supported him that so many of us have sat in since. +At times he seemed to forget the business of the evening, +but even in these periods he sat with a great air of energy +and determination. At times he meddled bitterly, and +launched with defiance those fines which are the precious +and rarely used artillery of the president. He little thought, +as he did so, how he resembled his father, but his friends +remarked upon it, chuckling. So far, in his high place above +his fellow-students, he seemed set beyond the possibility of +any scandal; but his mind was made up—he was determined +to fulfil the sphere of his offence. He signed to Innes (whom +he had just fined and who had just impeached his ruling) +to succeed him in the chair, stepped down from the platform, +and took his place by the chimney-piece, the shine of +many wax tapers from above illuminating his pale face, the +glow of the great red fire relieving from behind his slim +figure. He had to propose, as an amendment to the next +subject in the case-book, “Whether capital punishment +be consistent with God’s will or man’s policy?”</p> + +<p>A breath of embarrassment, of something like alarm, +passed round the room, so daring did these words appear +upon the lips of Hermiston’s only son. But the amendment +was not seconded; the previous question was promptly +moved and unanimously voted, and the momentary scandal +smuggled by. Innes triumphed in the fulfilment of his +prophecy. He and Archie were now become the heroes of +the night; but whereas every one crowded about Innes, +when the meeting broke up, but one of all his companions +came to speak to Archie.</p> + +<p>“Weir, man! That was an extraordinary raid of +yours!” observed this courageous member, taking him confidentially +by the arm as they went out.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it a raid,” said Archie grimly. “More +like a war. I saw that poor brute hanged this morning, and +my gorge rises at it yet.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>187</span></p> + +<p>“Hut-tut,” returned his companion, and, dropping his +arm like something hot, he sought the less tense society of +others.</p> + +<p>Archie found himself alone. The last of the faithful—or +was it only the boldest of the curious?—had fled. He +watched the black huddle of his fellow-students draw off +down and up the street, in whispering or boisterous gangs. +And the isolation of the moment weighed upon him like an +omen and an emblem of his destiny in life. Bred up in +unbroken fear himself, among trembling servants, and in +a house which (at the least ruffle in the master’s voice) +shuddered into silence, he saw himself on the brink of the +red valley of war, and measured the danger and length of +it with awe. He made a détour in the glimmer and shadow +of the streets, came into the back stable lane, and watched +for a long while the light burn steady in the judge’s room. +The longer he gazed upon that illuminated window-blind, +the more blank became the picture of the man who sat +behind it, endlessly turning over sheets of process, pausing +to sip a glass of port, or rising and passing heavily about his +book-lined walls to verify some reference. He could not +combine the brutal judge and the industrious, dispassionate +student; the connecting link escaped him; from such a dual +nature it was impossible he should predict behaviour; and +he asked himself if he had done well to plunge into a business +of which the end could not be foreseen? and presently after, +with a sickening decline of confidence, if he had done loyally +to strike his father? For he had struck him—defied him +twice over and before a cloud of witnesses—struck him a +public buffet before crowds. Who had called him to judge +his father in these precarious and high questions? The +office was usurped. It might have become a stranger; in +a son—there was no blinking it—in a son, it was disloyal. +And now, between these two natures so antipathetic, so +hateful to each other, there was depending an unpardonable +affront: and the providence of God alone might foresee the +manner in which it would be resented by Lord Hermiston. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188" id="page188"></a>188</span></p> + +<p>These misgivings tortured him all night and arose with +him in the winter’s morning; they followed him from class +to class, they made him shrinkingly sensitive to every shade +of manner in his companions, they sounded in his ears +through the current voice of the professor; and he brought +them home with him at night unabated and indeed increased. +The cause of this increase lay in a chance encounter with the +celebrated Dr. Gregory. Archie stood looking vaguely in +the lighted window of a book-shop, trying to nerve himself +for the approaching ordeal. My lord and he had met and +parted in the morning as they had now done for long, with +scarcely the ordinary civilities of life; and it was plain to +the son that nothing had yet reached the father’s ears. +Indeed, when he recalled the awful countenance of my lord, +a timid hope sprang up in him that perhaps there would be +found no one bold enough to carry tales. If this were so, +he asked himself, would he begin again? and he found no +answer. It was at this moment that a hand was laid upon +his arm, and a voice said in his ear, “My dear Mr. Archie, +you had better come and see me.”</p> + +<p>He started, turned round, and found himself face to face +with Dr. Gregory. “And why should I come to see you?” +he asked, with the defiance of the miserable.</p> + +<p>“Because you are looking exceedingly ill,” said the +doctor, “and you very evidently want looking after, my +young friend. Good folk are scarce, you know; and it is +not every one that would be quite so much missed as yourself. +It is not every one that Hermiston would miss.”</p> + +<p>And with a nod and a smile, the doctor passed on.</p> + +<p>A moment after, Archie was in pursuit, and had in turn, +but more roughly, seized him by the arm.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? what did you mean by saying +that? What makes you think that Hermis—my father +would have missed me?”</p> + +<p>The doctor turned about and looked him all over with a +clinical eye. A far more stupid man than Dr. Gregory +might have guessed the truth; but ninety-nine out of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>189</span> +hundred, even if they had been equally inclined to kindness, +would have blundered by some touch of charitable exaggeration. +The doctor was better inspired. He knew the father +well; in that white face of intelligence and suffering, he +divined something of the son; and he told, without apology +or adornment, the plain truth.</p> + +<p>“When you had the measles, Mr. Archibald, you had +them gey and ill; and I thought you were going to slip +between my fingers,” he said. “Well, your father was +anxious. How did I know it? says you. Simply because +I am a trained observer. The sign that I saw him make, +ten thousand would have missed; and perhaps—<i>perhaps</i>, I +say, because he’s a hard man to judge of—but perhaps he +never made another. A strange thing to consider! It was +this. One day I came to him: ‘Hermiston,’ said I, ‘there’s +a change.’ He never said a word, just glowered at me (if +ye’ll pardon the phrase) like a wild beast. ‘A change for +the better,’ said I. And I distinctly heard him take his +breath.”</p> + +<p>The doctor left no opportunity for anti-climax; nodding +his cocked hat (a piece of antiquity to which he clung) and +repeating “Distinctly” with raised eyebrows, he took his +departure, and left Archie speechless in the street.</p> + +<p>The anecdote might be called infinitely little, and yet +its meaning for Archie was immense. “I did not know the +old man had so much blood in him.” He had never dreamed +this sire of his, this aboriginal antique, this adamantine +Adam, had even so much of a heart as to be moved in the +least degree for another—and that other himself, who had +insulted him! With the generosity of youth, Archie was +instantly under arms upon the other side: had instantly +created a new image of Lord Hermiston, that of a man who +was all iron without and all sensibility within. The mind of +the vile jester, the tongue that had pursued Duncan Jopp +with unmanly insults, the unbeloved countenance that he +had known and feared for so long, were all forgotten; and +he hastened home, impatient to confess his misdeeds, impatient +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>190</span> +to throw himself on the mercy of this imaginary +character.</p> + +<p>He was not to be long without a rude awakening. It +was in the gloaming when he drew near the doorstep of the +lighted house, and was aware of the figure of his father +approaching from the opposite side. Little daylight lingered; +but on the door being opened, the strong yellow shine +of the lamp gushed out upon the landing and shone full +on Archie, as he stood, in the old-fashioned observance of +respect, to yield precedence. The judge came without +haste, stepping stately and firm; his chin raised, his face +(as he entered the lamplight) strongly illumined, his mouth +set hard. There was never a wink of change in his expression; +without looking to the right or left, he mounted the +stair, passed close to Archie, and entered the house. Instinctively, +the boy, upon his first coming, had made a movement +to meet him; instinctively he recoiled against the +railing, as the old man swept by him in a pomp of indignation. +Words were needless; he knew all—perhaps more than +all—and the hour of judgment was at hand.</p> + +<p>It is possible that, in this sudden revulsion of hope and +before these symptoms of impending danger, Archie might +have fled. But not even that was left to him. My lord, after +hanging up his cloak and hat, turned round in the lighted +entry, and made him an imperative and silent gesture with +his thumb, and with the strange instinct of obedience, +Archie followed him into the house.</p> + +<p>All dinner-time there reigned over the judge’s table a +palpable silence, and as soon as the solids were despatched +he rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“M’Killop, tak’ the wine into my room,” said he; and +then to his son: “Archie, you and me has to have a talk.”</p> + +<p>It was at this sickening moment that Archie’s courage, +for the first and last time, entirely deserted him. “I have +an appointment,” said he.</p> + +<p>“It’ll have to be broken, then,” said Hermiston, and led +the way into his study. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>191</span></p> + +<p>The lamp was shaded, the fire trimmed to a nicety, the +table covered deep with orderly documents, the backs of +law-books made a frame upon all sides that was only +broken by the window and the doors.</p> + +<p>For a moment Hermiston warmed his hands at the fire, +presenting his back to Archie; then suddenly disclosed on +him the terrors of the Hanging Face.</p> + +<p>“What’s this I hear of ye?” he asked.</p> + +<p>There was no answer possible to Archie.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to tell ye, then,” pursued Hermiston. “It +seems ye’ve been skirling against the father that begot ye, +and one of his Maijesty’s judges in this land; and that in +the public street, and while an order of the Court was being +executit. Forbye which, it would appear that ye’ve been +airing your opeenions in a Coallege Debatin’ Society”; he +paused a moment: and then, with extraordinary bitterness, +added: “Ye damned eediot.”</p> + +<p>“I had meant to tell you,” stammered Archie. “I +see you are well informed.”</p> + +<p>“Muckle obleeged to ye,” said his lordship, and took his +usual seat. “And so you disapprove of caapital punishment?” +he added.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, sir, I do,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, too,” said his lordship. “And now, if +you please, we shall approach this business with a little more +parteecularity. I hear that at the hanging of Duncan Jopp—and, +man! ye had a fine client there—in the middle of +all the riffraff of the ceety, ye thought fit to cry out, ‘This +is a damned murder, and my gorge rises at the man that +haangit him.’”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, these were not my words,” cried Archie.</p> + +<p>“What were yer words, then?” asked the judge.</p> + +<p>“I believe I said, ‘I denounce it as a murder!’” said +the son. “I beg your pardon—a God-defying murder. +I have no wish to conceal the truth,” he added, and looked +his father for a moment in the face.</p> + +<p>“God, it would only need that of it next!” cried +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>192</span> +Hermiston. “There was nothing about your gorge rising, +then?”</p> + +<p>“That was afterwards, my lord, as I was leaving the +Speculative. I said I had been to see the miserable creature +hanged, and my gorge rose at it.”</p> + +<p>“Did ye, though?” said Hermiston. “And I suppose +ye knew who haangit him?”</p> + +<p>“I was present at the trial; I ought to tell you that, I +ought to explain. I ask your pardon beforehand for any +expression that may seem undutiful. The position in which +I stand is wretched,” said the unhappy hero, now fairly +face to face with the business he had chosen. “I have been +reading some of your cases. I was present while Jopp was +tried. It was a hideous business. Father, it was a hideous +thing! Grant he was vile, why should you hunt him with +a vileness equal to his own? It was done with glee—that +is the word—you did it with glee; and I looked on, God help +me! with horror.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a young gentleman that doesna approve of +caapital punishment,” said Hermiston. “Weel, I’m an +auld man that does. I was glad to get Jopp haangit, and +what for would I pretend I wasna? You’re all for honesty, +it seems; you couldn’t even steik your mouth on the public +street. What for should I steik mines upon the Bench, the +King’s officer, bearing the sword, a dreid to evil-doers, as I +was from the beginning, and as I will be to the end! Mair +than enough of it! Heedious! I never gave twa thoughts +to heediousness, I have no call to be bonny. I’m a man that +gets through with my day’s business, and let that suffice.”</p> + +<p>The ring of sarcasm had died out of his voice as he went +on; the plain words became invested with some of the +dignity of the Justice-seat.</p> + +<p>“It would be telling you if you could say as much,” the +speaker resumed. “But ye cannot. Ye’ve been reading +some of my cases, ye say. But it was not for the law in +them, it was to spy out your faither’s nakedness, a fine employment +in a son. You’re splairging; you’re running at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193" id="page193"></a>193</span> +lairge in life like a wild nowt. It’s impossible you should +think any longer of coming to the Bar. You’re not fit for +it; no splairger is. And another thing: son of mines or +no son of mines, you have flung fylement in public on one of +the Senators of the Coallege of Justice, and I would make it +my business to see that ye were never admitted there yourself. +There is a kind of a decency to be observit. Then +comes the next of it—what am I to do with ye next? Ye’ll +have to find some kind of a trade, for I’ll never support ye +in idleset. What do ye fancy ye’ll be fit for? The pulpit? +Na, they could never get diveenity into that bloackhead. +Him that the law of man whammles is no likely to do muckle +better by the law of God. What would ye make of hell? +Wouldna your gorge rise at that? Na, there’s no room for +splairgers under the fower quarters of John Calvin. What +else is there? Speak up. Have ye got nothing of your +own?”</p> + +<p>“Father, let me go to the Peninsula,” said Archie. +“That’s all I’m fit for—to fight.”</p> + +<p>“All? quo’ he!” returned the judge. “And it would +be enough too, if I thought it. But I’ll never trust ye so +near the French, you that’s so Frenchifeed.”</p> + +<p>“You do me injustice there, sir,” said Archie. “I am +loyal; I will not boast; but any interest I may have ever +felt in the French—”</p> + +<p>“Have ye been so loyal to me?” interrupted his father.</p> + +<p>There came no reply.</p> + +<p>“I think not,” continued Hermiston. “And I would +send no man to be a servant to the King, God bless him! +that has proved such a shauchling son to his own faither. +You can splairge here on Edinburgh street, and where’s the +hairm? It doesna play buff on me! And if there were +twenty thousand eediots like yourself, sorrow a Duncan +Jopp would hang the fewer. But there’s no splairging +possible in a camp; and if you were to go to it, you would +find out for yourself whether Lord Well’n’ton approves of +caapital punishment or not. You a sodger!” he cried, with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194" id="page194"></a>194</span> +a sudden burst of scorn. “Ye auld wife, the sodgers would +bray at ye like cuddies!”</p> + +<p>As at the drawing of a curtain, Archie was aware of some +illogicality in his position, and stood abashed. He had a +strong impression, besides, of the essential valour of the +old gentleman before him, how conveyed it would be hard +to say.</p> + +<p>“Well, have ye no other proposeetion?” said my lord +again.</p> + +<p>“You have taken this so calmly, sir, that I cannot but +stand ashamed,” began Archie.</p> + +<p>“I’m nearer voamiting, though, than you would fancy,” +said my lord.</p> + +<p>The blood rose to Archie’s brow.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, I should have said that you had +accepted my affront.... I admit it was an affront; I +did not think to apologise, but I do, I ask your pardon; it +will not be so again, I pass you my word of honour.... +I should have said that I admired your magnanimity with—this—offender,” +Archie concluded with a gulp.</p> + +<p>“I have no other son, ye see,” said Hermiston. “A +bonny one I have gotten! But I must just do the best I can +wi’ him, and what am I to do? If ye had been younger, I +would have wheepit ye for this rideeculous exhibeetion. +The way it is, I have just to grin and bear. But one thing +is to be clearly understood. As a faither, I must grin and +bear it; but if I had been the Lord Advocate instead of +the Lord Justice-Clerk, son or no son, Mr. Erchibald Weir +would have been in a jyle the night.”</p> + +<p>Archie was now dominated. Lord Hermiston was +coarse and cruel; and yet the son was aware of a bloomless +nobility, an ungracious abnegation of the man’s self in the +man’s office. At every word, this sense of the greatness of +Lord Hermiston’s spirit struck more home; and along with +it that of his own impotence, who had struck—and perhaps +basely struck—at his own father, and not reached so far as +to have even nettled him. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page195" id="page195"></a>195</span></p> + +<p>“I place myself in your hands without reserve,” he said.</p> + +<p>“That’s the first sensible word I’ve had of ye the night,” +said Hermiston. “I can tell ye, that would have been the +end of it, the one way or the other; but it’s better ye should +come there yourself, than what I would have had to hirstle +ye. Weel, by my way of it—and my way is the best—there’s +just the one thing it’s possible that ye might be with decency, +and that’s a laird. Ye’ll be out of hairm’s way at the least +of it. If ye have to rowt, ye can rowt amang the kye; and +the maist feck of the caapital punishment ye’re like to come +across’ll be guddling trouts. Now, I’m for no idle lairdies; +every man has to work, if it’s only at peddling ballants; to +work, or to be wheeped, or to be haangit. If I set ye down +at Hermiston, I’ll have to see you work that place the way +it has never been workit yet; ye must ken about the sheep +like a herd; ye must be my grieve there, and I’ll see that I +gain by ye. Is that understood?”</p> + +<p>“I will do my best,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I’ll send Kirstie word the morn, and ye can +go yourself the day after,” said Hermiston. “And just try +to be less of an eediot!” he concluded, with a freezing smile, +and turned immediately to the papers on his desk.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page196" id="page196"></a>196</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<h5>OPINIONS OF THE BENCH</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Late</span> the same night, after a disordered walk, Archie was +admitted into Lord Glenalmond’s dining-room, where he sat, +with a book upon his knee, beside three frugal coals of fire. +In his robes upon the Bench, Glenalmond had a certain air +of burliness: plucked of these, it was a may-pole of a man +that rose unsteadily from his chair to give his visitor welcome. +Archie had suffered much in the last days, he had +suffered again that evening; his face was white and drawn, +his eyes wild and dark. But Lord Glenalmond greeted him +without the least mark of surprise or curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Come in, come in,” said he. “Come in and take a +seat. Carstairs” (to his servant), “make up the fire, and +then you can bring a bit of supper,” and again to Archie, with +a very trivial accent: “I was half expecting you,” he added.</p> + +<p>“No supper,” said Archie. “It is impossible that I +should eat.”</p> + +<p>“Not impossible,” said the tall old man, laying his hand +upon his shoulder, “and, if you will believe me, necessary.”</p> + +<p>“You know what brings me?” said Archie, as soon as +the servant had left the room.</p> + +<p>“I have a guess, I have a guess,” replied Glenalmond. +“We will talk of it presently—when Carstairs has come and +gone, and you have had a piece of my good Cheddar cheese +and a pull at the porter tankard: not before.”</p> + +<p>“It is impossible I should eat,” repeated Archie.</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut!” said Lord Glenalmond. “You have eaten +nothing to-day, and I venture to add, nothing yesterday. +There is no case that may not be made worse; this may be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page197" id="page197"></a>197</span> +a very disagreeable business, but if you were to fall sick and +die, it would be still more so, and for all concerned—for all +concerned.”</p> + +<p>“I see you must know all,” said Archie. “Where did +you hear it?”</p> + +<p>“In the mart of scandal, in the Parliament House,” +said Glenalmond. “It runs riot below among the Bar and +the public, but it sifts up to us upon the Bench, and rumour +has some of her voices even in the divisions.”</p> + +<p>Carstairs returned at this moment, and rapidly laid out +a little supper; during which Lord Glenalmond spoke at +large and a little vaguely on indifferent subjects, so that it +might be rather said of him that he made a cheerful noise, +than that he contributed to human conversation; and +Archie sat upon the other side, not heeding him, brooding +over his wrongs and errors.</p> + +<p>But so soon as the servant was gone, he broke forth +again at once. “Who told my father? Who dared to tell +him? Could it have been you?”</p> + +<p>“No, it was not me,” said the judge; “although—to be +quite frank with you, after I had seen and warned you—it +might have been me. I believe it was Glenkindie.”</p> + +<p>“That shrimp!” cried Archie.</p> + +<p>“As you say, that shrimp,” returned my lord; “although +really it is scarce a fitting mode of expression for one +of the senators of the College of Justice. We were hearing +the parties in a long, crucial case, before the fifteenth; +Creech was moving at some length for an infeftment; when +I saw Glenkindie lean forward to Hermiston with his hand +over his mouth and make him a secret communication. No +one could have guessed its nature from your father; from +Glenkindie, yes, his malice sparked out of him a little grossly. +But your father, no. A man of granite. The next moment +he pounced upon Creech. ‘Mr. Creech,’ says he, ‘I’ll take +a look of that sasine,’ and for thirty minutes after,” said +Glenalmond, with a smile, “Messrs. Creech and Co. were +fighting a pretty uphill battle, which resulted, I need hardly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page198" id="page198"></a>198</span> +add, in their total rout. The case was dismissed. No, I +doubt if ever I heard Hermiston better inspired. He was +literally rejoicing <i>in apicibus juris</i>.”</p> + +<p>Archie was able to endure no longer. He thrust his +plate away and interrupted the deliberate and insignificant +stream of talk. “Here,” he said, “I have made a fool of +myself, if I have not made something worse. Do you judge +between us—judge between a father and a son. I can +speak to you; it is not like ... I will tell you what I feel +and what I mean to do; and you shall be the judge,” he +repeated.</p> + +<p>“I decline jurisdiction,” said Glenalmond, with extreme +seriousness. “But, my dear boy, if it will do you any good +to talk, and if it will interest you at all to hear what I may +choose to say when I have heard you, I am quite at your +command. Let an old man say it, for once, and not need +to blush: I love you like a son.”</p> + +<p>There came a sudden sharp sound in Archie’s throat. +“Ay,” he cried, “and there it is! Love! Like a son! +And how do you think I love my father?”</p> + +<p>“Quietly, quietly,” says my lord.</p> + +<p>“I will be very quiet,” replied Archie. “And I will be +baldly frank. I do not love my father; I wonder sometimes +if I do not hate him. There’s my shame; perhaps my sin; +at least, and in the sight of God, not my fault. How was I to +love him? He has never spoken to me, never smiled upon +me; I do not think he ever touched me. You know the +way he talks? You do not talk so, yet you can sit and hear +him without shuddering, and I cannot. My soul is sick +when he begins with it; I could smite him in the mouth. +And all that’s nothing. I was at the trial of this Jopp. +You were not there, but you must have heard him often; +the man’s notorious for it, for being—look at my position! +he’s my father and this is how I have to speak of him—notorious +for being a brute and cruel and a coward. Lord +Glenalmond, I give you my word, when I came out of that +Court, I longed to die—the shame of it was beyond my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page199" id="page199"></a>199</span> +strength: but I—I——” he rose from his seat and began +to pace the room in a disorder. “Well, who am I? A +boy, who have never been tried, have never done anything +except this twopenny impotent folly with my father. But +I tell you, my lord, and I know myself, I am at least that +kind of a man—or that kind of a boy, if you prefer it—that +I could die in torments rather than that any one should +suffer as that scoundrel suffered. Well, and what have I +done? I see it now. I have made a fool of myself, as +I said in the beginning; and I have gone back, and asked +my father’s pardon, and placed myself wholly in his hands—and +he has sent me to Hermiston,” with a wretched smile, +“for life, I suppose—and what can I say? he strikes me +as having done quite right, and let me off better than I had +deserved.”</p> + +<p>“My poor, dear boy!” observed Glenalmond. “My +poor, dear and, if you will allow me to say so, very foolish +boy! You are only discovering where you are; to one of +your temperament, or of mine, a painful discovery. The +world was not made for us; it was made for ten hundred +millions of men, all different from each other and from us; +there’s no royal road there, we just have to sclamber and +tumble. Don’t think that I am at all disposed to be surprised; +don’t suppose that I ever think of blaming you; +indeed I rather admire! But there fall to be offered one +or two observations on the case which occur to me and +which (if you will listen to them dispassionately) may be +the means of inducing you to view the matter more calmly. +First of all, I cannot acquit you of a good deal of what is +called intolerance. You seem to have been very much +offended because your father talks a little sculduddery +after dinner, which it is perfectly licit for him to do, and +which (although I am not very fond of it myself) appears +to be entirely an affair of taste. Your father, I scarcely +like to remind you, since it is so trite a commonplace, is +older than yourself. At least, he is <i>major</i> and <i>sui juris</i>, and +may please himself in the matter of his conversation. And, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page200" id="page200"></a>200</span> +do you know, I wonder if he might not have as good an +answer against you and me? We say we sometimes find +him <i>coarse</i>, but I suspect he might retort that he finds us +always dull. Perhaps a relevant exception.”</p> + +<p>He beamed on Archie, but no smile could be elicited.</p> + +<p>“And now,” proceeded the judge, “for ‘Archibald on +Capital Punishment.’ This is a very plausible academic +opinion; of course I do not and I cannot hold it; but that’s +not to say that many able and excellent persons have not +done so in the past. Possibly, in the past also, I may have +a little dipped myself in the same heresy. My third client, +or possibly my fourth, was the means of a return in my +opinions. I never saw the man I more believed in; I would +have put my hand in the fire; I would have gone to the +cross for him; and when it came to trial he was gradually +pictured before me, by undeniable probation, in the light +of so gross, so cold-blooded, and so black-hearted a villain, +that I had a mind to have cast my brief upon the table. I +was then boiling against the man with even a more tropical +temperature than I had been boiling for him. But I said +to myself: ‘No, you have taken up his case; and because +you have changed your mind it must not be suffered to let +drop. All that rich tide of eloquence that you prepared +last night with so much enthusiasm is out of place, and yet +you must not desert him, you must say something.’ So I +said something, and I got him off. It made my reputation. +But an experience of that kind is formative. A man must +not bring his passions to the Bar—or to the Bench,” he +added.</p> + +<p>The story had slightly rekindled Archie’s interest. “I +could never deny,” he began—“I mean I can conceive +that some men would be better dead. But who are we to +know all the springs of God’s unfortunate creatures? Who +are we to trust ourselves where it seems that God Himself +must think twice before He treads, and to do it with +delight? Yes, with delight. <i>Tigris ut aspera</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not a pleasant spectacle,” said Glenalmond. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201" id="page201"></a>201</span> +“And yet, do you know, I think somehow a great +one.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve had a long talk with him to-night,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“I was supposing so,” said Glenalmond.</p> + +<p>“And he struck me—I cannot deny that he struck me +as something very big,” pursued the son. “Yes, he is big. +He never spoke about himself; only about me. I suppose +I admired him. The dreadful part——”</p> + +<p>“Suppose we did not talk about that,” interrupted +Glenalmond. “You know it very well, it cannot in any +way help that you should brood upon it, and I sometimes +wonder whether you and I—who are a pair of sentimentalists—are +quite good judges of plain men.”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean?” asked Archie.</p> + +<p>“<i>Fair</i> judges, I mean,” replied Glenalmond. “Can we +be just to them? Do we not ask too much? There was +a word of yours just now that impressed me a little when +you asked me who we were to know all the springs of +God’s unfortunate creatures. You applied that, as I understood, +to capital cases only. But does it—I ask myself—does +it not apply all through? Is it any less difficult to +judge of a good man or of a half-good man, than of the +worst criminal at the bar? And may not each have +relevant excuses?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but we do not talk of punishing the good,” cried +Archie.</p> + +<p>“No, we do not talk of it,” said Glenalmond. “But +I think we do it. Your father, for instance.”</p> + +<p>“You think I have punished him?” cried Archie.</p> + +<p>Lord Glenalmond bowed his head.</p> + +<p>“I think I have,” said Archie. “And the worst is, +I think he feels it! How much, who can tell, with such a +being? But I think he does.”</p> + +<p>“And I am sure of it,” said Glenalmond.</p> + +<p>“Has he spoken to you, then?” cried Archie.</p> + +<p>“O no,” replied the judge.</p> + +<p>“I tell you honestly,” said Archie, “I want to make +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page202" id="page202"></a>202</span> +it up to him. I will go, I have already pledged myself to +go, to Hermiston. That was to him. And now I pledge +myself to you, in the sight of God, that I will close my +mouth on capital punishment and all other subjects where +our views may clash, for—how long shall I say? when shall +I have sense enough?—ten years. Is that well?”</p> + +<p>“It is well,” said my lord.</p> + +<p>“As far as it goes,” said Archie. “It is enough as regards +myself, it is to lay down enough of my conceit. But +as regards him, whom I have publicly insulted? What am +I to do to him? How do you pay attentions to a—an Alp +like that?”</p> + +<p>“Only in one way,” replied Glenalmond. “Only by +obedience, punctual, prompt, and scrupulous.”</p> + +<p>“And I promise that he shall have it,” answered Archie. +“I offer you my hand in pledge of it.”</p> + +<p>“And I take your hand as a solemnity,” replied the +judge. “God bless you, my dear, and enable you to keep +your promise. God guide you in the true way, and spare +your days, and preserve to you your honest heart.” At +that, he kissed the young man upon the forehead in a gracious, +distant, antiquated way; and instantly launched, with +a marked change of voice, into another subject. “And now, +let us replenish the tankard; and I believe, if you will try +my Cheddar again, you would find you had a better appetite. +The Court has spoken, and the case is dismissed.”</p> + +<p>“No, there is one thing I must say,” cried Archie. “I +must say it in justice to himself. I know—I believe faithfully, +slavishly, after our talk—he will never ask me anything +unjust. I am proud to feel it, that we have that +much in common, I am proud to say it to you.”</p> + +<p>The judge, with shining eyes, raised his tankard. “And +I think perhaps that we might permit ourselves a toast,” +said he. “I should like to propose the health of a man +very different from me and very much my superior—a man +from whom I have often differed, who has often (in the +trivial expression) rubbed me the wrong way, but whom I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page203" id="page203"></a>203</span> +have never ceased to respect and, I may add, to be not a +little afraid of. Shall I give you his name?”</p> + +<p>“The Lord Justice-Clerk, Lord Hermiston,” said Archie, +almost with gaiety; and the pair drank the toast deeply.</p> + +<p>It was not precisely easy to re-establish, after these +emotional passages, the natural flow of conversation. But +the judge eked out what was wanting with kind looks, produced +his snuff-box (which was very rarely seen) to fill in +a pause, and at last, despairing of any further social success, +was upon the point of getting down a book to read a favourite +passage, when there came a rather startling summons at +the front door, and Carstairs ushered in my Lord Glenkindie, +hot from a midnight supper. I am not aware that Glenkindie +was ever a beautiful object, being short, and gross-bodied, +and with an expression of sensuality comparable +to a bear’s. At that moment, coming in hissing from many +potations, with a flushed countenance and blurred eyes, +he was strikingly contrasted with the tall, pale, kingly +figure of Glenalmond. A rush of confused thought came +over Archie—of shame that this was one of his father’s +elect friends; of pride, that at the least of it Hermiston +could carry his liquor; and last of all, of rage, that he should +have here under his eyes the man that had betrayed him. +And then that too passed away; and he sat quiet, biding +his opportunity.</p> + +<p>The tipsy senator plunged at once into an explanation +with Glenalmond. There was a point reserved yesterday, +he had been able to make neither head nor tail of it, and +seeing lights in the house, he had just dropped in for a +glass of porter—and at this point he became aware of the +third person. Archie saw the cod’s mouth and the blunt +lips of Glenkindie gape at him for a moment, and the recognition +twinkle in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Who’s this?” said he. “What? is this possibly you, +Don Quickshot? And how are ye? And how’s your +father? And what’s all this we hear of you? It seems +you’re a most extraordinary leveller, by all tales. No +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204" id="page204"></a>204</span> +king, no parliaments, and your gorge rises at the macers, +worthy men! Hoot, toot! Dear, dear me! Your father’s +son too! Most rideeculous!”</p> + +<p>Archie was on his feet, flushing a little at the reappearance +of his unhappy figure of speech, but perfectly self-possessed. +“My lord—and you, Lord Glenalmond, my +dear friend,” he began, “this is a happy chance for me, that +I can make my confession and offer my apologies to two of +you at once.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I don’t know about that. Confession? It’ll +be judeecial, my young friend,” cried the jocular Glenkindie. +“And I’m afraid to listen to ye. Think if ye were to make +me a coanvert!”</p> + +<p>“If you would allow me, my lord,” returned Archie, +“what I have to say is very serious to me; and be pleased +to be humorous after I am gone!”</p> + +<p>“Remember, I’ll hear nothing against the macers!” +put in the incorrigible Glenkindie.</p> + +<p>But Archie continued as though he had not spoken. “I +have played, both yesterday and to-day, a part for which +I can only offer the excuse of youth. I was so unwise as +to go to an execution; it seems I made a scene at the +gallows; not content with which, I spoke the same night +in a college society against capital punishment. This is +the extent of what I have done, and in case you hear more +alleged against me, I protest my innocence. I have expressed +my regret already to my father, who is so good as +to pass my conduct over—in a degree, and upon the condition +that I am to leave my law studies.” ...</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page205" id="page205"></a>205</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<h5>WINTER ON THE MOORS</h5> + +<p class="center1">1. <i>At Hermiston</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> road to Hermiston runs for a great part of the way +up the valley of a stream, a favourite with anglers and with +midges, full of falls and pools, and shaded by willows and +natural woods of birch. Here and there, but at great distances, +a byway branches off, and a gaunt farmhouse may +be descried above in a fold of the hill; but the more part of +the time, the road would be quite empty of passage and the +hills of habitation. Hermiston parish is one of the least +populous in Scotland; and, by the time you came that +length, you would scarce be surprised at the inimitable +smallness of the kirk, a dwarfish, ancient place seated for +fifty, and standing in a green by the burn-side among two-score +gravestones. The manse close by, although no more +than a cottage, is surrounded by the brightness of a flower-garden +and the straw roofs of bees; and the whole colony, +kirk and manse, garden and graveyard, finds harbourage +in a grove of rowans, and is all the year round in a great +silence broken only by the drone of the bees, the tinkle of +the burn, and the bell on Sundays. A mile beyond the kirk +the road leaves the valley by a precipitous ascent, and brings +you a little after to the place of Hermiston, where it comes +to an end in the back-yard before the coach-house. All +beyond and about is the great field of the hills; the plover, +the curlew, and the lark cry there; the wind blows as it +blows in a ship’s rigging, hard and cold and pure; and the +hill-tops huddle one behind another, like a herd of cattle, +into the sunset. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206" id="page206"></a>206</span></p> + +<p>The house was sixty years old, unsightly, comfortable; +a farmyard and a kitchen-garden on the left, with a fruit +wall where little hard green pears came to their maturity +about the end of October.</p> + +<p>The policy (as who should say the park) was of some +extent, but very ill reclaimed; heather and moor-fowl had +crossed the boundary wall and spread and roosted within; +and it would have tasked a landscape gardener to say where +policy ended and unpolicied nature began. My lord had +been led by the influence of Mr. Sheriff Scott into a considerable +design of planting; many acres were accordingly set +out with fir, and the little feathery besoms gave a false +scale and lent a strange air of a toy-shop to the moors. A +great, rooty sweetness of bogs was in the air, and at all +seasons an infinite melancholy piping of hill birds. Standing +so high and with so little shelter, it was a cold, exposed +house, splashed by showers, drenched by continuous rains +that made the gutters to spout, beaten upon and buffeted +by all the winds of heaven; and the prospect would be often +black with tempest, and often white with the snows of +winter. But the house was wind and weather proof, the +hearths were kept bright, and the rooms pleasant with live +fires of peat; and Archie might sit of an evening and hear +the squalls bugle on the moorland, and watch the fire prosper +in the earthy fuel, and the smoke winding up the chimney, +and drink deep of the pleasures of shelter.</p> + +<p>Solitary as the place was, Archie did not want neighbours. +Every night, if he chose, he might go down to the +manse and share a “brewst” of toddy with the minister—a +hare-brained ancient gentleman, long and light and still +active, though his knees were loosened with age, and his +voice broke continually in childish trebles—and his lady +wife, a heavy, comely dame, without a word to say for +herself beyond good-even and good-day. Harum-scarum, +clodpole young lairds of the neighbourhood paid him the +compliment of a visit. Young Hay of Romanes rode down +to call, on his crop-eared pony; young Pringle of Drumanno +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207" id="page207"></a>207</span> +came up on his bony grey. Hay remained on the hospitable +field, and must be carried to bed; Pringle got somehow +to his saddle about 3 <span class="sc">a.m.</span>, and (as Archie stood with the +lamp on the upper doorstep) lurched, uttered a senseless +view-holloa, and vanished out of the small circle of illumination +like a wraith. Yet a minute or two longer the clatter +of his break-neck flight was audible, then it was cut off by +the intervening steepness of the hill; and again, a great +while after, the renewed beating of phantom horsehoofs, +far in the valley of the Hermiston, showed that the horse at +least, if not his rider, was still on the homeward way.</p> + +<p>There was a Tuesday club at the “Crosskeys” in Crossmichael, +where the young bloods of the countryside congregated +and drank deep on a percentage of the expense, +so that he was left gainer who should have drunk the most. +Archie had no great mind to this diversion, but he took it +like a duty laid upon him, went with a decent regularity, +did his manfullest with the liquor, held up his head in the +local jests, and got home again and was able to put up his +horse, to the admiration of Kirstie and the lass that helped +her. He dined at Driffel, supped at Windielaws. He went +to the new year’s ball at Huntsfield and was made welcome, +and thereafter rode to hounds with my Lord Muirfell, upon +whose name, as that of a legitimate Lord of Parliament, in +a work so full of Lords of Session, my pen should pause +reverently. Yet the same fate attended him here as in +Edinburgh. The habit of solitude tends to perpetuate +itself, and an austerity of which he was quite unconscious, +and a pride which seemed arrogance, and perhaps was +chiefly shyness, discouraged and offended his new companions. +Hay did not return more than twice, Pringle +never at all, and there came a time when Archie even desisted +from the Tuesday Club, and became in all things—what +he had had the name of almost from the first—the +Recluse of Hermiston. High-nosed Miss Pringle of Drumanno +and high-stepping Miss Marshall of the Mains were +understood to have had a difference of opinion about him +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208" id="page208"></a>208</span> +the day after the ball—he was none the wiser, he could not +suppose himself to be remarked by these entrancing ladies. +At the ball itself my Lord Muirfell’s daughter, the Lady +Flora, spoke to him twice, and the second time with a touch +of appeal, so that her colour rose and her voice trembled +a little in his ear, like a passing grace in music. He stepped +back with a heart on fire, coldly and not ungracefully excused +himself, and a little after watched her dancing with +young Drumanno of the empty laugh, and was harrowed at +the sight, and raged to himself that this was a world in +which it was given to Drumanno to please, and to himself +only to stand aside and envy. He seemed excluded, as of +right, from the favour of such society—seemed to extinguish +mirth wherever he came, and was quick to feel the +wound, and desist, and retire into solitude. If he had but +understood the figure he presented, and the impression he +made on these bright eyes and tender hearts; if he had but +guessed that the Recluse of Hermiston, young, graceful, well +spoken, but always cold, stirred the maidens of the county +with the charm of Byronism when Byronism was new, it +may be questioned whether his destiny might not even yet +have been modified. It may be questioned, and I think it +should be doubted. It was in his horoscope to be parsimonious +of pain to himself, or of the chance of pain, even to +the avoidance of any opportunity of pleasure; to have a +Roman sense of duty, an instinctive aristocracy of manners +and taste; to be the son of Adam Weir and Jean Rutherford.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center1">2. <i>Kirstie</i></p> + +<p>Kirstie was now over fifty, and might have sat to a +sculptor. Long of limb, and still light of foot, deep-breasted, +robust-loined, her golden hair not yet mingled +with any trace of silver, the years had but caressed and +embellished her. By the lines of a rich and vigorous +maternity, she seemed destined to be the bride of heroes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209" id="page209"></a>209</span> +and the mother of their children; and behold, by the iniquity +of fate, she had passed through her youth alone, and +drew near to the confines of age, a childless woman. The +tender ambitions that she had received at birth had been, +by time and disappointment, diverted into a certain barren +zeal of industry and fury of interference. She carried her +thwarted ardours into housework, she washed floors with +her empty heart. If she could not win the love of one with +love, she must dominate all by her temper. Hasty, wordy, +and wrathful, she had a drawn quarrel with most of her +neighbours, and with the others not much more than armed +neutrality. The grieve’s wife had been “sneisty”; the +sister of the gardener who kept house for him had shown +herself “upsitten”; and she wrote to Lord Hermiston +about once a year demanding the discharge of the offenders, +and justifying the demand by much wealth of detail. For +it must not be supposed that the quarrel rested with the +wife and did not take in the husband also—or with the +gardener’s sister, and did not speedily include the gardener +himself. As the upshot of all this petty quarrelling and +intemperate speech, she was practically excluded (like a +lightkeeper on his tower) from the comforts of human association; +except with her own indoor drudge, who, being +but a lassie and entirely at her mercy, must submit to the +shifty weather of “the mistress’s” moods without complaint, +and be willing to take buffets or caresses according +to the temper of the hour. To Kirstie, thus situate and in +the Indian summer of her heart, which was slow to submit +to age, the gods sent this equivocal good thing of Archie’s +presence. She had known him in the cradle and paddled +him when he misbehaved; and yet, as she had not so much +as set eyes on him since he was eleven and had his last +serious illness, the tall, slender, refined, and rather melancholy +young gentleman of twenty came upon her with the +shock of a new acquaintance. He was “Young Hermiston,” +“the laird himsel’”: he had an air of distinctive +superiority, a cold straight glance of his black eyes, that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210" id="page210"></a>210</span> +abashed the woman’s tantrums in the beginning, and therefore +the possibility of any quarrel was excluded. He was +new, and therefore immediately aroused her curiosity; he +was reticent, and kept it awake. And lastly he was dark +and she fair, and he was male and she female, the everlasting +fountains of interest.</p> + +<p>Her feeling partook of the loyalty of a clanswoman, the +hero-worship of a maiden aunt, and the idolatry due to a +god. No matter what he had asked of her, ridiculous or +tragic, she would have done it and joyed to do it. Her +passion, for it was nothing less, entirely filled her. It was +a rich physical pleasure to make his bed or light his lamp +for him when he was absent, to pull off his wet boots or +wait on him at dinner when he returned. A young man +who should have so doted on the idea, moral and physical, +of any woman, might be properly described as being in +love, head and heels, and would have behaved himself +accordingly. But Kirstie—though her heart leaped at +his coming footsteps—though, when he patted her shoulder, +her face brightened for the day—had not a hope or thought +beyond the present moment and its perpetuation to the end +of time. Till the end of time she would have had nothing +altered, but still continue delightedly to serve her idol, and +be repaid (say twice in the month) with a clap on the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>I have said her heart leaped—it is the accepted phrase. +But rather, when she was alone in any chamber of the +house, and heard his foot passing on the corridors, something +in her bosom rose slowly until her breath was suspended, +and as slowly fell again with a deep sigh, when the +steps had passed and she was disappointed of her eyes’ +desire. This perpetual hunger and thirst of his presence +kept her all day on the alert. When he went forth at morning, +she would stand and follow him with admiring looks. +As it grew late and drew to the time of his return, she would +steal forth to a corner of the policy wall and be seen standing +there sometimes by the hour together, gazing with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211" id="page211"></a>211</span> +shaded eyes, waiting the exquisite and barren pleasure of +his view a mile off on the mountains. When at night she +had trimmed and gathered the fire, turned down his bed, +and laid out his night-gear—when there was no more to be +done for the king’s pleasure, but to remember him fervently +in her usually very tepid prayers, and go to bed brooding +upon his perfections, his future career, and what she should +give him the next day for dinner—there still remained before +her one more opportunity; she was still to take in the tray +and say good-night. Sometimes Archie would glance up +from his book with a preoccupied nod and a perfunctory +salutation which was in truth a dismissal; sometimes—and +by degrees more often—the volume would be laid aside, +he would meet her coming with a look of relief; and the +conversation would be engaged, last out the supper, and +be prolonged till the small hours by the waning fire. It +was no wonder that Archie was fond of company after his +solitary days; and Kirstie, upon her side, exerted all the +arts of her vigorous nature to ensnare his attention. She +would keep back some piece of news during dinner to be +fired off with the entrance of the supper tray, and form as +it were the <i>lever de rideau</i> of the evening’s entertainment. +Once he had heard her tongue wag, she made sure of the +result. From one subject to another she moved by insidious +transitions, fearing the least silence, fearing almost to +give him time for an answer lest it should slip into a hint of +separation. Like so many people of her class, she was a +brave narrator; her place was on the hearthrug and she +made it a rostrum, miming her stories as she told them, fitting +them with vital detail, spinning them out with endless +“quo’ he’s” and “quo’ she’s,” her voice sinking into a +whisper over the supernatural or the horrific; until she +would suddenly spring up in affected surprise, and pointing +to the clock, “Mercy, Mr. Archie!” she would say, +“whatten a time o’ night is this of it! God forgive me for +a daft wife!” So it befell, by good management, that she +was not only the first to begin these nocturnal conversations, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page212" id="page212"></a>212</span> +but invariably the first to break them off; so she +managed to retire and not to be dismissed.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center1">3. <i>A Border Family</i></p> + +<p>Such an unequal intimacy has never been uncommon +in Scotland, where the clan spirit survives; where the +servant tends to spend her life in the same service, a help-meet +at first, then a tyrant, and at last a pensioner; where, +besides, she is not necessarily destitute of the pride of birth, +but is, perhaps, like Kirstie, a connection of her master’s, +and at least knows the legend of her own family, and may +count kinship with some illustrious dead. For that is the +mark of the Scot of all classes: that he stands in an attitude +towards the past unthinkable to Englishmen, and remembers +and cherishes the memory of his forebears, good or bad; +and there burns alive in him a sense of identity with the +dead even to the twentieth generation. No more characteristic +instance could be found than in the family of Kirstie +Elliott. They were all, and Kirstie the first of all, ready +and eager to pour forth the particulars of their genealogy, +embellished with every detail that memory had handed +down or fancy fabricated; and, behold! from every ramification +of that tree there dangled a halter. The Elliotts +themselves have had a chequered history; but these +Elliotts deduced, besides, from three of the most unfortunate +of the border clans—the Nicksons, the Ellwalds, and +the Crozers. One ancestor after another might be seen +appearing a moment out of the rain and the hill mist upon +his furtive business, speeding home, perhaps, with a paltry +booty of lame horses and lean kine, or squealing and dealing +death in some moorland feud of the ferrets and the wild +cats. One after another closed his obscure adventures in +mid-air, triced up to the arm of the royal gibbet or the +Baron’s dule-tree. For the rusty blunderbuss of Scots +criminal justice, which usually hurt nobody but jurymen, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213" id="page213"></a>213</span> +became a weapon of precision for the Nicksons, the Ellwalds, +and the Crozers. The exhilaration of their exploits seemed +to haunt the memories of their descendants alone, and the +shame to be forgotten. Pride glowed in their bosoms to +publish their relationship to “Andrew Ellwald of the +Laverockstanes, called ‘Unchancy Dand,’ who was justifeed +wi’ seeven mair of the same name at Jeddart in the days of +King James the Sax.” In all this tissue of crime and misfortune, +the Elliotts of Cauldstaneslap had one boast which +must appear legitimate: the males were gallows-birds, +born outlaws, petty thieves, and deadly brawlers; but, +according to the same tradition, the females were all chaste +and faithful. The power of ancestry on the character is +not limited to the inheritance of cells. If I buy ancestors +by the gross from the benevolence of Lyon King of Arms, +my grandson (if he is Scottish) will feel a quickening emulation +of their deeds. The men of the Elliotts were proud, +lawless, violent as of right, cherishing and prolonging a +tradition. In like manner with the women. And the +woman, essentially passionate and reckless, who crouched +on the rug, in the shine of the peat fire, telling these tales, +had cherished through life a wild integrity of virtue.</p> + +<p>Her father Gilbert had been deeply pious, a savage +disciplinarian in the antique style, and withal a notorious +smuggler. “I mind when I was a bairn getting mony a +skelp and being shoo’d to bed like pou’try,” she would say. +“That would be when the lads and their bit kegs were on +the road. We’ve had the riffraff of two-three counties in +our kitchen, mony’s the time, betwix’ the twelve and the +three; and their lanterns would be standing in the forecourt, +ay, a score o’ them at once. But there was nae ungodly +talk permitted at Cauldstaneslap; my faither was +a consistent man in walk and conversation; just let slip +an aith, and there was the door to ye! He had that zeal +for the Lord, it was a fair wonder to hear him pray, but the +faim’ly has aye had a gift that way.” This father was +twice married, once to a dark woman of the old Ellwald +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page214" id="page214"></a>214</span> +stock, by whom he had Gilbert, presently of Cauldstaneslap; +and, secondly, to the mother of Kirstie. “He was an auld +man when he married her, a fell auld man wi’ a muckle +voice—you could hear him rowting from the top o’ the +Kye-skairs,” she said; “but for her, it appears she was a +perfit wonder. It was gentle blood she had, Mr. Archie, +for it was your ain. The country-side gaed gyte about her +and her gowden hair. Mines is no to be mentioned wi’ it, +and there’s few weemen has mair hair than what I have, or +yet a bonnier colour. Often would I tell my dear Miss +Jeannie—that was your mother, dear, she was cruel ta’en +up about her hair, it was unco tender, ye see—’Hoots, Miss +Jeannie,’ I would say, ‘just fling your washes and your +French dentifrishes in the back o’ the fire, for that’s the +place for them; and awa’ down to a burn side, and wash +yersel’ in cauld hill water, and dry your bonny hair in the +caller wind o’ the muirs, the way that my mother aye +washed hers, and that I have aye made it a practice to have +wishen mines—just you do what I tell ye, my dear, and ye’ll +give me news of it! Ye’ll have hair, and routh of hair, a +pigtail as thick’s my arm,’ I said, ‘and the bonniest colour +like the clear gowden guineas, so as the lads in kirk’ll no +can keep their eyes off it!’ Weel, it lasted out her time, +puir thing! I cuttit a lock of it upon her corp that was +lying there sae cauld. I’ll show it ye some of thir days if +ye’re good. But, as I was sayin’, my mither——”</p> + +<p>On the death of the father there remained golden-haired +Kirstie, who took service with her distant kinsfolk, +the Rutherfords, and black-a-vised Gilbert, twenty years +older, who farmed the Cauldstaneslap, married, and begot +four sons between 1773 and 1784, and a daughter, like a +postscript, in ’97, the year of Camperdown and Cape St. +Vincent. It seemed it was a tradition in the family to +wind up with a belated girl. In 1804, at the age of sixty, +Gilbert met an end that might be called heroic. He was +due home from market any time from eight at night till +five in the morning, and in any condition from the quarrelsome +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215" id="page215"></a>215</span> +to the speechless, for he maintained to that age the +goodly customs of the Scots farmer. It was known on this +occasion that he had a good bit of money to bring home; +the word had gone round loosely. The laird had shown his +guineas, and if anybody had but noticed it, there was an +ill-looking, vagabond crew, the scum of Edinburgh, that +drew out of the market long ere it was dusk and took the +hill-road by Hermiston, where it was not to be believed that +they had lawful business. One of the country-side, one +Dickieson, they took with them to be their guide, and dear +he paid for it! Of a sudden, in the ford of the Broken +Dykes, this vermin clan fell on the laird, six to one, and him +three parts asleep, having drunk hard. But it is ill to catch +an Elliott. For a while, in the night and the black water +that was deep as to his saddle-girths, he wrought with his +staff like a smith at his stithy, and great was the sound of +oaths and blows. With that the ambuscade was burst, and +he rode for home with a pistol-ball in him, three knife +wounds, the loss of his front teeth, a broken rib and bridle, +and a dying horse. That was a race with death that the +laird rode. In the mirk night, with his broken bridle and +his head swimming, he dug his spurs to the rowels in the +horse’s side, and the horse, that was even worse off than +himself, the poor creature! screamed out like a person as he +went, so that the hills echoed with it, and the folks at Cauldstaneslap +got to their feet about the table and looked at +each other with white faces. The horse fell dead at the yard +gate, the laird won the length of the house and fell there on +the threshold. To the son that raised him he gave the bag +of money. “Hae,” said he. All the way up the thieves +had seemed to him to be at his heels, but now the hallucination +left him—he saw them again in the place of the +ambuscade—and the thirst of vengeance seized on his dying +mind. Raising himself and pointing with an imperious +finger into the black night from which he had come, he +uttered the single command, “Brocken Dykes,” and fainted. +He had never been loved, but he had been feared in honour. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216" id="page216"></a>216</span> +At that sight, at that word, gasped out at them from a +toothless and bleeding mouth, the old Elliott spirit awoke +with a shout in the four sons. “Wanting the hat,” continues +my author, Kirstie, whom I but haltingly follow, +for she told this tale like one inspired, “wanting guns, for +there wasna twa grains o’ pouder in the house, wi’ nae mair +weepons than their sticks into their hands, the fower o’ +them took the road. Only Hob, and that was the eldest, +hunkered at the door-sill where the blood had rin, fyled +his hand wi’ it, and haddit it up to Heeven in the way o’ +the auld Border aith. ‘Hell shall have her ain again this +nicht!’ he raired, and rode forth upon his earrand.” It was +three miles to Broken Dykes, down hill, and a sore road. +Kirstie had seen men from Edinburgh dismounting there +in plain day to lead their horses. But the four brothers +rode it as if Auld Hornie were behind and Heaven in front. +Come to the ford, and there was Dickieson. By all tales, +he was not dead, but breathed and reared upon his elbow, +and cried out to them for help. It was at a graceless face +that he asked mercy. As soon as Hob saw, by the glint of +the lantern, the eyes shining and the whiteness of the teeth +in the man’s face, “Damn you!” says he; “ye hae your +teeth, hae ye?” and rode his horse to and fro upon that +human remnant. Beyond that, Dandie must dismount +with the lantern to be their guide; he was the youngest +son, scarce twenty at the time. “A’ nicht long they gaed +in the wet heath and jennipers, and whaur they gaed they +neither knew nor cared, but just followed the bluid-stains +and the footprints o’ their faither’s murderers. And a’ +nicht Dandie had his nose to the grund like a tyke, and the +ithers followed and spak’ naething, neither black nor white. +There was nae noise to be heard, but just the sough of the +swalled burns, and Hob, the dour yin, risping his teeth as +he gaed.” With the first glint of the morning they saw +they were on the drove-road, and at that the four stopped +and had a dram to their breakfasts, for they knew that +Dand must have guided them right, and the rogues could be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>217</span> +but little ahead, hot foot for Edinburgh by the way of the +Pentland Hills. By eight o’clock they had word of them—a +shepherd had seen four men “uncoly mishandled” go +by in the last hour. “That’s yin a piece,” says Clem, and +swung his cudgel. “Five o’ them!” says Hob. “God’s +death, but the faither was a man! And him drunk!” And +then there befell them what my author termed “a sair +misbegowk,” for they were overtaken by a posse of mounted +neighbours come to aid in the pursuit. Four sour faces +looked on the reinforcement. “The Deil’s broughten +you!” said Clem, and they rode thenceforward in the rear +of the party with hanging heads. Before ten they had +found and secured the rogues, and by three of the afternoon, +as they rode up the Vennel with their prisoners, they were +aware of a concourse of people bearing in their midst something +that dripped. “For the boady of the saxt,” pursued +Kirstie, “wi’ his head smashed like a hazel-nit, had been a’ +that nicht in the chairge o’ Hermiston Water, and it dunting +in on the stanes, and grunding it on the shallows, and flinging +the deid thing heels-ower-hurdie at the Fa’s o’ Spango; +and in the first o’ the day, Tweed had got a hold o’ him and +carried him off like a wind, for it was uncoly swalled, and +raced wi’ him, bobbing under braesides, and was long playing +with the creature in the drumlie lynns under the castle, +and at the hinder end of all cuist him up on the sterling of +Crossmichael brig. Sae there they were a’thegither at last +(for Dickieson had been brought in on a cart long syne), and +folk could see what mainner o’ man my brither had been +that had held his head again sax and saved the siller, and +him drunk!” Thus died of honourable injuries and in the +savour of fame Gilbert Elliott of the Cauldstaneslap; but +his sons had scarce less glory out of the business. Their +savage haste, the skill with which Dand had found and +followed the trail, the barbarity to the wounded Dickieson +(which was like an open secret in the county), and the doom +which it was currently supposed they had intended for the +others, struck and stirred popular imagination. Some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>218</span> +century earlier the last of the minstrels might have fashioned +the last of the ballads out of that Homeric fight and chase; +but the spirit was dead, or had been reincarnated already +in Mr. Sheriff Scott, and the degenerate moorsmen must be +content to tell the tale in prose, and to make of the “Four +Black Brothers” a unit after the fashion of the “Twelve +Apostles” or the “Three Musketeers.”</p> + +<p>Robert, Gilbert, Clement, and Andrew—in the proper +Border diminutives, Hob, Gib, Clem, and Dand Elliott—these +ballad heroes, had much in common; in particular, +their high sense of the family and the family honour; but +they went diverse ways, and prospered and failed in different +businesses. According to Kirstie, “they had a’ bees in +their bonnets but Hob.” Hob the laird was, indeed, essentially +a decent man. An elder of the Kirk, nobody had +heard an oath upon his lips, save, perhaps, thrice or so at +the sheep-washing, since the chase of his father’s murderers. +The figure he had shown on that eventful night disappeared +as if swallowed by a trap. He who had ecstatically dipped +his hand in the red blood, he who had ridden down Dickieson, +became, from that moment on, a stiff and rather graceless +model of the rustic proprieties; cannily profiting by the +high war prices, and yearly stowing away a little nest-egg +in the bank against calamity; approved of and sometimes +consulted by the greater lairds for the massive and placid +sense of what he said, when he could be induced to say anything; +and particularly valued by the minister, Mr. Torrance, +as a right-hand man in the parish, and a model to parents. +The transfiguration had been for the moment only; some +Barbarossa, some old Adam of our ancestors, sleeps in all of +us till the fit circumstance shall call it into action; and, for +as sober as he now seemed, Hob had given once for all the +measure of the devil that haunted him. He was married, +and, by reason of the effulgence of that legendary night, +was adored by his wife. He had a mob of little lusty, barefoot +children who marched in a caravan the long miles to +school, the stages of whose pilgrimage were marked by acts +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id="page219"></a>219</span> +of spoliation and mischief, and who were qualified in the +country-side as “fair pests.” But in the house, if “faither +was in,” they were quiet as mice. In short, Hob moved +through life in a great peace—the reward of any one who +shall have killed his man, with any formidable and figurative +circumstance, in the midst of a country gagged and swaddled +with civilisation.</p> + +<p>It was a current remark that the Elliotts were “guid +and bad, like sanguishes”; and certainly there was a +curious distinction, the men of business coming alternately +with the dreamers. The second brother, Gib, was a weaver +by trade, had gone out early into the world to Edinburgh, +and come home again with his wings singed. There was an +exaltation in his nature which had led him to embrace with +enthusiasm the principles of the French Revolution, and had +ended by bringing him under the hawse of my Lord Hermiston +in that furious onslaught of his upon the Liberals, which +sent Muir and Palmer into exile and dashed the party into +chaff. It was whispered that my lord, in his great scorn +for the movement, and prevailed upon a little by a sense +of neighbourliness, had given Gib a hint. Meeting him one +day in the Potterrow, my lord had stopped in front of him: +“Gib, ye eediot,” he had said, “what’s this I hear of you? +Poalitics, poalitics, poalitics, weaver’s poalitics, is the way +of it, I hear. If ye arena a’thegither dozened with eediocy, +ye’ll gang your ways back to Cauldstaneslap, and ca’ your +loom, and ca’ your loom, man!” And Gilbert had taken +him at the word and returned, with an expedition almost to +be called flight, to the house of his father. The clearest +of his inheritance was that family gift of prayer of which +Kirstie had boasted; and the baffled politician now turned +his attention to religious matters—or, as others said, to +heresy and schism. Every Sunday morning he was in +Crossmichael, where he had gathered together, one by one, +a sect of about a dozen persons, who called themselves +“God’s Remnant of the True Faithful,” or, for short, “God’s +Remnant.” To the profane they were known as “Gib’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>220</span> +Deils.” Bailie Sweedie, a noted humorist in the town, +vowed that the proceedings always opened to the tune of +“The Deil Fly Away with the Exciseman,” and that the +sacrament was dispensed in the form of hot whisky-toddy; +both wicked hits at the evangelist, who had been suspected +of smuggling in his youth, and had been overtaken (as the +phrase went) on the streets of Crossmichael one Fair day. +It was known that every Sunday they prayed for a blessing +on the arms of Buonaparte. For this, “God’s Remnant,” +as they were “skailing” from the cottage that did duty for +a temple, had been repeatedly stoned by the bairns, and Gib +himself hooted by a squadron of Border volunteers in which +his own brother, Dand, rode in a uniform and with a drawn +sword. The “Remnant” were believed, besides, to be +“antinomian in principle,” which might otherwise have been +a serious charge, but the way public opinion then blew it +was quite swallowed up and forgotten in the scandal about +Buonaparte. For the rest, Gilbert had set up his loom in an +outhouse at Cauldstaneslap, where he laboured assiduously +six days of the week. His brothers, appalled by his political +opinions, and willing to avoid dissension in the household, +spoke but little to him; he less to them, remaining +absorbed in the study of the Bible and almost constant +prayer. The gaunt weaver was dry-nurse at Cauldstaneslap, +and the bairns loved him dearly. Except when he +was carrying an infant in his arms, he was rarely seen to +smile—as, indeed, there were few smilers in that family. +When his sister-in-law rallied him, and proposed that he +should get a wife and bairns of his own, since he was so fond +of them, “I have no clearness of mind upon that point,” he +would reply. If nobody called him in to dinner, he stayed +out. Mrs. Hob, a hard, unsympathetic woman, once tried +the experiment. He went without food all day, but at +dusk, as the light began to fail him, he came into the house +of his own accord, looking puzzled. “I’ve had a great gale +of prayer upon my speerit,” said he. “I canna mind sae +muckle’s what I had for denner.” The creed of God’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221" id="page221"></a>221</span> +Remnant was justified in the life of its founder. “And yet +I dinna ken,” said Kirstie. “He’s maybe no more stock-fish +than his neeghbours! He rode wi’ the rest o’ them, +and had a good stamach to the work, by a’ that I hear! +God’s Remnant! The deil’s clavers! There wasna muckle +Christianity in the way Hob guided Johnny Dickieson, at +the least of it; but Guid kens! Is he a Christian even? He +might be a Mahommedan or a Deevil or a Fireworshipper, +for what I ken.”</p> + +<p>The third brother had his name on a door-plate, no +less, in the city of Glasgow, “Mr. Clement Elliott,” as long +as your arm. In this case, that spirit of innovation which +had shown itself timidly in the case of Hob by the admission +of new manures, and which had run to waste with Gilbert in +subversive politics and heretical religions, bore useful fruit +in many ingenious mechanical improvements. In boyhood, +from his addiction to strange devices of sticks and +string, he had been counted the most eccentric of the family. +But that was all by now; and he was a partner of his firm, +and looked to die a bailie. He too had married, and was +rearing a plentiful family in the smoke and din of Glasgow; +he was wealthy, and could have bought out his brother, the +cock-laird, six times over, it was whispered; and when he +slipped away to Cauldstaneslap for a well-earned holiday, +which he did as often as he was able, he astonished the +neighbours with his broadcloth, his beaver hat, and the ample +plies of his neckcloth. Though an eminently solid man at +bottom, after the pattern of Hob, he had contracted a certain +Glasgow briskness and <i>aplomb</i> which set him off. All the +other Elliotts were as lean as a rake, but Clement was +laying on fat, and he panted sorely when he must get +into his boots. Dand said, chuckling: “Ay, Clem has the +elements of a corporation.” “A provost and corporation,” +returned Clem. And his readiness was much +admired.</p> + +<p>The fourth brother, Dand, was a shepherd to his trade, +and by starts, when he could bring his mind to it, excelled +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page222" id="page222"></a>222</span> +in the business. Nobody could train a dog like Dandie; +nobody, through the peril of great storms in the winter +time, could do more gallantly. But if his dexterity were +exquisite, his diligence was but fitful; and he served his +brother for bed and board, and a trifle of pocket-money +when he asked for it. He loved money well enough, knew +very well how to spend it, and could make a shrewd bargain +when he liked. But he preferred a vague knowledge +that he was well to windward to any counted coins in the +pocket; he felt himself richer so. Hob would expostulate: +“I’m an amature herd.” Dand would reply, “I’ll keep +your sheep to you when I’m so minded, but I’ll keep my +liberty too. Thir’s no man can coandescend on what I’m +worth.” Clem would expound to him the miraculous +results of compound interest, and recommend investments. +“Ay, man?” Dand would say; “and do you think, if I +took Hob’s siller, that I wouldna drink it or wear it on the +lassies? And, anyway, my kingdom is no of this world. +Either I’m a poet or else I’m nothing.” Clem would remind +him of old age. “I’ll die young, like Robbie Burns,” he +would say stoutly. No question but he had a certain accomplishment +in minor verse. His “Hermiston Burn,” with +its pretty refrain—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“I love to gang thinking whaur ye gang linking,</p> + <p class="i3">Hermiston burn, in the howe”;</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">his “Auld, auld Elliotts, clay-cauld Elliotts, dour, bauld +Elliotts of auld,” and his really fascinating piece about the +Praying Weaver’s Stone, had gained him in the neighbourhood +the reputation, still possible in Scotland, of a local +bard; and, though not printed himself, he was recognised +by others who were and who had become famous. Walter +Scott owed to Dandie the text of the “Raid of Wearie” in +the “Minstrelsy”; and made him welcome at his house, +and appreciated his talents, such as they were, with all his +usual generosity. The Ettrick Shepherd was his sworn +crony; they would meet, drink to excess, roar out their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223" id="page223"></a>223</span> +lyrics in each other’s faces, and quarrel and make it up again +till bedtime. And besides these recognitions, almost to be +called official, Dandie was made welcome for the sake +of his gift through the farmhouses of several contiguous +dales, and was thus exposed to manifold temptations which +he rather sought than fled. He had figured on the stool of +repentance, for once fulfilling to the letter the tradition of +his hero and model. His humorous verses to Mr. Torrance +on that occasion—“Kenspeckle here my lane I stand”—unfortunately +too indelicate for further citation, ran +through the country like a fiery cross; they were recited, +quoted, paraphrased, and laughed over as far away as Dumfries +on the one hand and Dunbar on the other.</p> + +<p>These four brothers were united by a close bond, the bond +of that mutual admiration—or rather mutual hero-worship—which +is so strong among the members of secluded +families who have much ability and little culture. Even +the extremes admired each other. Hob, who had as much +poetry as the tongs, professed to find pleasure in Dand’s +verses; Clem, who had no more religion than Claverhouse, +nourished a heartfelt, at least an open-mouthed, admiration +of Gib’s prayers; and Dandie followed with relish the rise +of Clem’s fortunes. Indulgence followed hard on the heels +of admiration. The laird, Clem, and Dand, who were +Tories and patriots of the hottest quality, excused to themselves, +with a certain bashfulness, the radical and revolutionary +heresies of Gib. By another division of the family, +the laird, Clem, and Gib, who were men exactly virtuous, +swallowed the dose of Dand’s irregularities as a kind of +clog or drawback in the mysterious providence of God affixed +to bards, and distinctly probative of poetical genius. To +appreciate the simplicity of their mutual admiration it was +necessary to hear Clem, arrived upon one of his visits, and +dealing in a spirit of continuous irony with the affairs +and personalities of that great city of Glasgow where he +lived and transacted business. The various personages, +ministers of the church, municipal officers, mercantile big-wigs, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224" id="page224"></a>224</span> +whom he had occasion to introduce, were all alike denigrated, +all served but as reflectors to cast back a flattering +side-light on the house of Cauldstaneslap. The Provost, for +whom Clem by exception entertained a measure of respect, +he would liken to Hob. “He minds me o’ the laird there,” +he would say. “He has some of Hob’s grand, whunstane +sense, and the same way with him of steiking his mouth +when he’s no very pleased.” And Hob, all unconscious, +would draw down his upper lip and produce, as if for comparison, +the formidable grimace referred to. The unsatisfactory +incumbent of St. Enoch’s Kirk was thus briefly dismissed: +“If he had but twa fingers o’ Gib’s, he would +waken them up.” And Gib, honest man! would look down +and secretly smile. Clem was a spy whom they had sent out +into the world of men. He had come back with the good +news that there was nobody to compare with the Four Black +Brothers, no position that they would not adorn, no official +that it would not be well they should replace, no interest of +mankind, secular or spiritual, which would not immediately +bloom under their supervision. The excuse of their folly +is in two words: scarce the breadth of a hair divided them +from the peasantry. The measure of their sense is this: +that these symposia of rustic vanity were kept entirely +within the family, like some secret ancestral practice. To +the world their serious faces were never deformed by the +suspicion of any simper of self-contentment. Yet it was +known. “They hae a guid pride o’ themsel’s!” was the +word in the country-side.</p> + +<p>Lastly, in a Border story, there should be added their +“two-names.” Hob was The Laird. “Roy ne puis, prince +ne daigne”; he was the laird of Cauldstaneslap—say fifty +acres—<i>ipsissimus</i>. Clement was Mr. Elliott, as upon his +door-plate, the earlier Dafty having been discarded as no +longer applicable, and indeed only a reminder of misjudgment +and the imbecility of the public; and the youngest, +in honour of his perpetual wanderings, was known by the +sobriquet of Randy Dand. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page225" id="page225"></a>225</span></p> + +<p>It will be understood that not all this information was +communicated by the aunt, who had too much of the family +failing herself to appreciate it thoroughly in others. But as +time went on, Archie began to observe an omission in the +family chronicle.</p> + +<p>“Is there not a girl too?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Ay: Kirstie. She was named for me, or my grandmother +at least—it’s the same thing,” returned the aunt, +and went on again about Dand, whom she secretly preferred +by reason of his gallantries.</p> + +<p>“But what is your niece like?” said Archie at the next +opportunity.</p> + +<p>“Her? As black’s your hat! But I dinna suppose she +would maybe be what you would ca’ <i>ill-looked</i> a’thegither. +Na, she’s a kind of a handsome jaud—a kind o’ gipsy,” said +the aunt, who had two sets of scales for men and women—or +perhaps it would be more fair to say that she had three, +and the third and the most loaded was for girls.</p> + +<p>“How comes it that I never see her in church?” said +Archie.</p> + +<p>“’Deed, and I believe she’s in Glesgie with Clem and +his wife. A heap good she’s like to get of it! I dinna say +for men folk, but where weemen folk are born, there let +them bide. Glory to God, I was never far’er from here +than Crossmichael.”</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile it began to strike Archie as strange, +that while she thus sang the praises of her kinsfolk, and +manifestly relished their virtues and (I may say) their vices +like a thing creditable to herself, there should appear not +the least sign of cordiality between the house of Hermiston +and that of Cauldstaneslap. Going to church of a Sunday, +as the lady housekeeper stepped with her skirts kilted, three +tucks of her white petticoat showing below, and her best +India shawl upon her back (if the day were fine) in a pattern +of radiant dyes, she would sometimes overtake her relatives +preceding her more leisurely in the same direction. Gib of +course was absent: by skreigh of day he had been gone to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page226" id="page226"></a>226</span> +Crossmichael and his fellow-heretics; but the rest of the +family would be seen marching in open order: Hob and +Dand, stiff-necked, straight-backed six-footers, with severe +dark faces, and their plaids about their shoulders; the +convoy of children scattering (in a state of high polish) on +the wayside, and every now and again collected by the shrill +summons of the mother; and the mother herself, by a +suggestive circumstance which might have afforded matter +of thought to a more experienced observer than Archie, +wrapped in a shawl nearly identical with Kirstie’s, but a +thought more gaudy and conspicuously newer. At the +sight, Kirstie grew more tall—Kirstie showed her classical +profile, nose in air and nostril spread, the pure blood came +in her cheek evenly in a delicate living pink.</p> + +<p>“A braw day to ye, Mistress Elliott,” said she, and +hostility and gentility were nicely mingled in her tones. +“A fine day, mem,” the laird’s wife would reply with a +miraculous curtsey, spreading the while her plumage—setting +off, in other words, and with arts unknown to the +mere man, the pattern of her India shawl. Behind her, the +whole Cauldstaneslap contingent marched in closer order, +and with an indescribable air of being in the presence of +the foe; and while Dandie saluted his aunt with a certain +familiarity as of one who was well in court, Hob marched on +in awful immobility. There appeared upon the face of +this attitude in the family the consequences of some dreadful +feud. Presumably the two women had been principals in +the original encounter, and the laird had probably been +drawn into the quarrel by the ears, too late to be included in +the present skin-deep reconciliation.</p> + +<p>“Kirstie,” said Archie one day, “what is this you have +against your family?”</p> + +<p>“I dinna complean,” said Kirstie, with a flush. “I +say naething.”</p> + +<p>“I see you do not—not even good-day to your own +nephew,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I hae naething to be ashamed of,” said she. “I can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page227" id="page227"></a>227</span> +say the Lord’s Prayer with a good grace. If Hob was ill, or +in preeson or poverty, I would see to him blithely. But for +curtchying and complimenting and colloguing, thank ye +kindly!”</p> + +<p>Archie had a bit of a smile: he leaned back in his chair. +“I think you and Mrs. Robert are not very good friends,” +says he slily, “when you have your India shawls on?”</p> + +<p>She looked upon him in silence, with a sparkling eye but +an indecipherable expression; and that was all that Archie +was ever destined to learn of the battle of the India shawls.</p> + +<p>“Do none of them ever come here to see you?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Archie,” said she, “I hope that I ken my place +better. It would be a queer thing, I think, if I was to +clamjamfry up your faither’s house—that I should say it!—wi’ +a dirty, black-a-vised clan, no ane o’ them it was worth +while to mar soap upon but just mysel’! Na, they’re all +damnifeed wi’ the black Ellwalds. I have nae patience wi’ +black folk.” Then, with a sudden consciousness of the case +of Archie, “No that it maitters for men sae muckle,” she +made haste to add, “but there’s naebody can deny that it’s +unwomanly. Long hair is the ornament o’ woman ony +way; we’ve good warrandise for that—it’s in the Bible—and +wha can doubt that the Apostle had some gowden-haired +lassie in his mind—Apostle and all, for what was he +but just a man like yersel’?”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page228" id="page228"></a>228</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<h5>A LEAF FROM CHRISTINA’S PSALM-BOOK</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Archie</span> was sedulous at church. Sunday after Sunday he +sat down and stood up with that small company, heard the +voice of Mr. Torrance leaping like an ill-played clarionet +from key to key, and had an opportunity to study his moth-eaten +gown and the black thread mittens that he joined together +in prayer, and lifted up with a reverent solemnity in +the act of benediction. Hermiston pew was a little square +box, dwarfish in proportion with the kirk itself, and enclosing +a table not much bigger than a footstool. There sat Archie, +an apparent prince, the only undeniable gentleman and the +only great heritor in the parish, taking his ease in the only +pew, for no other in the kirk had doors. Thence he might +command an undisturbed view of that congregation of solid +plaided men, strapping wives and daughters, oppressed +children, and uneasy sheep-dogs. It was strange how +Archie missed the look of race; except the dogs, with their +refined foxy faces and inimitably curling tails, there was no +one present with the least claim to gentility. The Cauldstaneslap +party was scarcely an exception; Dandie perhaps, +as he amused himself making verses through the interminable +burden of the service, stood out a little by the glow +in his eye and a certain superior animation of face and alertness +of body; but even Dandie slouched like a rustic. The +rest of the congregation, like so many sheep, oppressed him +with a sense of hob-nailed routine, day following day—of +physical labour in the open air, oatmeal porridge, peas bannock, +the somnolent fireside in the evening, and the night-long +nasal slumbers in a box-bed. Yet he knew many of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page229" id="page229"></a>229</span> +them to be shrewd and humorous, men of character, notable +women, making a bustle in the world and radiating an influence +from their low-browed doors. He knew besides +they were like other men; below the crust of custom, rapture +found a way; he had heard them beat the timbrel before +Bacchus—had heard them shout and carouse over their +whisky-toddy; and not the most Dutch-bottomed and severe +faces among them all, not even the solemn elders themselves, +but were capable of singular gambols at the voice of love. +Men drawing near to an end of life’s adventurous journey—maids +thrilling with fear and curiosity on the threshold of +entrance—women who had borne and perhaps buried +children, who could remember the clinging of the small dead +hands and the patter of the little feet now silent—he marvelled +that among all those faces there should be no face of +expectation, none that was mobile, none into which the +rhythm and poetry of life had entered. “O for a live face,” +he thought; and at times he had a memory of Lady Flora; +and at times he would study the living gallery before him +with despair, and would see himself go on to waste his days +in that joyless, pastoral place, and death come to him, and +his grave be dug under the rowans, and the Spirit of the +Earth laugh out in a thunder-peal at the huge fiasco.</p> + +<p>On this particular Sunday, there was no doubt but that +the spring had come at last. It was warm, with a latent +shiver in the air that made the warmth only the more welcome. +The shallows of the stream glittered and tinkled +among bunches of primrose. Vagrant scents of the earth +arrested Archie by the way with moments of ethereal intoxication. +The grey, Quakerish dale was still only awakened +in places and patches from the sobriety of its winter colouring; +and he wondered at its beauty; an essential beauty of +the old earth it seemed to him, not resident in particulars but +breathing to him from the whole. He surprised himself by a +sudden impulse to write poetry—he did so sometimes, loose, +galloping octosyllabics in the vein of Scott—and when he +had taken his place on a boulder, near some fairy falls and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page230" id="page230"></a>230</span> +shaded by a whip of a tree that was already radiant with new +leaves, it still more surprised him that he should find nothing +to write. His heart perhaps beat in time to some vast +indwelling rhythm of the universe. By the time he came +to a corner of the valley and could see the kirk, he had so +lingered by the way that the first psalm was finishing. +The nasal psalmody, full of turns and trills and graceless +graces, seemed the essential voice of the kirk itself upraised +in thanksgiving. “Everything’s alive,” he said; and +again cries it aloud, “thank God, everything’s alive!” He +lingered yet a while in the kirkyard. A tuft of primroses +was blooming hard by the leg of an old, black table +tombstone, and he stopped to contemplate the random +apologue. They stood forth on the cold earth with a trenchancy +of contrast; and he was struck with a sense of incompleteness +in the day, the season, and the beauty that +surrounded him—the chill there was in the warmth, the gross +black clods about the opening primroses, the damp earthy +smell that was everywhere intermingled with the scents. +The voice of the aged Torrance within rose in an ecstasy. +And he wondered if Torrance also felt in his old bones the +joyous influence of the spring morning; Torrance, or the +shadow of what once was Torrance, that must come so soon +to lie outside here in the sun and rain with all his +rheumatisms, while a new minister stood in his room and +thundered from his own familiar pulpit? The pity of it, +and something of the chill of the grave, shook him for a +moment as he made haste to enter.</p> + +<p>He went up the aisle reverently, and took his place in +the pew with lowered eyes, for he feared he had already +offended the kind old gentleman in the pulpit, and was +sedulous to offend no further. He could not follow the +prayer, not even the heads of it. Brightnesses of azure, +clouds of fragrance, a tinkle of falling water and singing birds, +rose like exhalations from some deeper, aboriginal memory, +that was not his, but belonged to the flesh on his bones. +His body remembered; and it seemed to him that his body +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page231" id="page231"></a>231</span> +was in no way gross, but ethereal and perishable like a strain +of music; and he felt for it an exquisite tenderness as for a +child, an innocent, full of beautiful instincts and destined to +an early death. And he felt for old Torrance—of the many +supplications, of the few days—a pity that was near to +tears. The prayer ended. Right over him was a tablet in +the wall, the only ornament in the roughly masoned chapel—for +it was no more; the tablet commemorated, I was +about to say the virtues, but rather the existence of a former +Rutherford of Hermiston; and Archie, under that trophy +of his long descent and local greatness, leaned back in the +pew and contemplated vacancy with the shadow of a smile +between playful and sad, that became him strangely. +Dandie’s sister, sitting by the side of Clem in her new +Glasgow finery, chose that moment to observe the young +laird. Aware of the stir of his entrance, the little formalist +had kept her eyes fastened and her face prettily composed +during the prayer. It was not hypocrisy, there was no one +further from a hypocrite. The girl had been taught to +behave: to look up, to look down, to look unconscious, to +look seriously impressed in church, and in every conjuncture +to look her best. That was the game of female life, and +she played it frankly. Archie was the one person in church +who was of interest, who was somebody new, reputed eccentric, +known to be young, and a laird, and still unseen by +Christina. Small wonder that, as she stood there in her attitude +of pretty decency, her mind should run upon him! If +he spared a glance in her direction, he should know she was +a well-behaved young lady who had been to Glasgow. In +reason he must admire her clothes, and it was possible that +he should think her pretty. At that her heart beat the +least thing in the world; and she proceeded, by way of a +corrective, to call up and dismiss a series of fancied pictures +of the young man who should now, by rights, be looking at +her. She settled on the plainest of them—a pink short +young man with a dish face and no figure, at whose admiration +she could afford to smile; but for all that, the consciousness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page232" id="page232"></a>232</span> +of his gaze (which was really fixed on Torrance +and his mittens) kept her in something of a flutter till the +word Amen. Even then, she was far too well-bred to gratify +her curiosity with any impatience. She resumed her seat +languidly—this was a Glasgow touch—she composed her +dress, rearranged her nosegay of primroses, looked first in +front, then behind upon the other side, and at last allowed +her eyes to move, without hurry, in the direction of the Hermiston +pew. For a moment they were riveted. Next she +had plucked her gaze home again like a tame bird who +should have meditated flight. Possibilities crowded on her; +she hung over the future and grew dizzy; the image of this +young man, slim, graceful, dark, with the inscrutable half-smile, +attracted and repelled her like a chasm. “I +wonder, will I have met my fate?” she thought, and her +heart swelled.</p> + +<p>Torrance was got some way into his first exposition, +positing a deep layer of texts as he went along, laying the +foundations of his discourse, which was to deal with a nice +point in divinity, before Archie suffered his eyes to wander. +They fell first of all on Clem, looking insupportably prosperous, +and patronising Torrance with the favour of a modified +attention, as of one who was used to better things in Glasgow. +Though he had never before set eyes on him, Archie had no +difficulty in identifying him, and no hesitation in pronouncing +him vulgar, the worst of the family. Clem was leaning +lazily forward when Archie first saw him. Presently he +leaned nonchalantly back; and that deadly instrument, the +maiden, was suddenly unmasked in profile. Though not +quite in the front of the fashion (had anybody cared!), +certain artful Glasgow mantua-makers, and her own inherent +taste, had arrayed her to great advantage. Her +accoutrement was, indeed, a cause of heart-burning, and +almost of scandal, in that infinitesimal kirk company. Mrs. +Hob had said her say at Cauldstaneslap. “Daftlike!” she +had pronounced it. “A jaiket that’ll no meet! Whaur’s +the sense of a jaiket that’ll no button upon you, if it should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page233" id="page233"></a>233</span> +come to be weet? What do ye ca’ thir things? Demmy +brokens, d’ye say? They’ll be brokens wi’ a vengeance or +ye can win back! Weel, I have naething to do wi’ it—it’s +no good taste.” Clem, whose purse had thus metamorphosed +his sister, and who was not insensible to the advertisement, +had come to the rescue with a “Hoot, woman! +What do you ken of good taste that has never been to the +ceety?” And Hob, looking on the girl with pleased smiles, +as she timidly displayed her finery in the midst of the dark +kitchen, had thus ended the dispute: “The cutty looks +weel,” he had said, “and it’s no very like rain. Wear them +the day, hizzie; but it’s no a thing to make a practice o’.” +In the breasts of her rivals, coming to the kirk very conscious +of white under-linen, and their faces splendid with +much soap, the sight of the toilet had raised a storm of varying +emotion, from the mere unenvious admiration that was +expressed in a long-drawn “Eh!” to the angrier feeling that +found vent in an emphatic “Set her up!” Her frock was of +straw-coloured jaconet muslin, cut low at the bosom and +short at the ankle, so as to display her <i>demi-broquins</i> of +Regency violet, crossing with many straps upon a yellow +cobweb stocking. According to the pretty fashion in +which our grandmothers did not hesitate to appear, and +our great-aunts went forth armed for the pursuit and +capture of our great-uncles, the dress was drawn up so as to +mould the contour of both breasts, and in the nook between, +a cairngorm brooch maintained it. Here, too, surely in a +very enviable position, trembled the nosegay of primroses. +She wore on her shoulders—or rather, on her back and not +her shoulders, which it scarcely passed—a French coat of +sarsenet, tied in front with Margate braces, and of the same +colour with her violet shoes. About her face clustered a +disorder of dark ringlets, a little garland of yellow French +roses surmounted her brow, and the whole was crowned by +a village hat of chipped straw. Amongst all the rosy and +all the weathered faces that surrounded her in church, she +glowed like an open flower—girl and raiment, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page234" id="page234"></a>234</span> +cairngorm that caught the daylight and returned it in a +fiery flash, and the threads of bronze and gold that played +in her hair.</p> + +<p>Archie was attracted by the bright thing like a child. +He looked at her again and yet again, and their looks +crossed. The lip was lifted from her little teeth. He saw +the red blood work vividly under her tawny skin. Her eye, +which was great as a stag’s, struck and held his gaze. He +knew who she must be—Kirstie, she of the harsh diminutive, +his housekeeper’s niece, the sister of the rustic prophet, +Gib—and he found in her the answer to his wishes.</p> + +<p>Christina felt the shock of their encountering glances, and +seemed to rise, clothed in smiles, into a region of the vague +and bright. But the gratification was not more exquisite +than it was brief. She looked away abruptly, and immediately +began to blame herself for that abruptness. She +knew what she should have done, too late—turned slowly +with her nose in the air. And meantime his look was not +removed, but continued to play upon her like a battery of +cannon constantly aimed, and now seemed to isolate her +alone with him, and now seemed to uplift her, as on a +pillory, before the congregation. For Archie continued to +drink her in with his eyes, even as a wayfarer comes to a +well-head on a mountain, and stoops his face, and drinks +with thirst unassuageable. In the cleft of her little breasts +the fiery eye of the topaz and the pale florets of primrose +fascinated him. He saw the breasts heave, and the flowers +shake with the heaving, and marvelled what should so much +discompose the girl. And Christina was conscious of his +gaze—saw it, perhaps, with the dainty plaything of an ear +that peeped among her ringlets; she was conscious of +changing colour, conscious of her unsteady breath. Like +a creature tracked, run down, surrounded, she sought in a +dozen ways to give herself a countenance. She used her +handkerchief—it was a really fine one—then she desisted +in a panic: “He would only think I was too warm.” She +took to reading in the metrical psalms, and then remembered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page235" id="page235"></a>235</span> +it was sermon-time. Last she put a “sugar-bool” +in her mouth, and the next moment repented of the step. +It was such a homely-like thing! Mr. Archie would never +be eating sweeties in kirk; and, with a palpable effort, +she swallowed it whole, and her colour flamed high. At +this signal of distress Archie awoke to a sense of his ill-behaviour. +What had he been doing? He had been exquisitely +rude in church to the niece of his housekeeper; +he had stared like a lackey and a libertine at a beautiful +and modest girl. It was possible, it was even likely, he +would be presented to her after service in the kirkyard, and +then how was he to look? And there was no excuse. He +had marked the tokens of her shame, of her increasing +indignation, and he was such a fool that he had not understood +them. Shame bowed him down, and he looked +resolutely at Mr. Torrance: who little supposed, good, +worthy man, as he continued to expound justification by +faith, what was his true business: to play the part of derivative +to a pair of children at the old game of falling in love.</p> + +<p>Christina was greatly relieved at first. It seemed to +her that she was clothed again. She looked back on what +had passed. All would have been right if she had not +blushed, a silly fool! There was nothing to blush at, if +she <i>had</i> taken a sugar-bool. Mrs. MacTaggart, the elder’s +wife in St. Enoch’s, took them often. And if he had looked +at her, what was more natural than that a young gentleman +should look at the best-dressed girl in church? And at the +same time, she knew far otherwise, she knew there was +nothing casual or ordinary in the look, and valued herself +on its memory like a decoration. Well, it was a blessing +he had found something else to look at! And presently +she began to have other thoughts. It was necessary, she +fancied, that she should put herself right by a repetition of +the incident, better managed. If the wish was father to +the thought, she did not know or she would not recognise it. +It was simply as a manœuvre of propriety, as something +called for to lessen the significance of what had gone before, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page236" id="page236"></a>236</span> +that she should a second time meet his eyes, and this time +without blushing. And at the memory of the blush, she +blushed again, and became one general blush burning from +head to foot. Was ever anything so indelicate, so forward, +done by a girl before? And here she was, making an exhibition +of herself before the congregation about nothing! +She stole a glance upon her neighbours, and behold! they +were steadily indifferent, and Clem had gone to sleep. +And still the one idea was becoming more and more potent +with her, that in common prudence she must look again +before the service ended. Something of the same sort was +going forward in the mind of Archie, as he struggled with +the load of penitence. So it chanced that, in the flutter of +the moment when the last psalm was given out, and Torrance +was reading the verse, and the leaves of every psalm-book +in church were rustling under busy fingers, two +stealthy glances were sent out like antennæ among the pews +and on the indifferent and absorbed occupants, and drew +timidly nearer to the straight line between Archie and +Christina. They met, they lingered together for the least +fraction of time, and that was enough. A charge as of +electricity passed through Christina, and behold! the leaf +of her psalm-book was torn across.</p> + +<p>Archie was outside by the gate of the graveyard, conversing +with Hob and the minister and shaking hands all +round with the scattering congregation, when Clem and +Christina were brought up to be presented. The laird took +off his hat and bowed to her with grace and respect. Christina +made her Glasgow curtsey to the laird, and went on +again up the road for Hermiston and Cauldstaneslap, walking +fast, breathing hurriedly with a heightened colour, and +in this strange frame of mind, that when she was alone she +seemed in high happiness, and when any one addressed her +she resented it like a contradiction. A part of the way she +had the company of some neighbour girls and a loutish +young man; never had they seemed so insipid, never had +she made herself so disagreeable. But these struck aside +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page237" id="page237"></a>237</span> +to their various destinations or were out-walked and left +behind; and when she had driven off with sharp words the +proffered convoy of some of her nephews and nieces, she +was free to go on alone up Hermiston brae, walking on air, +dwelling intoxicated among clouds of happiness. Near to +the summit she heard steps behind her, a man’s steps, light +and very rapid. She knew the foot at once and walked the +faster. “If it’s me he’s wanting, he can run for it,” she +thought, smiling.</p> + +<p>Archie overtook her like a man whose mind was made +up.</p> + +<p>“Miss Kirstie,” he began.</p> + +<p>“Miss Christina, if you please, Mr. Weir,” she interrupted. +“I canna bear the contraction.”</p> + +<p>“You forget it has a friendly sound for me. Your aunt +is an old friend of mine, and a very good one. I hope we +shall see much of you at Hermiston?”</p> + +<p>“My aunt and my sister-in-law doesna agree very well. +Not that I have much ado with it. But still when I’m +stopping in the house, if I was to be visiting my aunt, it +would not look considerate-like.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“I thank you kindly, Mr. Weir,” she said. “I whiles +think myself it’s a great peety.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I am sure your voice would always be for peace!” +he cried.</p> + +<p>“I wouldna be too sure of that,” she said. “I have +my days like other folk, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know, in our old kirk, among our good old grey +dames, you made an effect like sunshine.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but that would be my Glasgow clothes!”</p> + +<p>“I did not think I was so much under the influence of +pretty frocks.”</p> + +<p>She smiled with a half look at him. “There’s more +than you!” she said. “But you see I’m only Cinderella. +I’ll have to put all these things by in my trunk; next +Sunday I’ll be as grey as the rest. They’re Glasgow clothes, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page238" id="page238"></a>238</span> +you see, and it would never do to make a practice of it. It +would seem terrible conspicuous.”</p> + +<p>By that they were come to the place where their ways +severed. The old grey moors were all about them; in the +midst a few sheep wandered; and they could see on the one +hand the straggling caravan scaling the braes in front of +them for Cauldstaneslap, and on the other, the contingent +from Hermiston bending off and beginning to disappear by +detachments into the policy gate. It was in these circumstances +that they turned to say farewell, and deliberately +exchanged a glance as they shook hands. All passed as it +should, genteelly; and in Christina’s mind, as she mounted +the first steep ascent for Cauldstaneslap, a gratifying sense of +triumph prevailed over the recollection of minor lapses and +mistakes. She had kilted her gown, as she did usually at +that rugged pass; but when she spied Archie still standing +and gazing after her, the skirts came down again as if by +enchantment. Here was a piece of nicety for that upland +parish, where the matrons marched with their coats kilted +in the rain, and the lasses walked barefoot to kirk through +the dust of summer, and went bravely down by the burn-side, +and sat on stones to make a public toilet before entering! +It was perhaps an air wafted from Glasgow; or perhaps +it marked a stage of that dizziness of gratified vanity, +in which the instinctive act passed unperceived. He was +looking after! She unloaded her bosom of a prodigious +sigh that was all pleasure, and betook herself to run. When +she had overtaken the stragglers of her family, she caught +up the niece whom she had so recently repulsed, and kissed +and slapped her, and drove her away again, and ran after +her with pretty cries and laughter. Perhaps she thought +the laird might still be looking! But it chanced the little +scene came under the view of eyes less favourable; for she +overtook Mrs. Hob marching with Clem and Dand.</p> + +<p>“You’re shürely fey, lass!” quoth Dandie.</p> + +<p>“Think shame to yersel’, miss!” said the strident Mrs. +Hob. “Is this the gait to guide yersel’ on the way hame +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page239" id="page239"></a>239</span> +frae kirk? You’re shürely no sponsible the day! And +anyway I would mind my guid claes.”</p> + +<p>“Hoot!” said Christina, and went on before them, +head in air, treading the rough track with the tread of a +wild doe.</p> + +<p>She was in love with herself, her destiny, the air of the +hills, the benediction of the sun. All the way home, she +continued under the intoxication of these sky-scraping +spirits. At table she could talk freely of young Hermiston; +gave her opinion of him off-hand and with a loud voice, that +he was a handsome young gentleman, real well-mannered +and sensible-like, but it was a pity he looked doleful. Only—the +moment after—a memory of his eyes in church embarrassed +her. But for this inconsiderable check, all through +meal-time she had a good appetite, and she kept them +laughing at table, until Gib (who had returned before them +from Crossmichael and his separative worship) reproved +the whole of them for their levity.</p> + +<p>Singing “in to herself” as she went, her mind still in +the turmoil of a glad confusion, she rose and tripped upstairs +to a little loft, lighted by four panes in the gable, +where she slept with one of her nieces. The niece, who +followed her, presuming on “Auntie’s” high spirits, was +flounced out of the apartment with small ceremony, and +retired, smarting and half tearful, to bury her woes in the +byre among the hay. Still humming, Christina divested +herself of her finery, and put her treasures one by one in +her great green trunk. The last of these was the psalm-book; +it was a fine piece, the gift of Mistress Clem, in distinct +old-faced type, on paper that had begun to grow foxy +in the warehouse—not by service—and she was used to +wrap it in a handkerchief every Sunday after its period of +service was over, and bury it end-wise at the head of her +trunk. As she now took it in hand the book fell open where +the leaf was torn, and she stood and gazed upon that evidence +of her bygone discomposure. There returned again +the vision of the two brown eyes staring at her, intent and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page240" id="page240"></a>240</span> +bright, out of that dark corner of the kirk. The whole +appearance and attitude, the smile, the suggested gesture +of young Hermiston came before her in a flash at the sight +of the torn page. “I was surely fey!” she said, echoing +the words of Dandie, and at the suggested doom her high +spirits deserted her. She flung herself prone upon the bed, +and lay there, holding the psalm-book in her hands for +hours, for the more part in a mere stupor of unconsenting +pleasure and unreasoning fear. The fear was superstitious; +there came up again and again in her memory Dandie’s ill-omened +words, and a hundred grisly and black tales out of +the immediate neighbourhood read her a commentary on +their force. The pleasure was never realised. You might +say the joints of her body thought and remembered, and +were gladdened, but her essential self, in the immediate +theatre of consciousness, talked feverishly of something +else, like a nervous person at a fire. The image that she +most complacently dwelt on was that of Miss Christina in +her character of the Fair Lass of Cauldstaneslap, carrying +all before her in the straw-coloured frock, the violet mantle, +and the yellow cobweb stockings. Archie’s image, on the +other hand, when it presented itself was never welcomed—far +less welcomed with any ardour, and it was exposed at +times to merciless criticism. In the long vague dialogues +she held in her mind, often with imaginary, often with unrealised +interlocutors, Archie, if he were referred to at all, +came in for savage handling. He was described as “looking +like a stirk,” “staring like a caulf,” “a face like a +ghaist’s.” “Do you call that manners?” she said; or, +“I soon put him in his place.” “‘<i>Miss Christina, if you +please, Mr. Weir!</i>’ says I, and just flyped up my skirt tails.” +With gabble like this she would entertain herself long +whiles together, and then her eye would perhaps fall on the +torn leaf, and the eyes of Archie would appear again from +the darkness of the wall, and the voluble words deserted +her, and she would lie still and stupid, and think upon +nothing with devotion, and be sometimes raised by a quiet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page241" id="page241"></a>241</span> +sigh. Had a doctor of medicine come into that loft, he +would have diagnosed a healthy, well-developed, eminently +vivacious lass lying on her face in a fit of the sulks; not one +who had just contracted, or was just contracting, a mortal +sickness of the mind which should yet carry her towards +death and despair. Had it been a doctor of psychology, +he might have been pardoned for divining in the girl a +passion of childish vanity, self-love <i>in excelsis</i>, and no more. +It is to be understood that I have been painting chaos and +describing the inarticulate. Every lineament that appears +is too precise, almost every word used too strong. Take a +finger-post in the mountains on a day of rolling mists; I +have but copied the names that appear upon the pointers, +the names of definite and famous cities far distant, and now +perhaps basking in sunshine; but Christina remained all +these hours, as it were, at the foot of the post itself, not +moving, and enveloped in mutable and blinding wreaths of +haze.</p> + +<p>The day was growing late and the sunbeams long and +level, when she sat suddenly up, and wrapped in its handkerchief +and put by that psalm-book which had already +played a part so decisive in the first chapter of her love-story. +In the absence of the mesmerist’s eye, we are told +nowadays that the head of a bright nail may fill his place, +if it be steadfastly regarded. So that torn page had riveted +her attention on what might else have been but little, and +perhaps soon forgotten; while the ominous words of Dandie—heard, +not heeded, and still remembered—had lent to her +thoughts, or rather to her mood, a cast of solemnity, and +that idea of Fate—a pagan Fate, uncontrolled by any +Christian deity, obscure, lawless, and august—moving +undissuadably in the affairs of Christian men. Thus even +that phenomenon of love at first sight, which is so rare and +seems so simple and violent, like a disruption of life’s tissue, +may be decomposed into a sequence of accidents happily +concurring.</p> + +<p>She put on a grey frock and a pink kerchief, looked at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242" id="page242"></a>242</span> +herself a moment with approval in the small square of glass +that served her for a toilet mirror, and went softly downstairs +through the sleeping house that resounded with the +sound of afternoon snoring. Just outside the door, Dandie +was sitting with a book in his hand, not reading, only +honouring the Sabbath by a sacred vacancy of mind. She +came near him and stood still.</p> + +<p>“I’m for off up the muirs, Dandie,” she said.</p> + +<p>There was something unusually soft in her tones that +made him look up. She was pale, her eyes dark and bright; +no trace remained of the levity of the morning.</p> + +<p>“Ay, lass? Ye’ll have yer ups and downs like me, I’m +thinkin’,” he observed.</p> + +<p>“What for do ye say that?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“O, for naething,” says Dand. “Only I think ye’re +mair like me than the lave of them. Ye’ve mair of the +poetic temper, tho’ Guid kens little enough of the poetic +taalent. It’s an ill gift at the best. Look at yoursel’. At +denner you were all sunshine and flowers and laughter, +and now you’re like the star of evening on a lake.”</p> + +<p>She drank in this hackneyed compliment like wine, and +it glowed in her veins.</p> + +<p>“But I’m saying, Dand”—she came nearer him—“I’m +for the muirs. I must have a braith of air. If Clem +was to be speiring for me, try and quaiet him, will ye no?”</p> + +<p>“What way?” said Dandie. “I ken but the ae way, +and that’s leein’. I’ll say ye had a sair heed, if ye like.”</p> + +<p>“But I havena,” she objected.</p> + +<p>“I daursay no,” he returned. “I said I would say ye +had; and if ye like to nay-say me when ye come back, it’ll +no mateerially maitter, for my chara’ter’s clean gane a’ready +past reca’.”</p> + +<p>“O, Dand, are ye a leear?” she asked, lingering.</p> + +<p>“Folks say sae,” replied the bard.</p> + +<p>“Wha says sae?” she pursued.</p> + +<p>“Them that should ken the best,” he responded. “The +lassies, for ane.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243" id="page243"></a>243</span></p> + +<p>“But, Dand, you would never lee to me?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I’ll leave that for your pairt of it, ye girzie,” said he. +“Ye’ll lee to me fast eneuch, when ye hae gotten a jo. +I’m tellin’ ye and it’s true; when you have a jo, Miss Kirstie, +it’ll be for guid and ill. I ken: I was made that way mysel’, +but the deil was in my luck! Here, gang awa’ wi’ ye +to your muirs, and let me be; I’m in an hour of inspiraution, +ye upsetting tawpie!”</p> + +<p>But she clung to her brother’s neighbourhood, she knew +not why.</p> + +<p>“Will ye no gie’s a kiss, Dand?” she said. “I aye likit +ye fine.”</p> + +<p>He kissed her and considered her a moment; he found +something strange in her. But he was a libertine through +and through, nourished equal contempt and suspicion of all +womankind, and paid his way among them habitually with +idle compliments.</p> + +<p>“Gae wa’ wi’ ye!” said he. “Ye’re a dentie baby, and +be content wi’ that!”</p> + +<p>That was Dandie’s way; a kiss and a comfit to Jenny—a +bawbee and my blessing to Jill—and good-night to the +whole clan of ye, my dears! When anything approached +the serious, it became a matter for men, he both thought +and said. Women, when they did not absorb, were only +children to be shoo’d away. Merely in his character of +connoisseur, however, Dandle glanced carelessly after his +sister as she crossed the meadow. “The brat’s no that +bad!” he thought with surprise, for though he had just been +paying her compliments, he had not really looked at her. +“Hey! what’s yon?” For the grey dress was cut with +short sleeves and skirts, and displayed her trim strong legs +clad in pink stockings of the same shade as the kerchief +she wore round her shoulders, and that shimmered as she +went. This was not her way in undress; he knew her ways +and the ways of the whole sex in the country-side, no one +better; when they did not go barefoot, they wore stout +“rig and furrow” woollen hose of an invisible blue mostly, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page244" id="page244"></a>244</span> +when they were not black outright; and Dandie, at sight +of this daintiness, put two and two together. It was a silk +handkerchief, then they would be silken hose; they matched—then +the whole outfit was a present of Clem’s, a costly +present, and not something to be worn through bog and +briar, or on a late afternoon of Sunday. He whistled. +“My denty May, either your heid’s fair turned, or there’s +some ongoings!” he observed, and dismissed the subject.</p> + +<p>She went slowly at first, but ever straighter and faster +for the Cauldstaneslap, a pass among the hills to which the +farm owed its name. The Slap opened like a doorway between +two rounded hillocks; and through this ran the short +cut to Hermiston. Immediately on the other side it went +down through the Deil’s Hags, a considerable marshy hollow +of the hill tops, full of springs, and crouching junipers, and +pools where the black peat-water slumbered. There was +no view from here. A man might have sat upon the Praying +Weaver’s Stone a half-century, and seen none but the +Cauldstaneslap children twice in the twenty-four hours +on their way to the school and back again, an occasional +shepherd, the irruption of a clan of sheep, or the birds who +haunted about the springs, drinking and shrilly piping. +So, when she had once passed the Slap, Kirstie was received +into seclusion. She looked back a last time at the farm. +It still lay deserted except for the figure of Dandie, who +was now seen to be scribbling in his lap, the hour of expected +inspiration having come to him at last. Thence +she passed rapidly through the morass, and came to the +farther end of it, where a sluggish burn discharges, and the +path for Hermiston accompanies it on the beginning of its +downward way. From this corner a wide view was opened +to her of the whole stretch of braes upon the other side, +still sallow and in places rusty with the winter, with the +path marked boldly, here and there by the burn-side a tuft +of birches, and—two miles off as the crow flies—from its +enclosures and young plantations, the windows of Hermiston +glittering in the western sun. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page245" id="page245"></a>245</span></p> + +<p>Here she sat down and waited, and looked for a long +time at these far-away bright panes of glass. It amused +her to have so extended a view, she thought. It amused +her to see the house of Hermiston—to see “folk”; and +there was an indistinguishable human unit, perhaps the +gardener, visibly sauntering on the gravel paths.</p> + +<p>By the time the sun was down and all the easterly braes +lay plunged in clear shadow, she was aware of another +figure coming up the path at a most unequal rate of approach, +now half running, now pausing and seeming to +hesitate. She watched him at first with a total suspension +of thought. She held her thought as a person holds his breathing. +Then she consented to recognise him. “He’ll no be +coming here, he canna be; it’s no possible.” And there +began to grow upon her a subdued choking suspense. He +<i>was</i> coming; his hesitations had quite ceased, his step grew +firm and swift; no doubt remained; and the question +loomed up before her instant: what was she to do? It was +all very well to say that her brother was a laird himself; it +was all very well to speak of casual intermarriages and to +count cousinship, like Auntie Kirstie. The difference in +their social station was trenchant; propriety, prudence, +all that she had ever learned, all that she knew, bade her +flee. But on the other hand the cup of life now offered to +her was too enchanting. For one moment, she saw the +question clearly, and definitely made her choice. She +stood up and showed herself an instant in the gap relieved +upon the sky line; and the next, fled trembling and +sat down glowing with excitement on the Weaver’s Stone. +She shut her eyes, seeking, praying for composure. Her +hand shook in her lap, and her mind was full of incongruous +and futile speeches. What was there to make a work about? +She could take care of herself, she supposed! There was no +harm in seeing the laird. It was the best thing that could +happen. She would mark a proper distance to him once +and for all. Gradually the wheels of her nature ceased to +go round so madly, and she sat in passive expectation, a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246" id="page246"></a>246</span> +quiet, solitary figure in the midst of the grey moss. I have +said she was no hypocrite, but here I am at fault. She +never admitted to herself that she had come up the hill to +look for Archie. And perhaps after all she did not know, +perhaps came as a stone falls. For the steps of love in the +young, and especially in girls, are instinctive and unconscious.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Archie was drawing rapidly near, and +he at least was consciously seeking her neighbourhood. +The afternoon had turned to ashes in his mouth; the memory +of the girl had kept him from reading and drawn him as +with cords; and at last, as the cool of the evening began +to come on, he had taken his hat and set forth, with a +smothered ejaculation, by the moor path to Cauldstaneslap. +He had no hope to find her, he took the off chance without +expectation of result and to relieve his uneasiness. The +greater was his surprise, as he surmounted the slope and +came into the hollow of the Deil’s Hags, to see there, like +an answer to his wishes, the little womanly figure in the grey +dress and the pink kerchief sitting little, and low, and lost, +and acutely solitary, in these desolate surroundings and on +the weather-beaten stone of the dead weaver. Those things +that still smacked of winter were all rusty about her, and +those things that already relished of the spring had put +forth the tender and lively colours of the season. Even in +the unchanging face of the death-stone, changes were to be +remarked; and in the channeled lettering, the moss began +to renew itself in jewels of green. By an afterthought that +was a stroke of art, she had turned up over her head the back +of the kerchief; so that it now framed becomingly her +vivacious and yet pensive face. Her feet were gathered +under her on the one side, and she leaned on her bare arm, +which showed out strong and round, tapered to a slim wrist, +and shimmered in the fading light.</p> + +<p>Young Hermiston was struck with a certain chill. He +was reminded that he now dealt in serious matters of life +and death. This was a grown woman he was approaching, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247" id="page247"></a>247</span> +endowed with her mysterious potencies and attractions, +the treasury of the continued race, and he was neither better +nor worse than the average of his sex and age. He had a +certain delicacy which had preserved him hitherto unspotted, +and which (had either of them guessed it) made him a more +dangerous companion when his heart should be really +stirred. His throat was dry as he came near; but the +appealing sweetness of her smile stood between them like +a guardian angel.</p> + +<p>For she turned to him and smiled, though without +rising. There was a shade in this cavalier greeting that +neither of them perceived; neither he, who simply thought +it gracious and charming as herself; nor yet she, who did +not observe (quick as she was) the difference between rising +to meet the laird, and remaining seated to receive the expected +admirer.</p> + +<p>“Are ye stepping west, Hermiston?” said she, giving +him his territorial name after the fashion of the countryside.</p> + +<p>“I was,” said he, a little hoarsely, “but I think I will +be about the end of my stroll now. Are you like me, Miss +Christina? The house would not hold me. I came here +seeking air.”</p> + +<p>He took his seat at the other end of the tombstone and +studied her, wondering what was she. There was infinite +import in the question alike for her and him.</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said she. “I couldna bear the roof either. It’s +a habit of mine to come up here about the gloaming when +it’s quaiet and caller.”</p> + +<p>“It was a habit of my mother’s also,” he said gravely. +The recollection half startled him as he expressed it. He +looked around. “I have scarce been here since. It’s +peaceful,” he said, with a long breath.</p> + +<p>“It’s no like Glasgow,” she replied. “A weary place, +yon Glasgow! But what a day have I had for my hame-coming, +and what a bonny evening!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, it was a wonderful day,” said Archie. “I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248" id="page248"></a>248</span> +think I will remember it years and years until I come to +die. On days like this—I do not know if you feel as I do—but +everything appears so brief, and fragile, and exquisite, +that I am afraid to touch life. We are here for so short a +time; and all the old people before us—Rutherfords of +Hermiston, Elliotts of the Cauldstaneslap—that were here +but a while since riding about and keeping up a great noise +in this quiet corner—making love too, and marrying—why, +where are they now? It’s deadly commonplace, but, after +all, the commonplaces are the great poetic truths.”</p> + +<p>He was sounding her, semi-consciously, to see if she +could understand him; to learn if she were only an animal +the colour of flowers, or had a soul in her to keep her sweet. +She, on her part, her means well in hand, watched, woman-like, +for any opportunity to shine, to abound in his humour, +whatever that might be. The dramatic artist, that lies +dormant or only half awake in most human beings, had in +her sprung to his feet in a divine fury, and chance had +served her well. She looked upon him with a subdued +twilight look that became the hour of the day and the train +of thought; earnestness shone through her like stars in the +purple west; and from the great but controlled upheaval +of her whole nature there passed into her voice, and ran +in her lightest words, a thrill of emotion.</p> + +<p>“Have you mind of Dand’s song?” she answered. “I +think he’ll have been trying to say what you have been +thinking.”</p> + +<p>“No, I never heard it,” he said. “Repeat it to me, can +you?”</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing wanting the tune,” said Kirstie.</p> + +<p>“Then sing it me,” said he.</p> + +<p>“On the Lord’s Day? That would never do, Mr. +Weir!”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I am not so strict a keeper of the Sabbath, +and there is no one in this place to hear us unless the poor +old ancient under the stone.”</p> + +<p>“No that I’m thinking that really,” she said. “By +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249" id="page249"></a>249</span> +my way of thinking, it’s just as serious as a psalm. Will +I sooth it to ye, then?”</p> + +<p>“If you please,” said he, and, drawing near to her on +the tombstone, prepared to listen.</p> + +<p>She sat up as if to sing. “I’ll only can sooth it to ye,” +she explained. “I wouldna like to sing out loud on the +Sabbath. I think the birds would carry news of it to +Gilbert,” and she smiled. “It’s about the Elliotts,” she +continued, “and I think there’s few bonnier bits in the +book-poets, though Dand has never got printed yet.”</p> + +<p>And she began, in the low, clear tones of her half voice, +now sinking almost to a whisper, now rising to a particular +note which was her best, and which Archie learned to wait +for with growing emotion:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + + <p class="i05">“O they rade in the rain, in the days that are gane,</p> + <p class="i2">In the rain and the wind and the lave,</p> + <p class="i1">They shoutit in the ha’ and they routit on the hill,</p> + <p class="i2">But they’re a’ quaitit noo in the grave.</p> +<p>Auld, auld Elliotts, clay-cauld Elliotts, dour, bauld Elliotts of auld!”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>All the time she sang she looked steadfastly before her, +her knees straight, her hands upon her knee, head cast back +and up. The expression was admirable throughout, for +had she not learned it from the lips and under the criticism +of the author? When it was done, she turned upon Archie +a face softly bright, and eyes gently suffused and shining +in the twilight, and his heart rose and went out to her with +boundless pity and sympathy. His question was answered. +She was a human being tuned to a sense of the tragedy of +life; there were pathos and music and a great heart in +the girl.</p> + +<p>He arose instinctively, she also; for she saw she had +gained a point, and scored the impression deeper, and she +had wit enough left to flee upon a victory. They were but +commonplaces that remained to be exchanged, but the low, +moved voices in which they passed made them sacred in +the memory. In the falling greyness of the evening he +watched her figure winding through the morass, saw it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page250" id="page250"></a>250</span> +turn a last time and wave a hand, and then pass through +the Slap; and it seemed to him as if something went along +with her out of the deepest of his heart. And something +surely had come, and come to dwell there. He had retained +from childhood a picture, now half obliterated by the +passage of time and the multitude of fresh impressions, +of his mother telling him, with the fluttered earnestness of +her voice, and often with dropping tears, the tale of the +“Praying Weaver,” on the very scene of his brief tragedy +and long repose. And now there was a companion piece; +and he beheld, and he should behold for ever, Christina +perched on the same tomb, in the grey colours of the evening, +gracious, dainty, perfect as a flower, and she also +singing—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Of old, unhappy far off things,</p> +<p class="i05">And battles long ago,”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">of their common ancestors now dead, of their rude wars +composed, their weapons buried with them, and of these +strange changelings, their descendants, who lingered a little +in their places, and would soon be gone also, and perhaps +sung of by others at the gloaming hour. By one of the unconscious +arts of tenderness the two women were enshrined +together in his memory. Tears, in that hour of sensibility, +came into his eyes indifferently at the thought of either; +and the girl, from being something merely bright and +shapely, was caught up into the zone of things serious as +life and death and his dead mother. So that in all ways +and on either side, Fate played his game artfully with this +poor pair of children. The generations were prepared, +the pangs were made ready, before the curtain rose on the +dark drama.</p> + +<p>In the same moment of time that she disappeared from +Archie, there opened before Kirstie’s eyes the cup-like +hollow in which the farm lay. She saw, some five hundred +feet below her, the house making itself bright with candles, +and this was a broad hint to her to hurry. For they were +only kindled on a Sabbath night with a view to that family +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251" id="page251"></a>251</span> +worship which rounded in the incomparable tedium of the +day and brought on the relaxation of supper. Already +she knew that Robert must be withinsides at the head of +the table, “waling the portions”; for it was Robert in his +quality of family priest and judge, not the gifted Gilbert, +who officiated. She made good time accordingly down +the steep ascent, and came up to the door panting as the +three younger brothers, all roused at last from slumber, +stood together in the cool and the dark of the evening +with a fry of nephews and nieces about them, chatting and +awaiting the expected signal. She stood back; she had +no mind to direct attention to her late arrival or to her +labouring breath.</p> + +<p>“Kirstie, ye have shaved it this time, my lass,” said +Clem. “Whaur were ye?”</p> + +<p>“O, just taking a dander by mysel’,” said Kirstie.</p> + +<p>And the talk continued on the subject of the American +War, without further reference to the truant who stood +by them in the covert of the dusk, thrilling with happiness +and the sense of guilt.</p> + +<p>The signal was given, and the brothers began to go in +one after another, amid the jostle and throng of Hob’s +children.</p> + +<p>Only Dandie, waiting till the last, caught Kirstie by +the arm. “When did ye begin to dander in pink hosen, +Mistress Elliott?” he whispered slily.</p> + +<p>She looked down; she was one blush. “I maun have +forgotten to change them,” said she; and went in to prayers +in her turn with a troubled mind, between anxiety as to +whether Dand should have observed her yellow stockings +at church, and should thus detect her in a palpable falsehood, +and shame that she had already made good his prophecy. +She remembered the words of it, how it was to be +when she had gotten a jo, and that that would be for good +and evil. “Will I have gotten my jo now?” she thought +with a secret rapture.</p> + +<p>And all through prayers, where it was her principal +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252" id="page252"></a>252</span> +business to conceal the pink stockings from the eyes of the +indifferent Mrs. Hob—and all through supper, as she made +a feint of eating and sat at the table radiant and constrained—and +again when she had left them and come into her +chamber, and was alone with her sleeping niece, and could +at last lay aside the armour of society—the same words +sounded within her, the same profound note of happiness, +of a world all changed and renewed, of a day that had been +passed in Paradise, and of a night that was to be heaven +opened. All night she seemed to be conveyed smoothly +upon a shallow stream of sleep and waking, and through the +bowers of Beulah; all night she cherished to her heart that +exquisite hope; and if, towards morning, she forgot it a +while in a more profound unconsciousness, it was to catch +again the rainbow thought with her first moment of awaking.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page253" id="page253"></a>253</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<h5>ENTER MEPHISTOPHELES</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Two</span> days later a gig from Crossmichael deposited Frank +Innes at the doors of Hermiston. Once in a way, during +the past winter, Archie, in some acute phase of boredom, +had written him a letter. It had contained something in +the nature of an invitation, or a reference to an invitation—precisely +what, neither of them now remembered. When +Innes had received it, there had been nothing further from +his mind than to bury himself in the moors with Archie; +but not even the most acute political heads are guided +through the steps of life with unerring directness. That +would require a gift of prophecy which has been denied to +man. For instance, who could have imagined that, not +a month after he had received the letter, and turned it into +mockery, and put off answering it, and in the end lost it, +misfortunes of a gloomy cast should begin to thicken over +Frank’s career? His case may be briefly stated. His father, +a small Morayshire laird with a large family, became recalcitrant +and cut off the supplies; he had fitted himself +out with the beginnings of quite a good law library, which, +upon some sudden losses on the turf, he had been obliged +to sell before they were paid for; and his bookseller, hearing +some rumour of the event, took out a warrant for his arrest. +Innes had early word of it, and was able to take precautions. +In this immediate welter of his affairs, with an unpleasant +charge hanging over him, he had judged it the part of prudence +to be off instantly, had written a fervid letter to his +father at Inverauld, and put himself in the coach for Crossmichael. +Any port in a storm! He was manfully turning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254" id="page254"></a>254</span> +his back on the Parliament House and its gay babble, on +porter and oysters, the racecourse and the ring; and manfully +prepared, until these clouds should have blown by, +to share a living grave with Archie Weir at Hermiston.</p> + +<p>To do him justice, he was no less surprised to be going +than Archie was to see him come; and he carried off his +wonder with an infinitely better grace.</p> + +<p>“Well, here I am!” said he, as he alighted. “Pylades +has come to Orestes at last. By the way, did you get my +answer? No? How very provoking! Well, here I am +to answer for myself, and that’s better still.”</p> + +<p>“I am very glad to see you, of course,” said Archie. +“I make you heartily welcome, of course. But you surely +have not come to stay, with the Courts still sitting; is that +not most unwise?”</p> + +<p>“Damn the Courts!” says Frank. “What are the +Courts to friendship and a little fishing?”</p> + +<p>And so it was agreed that he was to stay, with no term +to the visit but the term which he had privily set to it himself—the +day, namely, when his father should have come +down with the dust, and he should be able to pacify the +bookseller. On such vague conditions there began for these +two young men (who were not even friends) a life of great +familiarity and, as the days drew on, less and less intimacy. +They were together at meal-times, together o’ nights when +the hour had come for whisky-toddy; but it might have +been noticed (had there been any one to pay heed) that they +were rarely so much together by day. Archie had Hermiston +to attend to, multifarious activities in the hills, in +which he did not require, and had even refused, Frank’s +escort. He would be off sometimes in the morning and +leave only a note on the breakfast-table to announce the +fact; and sometimes with no notice at all, he would not +return for dinner until the hour was long past. Innes +groaned under these desertions; it required all his philosophy +to sit down to a solitary breakfast with composure +and all his unaffected good-nature to be able to greet Archie +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255" id="page255"></a>255</span> +with friendliness on the more rare occasions when he came +home late for dinner.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what on earth he finds to do, Mrs. Elliott?” +said he one morning, after he had just read the hasty billet +and sat down to table.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it will be business, sir,” replied the housekeeper +drily, measuring his distance off to him by an indicated +curtsey.</p> + +<p>“But I can’t imagine what business!” he reiterated.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it will be <i>his</i> business,” retorted the austere +Kirstie.</p> + +<p>He turned to her with that happy brightness that made +the charm of his disposition, and broke into a peal of healthy +and natural laughter.</p> + +<p>“Well played, Mrs. Elliott!” he cried; and the housekeeper’s +face relaxed into the shadow of an iron smile. +“Well played indeed!” said he. “But you must not be +making a stranger of me like that. Why, Archie and I were +at the High School together, and we’ve been to College together, +and we were going to the Bar together, when—you +know! Dear, dear me! what a pity that was! A life +spoiled, a fine young fellow as good as buried here in the +wilderness with rustics; and all for what? A frolic, silly, +if you like, but no more. God, how good your scones are, +Mrs. Elliott!”</p> + +<p>“They’re no mines, it was the lassie made them,” said +Kirstie; “and, saving your presence, there’s little sense +in taking the Lord’s name in vain about idle vivers that you +fill your kyte wi’.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay you’re perfectly right, ma’am,” quoth the +imperturbable Frank. “But as I was saying, this is a pitiable +business, this about poor Archie; and you and I might +do worse than put our heads together, like a couple of +sensible people, and bring it to an end. Let me tell you, +ma’am, that Archie is really quite a promising young man, +and in my opinion he would do well at the Bar. As for his +father, no one can deny his ability, and I don’t fancy any +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256" id="page256"></a>256</span> +one would care to deny that he has the deil’s own +temper——”</p> + +<p>“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Innes, I think the lass is crying +on me,” said Kirstie, and flounced from the room.</p> + +<p>“The damned, cross-grained, old broom-stick!” ejaculated +Innes.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Kirstie had escaped into the kitchen, +and before her vassal gave vent to her feelings.</p> + +<p>“Here, ettercap! Ye’ll have to wait on yon Innes! +I canna hand myself in. ‘Puir Erchie!’ I’d ‘puir +Erchie’ him, if I had my way! And Hermiston with the +deil’s ain temper! God, let him take Hermiston’s scones +out of his mouth first. There’s no a hair on ayther o’ the +Weirs that hasna mair spunk and dirdum to it than what +he has in his hale dwaibly body! Settin’ up his snash to +me! Let him gang to the black toon where he’s mebbe +wantit—birling on a curricle—wi’ pimatum on his heid—making +a mess o’ himsel’ wi’ nesty hizzies—a fair disgrace!” +It was impossible to hear without admiration Kirstie’s +graduated disgust, as she brought forth, one after another, +these somewhat baseless charges. Then she remembered +her immediate purpose, and turned again on her fascinated +auditor. “Do ye no hear me, tawpie? Do ye no hear +what I’m tellin’ ye? Will I have to shoo ye into him? If +I come to attend to ye, mistress!” And the maid fled +the kitchen, which had become practically dangerous, to +attend on Innes’s wants in the front parlour.</p> + +<p><i>Tantaene irae</i>? Has the reader perceived the reason? +Since Frank’s coming there were no more hours of gossip +over the supper-tray! All his blandishments were in vain; +he had started handicapped on the race for Mrs. Elliott’s +favour.</p> + +<p>But it was a strange thing how misfortune dogged +him in his efforts to be genial. I must guard the reader +against accepting Kirstie’s epithets as evidence; she was +more concerned for their vigour than for their accuracy. +Dwaibly, for instance; nothing could be more calumnious. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257" id="page257"></a>257</span> +Frank was the very picture of good looks, good humour, +and manly youth. He had bright eyes with a sparkle and +a dance to them, curly hair, a charming smile, brilliant +teeth, an admirable carriage of the head, the look of a gentleman, +the address of one accustomed to please at first sight +and to improve the impression. And with all these advantages, +he failed with every one about Hermiston; with the +silent shepherd, with the obsequious grieve, with the groom +who was also the ploughman, with the gardener and the +gardener’s sister—a pious, down-hearted woman with a +shawl over her ears—he failed equally and flatly. They +did not like him, and they showed it. The little maid, +indeed, was an exception; she admired him devoutly, probably +dreamed of him in her private hours; but she was +accustomed to play the part of silent auditor to Kirstie’s +tirades and silent recipient of Kirstie’s buffets, and she had +learned not only to be a very capable girl of her years, but +a very secret and prudent one besides. Frank was thus +conscious that he had one ally and sympathiser in the midst +of that general union of disfavour that surrounded, watched, +and waited on him in the house of Hermiston; but he had +little comfort or society from that alliance, and the demure +little maid (twelve on her last birthday) preserved her own +counsel, and tripped on his service, brisk, dumbly responsive, +but inexorably unconversational. For the others, they +were beyond hope and beyond endurance. Never had a +young Apollo been cast among such rustic barbarians. But +perhaps the cause of his ill-success lay in one trait which +was habitual and unconscious with him, yet diagnostic +of the man. It was his practice to approach any one +person at the expense of some one else. He offered you +an alliance against the some one else; he flattered you by +slighting him; you were drawn into a small intrigue against +him before you knew how. Wonderful are the virtues of +this process generally; but Frank’s mistake was in the choice +of the some one else. He was not politic in that; he listened +to the voice of irritation. Archie had offended him at first +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page258" id="page258"></a>258</span> +by what he had felt to be rather a dry reception, had +offended him since by his frequent absences. He was +besides the one figure continually present in Frank’s eye; +and it was to his immediate dependants that Frank could +offer the snare of his sympathy. Now the truth is that the +Weirs, father and son, were surrounded by a posse of strenuous +loyalists. Of my lord they were vastly proud. It was +a distinction in itself to be one of the vassals of the “Hanging +Judge,” and his gross, formidable joviality was far from +unpopular in the neighbourhood of his home. For Archie +they had, one and all, a sensitive affection and respect +which recoiled from a word of belittlement.</p> + +<p>Nor was Frank more successful when he went farther +afield. To the Four Black Brothers, for instance, he was +antipathetic in the highest degree. Hob thought him too +light, Gib too profane. Clem, who saw him but for a day +or two before he went to Glasgow, wanted to know what +the fule’s business was, and whether he meant to stay here +all session time! “Yon’s a drone,” he pronounced. As +for Dand, it will be enough to describe their first meeting, +when Frank had been whipping a river and the rustic celebrity +chanced to come along the path.</p> + +<p>“I’m told you’re quite a poet,” Frank had said.</p> + +<p>“Wha tell’t ye that, mannie?” had been the unconciliating +answer.</p> + +<p>“O, everybody!” says Frank.</p> + +<p>“God! Here’s fame!” said the sardonic poet, and +he had passed on his way.</p> + +<p>Come to think of it, we have here perhaps a truer explanation +of Frank’s failures. Had he met Mr. Sheriff +Scott, he could have turned a neater compliment, because +Mr. Scott would have been a friend worth making. Dand, +on the other hand, he did not value sixpence, and he showed +it even while he tried to flatter. Condescension is an excellent +thing, but it is strange how one-sided the pleasure of it is! +He who goes fishing among the Scots peasantry with condescension +for a bait will have an empty basket by evening. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page259" id="page259"></a>259</span></p> + +<p>In proof of this theory Frank made a great success of it +at the Crossmichael Club, to which Archie took him immediately +on his arrival; his own last appearance on that +scene of gaiety. Frank was made welcome there at once, +continued to go regularly, and had attended a meeting (as +the members ever after loved to tell) on the evening before +his death. Young Hay and young Pringle appeared again. +There was another supper at Windielaws, another dinner +at Driffel; and it resulted in Frank being taken to the bosom +of the county people as unreservedly as he had been repudiated +by the country folk. He occupied Hermiston after +the manner of an invader in a conquered capital. He was +perpetually issuing from it, as from a base, to toddy parties, +fishing parties, and dinner parties, to which Archie was not +invited, or to which Archie would not go. It was now that +the name of The Recluse became general for the young man. +Some say that Innes invented it; Innes, at least, spread it +abroad.</p> + +<p>“How’s all with your Recluse to-day?” people would +ask.</p> + +<p>“O, reclusing away!” Innes would declare, with his +bright air of saying something witty; and immediately +interrupt the general laughter which he had provoked much +more by his air than his words, “Mind you, it’s all very +well laughing, but I’m not very well pleased. Poor Archie +is a good fellow, an excellent fellow, a fellow I always liked. +I think it small of him to take his little disgrace so hard and +shut himself up. ‘Grant that it is a ridiculous story, painfully +ridiculous,’ I keep telling him. ‘Be a man! Live it +down, man!’ But not he. Of course it’s just solitude, and +shame, and all that. But I confess I’m beginning to fear +the result. It would be all the pities in the world if a really +promising fellow like Weir was to end ill. I’m seriously +tempted to write to Lord Hermiston, and put it plainly to +him.”</p> + +<p>“I would if I were you,” some of his auditors would +say, shaking the head, sitting bewildered and confused at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page260" id="page260"></a>260</span> +this new view of the matter, so deftly indicated by a single +word. “A capital idea!” they would add, and wonder at +the <i>aplomb</i> and position of this young man, who talked as +a matter of course of writing to Hermiston and correcting +him upon his private affairs.</p> + +<p>And Frank would proceed, sweetly confidential: “I’ll +give you an idea, now. He’s actually sore about the way +that I’m received and he’s left out in the county—actually +jealous and sore. I’ve rallied him and I’ve reasoned with +him, told him that every one was most kindly inclined +towards him, told him even that <i>I</i> was received merely +because I was his guest. But it’s no use. He will neither +accept the invitations he gets, nor stop brooding about the +ones where he’s left out. What I’m afraid of is that the +wound’s ulcerating. He had always one of those dark, +secret, angry natures—a little underhand and plenty of +bile—you know the sort. He must have inherited it from +the Weirs, whom I suspect to have been a worthy family of +weavers somewhere; what’s the cant phrase?—sedentary +occupation. It’s precisely the kind of character to go wrong +in a false position like what his father’s made for him, or +he’s making for himself, whichever you like to call it. And +for my part, I think it a disgrace,” Frank would say +generously.</p> + +<p>Presently the sorrow and anxiety of this disinterested +friend took shape. He began in private, in conversations +of two, to talk vaguely of bad habits and low habits. “I +must say I’m afraid he’s going wrong altogether,” he would +say. “I’ll tell you plainly, and between ourselves, I +scarcely like to stay there any longer; only, man, I’m positively +afraid to leave him alone. You’ll see, I shall be +blamed for it later on. I’m staying at a great sacrifice. +I’m hindering my chances at the Bar, and I can’t blind +my eyes to it. And what I’m afraid of is, that I’m going +to get kicked for it all round before all’s done. You see, +nobody believes in friendship nowadays.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Innes,” his interlocutor would reply, “it’s very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261" id="page261"></a>261</span> +good of you, I must say that. If there’s any blame going, +you’ll always be sure of <i>my</i> good word, for one thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” Frank would continue, “candidly, I don’t +say it’s pleasant. He has a very rough way with him; his +father’s son, you know. I don’t say he’s rude—of course, +I couldn’t be expected to stand that—but he steers very +near the wind. No, it’s not pleasant; but I tell ye, man, +in conscience I don’t think it would be fair to leave him. +Mind you, I don’t say there’s anything actually wrong. +What I say is that I don’t like the looks of it, man!” and +he would press the arm of his momentary confidant.</p> + +<p>In the early stages I am persuaded there was no malice. +He talked but for the pleasure of airing himself. He was +essentially glib, as becomes the young advocate, and essentially +careless of the truth, which is the mark of the young +ass; and so he talked at random. There was no particular +bias, but that one which is indigenous and universal, to +flatter himself and to please and interest the present friend. +And by thus milling air out of his mouth, he had presently +built up a presentation of Archie which was known and +talked of in all corners of the county. Wherever there was a +residential house and a walled garden, wherever there was +a dwarfish castle and a park, wherever a quadruple cottage +by the ruins of a peel-tower showed an old family going +down, and wherever a handsome villa with a carriage +approach and a shrubbery marked the coming up of a new +one—probably on the wheels of machinery—Archie began +to be regarded in the light of a dark, perhaps a vicious +mystery, and the future developments of his career to be +looked for with uneasiness and confidential whispering. +He had done something disgraceful, my dear. What, was +not precisely known, and that good kind young man, Mr. +Innes, did his best to make light of it. But there it was. +And Mr. Innes was very anxious about him now; he was +really uneasy, my dear; he was positively wrecking his own +prospects because he dared not leave him alone. How +wholly we all lie at the mercy of a single prater, not needfully +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page262" id="page262"></a>262</span> +with any malign purpose! And if a man but talks of +himself in the right spirit, refers to his virtuous actions by +the way, and never applies to them the name of virtue, how +easily his evidence is accepted in the court of public opinion!</p> + +<p>All this while, however, there was a more poisonous +ferment at work between the two lads, which came late +indeed to the surface, but had modified and magnified their +dissensions from the first. To an idle, shallow, easy-going +customer like Frank, the smell of a mystery was attractive. +It gave his mind something to play with, like a new toy to a +child; and it took him on the weak side, for like many young +men coming to the Bar, and before they have been tried and +found wanting, he flattered himself he was a fellow of unusual +quickness and penetration. They knew nothing of +Sherlock Holmes in those days, but there was a good deal +said of Talleyrand. And if you could have caught Frank +off his guard, he would have confessed with a smirk that, if +he resembled any one, it was the Marquis de Talleyrand-Périgord. +It was on the occasion of Archie’s first absence +that this interest took root. It was vastly deepened when +Kirstie resented his curiosity at breakfast, and that same +afternoon there occurred another scene which clinched the +business. He was fishing Swingleburn, Archie accompanying +him, when the latter looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>“Well, good-bye,” said he. “I have something to do. +See you at dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be in such a hurry,” cries Frank. “Hold on +till I get my rod up. I’ll go with you; I’m sick of flogging +this ditch.”</p> + +<p>And he began to reel up his line.</p> + +<p>Archie stood speechless. He took a long while to recover +his wits under this direct attack; but by the time he +was ready with his answer, and the angle was almost packed +up, he had become completely Weir, and the hanging face +gloomed on his young shoulders. He spoke with a laboured +composure, a laboured kindness even; but a child could see +that his mind was made up. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page263" id="page263"></a>263</span></p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Innes; I don’t want to be disagreeable, +but let us understand one another from the beginning. +When I want your company, I’ll let you know.”</p> + +<p>“O!” cries Frank, “you don’t want my company, +don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Apparently not just now,” replied Archie. “I even +indicated to you when I did, if you’ll remember—and that +was at dinner. If we two fellows are to live together +pleasantly—and I see no reason why we should not—it can +only be by respecting each other’s privacy. If we begin +intruding——”</p> + +<p>“O, come! I’ll take this at no man’s hands. Is this +the way you treat a guest and an old friend?” cried Innes.</p> + +<p>“Just go home and think over what I said by yourself,” +continued Archie, “whether it’s reasonable, or whether it’s +really offensive or not; and let’s meet at dinner as though +nothing had happened. I’ll put it this way, if you like—that +I know my own character, that I’m looking forward +(with great pleasure, I assure you) to a long visit from you, +and that I’m taking precautions at the first. I see the thing +that we—that I, if you like—might fall out upon, and I step +in and <i>obsto principiis</i>. I wager you five pounds you’ll end +by seeing that I mean friendliness, and I assure you, +Francie, I do,” he added, relenting.</p> + +<p>Bursting with anger, but incapable of speech, Innes +shouldered his rod, made a gesture of farewell, and strode +off down the burn-side. Archie watched him go without +moving. He was sorry, but quite unashamed. He hated +to be inhospitable, but in one thing he was his father’s son. +He had a strong sense that his house was his own and no +man else’s; and to, lie at a guest’s mercy was what he refused. +He hated to seem harsh. But that was Frank’s +look-out. If Frank had been commonly discreet, he would +have been decently courteous. And there was another +consideration. The secret he was protecting was not his +own merely; it was hers: it belonged to that inexpressible +she who was fast taking possession of his soul, and whom +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page264" id="page264"></a>264</span> +he would soon have defended at the cost of burning cities. +By the time he had watched Frank as far as the Swingleburnfoot, +appearing and disappearing in the tarnished +heather, still stalking at a fierce gait, but already dwindled +in the distance into less than the smallness of Lilliput, he +could afford to smile at the occurrence. Either Frank would +go, and that would be a relief—or he would continue to +stay, and his host must continue to endure him. And +Archie was now free—by devious paths, behind hillocks +and in the hollow of burns—to make for the trysting-place +where Kirstie, cried about by the curlew and the plover, +waited and burned for his coming by the Covenanter’s +Stone.</p> + +<p>Innes went off down-hill in a passion of resentment, +easy to be understood, but which yielded progressively +to the needs of his situation. He cursed Archie for a cold-hearted, +unfriendly, rude, rude dog; and himself still more +passionately for a fool in having come to Hermiston when +he might have sought refuge in almost any other house in +Scotland. But the step, once taken, was practically irretrievable. +He had no more ready money to go anywhere +else; he would have to borrow from Archie the next club-night; +and ill as he thought of his host’s manners, he was +sure of his practical generosity. Frank’s resemblance to +Talleyrand strikes me as imaginary; but at least not +Talleyrand himself could have more obediently taken his +lesson from the facts. He met Archie at dinner without +resentment, almost with cordiality. You must take your +friends as you find them, he would have said. Archie +couldn’t help being his father’s son, or his grandfather’s, +the hypothetical weaver’s, grandson. The son of a hunks, +he was still a hunks at heart, incapable of true generosity +and consideration: but he had other qualities with which +Frank could divert himself in the meanwhile, and to enjoy +which it was necessary that Frank should keep his temper.</p> + +<p>So excellently was it controlled that he awoke next +morning with his head full of a different, though a cognate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page265" id="page265"></a>265</span> +subject. What was Archie’s little game? Why did he +shun Frank’s company? What was he keeping secret? +Was he keeping tryst with somebody, and was it a woman? +It would be a good joke and a fair revenge to discover. +To that task he set himself with a great deal of patience, +which might have surprised his friends, for he had been +always credited not with patience so much as brilliancy; +and little by little, from one point to another, he at last +succeeded in piecing out the situation. First he remarked +that, although Archie set out in all the directions of the +compass, he always came home again from some point between +the south and west. From the study of a map, and +in consideration of the great expanse of untenanted moorland +running in that direction towards the sources of the +Clyde, he laid his finger on Cauldstaneslap and two other +neighbouring farms, Kingsmuirs and Polintarf. But it was +difficult to advance farther. With his rod for a pretext, +he vainly visited each of them in turn; nothing was to be +seen suspicious about this trinity of moorland settlements. +He would have tried to follow Archie, had it been the least +possible, but the nature of the land precluded the idea. He +did the next best, ensconced himself in a quiet corner, and +pursued his movements with a telescope. It was equally +in vain, and he soon wearied of his futile vigilance, left the +telescope at home, and had almost given the matter up in +despair, when, on the twenty-seventh day of his visit, he +was suddenly confronted with the person whom he sought. +The first Sunday Kirstie had managed to stay away from +kirk on some pretext of indisposition, which was more truly +modesty; the pleasure of beholding Archie seeming too +sacred, too vivid for that public place. On the two following, +Frank had himself been absent on some of his excursions +among the neighbouring families. It was not until the +fourth, accordingly, that Frank had occasion to set eyes on +the enchantress. With the first look, all hesitation was +over. She came with the Cauldstaneslap party; then she +lived at Cauldstaneslap. Here was Archie’s secret, here +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page266" id="page266"></a>266</span> +was the woman, and more than that—though I have need +here of every manageable attenuation of language—with +the first look, he had already entered himself as rival. It +was a good deal in pique, it was a little in revenge, it was +much in genuine admiration: the devil may decide the +proportions! I cannot, and it is very likely that Frank +could not.</p> + +<p>“Mighty attractive milkmaid,” he observed, on the +way home.</p> + +<p>“Who?” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“O, the girl you’re looking at—aren’t you? Forward +there on the road. She came attended by the rustic bard; +presumably, therefore, belongs to his exalted family. The +single objection! for the Four Black Brothers are awkward +customers. If anything were to go wrong, Gib would +gibber, and Clem would prove inclement; and Dand fly in +danders, and Hob blow up in gobbets. It would be a +Helliott of a business!”</p> + +<p>“Very humorous, I am sure,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am trying to be so,” said Frank. “It’s none +too easy in this place, and with your solemn society, my +dear fellow. But confess that the milkmaid has found +favour in your eyes, or resign all claim to be a man of taste.”</p> + +<p>“It is no matter,” returned Archie.</p> + +<p>But the other continued to look at him, steadily and +quizzically, and his colour slowly rose and deepened under +the glance, until not impudence itself could have denied +that he was blushing. And at this Archie lost some of his +control. He changed his stick from one hand to the other, +and—“O, for God’s sake, don’t be an ass!” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Ass? That’s the retort delicate without doubt,” says +Frank. “Beware of the home-spun brothers, dear. If +they come into the dance, you’ll see who’s an ass. Think +now, if they only applied (say) a quarter as much talent as +I have applied to the question of what Mr. Archie does +with his evening hours, and why he is so unaffectedly nasty +when the subject’s touched on——” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page267" id="page267"></a>267</span></p> + +<p>“You are touching on it now,” interrupted Archie, with +a wince.</p> + +<p>“Thank you. That was all I wanted, an articulate +confession,” said Frank.</p> + +<p>“I beg to remind you——” began Archie.</p> + +<p>But he was interrupted in turn. “My dear fellow, +don’t. It’s quite needless. The subject’s dead and buried.”</p> + +<p>And Frank began to talk hastily on other matters, an +art in which he was an adept, for it was his gift to be fluent +on anything or nothing. But although Archie had the grace +or the timidity to suffer him to rattle on, he was by no +means done with the subject. When he came home to +dinner he was greeted with a sly demand, how things were +looking “Cauldstaneslap ways.” Frank took his first +glass of port out after dinner to the toast of Kirstie, and +later in the evening he returned to the charge again.</p> + +<p>“I say, Weir, you’ll excuse me for returning again to +this affair. I’ve been thinking it over, and I wish to beg +you very seriously to be more careful. It’s not a safe +business. Not safe, my boy,” said he.</p> + +<p>“What?” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s your own fault if I must put a name on the +thing; but really, as a friend, I cannot stand by and see +you rushing head down into these dangers. My dear boy,” +said he, holding up a warning cigar, “consider! What is +to be the end of it?”</p> + +<p>“The end of what?”—Archie, helpless with irritation, +persisted in this dangerous and ungracious guard.</p> + +<p>“Well, the end of the milkmaid; or, to speak more by +the card, the end of Miss Christina Elliott of the Cauldstaneslap.”</p> + +<p>“I assure you,” Archie broke out, “this is all a figment +of your imagination. There is nothing to be said +against that young lady; you have no right to introduce +her name into the conversation.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make a note of it,” said Frank. “She shall +henceforth be nameless, nameless, nameless, Gregarach! I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page268" id="page268"></a>268</span> +make a note besides of your valuable testimony to her +character. I only want to look at this thing as a man of +the world. Admitted she’s an angel—but, my good fellow, +is she a lady?”</p> + +<p>This was torture to Archie. “I beg your pardon,” he +said, struggling to be composed, “but because you have +wormed yourself into my confidence——”</p> + +<p>“O, come!” cried Frank. “Your confidence? It +was rosy but unconsenting. Your confidence, indeed? +Now, look! This is what I must say, Weir, for it concerns +your safety and good character, and therefore my +honour as your friend. You say I wormed myself into +your confidence. Wormed is good. But what have I +done? I have put two and two together, just as the +parish will be doing to-morrow, and the whole of Tweeddale +in two weeks, and the Black Brothers—well, I won’t +put a date on that; it will be a dark and stormy morning! +Your secret, in other words, is poor Poll’s. And I want +to ask of you as a friend whether you like the prospect? +There are two horns to your dilemma, and I must say for +myself I should look mighty ruefully on either. Do you see +yourself explaining to the Four Black Brothers? or do you +see yourself presenting the milkmaid to papa as the future +lady of Hermiston? Do you? I tell you plainly, I don’t!”</p> + +<p>Archie rose. “I will hear no more of this,” he said, in +a trembling voice.</p> + +<p>But Frank again held up his cigar. “Tell me one +thing first. Tell me if this is not a friend’s part that I am +playing?”</p> + +<p>“I believe you think it so,” replied Archie. “I can +go as far as that. I can do so much justice to your motives. +But I will hear no more of it. I am going to bed.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Weir,” said Frank heartily. “Go to +bed and think over it; and I say, man, don’t forget your +prayers! I don’t often do the moral—don’t go in for that +sort of thing—but when I do, there’s one thing sure, that I +mean it.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269" id="page269"></a>269</span></p> + +<p>So Archie marched off to bed, and Frank sat alone by +the table for another hour or so, smiling to himself richly. +There was nothing vindictive in his nature; but, if revenge +came in his way, it might as well be good, and the thought +of Archie’s pillow reflections that night was indescribably +sweet to him. He felt a pleasant sense of power. He +looked down on Archie as on a very little boy whose strings +he pulled—as on a horse whom he had backed and bridled +by sheer power of intelligence, and whom he might ride to +glory or the grave at pleasure. Which was it to be? He +lingered long, relishing the details of schemes that he was +too idle to pursue. Poor cork upon a torrent, he tasted +that night the sweets of omnipotence, and brooded like a +deity over the strands of that intrigue which was to shatter +him before the summer waned.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page270" id="page270"></a>270</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h5>A NOCTURNAL VISIT</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Kirstie</span> had many causes of distress. More and more as +we grow old—and yet more and more as we grow old and +are women, frozen by the fear of age—we come to rely on +the voice as the single outlet of the soul. Only thus, in +the curtailment of our means, can we relieve the straitened +cry of the passion within us; only thus, in the bitter and +sensitive shyness of advancing years, can we maintain relations +with those vivacious figures of the young that still +show before us and tend daily to become no more than the +moving wall-paper of life. Talk is the last link, the last +relation. But with the end of the conversation, when the +voice stops and the bright face of the listener is turned +away, solitude falls again on the bruised heart. Kirstie +had lost her “cannie hour at e’en”; she could no more +wander with Archie, a ghost if you will, but a happy ghost, +in fields Elysian. And to her it was as if the whole world +had fallen silent; to him, but an unremarkable change of +amusements. And she raged to know it. The effervescency +of her passionate and irritable nature rose within +her at times to bursting point.</p> + +<p>This is the price paid by age for unseasonable ardours +of feeling. It must have been so for Kirstie at any time +when the occasion chanced; but it so fell out that she +was deprived of this delight in the hour when she had +most need of it, when she had most to say, most to ask, +and when she trembled to recognise her sovereignty not +merely in abeyance but annulled. For, with the clairvoyance +of a genuine love, she had pierced the mystery +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page271" id="page271"></a>271</span> +that had so long embarrassed Frank. She was conscious, +even before it was carried out, even on that Sunday night +when it began, of an invasion of her rights; and a voice +told her the invader’s name. Since then, by arts, by +accident, by small things observed, and by the general +drift of Archie’s humour, she had passed beyond all possibility +of doubt. With a sense of justice that Lord +Hermiston might have envied, she had that day in church +considered and admitted the attractions of the younger +Kirstie; and with the profound humanity and sentimentality +of her nature, she had recognised the coming of fate. +Not thus would she have chosen. She had seen, in imagination, +Archie wedded to some tall, powerful, and rosy +heroine of the golden locks, made in her own image, for +whom she would have strewed the bride-bed with delight; +and now she could have wept to see the ambition falsified. +But the gods had pronounced, and her doom was otherwise.</p> + +<p>She lay tossing in bed that night, besieged with feverish +thoughts. There were dangerous matters pending, a +battle was toward, over the fate of which she hung in +jealousy, sympathy, fear, and alternate loyalty and disloyalty +to either side. Now she was reincarnated in her +niece, and now in Archie. Now she saw, through the girl’s +eyes, the youth on his knees to her, heard his persuasive +instances with a deadly weakness, and received his overmastering +caresses. Anon, with a revulsion, her temper +raged to see such utmost favours of fortune and love +squandered on a brat of a girl, one of her own house, using +her own name—a deadly ingredient—and that “didna +ken her ain mind an’ was as black’s your hat.” Now she +trembled lest her deity should plead in vain, loving the +idea of success for him like a triumph of nature; anon, +with returning loyalty to her own family and sex, she +trembled for Kirstie and the credit of the Elliotts. And +again she had a vision of herself, the day over for her old-world +tales and local gossip, bidding farewell to her last +link with life and brightness and love; and behind and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page272" id="page272"></a>272</span> +beyond, she saw but the blank butt-end where she must +crawl to die. Had she then come to the lees? she, so +great, so beautiful, with a heart as fresh as a girl’s and +strong as womanhood? It could not be, and yet it was so; +and for a moment her bed was horrible to her as the sides +of the grave. And she looked forward over a waste of hours, +and saw herself go on to rage, and tremble, and be softened, +and rage again, until the day came and the labours of the +day must be renewed.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she heard feet on the stairs—his feet, and +soon after the sound of a window-sash flung open. She +sat up with her heart beating. He had gone to his room +alone, and he had not gone to bed. She might again have +one of her night cracks; and at the entrancing prospect, a +change came over her mind; with the approach of this +hope of pleasure, all the baser metal became immediately +obliterated from her thoughts. She rose, all woman, and +all the best of woman, tender, pitiful, hating the wrong, +loyal to her own sex—and all the weakest of that dear miscellany, +nourishing, cherishing next her soft heart, voicelessly +flattering, hopes that she would have died sooner +than have acknowledged. She tore off her nightcap, and +her hair fell about her shoulders in profusion. Undying +coquetry awoke. By the faint light of her nocturnal rush, +she stood before the looking-glass, carried her shapely arms +above her head, and gathered up the treasures of her +tresses. She was never backward to admire herself; that +kind of modesty was a stranger to her nature; and she +paused, struck with a pleased wonder at the sight. “Ye +daft auld wife!” she said, answering a thought that was +not; and she blushed with the innocent consciousness of a +child. Hastily she did up the massive and shining coils, +hastily donned a wrapper, and with the rushlight in her +hand, stole into the hall. Below stairs she heard the +clock ticking the deliberate seconds, and Frank jingling +with the decanters in the dining-room. Aversion rose in +her, bitter and momentary. “Nesty tippling puggy!” she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page273" id="page273"></a>273</span> +thought; and the next moment she had knocked guardedly +at Archie’s door and was bidden enter.</p> + +<p>Archie had been looking out into the ancient blackness, +pierced here and there with a rayless star; taking the sweet +air of the moors and the night into his bosom deeply; seeking, +perhaps finding, peace after the manner of the unhappy. +He turned round as she came in, and showed her a pale face +against the window-frame.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Kirstie?” he asked. “Come in!”</p> + +<p>“It’s unco late, my dear,” said Kirstie, affecting unwillingness.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” he answered, “not at all. Come in, if you +want a crack. I am not sleepy, God knows!”</p> + +<p>She advanced, took a chair by the toilet-table and the +candle, and set the rushlight at her foot. Something—it +might be in the comparative disorder of her dress, it +might be the emotion that now welled in her bosom—had +touched her with a wand of transformation, and she seemed +young with the youth of goddesses.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Erchie,” she began, “what’s this that’s come to +ye?”</p> + +<p>“I am not aware of anything that has come,” said +Archie, and blushed, and repented bitterly that he had let +her in.</p> + +<p>“O, my dear, that’ll no dae!” said Kirstie. “It’s ill +to blend the eyes of love. O, Mr. Erchie, tak’ a thocht +ere it’s ower late. Ye shouldna be impatient o’ the braws +o’ life, they’ll a’ come in their saison, like the sun and the +rain. Ye’re young yet; ye’ve mony cantie years afore +ye. See and dinna wreck yersel’ at the outset like sae +mony ithers! Hae patience—they telled me aye that was +the owercome o’ life—hae patience, there’s a braw day +coming yet. Gude kens it never cam’ to me; and here I +am, wi’ nayther man nor bairn to ca’ my ain, wearying a’ +folks wi’ my ill tongue, and you just the first, Mr. Erchie!”</p> + +<p>“I have a difficulty in knowing what you mean,” said +Archie. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page274" id="page274"></a>274</span></p> + +<p>“Weel, and I’ll tell ye,” she said. “It’s just this, that +I’m feared. I’m feared for ye, my dear. Remember, +your faither is a hard man, reaping where he hasna sowed +and gaithering where he hasna strawed. It’s easy speakin’, +but mind! Ye’ll have to look in the gurley face o’m, +where it’s ill to look, and vain to look for mercy. Ye mind +me o’ a bonny ship pitten oot into the black and gowsty +seas—ye’re a’ safe still, sittin’ quait and crackin’ wi’ Kirstie +in your lown chalmer; but whaur will ye be the morn, +and in whatten horror o’ the fearsome tempest, cryin’ on +the hills to cover ye?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Kirstie, you’re very enigmatical to-night—and +very eloquent,” Archie put in.</p> + +<p>“And, my dear Mr. Erchie,” she continued, with a +change of voice, “ye maunna think that I canna sympathise +wi’ ye. Ye maunna think that I havena been +young mysel’. Lang syne, when I was a bit lassie, no +twenty yet——” She paused and sighed. “Clean and +caller, wi’ a fit like the hinney bee,” she continued. “I +was aye big and buirdly, ye maun understand; a bonny +figure o’ a woman, though I say it that suldna—built to +rear bairns—braw bairns they suld hae been, and grand I +would hae likit it! But I was young, dear, wi’ the bonny +glint o’ youth in my e’en, and little I dreamed I’d ever be +tellin’ ye this, an auld, lanely, rudas wife! Weel, Mr. +Erchie, there was a lad cam’ courtin’ me, as was but +naetural. Mony had come before, and I would nane o’ +them. But this yin had a tongue to wile the birds frae the +lift and the bees frae the foxglove bells. Deary me, but +it’s lang syne. Folk have dee’d sinsyne and been buried, +and are forgotten, and bairns been born and got merrit +and got bairns o’ their ain. Sinsyne woods have been +plantit, and have grawn up and are bonny trees, and the +joes sit in their shadow; and sinsyne auld estates have +changed hands, and there have been wars and rumours of +wars on the face of the earth. And here I’m still—like an +auld droopit craw—lookin’ on and craikin’! But, Mr. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275" id="page275"></a>275</span> +Erchie, do ye no think that I have mind o’ it a’ still? I +was dwalling then in my faither’s house; and it’s a curious +thing that we were whiles trysted in the Deil’s Hags. And +do ye no think that I have mind of the bonny simmer days, +the lang miles o’ the bluid-red heather, the cryin’ o’ the +whaups, and the lad and the lassie that was trysted? Do +ye no think that I mind how the hilly sweetness ran about +my hairt? Ay, Mr. Erchie, I ken the way o’ it—fine do I +ken the way—how the grace o’ God takes them, like Paul +of Tarsus, when they think it least, and drives the pair o’ +them into a land which is like a dream, and the world and +the folks in ’t are nae mair than clouds to the puir lassie, +and heeven nae mair than windle-straes, if she can but +pleesure him! Until Tam dee’d—that was my story,” +she broke off to say, “he dee’d, and I wasna at the buryin’. +But while he was here, I could take care o’ mysel’. And +can yon puir lassie?”</p> + +<p>Kirstie, her eyes shining with unshed tears, stretched +out her hand towards him appealingly; the bright and +the dull gold of her hair flashed and smouldered in the coils +behind her comely head, like the rays of an eternal youth; +the pure colour had risen in her face; and Archie was +abashed alike by her beauty and her story. He came +towards her slowly from the window, took up her hand in +his and kissed it.</p> + +<p>“Kirstie,” he said hoarsely, “you have misjudged me +sorely. I have always thought of her, I wouldna harm her +for the universe, my woman!”</p> + +<p>“Eh, lad, and that’s easy sayin’,” cried Kirstie, “but +it’s nane sae easy doin’! Man, do ye no comprehend that +it’s God’s wull we should be blendit and glamoured, and +have nae command over our ain members at a time like +that? My bairn,” she cried, still holding his hand, “think +o’ the puir lass! have pity upon her, Erchie! and O, be +wise for twa! Think o’ the risk she rins! I have seen ye, +and what’s to prevent ithers? I saw ye once in the Hags, +in my ain howf, and I was wae to see ye there—in pairt for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page276" id="page276"></a>276</span> +the omen, for I think there’s a weird on the place—and in +pairt for pure nakit envy and bitterness o’ hairt. It’s +strange ye should forgather there tae! God! but yon puir, +thrawn, auld Covenanter’s seen a heap o’ human natur’ +since he lookit his last on the musket-barrels, if he never +saw nane afore,” she added, with a kind of wonder in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“I swear by my honour I have done her no wrong,” +said Archie. “I swear by my honour and the redemption +of my soul that there shall none be done her. I have +heard of this before. I have been foolish, Kirstie, but not +unkind, and, above all, not base.”</p> + +<p>“There’s my bairn!” said Kirstie, rising. “I’ll can +trust ye noo, I’ll can gang to my bed wi’ an easy hairt.” +And then she saw in a flash how barren had been her +triumph. Archie had promised to spare the girl, and he +would keep it; but who had promised to spare Archie? +What was to be the end of it? Over a maze of difficulties +she glanced, and saw, at the end of every passage, the flinty +countenance of Hermiston. And a kind of horror fell +upon her at what she had done. She wore a tragic mask. +“Erchie, the Lord peety you dear, and peety me! I have +buildit on this foundation”—laying her hand heavily on +his shoulder—“and buildit hie, and pit my hairt in the +buildin’ of it. If the hale hypothec were to fa’, I think, +laddie, I would dee! Excuse a daft wife that loves ye, and +that kenned your mither. And for His name’s sake keep +yersel’ frae inordinate desires; hand your heart in baith +your hands, carry it canny and laigh; dinna send it up like +a bairn’s kite into the collieshangie o’ the wunds! Mind, +Maister Erchie dear, that this life’s a’ disappointment, and +a mouthfu’ o’ mools is the appointed end.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, but Kirstie, my woman, you’re asking me ower +much at last,” said Archie, profoundly moved, and lapsing +into the broad Scots. “Ye’re asking what nae man can +grant ye, what only the Lord of heaven can grant ye if He +see fit. Ay! And can even He? I can promise ye what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page277" id="page277"></a>277</span> +I shall do, and you can depend on that. But how I shall +feel—my woman, that is long past thinking of!”</p> + +<p>They were both standing by now opposite each other. +The face of Archie wore the wretched semblance of a smile; +hers was convulsed for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Promise me ae thing,” she cried, in a sharp voice. +“Promise me ye’ll never do naething without telling me.”</p> + +<p>“No, Kirstie, I canna promise ye that,” he replied. “I +have promised enough, God kens!”</p> + +<p>“May the blessing of God lift and rest upon ye, dear!” +she said.</p> + +<p>“God bless ye, my old friend,” said he.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page278" id="page278"></a>278</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<h5>AT THE WEAVER’S STONE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> was late in the afternoon when Archie drew near by the +hill path to the Praying Weaver’s Stone. The Hags were +in shadow. But still, through the gate of the Slap, the sun +shot a last arrow, which sped far and straight across the +surface of the moss, here and there touching and shining +on a tussock, and lighted at length on the gravestone and +the small figure awaiting him there. The emptiness and +solitude of the great moors seemed to be concentred there, +and Kirstie pointed out by that finger of sunshine for the +only inhabitant. His first sight of her was thus excruciatingly +sad, like a glimpse of a world from which all light, +comfort, and society were on the point of vanishing. And +the next moment, when she had turned her face to him and +the quick smile had enlightened it, the whole face of nature +smiled upon him in her smile of welcome. Archie’s slow +pace was quickened; his legs hasted to her though his heart +was hanging back. The girl, upon her side, drew herself +together slowly and stood up, expectant; she was all languor, +her face was gone white; her arms ached for him, her soul +was on tip-toes. But he deceived her, pausing a few steps +away, not less white than herself, and holding up his hand +with a gesture of denial.</p> + +<p>“No, Christina, not to-day,” he said. “To-day I +have to talk to you seriously. Sit ye down, please, there +where you were. Please!” he repeated.</p> + +<p>The revulsion of feeling in Christina’s heart was violent. +To have longed and waited these weary hours for him, rehearsing +her endearments—to have seen him at last come—to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page279" id="page279"></a>279</span> +have been ready there, breathless, wholly passive, his +to do what he would with—and suddenly to have found +herself confronted with a grey-faced, harsh schoolmaster—it +was too rude a shock. She could have wept, but pride +withheld her. She sat down on the stone, from which she +had arisen, part with the instinct of obedience, part as +though she had been thrust there. What was this? Why +was she rejected? Had she ceased to please? She stood +here offering her wares, and he would none of them! And +yet they were all his! His to take and keep, not his to +refuse though! In her quick petulant nature, a moment +ago on fire with hope, thwarted love and wounded vanity +wrought. The schoolmaster that there is in all men, to the +despair of all girls and most women, was now completely in +possession of Archie. He had passed a night of sermons, +a day of reflection; he had come wound up to do his duty; +and the set mouth, which in him only betrayed the effort +of his will, to her seemed the expression of an averted heart. +It was the same with his constrained voice and embarrassed +utterance; and if so—if it was all over—the pang of the +thought took away from her the power of thinking.</p> + +<p>He stood before her some way off. “Kirstie, there’s +been too much of this. We’ve seen too much of each +other.” She looked up quickly and her eyes contracted. +“There’s no good ever comes of these secret meetings. +They’re not frank, not honest truly, and I ought to have +seen it. People have begun to talk; and it’s not right of +me. Do you see?”</p> + +<p>“I see somebody will have been talking to ye,” she said +sullenly.</p> + +<p>“They have—more than one of them,” replied +Archie.</p> + +<p>“And whae were they?” she cried. “And what kind +o’ love do ye ca’ that, that’s ready to gang round like a +whirligig at folk talking? Do ye think they havena talked +to me?”</p> + +<p>“Have they indeed?” said Archie, with a quick breath. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page280" id="page280"></a>280</span> +“That is what I feared. Who were they? Who has +dare——?”</p> + +<p>Archie was on the point of losing his temper.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, not any one had talked to Christina +on the matter; and she strenuously repeated her own first +question in a panic of self-defence.</p> + +<p>“Ah, well! what does it matter?” he said. “They +were good folk that wished well to us, and the great affair +is that there are people talking. My dear girl, we have to +be wise. We must not wreck our lives at the outset. They +may be long and happy yet, and we must see to it, Kirstie, +like God’s rational creatures and not like fool children. +There is one thing we must see to before all. You’re worth +waiting for, Kirstie! worth waiting for a generation; it +would be enough reward.”—And here he remembered the +schoolmaster again, and very unwisely took to following +wisdom. “The first thing that we must see to is that +there shall be no scandal about for my father’s sake. That +would ruin all; do ye no see that?”</p> + +<p>Kirstie was a little pleased, there had been some show of +warmth of sentiment in what Archie had said last. But +the dull irritation still persisted in her bosom; with the +aboriginal instinct, having suffered herself, she wished to +make Archie suffer.</p> + +<p>And besides, there had come out the word she had +always feared to hear from his lips, the name of his father. +It is not to be supposed that, during so many days with a +love avowed between them, some reference had not been +made to their conjoint future. It had in fact been often +touched upon, and from the first had been the sore point. +Kirstie had wilfully closed the eye of thought; she would +not argue even with herself; gallant, desperate little heart, +she had accepted the command of that supreme attraction +like the call of fate, and marched blindfold on her doom. +But Archie, with his masculine sense of responsibility, must +reason; he must dwell on some future good, when the present +good was all in all to Kirstie; he must talk—and talk +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page281" id="page281"></a>281</span> +lamely, as necessity drove him—of what was to be. Again +and again he had touched on marriage; again and again +been driven back into indistinctness by a memory of Lord +Hermiston. And Kirstie had been swift to understand and +quick to choke down and smother the understanding; swift +to leap up in flame at a mention of that hope, which spoke +volumes to her vanity and her love, that she might one day +be Mrs. Weir of Hermiston; swift, also, to recognise in his +stumbling or throttled utterance the death-knell of these +expectations, and constant, poor girl! in her large-minded +madness, to go on and to reck nothing of the future. But +these unfinished references, these blinks in which his heart +spoke, and his memory and reason rose up to silence it +before the words were well uttered, gave her unqualifiable +agony. She was raised up and dashed down again bleeding. +The recurrence of the subject forced her, for however short +a time, to open her eyes on what she did not wish to see; +and it had invariably ended in another disappointment. +So now again, at the mere wind of its coming, at the mere +mention of his father’s name—who might seem indeed to +have accompanied them in their whole moorland courtship, +an awful figure in a wig with an ironical and bitter smile, +present to guilty consciousness—she fled from it head +down.</p> + +<p>“Ye havena told me yet,” she said, “who was it +spoke?”</p> + +<p>“Your aunt for one,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>“Auntie Kirstie?” she cried. “And what do I care +for my Auntie Kirstie?”</p> + +<p>“She cares a great deal for her niece,” replied Archie, +in kind reproof.</p> + +<p>“Troth, and it’s the first I’ve heard of it,” retorted +the girl.</p> + +<p>“The question here is not who it is, but what they say, +what they have noticed,” pursued the lucid schoolmaster. +“That is what we have to think of in self-defence.”</p> + +<p>“Auntie Kirstie, indeed! A bitter, thrawn auld maid +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page282" id="page282"></a>282</span> +that’s fomented trouble in the country before I was born, +and will be doing it still, I daur say, when I’m deid! It’s +in her nature; it’s as natural for her as it’s for a sheep +to eat.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Kirstie, she was not the only one,” interposed +Archie. “I had two warnings, two sermons, last +night, both most kind and considerate. Had you been +there, I promise you you would have grat, my dear! And +they opened my eyes. I saw we were going a wrong way.”</p> + +<p>“Who was the other one?” Kirstie demanded.</p> + +<p>By this time Archie was in the condition of a hunted +beast. He had come, braced and resolute; he was to trace +out a line of conduct for the pair of them in a few cold, convincing +sentences; he had now been there some time, and +he was still staggering round the outworks and undergoing +what he felt to be a savage cross-examination.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Frank!” she cried. “What nex’, I would like +to ken?”</p> + +<p>“He spoke most kindly and truly.”</p> + +<p>“What like did he say?”</p> + +<p>“I am not going to tell you; you have nothing to do +with that,” cried Archie, startled to find he had admitted +so much.</p> + +<p>“O, I have naething to do with it!” she repeated, +springing to her feet. “A’body at Hermiston’s free to +pass their opinions upon me, but I have naething to do wi’ +it! Was this at prayers like? Did ye ca’ the grieve into +the consultation? Little wonder if a’body’s talking, when +ye make a’body yer confidants! But as you say, Mr. Weir, +most kindly, most considerately, most truly, I’m sure—I +have naething to do with it. And I think I’ll better be +going. I’ll be wishing you good evening, Mr. Weir.” And +she made him a stately curtsey, shaking as she did so from +head to foot, with the barren ecstasy of temper.</p> + +<p>Poor Archie stood dumbfounded. She had moved +some steps away from him before he recovered the gift of +articulate speech. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page283" id="page283"></a>283</span></p> + +<p>“Kirstie!” he cried. “O, Kirstie woman!”</p> + +<p>There was in his voice a ring of appeal, a clang of mere +astonishment that showed the schoolmaster was vanquished.</p> + +<p>She turned round on him. “What do ye Kirstie me +for?” she retorted. “What have ye to do wi’ me? Gang +to your ain freends and deave them!”</p> + +<p>He could only repeat the appealing “Kirstie!”</p> + +<p>“Kirstie, indeed!” cried the girl, her eyes blazing in +her white face. “My name is Miss Christina Elliott, I +would have ye to ken, and I daur ye to ca’ me out of it. If +I canna get love, I’ll have respect, Mr. Weir. I’m come +of decent people, and I’ll have respect. What have I done +that ye should lightly me? What have I done? What +have I done? O, what have I done?” and her voice rose +upon the third repetition. “I thocht—I thocht—I thocht +I was sae happy!” and the first sob broke from her like the +paroxysm of some mortal sickness.</p> + +<p>Archie ran to her. He took the poor child in his arms, +and she nestled to his breast as to a mother’s, and clasped +him in hands that were strong like vices. He felt her whole +body shaken by the throes of distress, and had pity upon +her beyond speech. Pity, and at the same time a bewildered +fear of this explosive engine in his arms, whose works he +did not understand, and yet had been tampering with. +There arose from before him the curtains of boyhood, and +he saw for the first time the ambiguous face of woman as +she is. In vain he looked back over the interview; he saw +not where he had offended. It seemed unprovoked, a +wilful convulsion of brute nature....</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page284" id="page284"></a>284</span></p> +<h2>SIR SIDNEY COLVIN’S NOTE</h2> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">With</span> the words last printed, “a wilful convulsion of brute +nature,” the romance of “Weir of Hermiston” breaks off. +They were dictated, I believe, on the very morning of the +writer’s sudden seizure and death. “Weir of Hermiston” +thus remains in the work of Stevenson what “Edwin +Drood” is in the work of Dickens or “Denis Duval” in +that of Thackeray: or rather it remains relatively more, +for if each of those fragments holds an honourable place +among its author’s writings, among Stevenson’s the fragment +of “Weir” holds, at least to my mind, certainly the +highest.</p> + +<p>Readers may be divided in opinion on the question +whether they would or they would not wish to hear more +of the intended course of the story and destinies of the +characters. To some, silence may seem best, and that the +mind should be left to its own conjectures as to the sequel, +with the help of such indications as the text affords. I +confess that this is the view which has my sympathy. But +since others, and those almost certainly a majority, are +anxious to be told all they can, and since editors and +publishers join in the request, I can scarce do otherwise +than comply. The intended argument, then, so far as it +was known at the time of the writer’s death to his step-daughter +and devoted amanuensis, Mrs. Strong, was nearly +as follows:—</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Archie persists in his good resolution of avoiding further +conduct compromising to young Kirstie’s good name. +Taking advantage of the situation thus created, and of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page285" id="page285"></a>285</span> +girl’s unhappiness and wounded vanity, Frank Innes pursues +his purpose of seduction; and Kirstie, though still +caring for Archie in her heart, allows herself to become +Frank’s victim. Old Kirstie is the first to perceive something +amiss with her, and believing Archie to be the culprit, +accuses him, thus making him aware for the first time that +mischief has happened. He does not at once deny the +charge, but seeks out and questions young Kirstie, who confesses +the truth to him; and he, still loving her, promises +to protect and defend her in her trouble. He then has an +interview with Frank Innes on the moor, which ends in a +quarrel, and in Archie killing Frank beside the Weaver’s +Stone. Meanwhile the Four Black Brothers, having become +aware of their sister’s betrayal, are bent on vengeance +against Archie as her supposed seducer. But their +vengeance is forestalled by his arrest for the murder of +Frank. He is tried before his own father, the Lord Justice-Clerk, +found guilty, and condemned to death. Meanwhile +the elder Kirstie, having discovered from the girl how +matters really stand, informs her nephews of the truth; and +they, in a great revulsion of feeling in Archie’s favour, +determine on an action after the ancient manner of their +house. They gather a following, and after a great fight +break the prison where Archie lies confined, and rescue +him. He and young Kirstie thereafter escape to America. +But the ordeal of taking part in the trial of his own son has +been too much for the Lord Justice-Clerk, who dies of the +shock. “I do not know,” adds the amanuensis, “what +becomes of old Kirstie, but that character grew and +strengthened so in the writing that I am sure he had some +dramatic destiny for her.”</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The plan of every imaginative work is subject, of course, +to change under the artist’s hand as he carries it out; and +not merely the character of the elder Kirstie, but other +elements of the design no less, might well have deviated +from the lines originally traced. It seems certain, however, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page286" id="page286"></a>286</span> +that the next stage in the relations of Archie and the +younger Kirstie would have been as above foreshadowed; +and this conception of the lover’s unconventional chivalry +and unshaken devotion to his mistress after her fault is very +characteristic of the writer’s mind. The vengeance to be +taken on the seducer beside the Weaver’s Stone is prepared +for in the first words of the Introduction; and in the spring +of 1894 the author rehearsed in conversation with a visitor +(Mr. Sidney Lysaght) a scene where the girl was to confess +to her lover in prison that she was with child by the man +he had killed. The situation and fate of the judge, confronting +like a Brutus, but unable to survive, the duty of +sending his own son to the gallows, seem clearly to have +been destined to furnish the climax and essential tragedy of +the tale.</p> + +<p>How this last circumstance was to have been brought +about, within the limits of legal usage and possibility, seems +hard to conjecture; but it was a point to which the author +had evidently given careful consideration. Mrs. Strong +says simply that the Lord Justice-Clerk, like an old Roman, +condemns his son to death; but I am assured on the best +legal authority of Scotland that no judge, however powerful +either by character or office, could have insisted on presiding +at the trial of a near kinsman of his own. The Lord Justice-Clerk +was head of the criminal justiciary of the country; +he might have insisted on his right of being present on the +bench when his son was tried; but he would never have +been allowed to preside or to pass sentence. Now in a letter +of Stevenson’s to Mr. Baxter, of October 1892, I find him +asking for materials in terms which seem to indicate that +he knew this quite well:—“I wish Pitcairn’s ‘Criminal +Trials,’ <i>quam primum</i>. Also an absolutely correct text of +the Scots judiciary oath. Also, in case Pitcairn does not +come down late enough, I wish as full a report as possible +of a Scots murder trial between 1790-1820. Understand, +<i>the fullest possible</i>. Is there any book which would guide +me to the following facts? The Justice-Clerk tries some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page287" id="page287"></a>287</span> +people capitally on circuit. Certain evidence cropping up, +the charge is transferred to the Justice-Clerk’s own son. +Of course in the next trial the Justice-Clerk is excluded, +and the case is called before the Lord Justice-General. +Where would this trial have to be? I fear in Edinburgh, +which would not suit my view. Could it be again at the +circuit town?” The point was referred to a quondam +fellow-member with Stevenson of the Edinburgh Speculative +Society, Mr. Graham Murray, the present Lord +Advocate for Scotland, whose reply was to the effect that +there would be no difficulty in making the new trial take +place at the circuit town; that it would have to be held +there in spring or autumn, before two Lords of Justiciary; +and that the Lord Justice-General would have nothing to +do with it, this title being at the date in question only a +nominal one held by a layman (which is no longer the case). +On this Stevenson writes, “Graham Murray’s note <i>re</i> the +venue was highly satisfactory, and did me all the good in +the world.” The terms of his inquiry imply clearly that he +intended other persons before Archie to have fallen under +suspicion of the murder (what other persons?); and also—doubtless +in order to make the rescue by the Black +Brothers possible—that he wanted Archie to be imprisoned +not in Edinburgh but in the circuit town. Can it have been +that Lord Hermiston’s part was to have been limited to +presiding at the <i>first</i> trial, where the persons wrongly suspected +were to have been judged, and to directing that +the law should take its course when evidence incriminating +his own son was unexpectedly brought forward?</p> + +<p>Whether the final escape and union of Archie and +Christina would have proved equally essential to the plot +may perhaps to most readers seem questionable. They +may rather feel that a tragic destiny is foreshadowed from +the beginning for all concerned, and is inherent in the very +conditions of the tale. But on this point, and other matters +of general criticism connected with it, I find an interesting +discussion by the author himself in his correspondence. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page288" id="page288"></a>288</span> +Writing to Mr. J. M. Barrie, under date November 1, 1892, +and criticising that author’s famous story of “The Little +Minister,” Stevenson says:—</p> + +<p>“Your descriptions of your dealings with Lord Rintoul +are frightfully unconscientious.... ‘The Little Minister’ +ought to have ended badly; we all know it <i>did</i>, and we are +infinitely grateful to you for the grace and good feeling with +which you have lied about it. If you had told the truth, I +for one could never have forgiven you. As you had conceived +and written the earlier parts, the truth about the +end, though indisputably true to fact, would have been a +lie, or what is worse, a discord, in art. If you are going to +make a book end badly, it must end badly from the beginning. +Now, your book began to end well. You let yourself +fall in love with, and fondle, and smile at your puppets. +Once you had done that, your honour was committed: at +the cost of truth to life you were bound to save them. It +is the blot on ‘Richard Feverel,’ for instance, that it begins +to end well; and then tricks you and ends ill. But in this +case, there is worse behind, for the ill ending does not inherently +issue from the plot—the story had, in fact, ended +well after the great last interview between Richard and +Lucy—and the blind, illogical bullet which smashes all has +no more to do between the boards than a fly has to do with +a room into whose open window it comes buzzing. It might +have so happened; it needed not; and unless needs must, +we have no right to pain our readers. I have had a heavy +case of conscience of the same kind about my Braxfield +story. Braxfield—only his name is Hermiston—has a son +who is condemned to death; plainly there is a fine tempting +fitness about this; and I meant he was to hang. But on +considering my minor characters, I saw there were five +people who would—in a sense, who must—break prison +and attempt his rescue. They are capable hardy folks +too, who might very well succeed. Why should they +not then? Why should not young Hermiston escape +clear out of the country? and be happy, if he could, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289" id="page289"></a>289</span> +with his—but soft! I will not betray my secret nor +my heroine....”</p> + +<p>To pass, now, from the question how the story would +have ended to the question how it originated and grew in +the writer’s mind. The character of the hero, Weir of +Hermiston, is avowedly suggested by the historical personality +of Robert Macqueen, Lord Braxfield. This famous +judge has been for generations the subject of a hundred +Edinburgh tales and anecdotes. Readers of Stevenson’s +essay on the Raeburn exhibition, in “Virginibus Puerisque,” +will remember how he is fascinated by Raeburn’s portrait +of Braxfield, even as Lockhart had been fascinated by a +different portrait of the same worthy sixty years before +(see “Peter’s Letters to His Kinsfolk”); nor did his interest +in the character diminish in later life.</p> + +<p>Again, the case of a judge involved by the exigencies +of his office in a strong conflict between public duty and +private interest or affection, was one which had always +attracted and exercised Stevenson’s imagination. In the +days when he and Mr. Henley were collaborating with a +view to the stage, Mr. Henley once proposed a plot founded +on the story of Mr. Justice Harbottle in Sheridan Le Fanu’s +“In a Glass Darkly,” in which the wicked judge goes headlong +<i>per fas et nefas</i> to his object of getting the husband +of his mistress hanged. Some time later Stevenson and his +wife together drafted a play called <i>The Hanging Judge</i>. In +this, the title character is tempted for the first time in his +life to tamper with the course of justice, in order to shield +his wife from persecution by a former husband who reappears +after being supposed dead. Bulwer’s novel of +“Paul Clifford,” with its final situation of the worldly-minded +judge, Sir William Brandon, learning that the highwayman +whom he is in the act of sentencing is his own son, +and dying of the knowledge, was also well known to Stevenson, +and probably counted for something in the suggestion +of the present story.</p> + +<p>Once more, the difficulties often attending the relation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page290" id="page290"></a>290</span> +of father and son in actual life had pressed heavily on +Stevenson’s mind and conscience from the days of his youth, +when in obeying the law of his own nature he had been constrained +to disappoint, distress, and for a time to be much +misunderstood by, a father whom he justly loved and +admired with all his heart. Difficulties of this kind he had +already handled in a lighter vein once or twice in fiction—as +for instance in “The Story of a Lie,” “The Misadventures +of John Nicholson,” and “The Wrecker”—before he +grappled with them in the acute and tragic phase in which +they occur in the present story.</p> + +<p>These three elements, then, the interest of the historical +personality of Lord Braxfield, the problems and emotions +arising from a violent conflict between duty and nature in +a judge, and the difficulties due to incompatibility and misunderstanding +between father and son, lie at the foundations +of the present story. To touch on minor matters, it is +perhaps worth notice, as Mr. Henley reminds me, that the +name of Weir had from of old a special significance for +Stevenson’s imagination, from the horrible and true tale of +the burning in Edinburgh of Major Weir, the warlock, and +his sister. Another name, that of the episodical personage +of Mr. Torrance the minister, is borrowed direct from life, +as indeed are the whole figure and its surroundings—kirkyard, +kirk, and manse—down even to the black thread +mittens: witness the following passage from a letter of the +early seventies:—“I’ve been to church and am not depressed—a +great step. It was at that beautiful church” +[of Glencorse in the Pentlands, three miles from his father’s +country house at Swanston]. “It is a little cruciform +place, with a steep slate roof. The small kirkyard is full +of old gravestones; one of a Frenchman from Dunkerque, +I suppose he died prisoner in the military prison hard by. +And one, the most pathetic memorial I ever saw: a poor +school-slate, in a wooden frame, with the inscription cut +into it evidently by the father’s own hand. In church, +old Mr. Torrance preached, over eighty and a relic of times +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page291" id="page291"></a>291</span> +forgotten, with his black thread gloves and mild old face.” +A side hint for a particular trait in the character of Mrs. +Weir we can trace in some family traditions concerning the +writer’s own grandmother, who is reported to have valued +piety much more than efficiency in her domestic servants. +I know of no original for that new and admirable incarnation +of the eternal feminine in the elder Kirstie. The little +that Stevenson says about her himself is in a letter written +a few days before his death to Mr. Gosse. The allusions +are to the various views and attitudes of people in regard +to middle age, and are suggested by Mr. Gosse’s volume of +poems, “In Russet and Silver.” “It seems rather funny,” +he writes, “that this matter should come up just now, as +I am at present engaged in treating a severe case of middle +age in one of my stories, ‘The Justice-Clerk.’ The case +is that of a woman, and I think I am doing her justice. +You will be interested, I believe, to see the difference in +our treatments. ‘Secreta Vitae’ [the title of one of Mr. +Gosse’s poems] comes nearer to the case of my poor Kirstie.” +From the quality of the midnight scene between her and +Archie, we may judge what we have lost in those later scenes +where she was to have taxed him with the fault that was +not his—to have presently learned his innocence from the +lips of his supposed victim—to have then vindicated him +to her kinsmen and fired them to the action of his rescue. +The scene of the prison-breaking here planned by Stevenson +would have gained interest (as will already have occurred +to readers) from comparison with the two famous precedents +in Scott, the Porteous mob and the breaking of Portanferry +gaol.</p> + +<p>The best account of Stevenson’s methods of imaginative +work is in the following sentences from a letter of his own +to Mr. W. Craibe Angus of Glasgow:—“I am still ‘a slow +study,’ and sit for a long while silent on my eggs. Unconscious +thought, there is the only method: macerate your +subject, let it boil slow, then take the lid off and look in—and +there your stuff is—good or bad.” The several elements +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page292" id="page292"></a>292</span> +above noted having been left to work for many years in +his mind, it was in the autumn of 1892 that he was moved +to “take the lid off and look in,”—under the influence, it +would seem, of a special and overmastering wave of that +feeling for the romance of Scottish scenery and character +which was at all times so strong in him, and which his exile +did so much to intensify. I quote again from his letter +to Mr. Barrie on November 1st in that year:—“It is a +singular thing that I should live here in the South Seas +under conditions so new and so striking, and yet my imagination +so continually inhabit the cold old huddle of grey +hills from which we come. I have finished ‘David Balfour,’ +I have another book on the stocks, ‘The Young Chevalier,’ +which is to be part in France and part in Scotland, and +to deal with Prince Charlie about the year 1749; and now +what have I done but begun a third, which is to be all moorland +together, and is to have for a centre-piece a figure that +I think you will appreciate—that of the immortal Braxfield. +Braxfield himself is my grand premier—or since you are so +much involved in the British drama, let me say my heavy +lead.”</p> + +<p>Writing to me at the same date he makes the same +announcement more briefly, with a list of the characters +and an indication of the scene and date of the story. To +Mr. Baxter he writes a month later, “I have a novel on the +stocks to be called ‘The Justice-Clerk.’ It is pretty Scotch; +the grand premier is taken from Braxfield (O, by the by, +send me Cockburn’s ‘Memorials’), and some of the story +is, well, queer. The heroine is seduced by one man, and +finally disappears with the other man who shot him.... +Mind you, I expect ‘The Justice-Clerk’ to be my masterpiece. +My Braxfield is already a thing of beauty and a joy +for ever, and so far as he has gone far my best character.” +From the last extract it appears that he had already at this +date drafted some of the earlier chapters of the book. He +also about the same time composed the dedication to his +wife, who found it pinned to her bed-curtains one morning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293" id="page293"></a>293</span> +on awaking. It was always his habit to keep several books +in progress at the same time, turning from one to another +as the fancy took him, and finding relief in the change of +labour; and for many months after the date of this letter, +first illness,—then a voyage to Auckland,—then work on +“The Ebb-Tide,” on a new tale called “St. Ives,” which was +begun during an attack of influenza, and on his projected +book of family history,—prevented his making any continuous +progress with “Weir.” In August 1893 he says he +has been recasting the beginning. A year later, still only +the first four or five chapters had been drafted. Then, in +the last weeks of his life, he attacked the task again, in a +sudden heat of inspiration, and worked at it ardently and +without interruption until the end came. No wonder if +during these weeks he was sometimes aware of a tension +of the spirit difficult to sustain. “How can I keep this +pitch?” he is reported to have said after finishing one of the +chapters; and all the world knows how that frail organism, +overtaxed so long, in fact betrayed him in mid effort.</p> + +<p>With reference to the speech and manners of the Hanging +Judge himself: that they are not a whit exaggerated, in +comparison with what is recorded of his historic prototype, +Lord Braxfield, is certain. The <i>locus classicus</i> in regard to +this personage is in Lord Cockburn’s “Memorials of his +Time.” “Strong built and dark, with rough eyebrows, +powerful eyes, threatening lips, and a low growling voice, +he was like a formidable blacksmith. His accent and dialect +were exaggerated Scotch; his language, like his thoughts, +short, strong, and conclusive. Illiterate and without any +taste for any refined enjoyment, strength of understanding, +which gave him power without cultivation, only encouraged +him to a more contemptuous disdain of all natures less +coarse than his own. It may be doubted if he was ever so +much in his element as when tauntingly repelling the last +despairing claim of a wretched culprit, and sending him to +Botany Bay or the gallows with an insulting jest. Yet this +was not from cruelty, for which he was too strong and too +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page294" id="page294"></a>294</span> +jovial, but from cherished coarseness.” Readers, nevertheless, +who are at all acquainted with the social history of +Scotland will hardly have failed to make the observation +that Braxfield’s is an extreme case of eighteenth-century +manners, as he himself was an eighteenth-century personage +(he died in 1799, in his seventy-eighth year); and that for +the date in which the story is cast (1814) such manners are +somewhat of an anachronism. During the generation contemporary +with the French Revolution and the Napoleonic +wars—or, to put it another way, the generation that elapsed +between the days when Scott roamed the country as a +High School and University student and those when he +settled in the fulness of fame and prosperity at Abbotsford,—or +again (the allusions will appeal to readers of the admirable +Galt) during the interval between the first and the last +provostry of Bailie Pawkie in the borough of Gudetown, +or between the earlier and final ministrations of Mr. Balwhidder +in the parish of Dalmailing,—during this period +a great softening had taken place in Scottish manners generally, +and in those of the Bar and Bench not least. “Since +the death of Lord Justice-Clerk Macqueen of Braxfield,” +says Lockhart, writing about 1817, “the whole exterior +of judicial deportment has been quite altered.” A similar +criticism may probably hold good on the picture of border +life contained in the chapter concerning the Four Black +Brothers of Cauldstaneslap, namely, that it rather suggests +the ways of an earlier generation; nor have I any clue to +the reasons which led Stevenson to choose this particular +date, in the year preceding Waterloo, for a story which, +in regard to some of its features at least, might seem more +naturally placed some quarter or even half a century earlier.</p> + +<p>If the reader seeks, further, to know whether the scenery +of Hermiston can be identified with any one special place +familiar to the writer’s early experience, the answer, I think, +must be in the negative. Rather it is distilled from a +number of different haunts and associations among the +moorlands of southern Scotland. In the dedication and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page295" id="page295"></a>295</span> +in a letter to me he indicates the Lammermuirs as the scene +of his tragedy. And Mrs. Stevenson (his mother) told me +that she thought he was inspired by recollections of a visit +paid in boyhood to an uncle living at a remote farmhouse +in that district called Overshiels, in the parish of Stow. +But though he may have thought of the Lammermuirs in +the first instance, we have already found him drawing his +description of the kirk and manse from another haunt of his +youth, namely, Glencorse in the Pentlands; while passages +in chapters v. and viii. point explicitly to a third district, +that is, Upper Tweeddale, with the country stretching thence +towards the wells of Clyde. With this country also holiday +rides and excursions from Peebles had made him familiar as +a boy: and on the whole it is this which best answers the +geographical indications of the story. Some of the place-names +are clearly not meant to furnish literal indications. +The Spango, for instance, is a water running, I believe, not +into the Tweed but into the Nith. Crossmichael as the +name of a town is borrowed from Galloway; but it may be +taken to all intents and purposes as standing for Peebles, +where I am told by Sir George Douglas there existed in the +early years of the century a well-known club of the same +character as that described in the story. Lastly, the name +Hermiston itself is taken from a farm on the Water of Ale, +between Ettrick and Teviotdale, and close to the proper +country of the Elliotts.</p> + +<p>But it is with the general and essential that the artist +deals, and questions of strict historical perspective or local +definition are beside the mark in considering his work. +Nor will any reader expect, or be grateful for, comment in +this place on matters which are more properly to the point—on +the seizing and penetrating power of the author’s +ripened art as exhibited in the foregoing pages, his vital +poetry of vision and magic of presentment. Surely no son +of Scotland has died leaving with his last breath a worthier +tribute to the land he loved.</p> + +<p class="rt">S. C.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page296" id="page296"></a>296</span></p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page297" id="page297"></a>297</span></p> +<h3>GLOSSARY</h3> + + +<div class="glos"> +<p>ae, <i>one</i>.</p> + +<p>antinomian, <i>one of a sect which holds that under the gospel dispensation the moral law is not obligatory</i>.</p> + +<p>Auld Hornie, <i>the Devil</i>.</p> + +<p>ballant, <i>ballad</i>.</p> + +<p>bauchles, <i>brogues, old shoes</i>.</p> + +<p>bauld, <i>bold</i>.</p> + +<p>bees in their bonnet, <i>eccentricities</i>.</p> + +<p>birling, <i>whirling</i>.</p> + +<p>black-a-vised, <i>dark-complexioned</i>.</p> + +<p>bonnet-laird, cock-laird, <i>small landed proprietor, yeoman</i>.</p> + +<p>bool, <i>ball, technically marble, here = sugar-plum</i>.</p> + +<p>brae, <i>rising ground</i>.</p> + +<p>brig, <i>bridge</i>.</p> + +<p>buff, play buff on, <i>to make a fool of, to deceive</i>.</p> + +<p>burn, <i>stream</i>.</p> + +<p>butt end, <i>end of a cottage</i>.</p> + +<p>byre, <i>cow-house</i>.</p> + +<p>ca’, <i>drive</i>.</p> + +<p>caller, <i>fresh</i>.</p> + +<p>canna, <i>cannot</i>.</p> + +<p>canny, <i>careful, shrewd</i>.</p> + +<p>cantie, <i>cheerful</i>.</p> + +<p>carline, <i>old woman</i>.</p> + +<p>cauld, <i>cold</i>.</p> + +<p>chalmer, <i>chamber</i>.</p> + +<p>claes, <i>clothes</i>.</p> + +<p>clamjamfry, <i>crowd</i>.</p> + +<p>clavers, <i>idle talk</i>.</p> + +<p>cock-laird. <i>See</i> bonnet-laird.</p> + +<p>collieshangie, <i>turmoil</i>.</p> + +<p>crack, <i>to converse</i>.</p> + +<p>cuddy, <i>donkey</i>.</p> + +<p>cuist, <i>cast</i>.</p> + +<p>cutty, <i>jade, also used playfully = brat</i>.</p> + +<p>daft, <i>mad, frolicsome</i>.</p> + +<p>dander, <i>to saunter</i>.</p> + +<p>danders, <i>cinders</i>.</p> + +<p>daurna, <i>dare not</i>.</p> + +<p>deave, <i>to deafen</i>.</p> + +<p>denty, <i>dainty</i>.</p> + +<p>dirdum, <i>vigour</i>.</p> + +<p>disjaskit, <i>worn out, disreputable-looking</i>.</p> + +<p>doer, <i>law agent</i>.</p> + +<p>dour, <i>hard</i>.</p> + +<p>drumlie, <i>dark</i>.</p> + +<p>dule-tree, <i>the tree of lamentation, the hanging tree</i>.</p> + +<p>dunting, <i>knocking</i>.</p> + +<p>dwaibly, <i>infirm, rickety</i>.</p> + +<p>earrand, <i>errand</i>.</p> + +<p>ettercap, <i>vixen</i>.</p> + +<p>fechting, <i>fighting</i>.</p> + +<p>feck, <i>quantity, portion</i>.</p> + +<p>feckless, <i>feeble, powerless</i>.</p> + +<p>fell, <i>strong and fiery</i>.</p> + +<p>fey, <i>unlike yourself, strange, as if urged on by fate, or as persons are observed to be in the hour of approaching death or disaster</i>.</p> + +<p>fit, <i>foot</i>.</p> + +<p>flit, <i>to depart</i>.</p> + +<p>flyped, <i>turned, up, turned inside out</i>.</p> + +<p>forbye, in <i>addition to</i>.</p> + +<p>forgather, <i>to fall in with</i>.</p> + +<p>fower, <i>four</i>.</p> + +<p>füshionless, <i>pithless, weak</i>.</p> + +<p>fyle, <i>to soil, to defile</i>.</p> + +<p>fylement, <i>obloquy, defilement</i>.</p> + +<p>gaed, <i>went</i>.</p> + +<p>gang, <i>to go</i>.</p> + +<p>gey an, <i>very</i>.</p> + +<p>gigot, <i>leg of mutton</i>.</p> + +<p>girzie, <i>lit. diminutive of Grizel, here a playful nickname</i>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page298" id="page298"></a>298</span></p> + +<p>glaur, <i>mud</i>.</p> + +<p>glint, <i>glance, sparkle</i>.</p> + +<p>gloaming, <i>twilight</i>.</p> + +<p>glower, <i>to scowl</i>.</p> + +<p>gobbets, <i>small lumps</i>.</p> + +<p>gowden, <i>golden</i>.</p> + +<p>gowsty, <i>gusty</i>.</p> + +<p>grat, <i>wept</i>.</p> + +<p>grieve, <i>land-steward</i>.</p> + +<p>guddle, <i>to catch fish with the hands by groping under the stones or banks</i>.</p> + +<p>guid, <i>good</i>.</p> + +<p>gumption, <i>common-sense, judgment</i>.</p> + +<p>gurley, <i>stormy, surly</i>.</p> + +<p>gyte, <i>beside itself</i>.</p> + +<p>hae, <i>have, take</i>.</p> + +<p>haddit, <i>held</i>.</p> + +<p>hale, <i>whole</i>.</p> + +<p>heels-ower-hurdie, <i>heels over head</i>.</p> + +<p>hinney, <i>honey</i>.</p> + +<p>hirstle, <i>to bustle</i>.</p> + +<p>hizzie, <i>wench</i>.</p> + +<p>howe, <i>hollow</i>.</p> + +<p>howf, <i>haunt</i>.</p> + +<p>hunkered, <i>crouched</i>.</p> + +<p>hypothec, <i>lii. in Scots law the furnishings of a house, and formerly the produce and stock of a farm hypothecated by law to the landlord as security for rent; colloquially “the whole structure,” “the whole concern.”</i></p> + +<p>idleset, <i>idleness</i>.</p> + +<p>infeftment, a <i>term in Scots law originally synonymous with investiture</i>.</p> + +<p>jaud, <i>jade</i>.</p> + +<p>jeely-piece, <i>a slice of bread and jelly</i>.</p> + +<p>jennipers, <i>juniper</i>.</p> + +<p>jo, <i>sweetheart</i>.</p> + +<p>justifeed, <i>executed, made the victim of justice</i>.</p> + +<p>jyle, <i>jail</i>.</p> + +<p>kebbuck, <i>cheese</i>.</p> + +<p>ken, <i>to know</i>.</p> + +<p>kenspeckle, <i>conspicuous</i>.</p> + +<p>kilted, <i>tucked up</i>.</p> + +<p>kyte, <i>belly</i>.</p> + +<p>laigh, <i>low</i>.</p> + +<p>laird, <i>landed proprietor</i>.</p> + +<p>lane, <i>alone</i>.</p> + +<p>lave, <i>rest, remainder</i>.</p> + +<p>linking, <i>tripping</i>.</p> + +<p>lown, <i>lonely, still</i>.</p> + +<p>lynn, <i>cataract</i>.</p> + +<p>Lyon King of Arms, <i>the chief of the Court of Heraldry in Scotland</i>.</p> + +<p>macers, <i>officers of the supreme court</i>. [<i>Cf.</i> “Guy Mannering,” last chapter.]</p> + +<p>maun, <i>must</i>.</p> + +<p>menseful, <i>of good manners</i>.</p> + +<p>mirk, <i>dark</i>.</p> + +<p>misbegowk, <i>deception, disappointment</i>.</p> + +<p>mools, <i>mould, earth</i>.</p> + +<p>muckle, <i>much, great, big</i>.</p> + +<p>my lane, <i>by myself</i>.</p> + +<p>nowt, <i>black cattle</i>.</p> + +<p>palmering, <i>walking infirmly</i>.</p> + +<p>panel, in <i>Scots law, the accused person in a criminal action, the prisoner</i>.</p> + +<p>peel, <i>fortified watch-tower</i>.</p> + +<p>plew-stilts, <i>plough-handles</i>.</p> + +<p>policy, <i>ornamental grounds of a country mansion</i>.</p> + +<p>puddock, <i>frog</i>.</p> + +<p>quean, <i>wench</i>.</p> + +<p>rair, <i>to roar</i>.</p> + +<p>riffraff, <i>rabble</i>.</p> + +<p>risping, <i>grating</i>.</p> + +<p>rout, rowt, <i>to roar, to rant</i>.</p> + +<p>rowth, <i>abundance</i>.</p> + +<p>rudas, <i>haggard old woman</i>.</p> + +<p>runt, <i>an old cow past breeding; opprobriously, an old woman</i>.</p> + +<p>sab, <i>sob</i>.</p> + +<p>sanguishes, <i>sandwiches</i>.</p> + +<p>sasine, <i>in Scots law, the act of giving legal possession of feudal property, or, colloquially, the deed by which that possession is proved</i>.</p> + +<p>sclamber, <i>to scramble</i>.</p> + +<p>sculduddery, <i>impropriety, grossness</i>.</p> + +<p>session, <i>the Court of Session, the supreme court of Scotland</i>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page299" id="page299"></a>299</span></p> + +<p>shauchling, <i>shuffling, slipshod</i>.</p> + +<p>shoo, <i>to chase gently</i>.</p> + +<p>siller, <i>money</i>.</p> + +<p>sinsyne, <i>since then</i>.</p> + +<p>skailing, <i>dispersing</i>.</p> + +<p>skelp, <i>slap</i>.</p> + +<p>skirling, <i>screaming</i>.</p> + +<p>skreigh-o’-day, <i>daybreak</i>.</p> + +<p>snash, <i>abuse</i>.</p> + +<p>sneisty, <i>supercilious</i>.</p> + +<p>sooth, <i>to hum</i>.</p> + +<p>sough, <i>sound, murmur</i>.</p> + +<p>Spec., <i>The Speculative Society, a debating Society connected with Edinburgh University</i>.</p> + +<p>speir, to <i>ask</i>.</p> + +<p>speldering, <i>sprawling</i>.</p> + +<p>splairge, <i>to splash</i>.</p> + +<p>spunk, <i>spirit, fire</i>.</p> + +<p>steik, <i>to shut</i>.</p> + +<p>stirk, <i>a young bullock</i>.</p> + +<p>stockfish, <i>hard, savourless</i>.</p> + +<p>sugar-bool, <i>sugar-plum</i>.</p> + +<p>syne, <i>since, then</i>.</p> + +<p>tawpie, <i>a slow foolish slut, also used playfully = monkey</i>.</p> + +<p>telling you, <i>a good thing for you</i>.</p> + +<p>thir, <i>these</i>.</p> + +<p>thrawn, <i>cross-grained</i>.</p> + +<p>toon, <i>farm, town</i>.</p> + +<p>two-names, <i>local sobriquets in addition to patronymic</i>.</p> + +<p>tyke, <i>dog</i>.</p> + +<p>unchancy, <i>unlucky</i>.</p> + +<p>unco, <i>strange, extraordinary, very</i>.</p> + +<p>upsitten, <i>impertinent</i>.</p> + +<p>vennel, <i>alley, lane</i>. The Vennel, <i>a narrow lane in Edinburgh running out of the Grassmarket</i>.</p> + +<p>vivers, <i>victuals</i>.</p> + +<p>wac, <i>sad, unhappy</i>.</p> + +<p>waling, <i>choosing</i>.</p> + +<p>warrandise, <i>warranty</i>.</p> + +<p>waur, <i>worse</i>.</p> + +<p>weird, <i>destiny</i>.</p> + +<p>whammle, <i>to upset</i>.</p> + +<p>whaup, <i>curlew</i>.</p> + +<p>whiles, <i>sometimes</i>.</p> + +<p>windlestrae, <i>crested dog’s-tail grass</i>.</p> + +<p>wund, <i>wind</i>.</p> + +<p>yin, <i>one</i>.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="art" /> + +<h5>END OF VOL. XIX</h5> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page300" id="page300"></a>300</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p class="center noind" style="font-size: 65%;"> +PRINTED BY<br /> +CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED<br /> +LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.</p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - SWANSTON EDITION VOL. 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